#the closest one to me is in new jersey unfortunately but i love a good road trip

[pierogi-png]

"system of a down and korn going on tour together!"

opens ticketmaster

sighs

opens bank account

SIGHS

[sc0tters]

Littlest Hughes - Mark Estapa

summary: when a game of beer pong turns interesting you learn to realise that your brothers friend isn't so bad after all.

trope: forced proximity

warnings: sexual themes, p in v (unprotected!), underaged drinking, swearing, fingering.

word count: 3.67k

authors note: to the people that remember when this idea came out in like November, thanks for being patient cause Mark and the beerpong fic are now here! everyone thank @hischierhaze for making this one come out long before she was actually intended to be here for you all. if you want to look at more of the 500 celly then you can do so here!

You swore you hated him. 

It was the idea of having someone you couldn’t stand in the slightest. The kind of person you couldn’t even be in a room with as you just wanted to gauge your eyes out. Someone who made you feel so irritated that the mere thought of them had you getting angry. 

Now you have weren’t entirely sure why he pissed your off in the ways that he did. But as Mark seemed to hate you just as much as you hated him, you were never going to be in a rush to improve your relationship. Yet the problem arose when he instead opted to get close to your brother, Luke. 

The boys were teammates and it was enough to make your whole family agree that your negative relationship with Mark wasn’t enough to stop him from being invited to the lake house. It was Luke’s first summer as an NHL player and those friends from college were the very men that Luke missed so much. So being the best younger sister that you were, you agreed to bite your tongue. 

That’s how you landed up spending a week with his closest friends and for the most part you were having a good time. 

“God you are such an ass!”

Key word, for the most part. 

Mark smirked as he held your top over his head leaving you in nothing more than your blue and yellow bikini “you and I both know that those aren’t the right words.” He teased continuing to lean up each time you reached for the baseball jersey “I will kick you Estapa stop being a dick.” You spat as you crossed your arms sending him a glare. 

Before Mark could respond Luke walked into the room “bro could you not leave my sister half naked?” Your older brother gagged as he shook his head “till next time kid.” Even though there was less than two years between you both Mark still loved that nickname. 

So as he dropped your shirt in your hands you couldn’t help but scowl at him “fuck off.” You growled pulling the shirt over your arms “you wanna go on the boat you two?” Jacks offer pulled your attention away from the boy as you nodded “sounds great!” You nodded leaving the boy alone as you went to be in peace for the next few days.

You weren’t a hockey player, it wasn’t your thing but what is your thing is beer pong. Yet unfortunately for you it seems that the only person worthy of being your opponent was Mark. So that was how you both ended up being the last ones left in what felt like the longest game of beer pong that anyone had seen “you two see an end in sight?” Quinn groaned as he looked down to his watch when he let out a yawn. 

It was this endless back and forth where you would each win a game and would then refuse to let them take it and that’s how you ended up at 12-13 with the only rule that to be crowned champion you’d have to win by two games “you ready to give up?” You sent the boy a glare as it only made the Michigan player laugh “just when I thought you could have been stronger than you actually came off.” The compliment was backhanded as Mark laughed. 

The boys responded with groans as the idea of this game continuing made them all feel sick “I’m going to bed.” Quinn announced as he shook his head “me too.” With that boys went in groups as your constant bickering got tiresome. 

Seven games had gone on and the new score was 16 all and you were just as irritated now as you were then “could you hold off on killing each other until tomorrow?” Ethan asked as he let out a yawn “want to watch it happen.” Mackie laughed as he nodded in agreement only going quiet when Luke sent them a glare.

Your brother rolled his eyes as he placed his hand on your shoulder “please just let him win so you can both go to bed?” Luke mumbled hoping that you would agree “never.” You grumbled as you refused to give Mark that kind of joy. 

So of course things continued and you guys were left alone but not before Luke kissed your head “now you don’t got your big brother helping you out.” Mark teased as he got the ball between his fingers as he lined up his shot. 

Mark smirked as he saw you pull your hair into a hair tie “tryna distract me with your skin?” The boy mumbled seeing your collarbones pop through the red cami vest that your were in “cause it’s not gonna work.” He added making you laugh. 

It was a hearty one as your teeth caught your lower lip “please the mere thought of tits are gonna have you not seeing straight.” You pressed your hands against the table exposing your body more to him “you wanna bet?” Mark made little effort to ignore the white lace that so clearly stuck out of your top. 

He took your silence and furrowed eyebrows as curiosity “winner takes all this game.” The hockey player offered making her scoff “higher stakes though as we’re now doing strip beer pong.” His offer was only met with the sounds of your scoff.

You crossed your arms as you couldn’t help but send him a glare “you just want to see me naked.” You rolled your eyes not wanting to give into him “don’t flatter yourself princess you aren’t my type.” Mark shook his head as he wasn’t interested in you like that “but if you are scared you’re gonna lose then I can accept-” you couldn’t even let him finish his sentence. 

“Throw the damn hall Estapa.” 

A scoff left your lips as you watched him go back to angling the hall and of course it just had to land in the beer “should we go with your shirt or your shorts first?” Mark teased as he watched you hook your fingers into your shirt before you pulled it over your head revealing the white bra you loved so much as it had a little golden v in between the wires to compliment your skin “not bad.” The boy mumbled to himself as he had seen you in less before but never in something with lace. 

You took your cup and brought it to your lips letting the unsweetened liquid hit your tongue as you chugged it back not caring at the amount that dripped down your chin “what?” You asked dropping the cup to the ground as the boy looked like he was watching a dream “nothing.” Mark ignored how your lips were wet and the top of the lace of your bra as getting soaked as beer dropped down your chest. 

Of course your ball went in and off went his shirt, it was followed by your shorts and then his. Until eventually you were both only on your undergarments “need some help getting that bra off?” Mark joked as he watched you reach behind your back but not before you flipped him off. 

The idea of anyone being able to come down at any point didn’t seem to bother either of you as you clicked the clasp of your bra letting it fall down your arms as the cool summer night air made your nipples harden “you really do have secrets Hughesy.” Mark felt his mouth water as his eyes were drawn to the sparkling titanium bar that was pierced through your left nipple “shut up.” You grumbled as you attempted to ignore the way his hardening stare made you feel. 

As you potted your final ball it left the boy having to discard of his boxers “don’t bother with those.” You mumbled leaning down to grab your bra from the floor “would hate to see what isn’t there.” The claim was a total slap in his face and you knew what you were doing as you aimed to piss him off. 

It infuriated Mark with how well you knew to get under his skin “please you’d be lucky if I fucked you.” You began walking over to him as your bra was thrown onto the table “Mark I don’t think you even know how to make a girl come.” You shot back as you pressed your finger into his chest “I’d have you struggling to walk tomorrow.” Mark shook his head as he wrapped his hand around your wrist pushing your hand away from his chest.

This was the closest you had ever been to him before as his eyes pierced yours “I wouldn’t fuck you if you were the last man on this planet.” You laughed as you turned to walk away but the boy was quick to pull you back “so if I felt those pretty little panties would they be dry?” His voice was barely a whisper as he walked you back against the table until you were finally sat on it.

Your eyes were wide as you shook your head desperate to not give him the enjoyment of seeing that he had indeed won “be as dry as the desert.” You spoke through gritted teeth almost squealing as Mark dug his fingers into the skin of your hips “you gonna let me test my theory then?” He asked dropping his head to the point where his lips hovered over yours.

All you could do was nod as you before his lips were on yours. It was messy as your hands your tugging through his hair like you didn’t want him to ever leave you “fuck.” He grumbled feeling your teeth sink down onto his.

It was like you knew what you were doing as you smirked “even as I’ve got you ready for a good fuck you’re still acting like a fucking brat.” The college boy growled pinching your chin between his fingers as he clenched his jaw “what are you gonna so about it?” You sent him a smirk as you swore that if this was a battle, you were winning it.

Mark spoke to himself under his breath as he dropped his head to your jaw as he began planting kisses on your skin “shouldn’t even fucking treat you well.” His voice sent shivers through your ears as he continued dropping his lips down your chest “saw you looking at it.” His eyes locked onto your breast “you can touch it y’know.” You teased tugging your fingers through his hair making him groan in the process. 

He wasn’t going to be told again as he latched his lips around your pierced nipple as he groaned swirling his tongue around the piece of jewellery “fuck.” You swore trying to shut your legs to relieve the tension between your thighs “you still think that I can’t make you feel good?” Mark brought his hands down to your legs making you shiver as he forced your legs open. 

You chewed at your lip watching him get closer to the pool that had formed in your panties “when I speak you need to answer me princess.” You swore the hockey player growled as you nodded “know you can’t.” The tough facade you had up was hanging by a thread and it only grew weaker with how his hands grew closer to your core.

A gasp left your lips as his hand cupped your core “fuck!” Your moan was swallowed by his lips “you little liar.” Mark clicked his tongue as a wet patch formed in your panties “please.” His thumb pressed against your clit where it drew soft circles.

Your head dropped against his shoulder as your body grew soft “what do you need pretty girl?” Marks voice was soft as he left a kiss on your forehead “you.” You croaked out as he toyed with your panties finally pushing them to the side. 

Mark teased you as you shook your head “want more.” You whimpered looking up at him with a pout “please.” You begged edging your cunt closer to his fingers “didn’t know that all I needed to do was fuck you to get you to shut up.” Mark sighed as he teased your slit. 

His fingers took their time plunging into your cunt “god!” Your groan was swallowed by his hand “you want your brothers to hear how much you enjoy my fingers fucking your pussy?” The hockey player rasped into your ear as you shook your head. 

His fingers were thick against the walls of your cunt as he curved his fingers into a come here motion “they can’t.” You mumbled growing panicked as you were reminded of how all three of your brothers were upstairs “then keep those pretty little lips shut if it’s not gonna be too hard for ya?” Mark tauted you as you mewled under his attention.

You clenched around him as you nodded finally going quiet “like having you all quiet now.” As you tilted your head up trying to bring your body closer to his Mark took the opportunity to nip at your neck “no!” You gasped as he inserted a third finger not caring about your protests. 

Mark smirked as he didn’t care “think you’re in a place to make the demands?” He scoffed as he clicked his tongue “thought you were smarter than that.” The hockey player teased as you pouted “the boys are gonna see.” You complained as his eyes sharpened. 

Somehow the words made his whole demeanour change “you worry what those boys are gonna think of you now?” Mark spat as he increased the pace of his fingers as he fucked your cunt “like you really gonna now care about them seeing you like the slut you’ve become f’me?” He added standing up straight as he glared at you. 

Your lips remained sealed as you tried to writhe your hips against his hand “remember pretty girl you answer me when I talk to you.” The hockey player warned “I’m your slut.” The words came from your lips as it made him grow surprised. 

The words made his cock grow hard against his boxers “you happy to see me or what?” You smirked feeling it press into your knee “think I need to fuck this behaviour out of you.” Mark grumbled pulling your panties down your legs as it hooked around your ankles. 

You had finally pushed Mark to a point where he had snapped and he wasn’t ready to come down from it yet “fuck I don’t have a condom.” The boy complained as he hadn’t exactly thought that having sex on this trip was on the cards for him “on the pill.” You shook your head offering a counter point that he gladly took. 

Being a hockey player you weren’t surprised that his cock was on the larger side of big but you had to admit that your mouth did water when he retracted his fingers from your cunt to pull his boxers down letting his boner hit his pelvic bone “you still sure that this is what you want?” Sure Mark thought you were still irritating but the even with that irritation he still believed in consent “please.” You whimpered as you bit down on your lower lip watching in awe as he pumped his cock a few times before he tapped the swollen head on your clit coating it in his precum. 

There was a moment between you both that if you weren’t still so buzzed from the alcohol in your system you would have sworn that there was something that could have mirrored something romantic between you both. His lips were soft on yours as his cock slowly creeped into your cunt letting your walls stretch to accommodate him “fuck you’re perfect.” Mark gasped as he sunk his teeth into your shoulder as he kept himself from coming on the spot. 

He had a few moments of just staying there with his cock frozen before you finally cleared your throat “need you to fuck me Mark.” You coughed out as the boy turned his face to look at you “please.” You didn’t need to ask twice as he nodded letting his hands grip at your hips as your legs locked behind his hips. 

Even as you were outside with the breeze your skin felt like it was on fire when his eyes pierced your gaze “how many guys you let have this tight little cunt of yours?” Mark made little effort to try to avoid the fact that he was jealous of his own question when the idea of some other guy fucking you came into his mind. 

As his cock throbbed in your core you struggled to stay focused “j-just t-tw-two.” You stammered falling over your words as his thrusts became deeper “and did they make you feel this good?” Mark swore that the image of you beneath him struggling to even shake your head as your breasts bounced with each thrust that he made, would he engraved in his brain forever. 

The first time you had sex was in high school when you lost it to your boyfriend of two years and you were both virgins. He came within a couple of pumps of his cock and left you there frustrated and alone as he went to shower only handing you a wet cloth before he shut the door behind himself. The other was a jock that was only sleeping with you to get the attention of an ex so the moment she came knocking on the door he went running back to her. 

So if you truly thought about it Mark was your first time, not the embarrassing your overly awkward one. But your first time where you knew he was confident in what he did “didn’t come.” Even as you barely whispered those words Mark still heard you and he couldn’t help but smirk. 

If anything Mark took that as a reason to quicken his thrusts as he watched your eyes roll back “gonna make you feel so fucking good then.” Your brain fog made you wonder if he was merely thinking aloud or actually talking to you “and to think that you really put up that whole act before?” The hockey players teasing tone had you clenching around him as you propped your hands up behind you to stop you from falling back. 

His hand took the opportunity to slide between your bodies as he found your clit “you’re so fucking pretty when you’re so cock drunk.” The compliment came with a groan as he began toying his thumb over your clit “not gonna last.”

You warned not caring who heard your whimper that echoed from your chest.

Mark felt his thrusts grow irregular with how you cunt squeezed his cock with the new pressure your clit felt that had you wanting to press your thighs together “go make a mess doll.” There came the softest of the pet names from the night as he kissed you lips letting his hunger and pure desire to be the first guy that has you coming on their cock, take over his mind.

All that was left for you to do was listen to him as your lips let out a gaspy moan “holy fuck!” You swore as your eyes screwed shut letting white specks scattered themselves on the backs of your eyelids like stars in the night sky “breathe through it.” Mark cooed helping you on as the movements of his thumb combined with the thrusts of his cock lulled you through the brunt of your orgasm that had your legs shaking against his hips.

Before Mark could let his orgasm take charge he slid his cock out from your cunt making sure that you had come before that and he replaced the walls of your cunt with his hand “wha-” you grew confused at his abrupt movement “oh baby you have to work for me to come in you.” He grunted watching the warm sticky ropes shoot onto your stomach. 

It made you whimper as you watched almost hypnotized by the sight “next time if you aren’t a fucking brat I might let you get it properly.” The hockey player explained tapping the head of his now soothing cock on your clit letting what was left in him ooze onto your slit “that was.” Your chest heaved as you swore that you had just had the hottest experience of your life.

Mark laughed as he nodded “I know.” He pecked your lips as he reached down to where your panties had fallen to and made the effort to slide them back onto you but not before the hockey player kissed your lips “think it’s time for you to go to bed.” A yawn left your lips as you nodded at his words. 

He finished dressing you and even opted on helping you up the stairs before he left you tucked into your sheets where you nuzzled your head into the soft pillow “maybe you aren’t that bad Hughes.” Mark mumbled feeling his heart grow full at the sight of you blissfully drifting off to sleep. 

But as he let your door softly shut after him it would seem that nothing would actually ever truly change between you both. Because at the end he was always going to be your brothers friend who pissed you off, and well you were always meant to be Luke’s hot sister.

Yet the true test that would come after this was when Mark would have to realize that you weren’t his, no he wasn’t good enough to get that right to have you under his arm at every event on campus. Instead he was destined to watch other guys fill that role one you finally grew into a more confident state. 

“Since when has Rutger had a thing for little Hughes?”

[three-headed-monster]

brandt/luke: a primer

i'm gonna be super honest, there's nothing that's prompting this. it's quite literally self-indulgent for me to archive their interactions before i forget them all!

so hello ! welcome ! if you're here, i presume you're clicking because you're like 'what the fuck is this, luke hughes and who now?' and yeah that would be me too if i didn't know the background information

but it exists!!! and it has spiralled far beyond my wildest dreams and become an actual Thing that i would consider one of the ships i ride the HARDEST for!!!!!! that i have somehow convinced my closest friends to also ride for, which is the biggest accomplishment for a ship, as we all know

here's who the ship consists of:

luke hughes!

(sorry he looks cursed but this is not a post about how attractive he is)

he was the 4th overall pick in the 2021 draft or smth, no big deal, just comes from an extremely talented hockey family and plays with his brother in new jersey now. used to play at the university of michigan, which unfortunately is an important setting for many, many rarepair ships. don't know if there are really any fun facts about him but he used to model for american eagle and got made fun of for that

anyways here's the second person in the ship, brandt clarke !

(did i choose a significantly better looking photo of him for this than with luke? yes, absolutely, because it's important that you think he's attractive)

8th overall pick to the la kings, former don mills flyer with shane wright and brennan othmann, former barrie colts captain, friends with jack quinn, etc etc. you may actually know him from that time he tried to jump the glass and fight a fan in the stands, i think that video went p viral on hockey twitter. the most important thing you know though is that he has more attitude and swagger in his pinky finger than the majority of people have in their whole BODY

so let's venture back to 2022, and how this all started, with a conversation between me and @fifthovertime about the greater toronto area and its hockey connections

toronto, as many might know, is considered a hockey hotbed, due to its abundance of minor hockey teams. it's where a lot of nhl players come from, and where a lot of players call home and return to in the summers.

luke, prior to moving to michigan with his parents and brothers so quinn could play with the ntdp, used to live in toronto while his dad worked for the leafs. at this time, there were a lot of other young budding stars in the area, brandt clarke included. he'd moved down from ottawa to play on a minor midget team in toronto, the don mills flyers, which was rival minor hockey team to luke's. however, since the toronto hockey scene was so tight (and because brandt's older brother was playing with luke's on the same team), they would periodically see each other and play pond hockey together. as kids do.

don't believe me? hear it from brandt himself. timestamp from about 2:55 of the video to about 3:55.

this is what i like to call interaction #1. of course, it's really just brandt retelling a story, but it's the first time i heard about any sort of friendship between the hughes brothers and the clarkes. very wholesome, you can tell brandt really has a hero complex for luke and jack, it's frankly adorable.

and if you go back, you can even see that brandt was a really supportive friend! he commented on luke’s commitment post to umich and luke liked the comment, at the time

but they’re not friends. no, i’d call them far from that. because slowly....you can start to see that hatred is building........because brandt starts to know he's good enough to go fourth overall. and he would love to go to a team with his brother on it.....but there's another brother standing in the way of that.

he doesn't speak about luke in particular in this interview, but he definitely talks about njd as if he doesn't think it's a realistic option for him

at this point then, the narrative is pretty clear. it was once a friendship, that slipped away from both of them because of distance, and although brandt once had reverence for it, he’s soured on the idea. he wishes he could be good enough to play with his brother too. he hates that luke hughes is good enough at hockey to do it. luke to him is less so an extension of his brothers, but an obstacle for brandt to overcome, an obstacle that stands in the way of everything he wants.

but so far it’s been pretty one sided…right? it’s all kind of just been brandt’s feelings toward luke, right?

behold, the glorious moment that lives entirely rent free in my mind, every. single. day.

i soooo wish i had the video for this (screw tsn for wiping their archives so often) BUT TRUST WHEN I WATCHED IT FOR THE FIRST TIME I AUDIBLY GASPED.

he said it with so much fucking snark, and an EYE ROLL. the inflappable luke hughes, who has seemingly never let an opponent get in the way of him and his friends having fun and kicking ass at the same time, is bothered by a dig from brandt clarke. that didn't even mention him directly! that was more about techniques of the game than it was about the usa players! "he can say what he wants", but he didn't even say anything about YOU

genuinely, i will thank mark masters for bringing this up with luke forever, he's so valid for that, he knew we needed this narrative.

what's even better is that THE NEXT DAY during the semi-final? guess who scores the game-winning goal. and guess who just happens to be flopping like a fish on the ice during it, trying to prevent it from going in.

and thus brandt/luke is born! as taylor describes it as, it is bitch ass cunt (luke) for cunt ass bitch (brandt). they are each other's equals and opposites. they're both cocky and sure of themselves and can give it as good as it gets, and what they like about each other is what happens when that is stripped away. they are undoubtedly MY favourite luke hughes narrative, and the only one i feel truly captures his narrative essence, away from his brothers. sure, others are cute and i can see where people are coming from, but nothing gets luke as much as this gets luke.

this is luke, unfiltered, and it's only brandt that can bring it out of him.

[grmpgm]

HIIII! :D

who would you voice cast for lady killer?

Ooh, this is a good one- thank you, Shay! :3

Ideally, Julie Katz. Unfortunately, I have no clue what she sounds like irl LOL. Here are some examples of what I’d want Lady to sound like, though!

… interesting subject matter aside, (just as a heads up- this video hasn’t exactly aged great) Grumpy Cat’s verses in this are GENUINELY THE CLOSEST approximation to a Lady Killer voice I’ve ever found. 😭😭😭

I would want her to sound a bit older, and she’s got a deeper voice, but otherwise the intonation is spot on!

Sargent Calhoun from Wreck It Ralph is pretty close in sound, but Lady is MUCH less composed + reserved- Lady Killer is less authoritative, more hair-triggered and trying-to-scare-you.

Another performance that feels very Lady Killer to me is Madame Judy from The Weird Al Show (<- free to watch on YouTube- would ABSOLUTELY recommend checking it out!). Not this voice exactly, obviously, but I love the idea of her getting especially gruff with emotion (and Lady just being a lotta bit unstable LOL.)

also, “weird al” yankovic is my secret alternate voice hc for danny sexbang, so this clip feels very fitting ^^

other notes …

Lady Killer smokes, and her voice is noticeably raspy and hoarse because of it.

She can’t sing very well.

Lady Killer has a New Jersey accent- it’s most obvious when she’s emotional.

She’s perpetually foul-mouthed and irritated-sounding.

[michelle-is-writing]

Family Matters, Greg House

Word count: 1.7k~

In the time I’ve worked at Princeton-Plainsboro teaching hospital, some might say I'm the bubbly doctor in our group. Although I don’t know how true this might be, I do know everyone can agree I'm definitely more bubbly than doctor Gregory House, but that's for another day to discuss. I'm usually the one people send in to try and cheer up patients. Because of this, I mostly work in the pediatrics ward where young, sick children are. Sometimes, I have an easy time talking to the kids and making them happier, and sometimes, I don't; usually, when I'm upset, I have a hard time.

Right now, I'm having a very difficult time.

A young New Jersey girl at the age of 11 had developed mastoiditis, an infection that affects the mastoid bone above the ear and is typically caused by a middle ear infection. Usually, this all clears up, but sadly, this infection had grown to be so bad that the girl ended up with only twenty-three percent of her hearing left in the one ear. Although this is the case, I'm not having a hard time because of the girl's loss of hearing, no.

I have my own problems at the moment.

Since I'm working in the children's ward, I don't get to see Wilson or Greg as much as I want to. Despite Greg's tendency to be an asshole, he's still my best friend and not to mention that Wilson is the kind of guy anyone can talk to about anything. However, our schedules are all different, so, as I said: we don't get to see each other that often.

At least they're still in my life though. For my family, I can’t say the same. Recently, I've just lost the closest person to me in my family; although it wasn’t through death, but through immaturity and childishness. Because of this, all of my other family members have closed me out as well, causing me to be alone. With all of my friends busy and my family shutting me out, I have no one to talk to or enjoy time with... no one. I can't even get a boyfriend for Christ's sake, and it's not like the guy I have my eyes on actually likes me back. Greg is the type of guy you can easily fall in love with, yet at the same, you really shouldn't.

"Doctor (y/n)," the young girl by the name of Jessie states. Putting all my focus back on her, I remind myself not become distracted anymore today. This isn’t the first time, unfortunately. "Will my hearing ever return?"

I smile sadly at her and shake my head. "I'm sorry, Jessie," I tell her. "Your hearing in that ear won't return, but it's not a bad thing!" I assure her. She smiles in relief. "We can always get you a hearing aid, and that will help get your hearing back to normal again, but the wait might be a little long," I explain. "Is that okay with you?"

She nods her head at my question. "I'm okay with that, doctor (Y/n)," Jessie tells me, "I'll have my family help me until then," she smiles brightly. "You can always look up to your family, right?" She states, confident in her words.

Tears slowly rising to my eyes at the thought, I nod and quickly blink them away. "That's right," I tell her, still smiling. "And don't you ever forget it," looking toward her parents, I nod my head. "The discharge nurse will be here in a few moments with the papers. If you'll excuse me..."

Without another word, I quickly leave the room and walk as fast as I can to the nearest empty room. I prefer going to James’ office instead, but it's two floors away, and I don't want any awkward elevator trips. So, before I have a mental breakdown in the middle of the hallway, I find an unlocked janitorial closet before walking in and closing the door behind me, ultimately sliding down the hardwood door once it's shut.

Sitting on the cold, tile floor, I begin sobbing as quiet as I can, my hand covering my mouth. I already had my family drama on my mind all day, but for that girl to unintentionally throw it back in my face? That was the frosting on top of the already leaning, three-layer cake.

Tears stream down my cheeks like raindrops as I cry my heart out. I can tell my cheeks are red by the sensation of heat I currently feel on them; my hands feel it too. I'm crying so hard my chest begins to heave up and down as if I were having a panic attack. Oh God, I can't have a panic attack. Not here, not now.

Behind me, I feel two knocks on the door, causing me to halt. The only problem is: the knock wasn't above me, it was where my back is against the door. Remind you, I'm currently sitting on the floor. The only way someone can knock that low is if there is a midget behind the door there or someone used something like a cane... it's Greg.

Slowly moving up a little, I shakily open the door and let the grey haired man in, watching as he looks at me with pity. I've never seen the confident doctor House look like this with anyone. It's like a... a totally different Greg.

Sitting down beside me against the door, Greg drops his cane beside him as he sighs and wraps his arm around me before gently tugging my body close to his. Shocked, I tense up, tears no longer pouring out of my eyes. Greg never comforts anyone like this. He always makes fun of them or says something that many people take offense to, but he never... he never cares. He always brushes it off his shoulder, yet for some reason, he seems like he actually cares this time.

"What's wrong?" He asks, his voice deep as usual with no emotion.

I wait a few seconds before lying. "Nothing important," I tell him, my voice wavering from my scattered emotions.

Pulling me back to face him, Greg looks me in the eye before sighing again. "I know you've been crying by the wet tears on your cheeks, slight puffiness, and redness to your eyes, and fast-paced breathing - and I don’t even have to be a doctor to notice that," he breaks down my current state, lifting an eyebrow. "Now, are you going to begrudgingly tell me what's wrong or do I need to stay in here with you until you finally give in to all my unrelenting sexiness."

His comment makes me laugh, causing a grimace of a smile to fall on House's lips. Out of all of us, I've been the only one to do that. I've been the only one to break Greg's stone exterior and interior. Plus, It doesn't help that I like Greg romantically. I like the fact that he's confident and witty; he's not afraid to be himself. Although, he can still be quite an ass to others, but to me, he’s always been nothing but kind. Even when I first started working here, he was still patient and sweet - a rare sight to everyone else. It used to hurt me to think he’ll never feel the same way as me, but I’ve gotten so used to that fact that it doesn’t even bother me anymore.

"It's just... my family," I explain, Greg pushing my head back onto his shoulder as he holds me. At this point, I'm not shocked by anything he does. The infamous doctor could be high for all I know. He probably took a few Vicodin tablets before coming down here now that I think of it.

"They've completely... shut me out," I explain, shrugging as I rest my hand on his shoulder. "They never talk to me anymore, they've blocked me in any way of even trying to talk to them. My cousin just sent me an email last night telling me that I didn't need to contact them anymore as they no longer wanted me in their lives," I close my eyes, tears rolling down my cheeks. "Plus, I wish I could work with you guys again," I take a breath before saying the next thing. "I miss you."

A few seconds of silence pass before Greg leans down to my face level. Opening my eyes, I'm greeted by his own sapphire orbs, watching as he continually inches forward until his lips plant themselves on mine. Our eyes close at the same time in response to the touch of our lips, and they stay that way too. With my heart beating fast and a different fire in my cheeks, I instantly respond to his kiss while placing my hands on the sides of his face, feeling his hands attach themselves to my hips as I do so. We kiss until we have to breathe, both of us pulling apart simultaneously.

"They don't deserve you," Greg tells me, a little out of breath. "You are wonderful; a decent and kind human being, inside and out," he takes a small pause, flashing his blue eyes down to mine. "I never thought I’d say this, but… because of you, I think maybe not everyone is a horrible person and that maybe I can be a bit nicer a time or two," he then smiles at me, kissing me once more. "You have made me feel love believe it or not."

Smiling, I lean up to kiss his forehead before sitting back down and resting my head against his chest, my eyes cast upon him as he looks down at me. "You've also made me feel love," I confess to him, my voice shy. "I've grown to love you as well. You and your sarcastic comments and witty comebacks and your insults to apparent stupid people," for once, he laughs, making me grin. "I can't help but love it all."

After a few moments, Greg speaks up. "I know I can't be your entire family," he murmurs, holding me close. "But I can try to be your... your..." He draws on, clearly trying to come up with an appointed title for himself. After a few seconds, I giggle and cut him off.

"Boyfriend?" I ask, making him roll his eyes.

"I was going to say significant other," he argues, looking over to me. "The term boyfriend is so, well, childish," he complains, making me giggle.

Leaning closer, I peck his lips. "Good thing you have a childish mind," I tease him, pressing my lips to his one more time before he responds to my comment with something horrible or completely inappropriate. It is Doctor House we’re talking about, after all.

[thimbil]

Having some thoughts about the references and inspirations used for the Bad Batch’s designs.

So Boba Fett is my absolute favorite character and Temeura Morrison was perfect casting. I went to see the 2008 TCW movie in theaters because I was so excited to see him again, even if he was animated. You can imagine my disappointment. Whoever was on screen was not Temeura Morrison. You could sort of see a resemblance if you squinted and didn’t think too hard about it. They replaced Temeura with Racially Ambiguous G.I. Joe. If I didn’t know better and someone told me the animated clones are space Italians from the moon of New Jersey I would buy it. One Million Brothers Pizzeria and Italian Bistro. Not that there’s something wrong with being space Italian, I just don’t think it’s the right choice for the Fetts. The design got slightly improved by season 7 but it still bugs the hell out of me.

I did eventually get into the show later and (of course) got invested in the clones. Unfortunately, they were largely sidelined by the Jedi storylines. Out of the two new main characters created for TCW, Ahsoka definitely got more development and focus than Rex. When they announced The Bad Batch, I was excited to see a show specifically devoted to the clones… at least that’s what it said on the tin. We have all seen what lurks beneath those stylish helmets.

Jango Fett, you are NOT the father.

So who is?

Based on interviews with Filoni, it sounds like the Bad Batch was a George Lucas idea. And like all his ideas, it’s super derivative. The original trilogy directly lifted elements from sci fi serials, westerns, and samurai movies, more specifically Kurosawa films like The Hidden Fortress. For The Bad Batch character designs, the influence is obviously American action and adventure movies.

Now let’s get specific. Bad Batch, who’s your daddy?

Hunter

Sylvester Stallone as Rambo in First Blood 1982. That bandana has become an integral part of the iconic action hero look. You see a character wearing one and it’s a visual shorthand for either “this character is a tough guy” like Billy played by Sonny Landham in Predator 1987, or “this character thinks he is/wants to be a tough guy” like Brand played by Josh Brolin in The Goonies 1985 or Edward Frog played by Corey Feldman in The Lost Boys 1987.

Hunter’s model is closest to the original clone base. If you look closely you will see the eyebrows are straighter with a much lower angle to the arch. His nose is also not the same shape as a standard clone like Rex, including a narrower bridge. It’s certainly not Temeura Morrison’s nose. Remember what I said about space Italians? It didn’t take much to push the existing clone design to resemble an specific Italian man instead of a specific Māori man. The 23&Me came back, and Hunter inherited more than the bandana from Sylvester.

Crosshair

The long narrow nose, the sharp cheekbones, the scowl. That’s no clone, that’s just animated Clint Eastwood. Not even Young and Hot Clint Eastwood from Rawhide 1959-1965. With that hair, I’m talking Gran Torino 2008. The man of few words schtick and family friendly toothpick in lieu of cigar are pure Eastwood as The Man With No Name from Sergio Leone’s spaghetti westerns A Fist Full of Dollars 1964, For a Few Dollars More 1965, and The Good the Bad and the Ugly 1966.

In a way, this is full circle because the actor Jeremy Bulloch took inspiration from Clint Eastwood for his performance as Boba Fett in ESB.

Wrecker

In an interview Filoni lists the Hulk as an (obvious) inspiration for Wrecker. Ever seen the old Hulk tv show from 1978? Well take a look at the actor who played him, Lou Ferrigno. Would you look at that. Even has his papa’s nose.

You could make the argument that Wrecker was influenced by The Rock, an appropriately buff ‘n bald Polynesian (Samoan, not Maori) man. But look at him next his Fast and Furious costar Vin Diesel and tell me which one resembles Wrecker’s character model more.

Tech

Tech is a little trickier for me to place. If he has a more direct inspiration it must be something I haven’t seen. That said, his hairline is very Bruce Willis as John McClane in Die Hard 1988. His quippiness and large glasses remind me of Shane Black as Hawkins from Predator 1987. In terms of his face, he looks a but like the result of McClane and Hawkins deciding to settle down and start a family. Although, Tech’s biggest contributors are probably just everyone on TV Trope’s list for Smart People Wear Glasses.

And finally,

Echo

Oh Echo. Considering he wasn’t created for the Bad Batch, he probably wasn’t based on a particular character or movie. But if I had to guess, his situation and appearance remind me a lot of Alex Murphy played by Peter Weller in Robocop 1987. However, Robocop explored the Man or Machine Identity Crisis with more nuance, depth, and dignity. Yikes.

The exact tropes and references used in The Bad Batch have been done successfully with characters who aren’t even human. Gizmo from Gremlins 2: The New Batch 1990 had a brief stint with the Rambo bandana. I could have picked any number of characters for Defining Feature Is Glasses but here is the most cursed version of Simon of Alvin and the Chipmunks. Suffer as I have. Marc Antony with his beloved Pussyfoot from Looney Tunes has the same tough guy with a soft center vibe as Wrecker and his Lula (also a kind of cat). Hell, in the same show we have Cad Bane sharing Cowboy Clint Eastwood with Crosshair. I actually think Bane makes a better Eastwood which is wild considering Crosshair has Eastwood’s entire face and Bane is blue.

So we’ve established you don’t need your characters to look exactly like their inspirations to match their vibe. So why go through the trouble and cost of creating completely new character designs instead of recycling and altering assets they already had on hand? Just slap on a bandana, toothpick, goggles, and make Wrecker bigger than the others while he does a Hulk pose and you’re done. Based on the general reaction to Howzer it would have been a low effort slam dunk crowd pleaser.

But they didn’t do that.

So here’s the thing. I like the tropes used in The Bad Batch. I am a fan of action adventure movies from the 80s-90s, the sillier the better. I am part of the Bad Batch’s target audience. Considering what I know about Disney and Lucasfilm, I went in with low expectations. I genuinely don’t hate the idea of seeing references to these actors and media in The Bad Batch. I don’t think basing these characters on tropes was a bad idea. If anything it’s a solid starting point for building the characters.

The trouble is nothing got built on the foundation. The plot is directionless, the pacing is wacky, and the characters have nearly no emotional depth or defining character arcs. They just sort of exist without reacting much while the story happens around them. But I can excuse all of that. You don’t stay a fan of Star Wars as long as I have not being able to cherrypick and fill in the gaps. This show has a deeper issue that shouldn’t be ignored.

Why do the animated clones bear at best only a passing resemblance to their live action actor? In interviews, Filoni wouldn’t shut up but the technological advancements in the animation for season 7. So if they are updating things, why not try to make the clones a closer match to their source material? Why did they have to look like completely different people in The Bad Batch to be “unique”? Looking like Temeura Morrison would have no bearing on their special abilities and TCW proved you can have identical looking characters and still have them be distinct. In fact, that’s a powerful theme and the source of tragedy for the clones’ narrative overall.

Here’s Filoni’s early concept art of Crosshair, Wrecker, Tech, and Hunter. (Interesting but irrelevant: Wrecker seems to have a cog tattoo similar to Jesse’s instead of a scar. Wouldn’t it have been funny if they kept that so when they met in season 7 one if them could say something like “Hey we’re twins!” That’s a little clone humor. Just for you guys 😘)

None of these drawings look like the clones in TCW, much less Temeura Morrison. Let’s be generous. Maybe Filoni struggles with drawing a real person’s likeness, as many people do. But he had to hand this off to other artists down the line whose job specifically involves making a stylized character resemble their actor. Yet the final designs missed the mark almost as much as this initial concept. Starting to seem as if the clones looking more like Temeura Morrison was never even on the table. It wasn’t a lack of creativity, skill or technical limitations on the part of the creative team. I don’t think there is an innocent explanation. They went out of their way to make the final product exactly how we got it.

This goes beyond homage. They could have made the same pop culture references and character tropes without completely stripping Temeura Morrison from the role he originated. It was a very purposeful choice to replace him with more immediately familiar actors from established franchises and films. It wouldn’t shock me if Filoni, Lucas, and anyone else calling the shots didn’t even think hard or care enough about the decision to immediately recognize a problem. And I don’t think they believed anyone else would either. At least no one whose opinion they cared about. Those faces are comfortingly familiar and proven bankable. They are what we’re all used to seeing after all. They’re white.

Lack of imagination, bad intentions, or simple ignorance doesn’t really matter in the end. The result is the same. Call it what it is. They replaced a man of color with a bunch of white guys. That’s by the book garden variety run of the mill whitewashing. There’s no debate worth having about it. For a fanbase that loves to nitpick things like whether or not it’s in character for Han to shoot first or Jeans Guy in the Mandalorian, we sure are quick to find excuses for clones who look nothing like their template. Why is that? If you don’t see the problem, congratulations. Your ass is showing. Pull your jeans up.

[onbeinganangel]

wip snip ✨

hmmm. if you've tagged me to do one of these in the last... forever, sorry i have been AWOL and also sorry this is not the drarry you expected, thank you, love you and appreciate you x i have unfortunately fallen victim to the fake-sport-drugs-trauma-and-mafia rubbish trilogy so here’s a very rough, very unedited wee bit of me trying to figure out this new fandom thing

He stands in the shower, staring at the tile as if the tile has the answers he needs, as if the water can cleanse him of his thoughts and his sins.

He thinks of Jean — but Jean had merely been a burst of sunshine on a neverending life of dark clouds. Then there was the unfortunate one-time thing with Seth, but Seth too, had been like a sudden wind to shake things up, but not leaving much behind. In that sense, Thea had been much-needed rain after a drought: welcome, and good, but not meant to last. Jeremy had been the closest to something. A sudden hurricane of passion and fun and liberation that Kevin’s life had lacked. But hurricanes too, pass. And Kevin had picked up the pieces and tidied up after. 

But neither of them were them. Andrew and Neil weren’t passing moments, weren’t phenomena that would come and eventually go. Neil and Andrew were the soil under his feet, and the stars above his head, and every single thing in between. Andrew and Neil had been so before they were ever Andrew-and-Neil.

Neil was a conundrum. NeilNeilNeilNathanielNeil. A tiny blur of auburn running in a black jersey too big for him, crooked front teeth with a gap between them. Now, a less tiny but still a blur — the fastest of them all, pushing Kevin back, giving as hard as he’d get. Neil was blood, whether Kevin like that idea or not.

And if Neil was blood, Andrew was flesh. Was a, “Can I?” before grabbing Kevin’s torn hand to inspect it, the very first time they’d met. Andrew was an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, was a deal where they both come out on top, fuck the consequences.

Andrew and Neil, Neil and Andrew. That no matter what, Kevin wanted never to separate. Always the two of them. Whatever that meant in his fucked up concussed-one-time-too-many brain.

Kevin rinses his hair with a blast of cold water that doesn’t do much to get him out of his stupid state. Giving up, he takes himself in hand and imagines just what had kept Andrew’s mouth busy the night before, just what he’d done to make Neil make all those breathy sounds he’d heard through the wall.  He decides this ridiculously big house he’ll never come back to will have to keep his secrets, for better or for worse. 

tagging the poor bastards that i managed to drag into this hell with me, and the ones that helped drag me into it in the first place, what are you all working on? @mintawasalreadytaken @skeptiquewrites @makeitp1nk @whataboutmyfries

[kozumekenza]

on my mind :: one

:: suna rintarou x f! reader :: playlist :: masterlist :: 

:: taglist: open :: wc: 1.2k ::

After a drunken one-night stand with your ex, you thought you could get him out of your life for good. Unfortunately, the two of you can’t seem to keep away from each other. Why can’t you leave each other alone? And more importantly, why is he still on your mind?  

tw: mentions of alcohol, hangover, talk of sex, one-night stand, profanity, past toxic relationship

As you slowly drifted into consciousness, the first thing you noticed was the intense pounding in your head. The second thing you noticed was that you were not in your bedroom. 

You blinked slowly, squinting at the sunlight streaming in through the curtains. You laid there for a second, allowing your body to finish waking up while you assessed the situation you were in. You were on your stomach on a comfy bed, one cheek squished into a soft pillow. The window with the offending sunlight was to your left. The walls and decor that you could see definitely did not match what was in your own apartment. The throbbing in your head led you to believe that you did some heavy drinking last night. 

You lifted your head, about to turn, when something moved next to you. Okay, you went home with someone last night, no big deal. You continued your slow move to your back, hoping the person next to you would be asleep. It appeared that you were in luck. You were faced with a very muscular back. You leaned up a bit, trying to get a glimpse of whoever you slept with last night. Strong arms, sharp jawline, and shit. 

You slept with fucking Suna Rintarou. 

Now you were in a hurry. You had to get the fuck out of here before he woke up. You had no desire to speak with him, no desire to see him, and definitely no desire to sleep with him again. You gently left the bed, praying to all the gods that he would stay passed out. A few quick glances showed you that your clothes were strewn about the entire studio apartment, so you just grabbed the first things you could find. Yesterday’s panties, check. Random t-shirt that definitely wasn’t yours, check. And there - on the kitchen counter - was your skirt. It was almost a complete outfit, thank God. You tiptoed towards it, grabbing the fabric to put it on, and goddamnit, it was fucking ripped down the entire side. You didn’t want to even think about what that implied. Another quick glance, and at least drunk you was in the right state of mind to hang up your jacket with your wallet and your phone in it. You swung the jacket around your body, stepped into last night’s heels, and cast one more wary look towards the sleeping figure in bed before shoving the door open and disappearing into the morning light. 

---

After stepping out onto the streets of Tokyo, you were lucky enough to see that Suna’s apartment wasn’t too far from your own. You kept your head down throughout your walk of shame, crafting an SOS text to your best friend, Yachi Hitoka. You had met the girl in college and bonded over your shared love of volleyball. Now, she was the closest thing you had to family in this big city. 

Walking through the door of your apartment, you made a beeline for the shower. How could this have even happened? Last you had heard, Suna was in another prefecture playing volleyball. Why was he here in Tokyo, your safe haven? You hadn’t seen him in eight years, after you graduated from Inarizaki and left Hyogo (and him) for good. 

Your high school relationship with Suna Rintarou wasn’t the best. You could admit that. It was constantly off-and-on, full of toxicity, jealousy, and emotional unavailability from the both of you. It was part of the reason why you left after high school - you had to get away from him and the cycle of pain you always put each other through. 

After leaving, you enrolled at Tokyo University and pursued a sports medicine degree. You dreamed of one day working with professional volleyball players as an athletic trainer. It was the only aspect of your relationship with Suna that you allowed to remain; after all, you had fallen in love with volleyball just as you had with him. 

The last time you had heard anything of Suna was a few months ago after a MSBY vs. Schweiden game in Tokyo. You were still close to the twins, and made a point to see them whenever they were in town for a game. Atsumu had mentioned Suna’s recent EJP game, and Osamu saw the look on your face and thumped his brother on the head. The conversation steered away from Suna after that. 

A knock on your door pulled you out of your thoughts. You pulled on some sweats and a t-shirt, thankful that today was Sunday and you didn’t start your new job until tomorrow. You swung the door open to reveal Yachi, complete with a perfect “disappointed, but not surprised” face. 

“Hey, Hitoka. Thanks for coming over.”

She gave you a small grin. “How could I not? When your best friend texts you ‘I slept with my ex’ with six exclamation points, you come running.”

You laughed at your situation and pulled her in for a hug before drifting towards the kitchen to make tea. She sat at the breakfast bar as you boiled water, squinting at you as if she wanted to say something. 

“Spit it out, ‘Toka, you can’t make me feel any worse than I already do.”

“I’m not trying to make it worse, I promise! I’m just worried about you.”

You sighed, “I know. It’s not like I did it on purpose!”

“That’s the worst part! How drunk were you that you didn’t even stop yourself from sleeping with your ex, who you haven’t seen or spoken to in eight years?”

Grimacing, you finished preparing the tea and sat down across from Yachi. “I know.”

“Well, what are you gonna do now?”

You cocked your head to the side, “What do you mean?”

She rolled her eyes, “You slept with him, y/n! What are you going to do about it?”

“Uhh,” you shrugged your shoulders, “nothing? Forget it happened? Ignore it?”

Yachi just sighed. “You aren’t going to talk to him?”

Your eyes widened in fear. “Fuck no.”

“I take it you didn’t talk to him this morning?”

“He was still asleep, thank God. Plus, it’s not like he’ll remember anyway. The only reason I knew was ‘cause I woke up next to him.”

“You didn’t leave anything at his apartment?”

“I don’t think so. I have my phone, wallet, keys-”

“All of your clothes?”

“FUCK!”

Yachi let out another sigh. “What did you leave?”

You buried your head in your hands. “Oh, y’know, just my ripped-up skirt and my bra! Oh, and I stole one of his shirts.” Yachi patted your shoulder. “And it was my expensive bra!” You let out a groan. “He won’t know it was me, right? I mean, he might not have even recognized me last night.”

“Maybe. But you also don’t know what you talked about last night.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Alright,” Yachi stood up with a grin, “Show me which t-shirt you stole from a rich, Division 1 volleyball player.”

---

“You are so fucked, y/n.”

“I know.”

In your hangover haze this morning, it appeared that the “random” shirt you had grabbed was Suna Rintarou’s volleyball jersey. 

You flung yourself across your living room couch and watched out of the corner of your eye as Yachi approached with the jersey. 

“He needs this, right?”

“He probably has an extra.”

“Y/n.”

“Hitoka.”

“You do know what jersey this is, right?”

“Unfortunately.”

“And you do know what job you are starting tomorrow?”

“Unfortunately.”

[stillbandofbrothersthirsty]

As Far As Friends Go

Chapter 26 (Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; ... Chapter 25)

The Last Chapter - May 1946

Emily’s mother frittered about smoothing the creases of Emily’s dress and plucking at non-existent lint.

“Mom, mom...mother!” Emily waved her mother away. “Let it be, I’m fine,” she tried to keep her voice calm.

Her mother took a step back with her mouth pursed. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Mom,” Emily raised her eyebrows in warning.

Her mother had the decency to direct her judgmental look at the floor. “It’s just,” she said in a hushed voice, “a divorcee?”

“Yes,” Emily said dryly, somehow this subject continued to come up. Emily probably wouldn’t have told her parents that Nixon was divorced if it could have been avoided. However, between the end of the war and the scramble to prepare for their future, the last year had been a whirlwind. “But let’s not forget, he was also a Captain!” That title had originally excited her parents when she first broke the news of their engagement, before they had learned the wedding had to be postponed until Nixon’s separation from Kathy was finalized.

That reminder seemed to perk Emily’s mother up slightly, “yes, a Captain. It was really quite nice of Lewis’ family to contribute as much as they did,” the compliment sounded obligatory. Emily’s mother would never truly comment on the Nixon’s wealth, it was undignified. But Emily was sure that fact somewhat amended Lewis’ disgraced martial status in her mother’s mind.

“Your father wasn’t pleased about it but you know how he can get. He wants to be the one to give you everything,” her mother continued. Emily began to tune out her mother’s ramblings. Once again she found herself wishing for more female friends so that she didn’t have to endure this time alone with her mother. Unfortunately, her cousins all had babies to attend to and had already excused themselves from the dressing room.

A knock at the door sounded and Emily felt instant relief. Finally, some sort of distraction from her nerves. She moved to open the door but her mother beat her to it. The door opened to the apprehensive face of George Luz, “uh, hi,” he said to Emily’s mother. Then his eyes landed on Emily. George let out a low whistle, “wowza, you look incredible!” he said appreciatively.

Emily blushed and smoothed her skirt, “thank you, George.”

“I got somethin’ here for ya,” George held up an envelope. He glanced at her mother for permission and her mother stepped aside to let him in. “Well,” George said, “Joe had it for ya but it was easier for me to run it over, because, well you know,” he shrugged and handed her the letter heavy with postage.

It was addressed in Marwa’s handwriting; her sweet friend had remained in Europe and was unable to make the trip to Chicago. But Emily and Nixon had made plans to meet up with her over their honeymoon

“Who’s that from, dear?” Emily’s mother asked.

“A friend, remember the nurse?” Emily responded already opening the envelope.

“Which nurse? I don’t remember a particular nurse.. oh that Arab girl?”

Emily shot George a look. “Mrs. Rooney is it?” George interrupted, “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you!” Emily mouthed her gratitude to him as he directed her mother to the settee. George winked and held up a thumb behind her mother’s back. “You know I’ve never been to Indiana, are there many churches there? I wouldn’t want to go if there wasn’t anywhere to attend mass on Sunday,” George’s flattery faded away as Emily turned her attention to the letter.

Marwa’s beautiful calligraphy transported Emily back to the last time she saw her friend. Their goodbye had been tearful, mostly on Emily’s part. But the friends had stuck to their commitment to write. It was in a letter to Marwa that Emily first put into words Nixon’s unconventional proposal.

Nearly a year ago Emily had stood beside Nixon looking down into the breathtaking Bavarian landscape from a balcony in Hitler’s Eagles Nest.

“Lew,” she placed a cautious hand on his hip, “what’s next for you?” It was a loaded question. Deployment to the Pacific was still an option. Emily was free to return to the states when she pleased but so many things between her and Nixon remained unresolved. The past few weeks had been a dream supplemented by good food and beautiful scenery. Emily had felt hope return to her - hope that extended beyond the end of the war. She wanted to know what life would look like next year, five years from now, and beyond. The first step in preparing for the future was to find out where Nixon saw himself.

Life had returned to Nixon the past few weeks; the receding war and his submission to Emily’s love had begun to heal him. Their time in Bavaria had been a relative heaven, but a temporary heaven.

Nixon pulled his gaze away from the captivating view to look into the grey eyes that had guided him through so much. “Dick and I are going to re-deploy to the Pacific,” he said matter-of-factually. There was no sugar coating it. He and Emily had found their sweet spot of upfront honesty. 


Emily nodded as if she had expected as much, “and then?” she asked.

Nixon had hoped she would ask that. He had seen the footage coming out of the Pacific - he needed her hope to get him out alive, he needed her to have a vision of ‘after’. “Well, I’ll go back to New Jersey, marry you and I don’t know, buy a house or something,” he leaned on the balcony.

An impulsive smile spread across Emily’s face, “marry me? Di- did you just propose to me, Lewis?”

He smirked, “I suppose I did.”

Emily narrowed her eyes playfully at him, “you suppose? Do you even want to marry me?”

“People get married all the time for many different reasons, they’re lucky if it’s for love. You should understand that better than anyone,” Nixon said, “and I love you, so yeah I want to marry you.”

Emily bit her lip to keep the smile from overtaking her face, “well who say’s I want to marry you?”

“If you were smart, you’d marry me now and hope I get blown up over Tokyo. Take me for everything that I’m worth,” Nixon joked darkly.

“Lewis!” Emily smacked his arm. He chuckled. “That’s terrible,” she admonished him, “besides I’m pretty sure Kathy beat me to that.”

“Touche.”

“That is the question though…” Emily’s tone turned serious.

“Yeah,” Nixon turned back to look out onto the landscape, “are you up to waiting for me?”

“I’ve already waited years for you to come around, what’s another few?”

Luckily, they only had to wait a year. Now, Emily found herself standing at the entrance of a grand room dressed in white holding onto her fathers arm for dear life. The loss of the marital sacrament had been a blow to her parents but after a lot of tears they had accepted that their daughter was getting married in a club hall, not a church. Emily couldn’t be bothered where she got married. Planning the wedding had been exhausting and distracting from what she’d actually been interested in planning: the honeymoon. Emily had spent far too much time mediating between her mother and her future mother-in-law.

The first couple of months back in the states, Emily had been a guest at the Nixon’s many properties along the eastern seaboard. New York City had been fun, until her mother came to visit and meet her future in-laws. Though cordial, the mothers seemed to agree on very little. However, they did manage to unite in order to bully Emily into wearing the gaudy ring Lewis had bought her out of obligation.

But Emily didn’t consider that her real engagement ring - it was simply for appearances sake. The ring she would wear as his wife would be a gold band engraved with flora. Nixon and Emily had picked it up in Paris on their way home to the states. That was all Emily had wanted. It was more fitting; a simple testament to how they had grown as individual’s and in their relationship. An ornate diamond strongly juxtaposed the world in which they had fallen in love.

As the wide doors to the hall swung open, Emily’s father squeezed her hand. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered. Emily looked up at him in shock but her ever stoic father was already looking straight ahead as if nothing had been said. But his words were monumental, that’s all she had ever wanted to hear from him.

The view down the aisle seemed incredibly long. The people who sat closest to the door were the people Emily knew the least; family friends from her parents church, the Nixons’ obligatory invitees. Emily’s hand grew sweaty around her bouquet as she gritted her teeth into a smile. She didn’t want any of them to see how nervous she was.

She began to relax as her father led her past the faces of her friends who sat closer to the front; her first co-workers from the O.S.S., the grinning faces of Harry Welsh, Frank Perconte and Babe Heffron. Emily’s throat closed with emotion as she passed Bill Guarnere and Joye Toye who wobbled, but leaned on each other, both determined to stand for the bride. Joe Toye smiled and nodded slightly from where he stood, “not just a work-wife,” he whispered jokingly as she passed. Emily’s giggle sounded nervous but confidence surged within her at his acknowledgement. Finally, the view of the altar was clear in Emily’s vision; she saw Dick Winters standing proudly beside Nixon. Suddenly, she felt so overwhelmed by emotion that she could hardly bring herself to look at her future husband.

George Luz was the first person to greet them at the end of the aisle. Emily focused all of her nerves on his steady smile. With a wink, he took Emily’s bouquet and made room for her mother to adjust her train. And then Emily was looking into the face of Lewis Nixon. The rest of the world melted away as he gazed into her sparkling grey eyes.

Everything that had happened to them the last couple of years had culminated into this very moment. It was in the moments without each other’s touch that they had learned to love each other; they had grown wiser with each fight, stronger with each shared moment of vulnerability, and in deprivation they craved only to give the other the world. Neither of them would have expected that they would end this way. That’s because this was by no means an ending; this was the beginning of life renewed.

Nixon took Emily’s trembling hands in his steady ones. “Finally,” he said with a smirk.

The End.

THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, to everyone who read this story. This was my first long fanfiction story and all of your support kept me motivated and encouraged to keep writing. Love you all <3

[greekowl87]

Fic: Embracing Parenthood 5/?

 Get caught up: (1) | (2) | (3) (4) or AO3

A/N: I’ve been writing while trying to figure out my depression but it’s not as much as I would like. I finally got this done and have two other things I am working on. Looking at episodes 4-D and Lord of the Flies, I decided to consolidate this chapter and do a focus on “Lord of the Flies”. I’m still not 100% on the direction this will be taking. I borrowed lines from the episode so, just an fyi. I used the transcript from Inside the X. Bit of light smut at the end.

Tagging @baronessblixen @suitablyaggrieved @today-in-fic @improlificinsarcasm

After a few more months, they seemed to finally be hitting their stride. This new...whatever it was...took some getting used to for Mulder and Scully. Aside from the one time they caught William’s mobile spinning under its own accord, they had not caught anything else. Scully was fine with this and shut down any attempt Mulder made to bring it up. She kept telling herself that their son was just fine and normal like any other baby. After a couple of weeks, Mulder gave up. It became an unspoken agreement between them. Aside from this, things at the academy and x-files remained quiet.

Agent Reyes settled in an apartment in Foggy Bottom. A few x-files have been solved. Despite Agent Reyes’s claim of an interdimensional serial killer nearly ending his life, Doggett was still alive. Mulder and Scully settled into their teaching roles at the academy, William was growing in size, and they both were beginning to believe that they were getting that happy ending that they both deserved.

On a regular Wednesday afternoon, as Mulder graded quizzes in his office, he heard a light knocking at the door. “Come in,” he called looking up from his desks.

Scully smiled at him. “How’s the grading, Agent Mulder?”

“I want to know your secret,” he confessed. He held out his hand, offering a chair across from him. She surprised him instead by taking his hand, squeezing it, and kissed him deeply. “Well, hello to you too.”

“I like this, Scully.”

“I’m glad. I have to go to New Jersey though. Agents Doggett and Reyes need my medical opinion about a matter.”

“Do you need me to tag along?”

She didn’t answer his question. She sat in the chair across from him. “Teaching suits you, Mulder. Are you happy?”

“I can do without the grading,” he confided. “So, back to the case? Is this what...for an afternoon?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Maybe. I’m sure it’s fairly straightforward. A teenager was found with half of the head collapsed in, and many flies came swarming out.”

“Flies? Is this a case of Lord of the Flies? Or Jeff Goldum’s The Fly?”

“Thankfully not. I just suspect something weird. However, I need to travel to New Jersey to lend a helping hand.”

“You never answered my question. Do you need me to tag along?”

“No. I’ve already called my mother to let her know. I’m taking a car from the pool and I’ll be stopping by the apartment before making my way to New Jersey.”

Mulder shifted uncomfortably in his chair. The suddenness of this news made him feel very uncomfortable. He did not have much time to sort through these new feelings as Scully continued. “It’s a three-hour drive from Washington. I’ll be spending the night up there. I should be back in a day or two.”

Mulder cleared his throat. “Just like that?”

She titled her head. “Why? Is there something wrong with it?”

“No,” he lied. He fiddled with the pen in front of him, rolling it back and forth on his desk. “I’ll pick up William from your mother.”

“It’s only for 48 hours,” she said.

“It’s not a big deal, Scully. Do you not have faith in me taking care of William?”

“I didn’t say that but you are pouting.”

“I’m not pouting. Look, I probably need a guy’s night anyway.”

“The Gunmen?” She asked.

“I was just thinking about me, Will, and Plan 9 From Outer Space. You know a guy’s night.”

“Maybe pick a less depressing film?”

“We’ll be fine, mom. Promise.” Scully arched her eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Promise, Scully. Nothing will go wrong.”

Her cellphone started to ring and she sighed, looking at the caller ID. “It’s Agent Doggett,” she sighed. She got up from her chair and hastily kissed his cheek as she left. “I’ll call you when I get there. Love you.”

“Love you too.” He replied, watching her retreating form.

As the emotions welled in his chest. Mulder pushed the rest of the ungraded quizzes to the side and began to search for movies. As a psychologist, he knew pushing his emotions aside and burying them was unhealthy. He and Scully spent seven years doing that. Unfortunately, he was no longer a bachelor and had a baby to worry about as well.

* * * * * * 

Traffic was a beast in driving the length of I-95 to Quantico to drive the hour to Annapolis to Marget Scully’s house. Two accidents just added to Mulder’s sour mood. As he sat in traffic, he tried to distract himself by switching it to NPR and ultimately switched it off. As traffic inched towards Maryland, he finally identified and named just a few of the emotions that were swirling in his chest. Jealousy. Feelings of inadequacy. Sadness. 

He sighed, finally sighting the exit to Mrs. Scully’s and signaled the right turn signal. As he pulled off, he was bitterly reminded of the initial shock and awe he felt coming back from the dead. He struggled to find this place in a Twilight Zone-like universe where he no longer had the x-files and had Scully seven months pregnant. They struggled to find their footing. Mulder remembered feeling left out and bitter that Scully had a new partner in Doggett. He didn’t necessarily dislike this man. He was a good agent, just like Scully had said, but he was the one investigating x-files with Scully. Mulder wasn’t. He didn’t mind Agent Reyes either. He liked her and thought her addition to the x-files office in place of Scully would help balance the skeptical Doggett. But that didn’t stop him from feeling jealous and left out.

As he slowed, pulling into a residential neighborhood, he saw Mrs. Scully’s white sedan in the driveway and the lights throughout the house. He jogged up the front steps and raised his hand to knock. Mrs. Scully opened the door before his knuckles could rap against the wood. “Fox, I’m glad to see you weren’t caught up in traffic too badly!”

“I still hit a couple of accidents, Mrs. Scully.” He forced a smile. “Were you expecting someone?”

“What? Oh, no! I saw your headlights in the driveway. Come in! I was just about to pull out dinner.”

“I couldn’t…” he stammered out of instinct.

“Nonsense. Besides, William will be very happy to see you.”

Oh yeah, he thought, I’m a father. “You need to get past the formalities, Fox. Don’t you think Maggie will do? You are the father to my grandson after all.” Mrs. Scully was already pulling on his hand, tugging him inside before he could put up a fight. “Besides, as much as I love my daughter, Dana does not know how to cook.”

“Actually, she’s quite good,” Mulder defended.

Mrs. Scully chuckled to herself. “What I meant is she doesn’t know how to cook for a family. I raised four children by myself for the most part when the Captain was at sea. Now that William is here, I’m not going to dismiss the possibility. Take off your shoes, Fox.”

Mulder slid off his polished Oxford shoes and loosened his tie. “The possibility of what?”

Maggie stopped and smiled. “Of what could be. Come on. I bet William will be excited to see you.”

Mulder followed Mrs. Scully into the kitchen and saw his son light up. William began to babble happily and stretch his arms for his father. He smiled and bent down to kiss his forehead. “I think he is going to have Scully’s eyes.”

“They might still turn brown. I don’t know, Fox. I think William is beginning to look like you. Have a seat. Do you want a beer with dinner?”

“Water would be fine.”

Mulder sat closest to William as Mrs. Scully served them. “William was fine today,” she said. “Dana called and let me know. If it is more convenient, I can come to Georgetown and watch William tomorrow if you want.”

Mulder nodded and replied, “I would appreciate that. I wish I could simply take the time off.”

Mrs. Scully played with her shepherd’s pie. And how are you feeling, Fox with Dana in New Jersey and you here?”

He was caught off guard with the question. “What do you mean?”

“Seven years you two were practically glued together. She would always answer your calls. Now you’re here and she's out in the field.” She paused. “I know you two had some difficulties when you came back.”

He chuckled hollowly. “Not every day you come back from the dead.”

“Exactly. She was alone for six months.”

“I didn’t leave her intentionally,” he defended quietly.

“I’m not saying that you did. I’m not my oldest son, Fox.”

“I’m that bad?”

“Worse than Dana,” she chuckled. “I know what it’s like to feel left behind and on the sidelines. I imagine you felt some sort of jealousy with Agent Doggett when you first met him?”

“I, uh, punched him in the jaw.”

Mrs. Scully nodded. “Dana mentioned something about that. The point is, Fox, I know what is like feeling out of the loop when your partner is out doing something. I felt the same way when Bill was out to sea and I was left to raise four kids of my own. He would joke that I was the admiral in the family.” She gave a small smile. “And you find yourself in a similar situation.”

“I guess so,” he whispered.  He pushed his food around. “Even though we’re both teaching at the academy, it doesn’t feel the same.”

“You could always propose.”

William squealed eagerly and threw something across the table making Mulder jump. “Excuse me?”

Mrs. Scully shrugged. “I just figured after 8 years, a child, and sharing an apartment...it’s time you make it permanent, Fox.”

“I…”

She held up her hand. “You don’t have to say anything. Just think about it. In the meantime, are you sure I can’t get you anything else right now?”

“Yeah,” he stammered. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

As it neared 8 o’clock, Mulder gathered his son and Mrs. Scully piled leftovers into a brown grocery bag to walk him out. “I’ll be up by 10 tomorrow. What time will you be home?”

“About six,” he replied, shifting William in his arms. “Scully said she might be home by tomorrow.”

“Well, I’ll set one extra place at the table.”

Mulder, still feeling insecure, interrupted. “You don’t have to, Mrs. Scully. I can take care of William. I don’t want to trouble you.”

“Nonsense,” she dismissed. “I love seeing my grandson.” She kissed Mulder’s cheek goodbye. “And I don’t do these things because I pity you or think you unworthy of Dana, Fox. I do it out of love for you and William. Now, I’ll see you tomorrow!”

As the door closed behind him and Mulder tucked William into his car seat, his thoughts became distracted yet again. Scully did need him, right? He hadn’t brushed aside. And what did Mrs. Scully insinuate with their dinner conversation?

* * * * * *

A few states away in Manahawkin, New Jersey, Scully retired from examining the half-collapsed head of “Captain Dare” and the persistent flirting of Dr. Rocky Bronzino earlier than she anticipated. She politely declined the dinner invitation from Agents Doggett and Reyes as well. She found her attention drifting towards various journal articles about the Spanish fly and their mating rituals. After a few hours, Scully abandoned her research. 

She tried to take a bath and felt distracted. Her mind couldn’t wrap itself around the facts of the case. As she dressed for bed, she sleepily looked at the motel clock and saw it was nine o’clock. How could she have let time get away from her? Without a second thought, she found her cell and called the apartment’s landline. When there was no answer, she quickly called Mulder’s cell phone. He answered the third thing.

“Mulder,” he greeted automatically.

She could hear him hiding a yawn in his voice. “Mulder, it’s me,” she spoke softly. “Did I catch you at a bad moment?”

“No,” he sighed. “I just put William to bed. A late bath, a lot of crying, and a partially read bedtime story and he is down for the count. He misses you terribly.”

“I bet,” she said. Scully shifted the files around. “And what about you?”

“What about me?” He yawned again.

“How are you?”

“Tired,” he admitted simply. “And very much missing you. Your bed is too big without you. But never mind me. Tell me about the case?”

“I am dealing with a human head half-collapsed in with flies exploding it before I arrived. Agents Doggett and Reyes are chasing down a teenager suspect.”

“Oh,” he hummed. “Bugs. Is this like those teenagers from Pittsfield, Virginia, Scully?”

“Not at all,” she said. “I’m not entirely sure if this is an x-file yet. I mean it has bugs. It’s all about the bugs, Mulder.”

“Washington state. One of our first cases.” 

“Well, no one has been found cocooned in the web.”

“Yet.”

“Yet,” she repeated. Scully sighed and looked at the empty side of the motel bed. “I should be done by tomorrow evening. Hey, we have the weekend at least. One perk of teaching at the academy: normal 9-5 jobs.”

“Unless you get called away on another case.” Scully could hear a hint of bitterness in his voice. “But yeah, I’ll look forward to it.”

“Mulder, are you okay?”

She could hear the phone shifting on his end. “Hm? Yeah. I was just getting the blankets pulled down. I thought about putting William in the bassinet but I guess he needs to learn about sleeping in his room.”

Scully groaned inwardly. “You’re not helping,” she told him.

“What did I do?”

There was a weariness in his voice she could not place. “Mulder, what’s wrong? What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing, nothing. Everything is okay. I’m handling it just fine.” 

She heard his voice rise defensively and the baby crying in the background. “Look, Scully. I’m going to check on William. I’ll talk to you later okay?”

“Okay but…” Mulder hung up the phone before Scully had a chance to reply. “Great.”

Scully looked back at the clock, wondering if she should call her partner back. She felt hurt about the shortness in her voice. What had happened? Did her mother say something to Mulder? Did she do something? Did something else happen to William that he wasn’t telling her? In the end, she decided not to call him back lest she wake the baby again and cause Mulder to lose any sleep. As she settled in the motel bed, she turned onto her side and swept her arm up and down the empty side. She missed being away from him and their son.

Three hours away in Georgetown, Mulder, unable to sleep found himself on the couch in front of the television. William held contently against his chest. William sleepily watched his father as Mulder settled on TCM for a black and white horror film. A small gurgling brought Mulder’s attention back to his son. “We’ll just keep daddy sleeping on the couch a secret from mom,” he said. 

William yawned and twisted his head towards Mulder’s chest. “Well, the important thing is that you’re comfortable,” Mulder continued. “You’re just like your mother; she can sleep anywhere too. I think her favorite place is to fall asleep on me.”

He shifted his attention back to the television and then back at his son. “I can’t help but feel forgotten,” he confessed to William. “I mean, your mom was all by herself when she found out she was pregnant with you and I was abducted. She got a new partner.” Mulder thought of Doggett’s straight-laced demeanor. “He is just the opposite of what I expected. And of course, I am jealous of him. He was the one watching Scully’s back because I ran off to chase down a damn UFO. Look at what that got me, Will. Six feet under.” He looked down at his son. “Does that make me a bad person?”

William met him with silence. 

“Well, I value your opinion so don’t hold back,” he told the baby. More silence except for a sleepy blink. “I think that is why I was so distant tonight. I’m jealous. I’m upset. I feel left behind.” Mulder watched his son grow sleepier. He had Scully’s blue eyes. “I feel like she’s moved on without me. I have since I came back. Even with you and all your glory, bud, I still feel inadequate.” William grabbed a fistful of Mulder’s t-shirt as his eyes grew heavier. “Are you trying to reassure me?” Mulder chuckled slightly. “I wish I could tell Scully how I felt.”

One day, he promised himself. As William drifted off to sleep, Mulder found himself wide awake still, his thoughts going to Scully and the bitterness he felt over the fact she was out in the field and he felt left behind.

* * * * *

Back in New Jersey,  Scully left the motel to head straight to the medical examiner’s office. Agents Doggett and Reyes had texted her that they were going to follow up with some matters at the high school before meeting her at the medical examiner. On her way there, Scully tried to call Mulder again first at his office and then his cell. This was the second time since last night that he hadn’t answered his phone. Trying to dismiss the growing insecurities into the back of her mind, she tried to focus on the case instead. As Scully strolled into the main medical lab, it was much to her dismay that Dr. Bronzino was waiting for her.

“Dr. Scully,” the overly tanned scientist greeted. “How are you this fine morning?”

“Well,” she greeted with some reserve. “Have Agents Doggett and Reyes arrived yet?”

“Not at all! But I’ve been examining the flies that exploded from that young man’s skull. It’s quite fascinating really. Being a forensic pathologist, you might find this particularly interesting. Have you ever heard of the coffins fly?”

Scully took a step back and forced a smile. “I can’t say I have.”

“Well, they’re amazing creatures. A female coffin fly has been known to bury its way through over two meters of dirt just to lay its eggs on the cadaver. That is the equivalent of a human digging two miles into the ground.” He flashed her a dazzling smile of whitened teeth. “Isn’t it amazing of the lengths one will go to procreate?”

“Fascinating,” she replied quickly, “but what does this have to do with the victim?”

“Oh,” the entomologist exclaimed, “all the flies that came for the young victim’s head were female. There is probably nothing to it but isn't it fascinating?”

Scully’s mind was already firing and meaning connections. “It is. And it could be nothing or it could mean everything. Did you set any aside for the examination?”

Dr. Bronzino waved to the other end of the room where the microscope was. “I was going to prepare some samples to examine.”

She moved towards the microscope. “Why don’t I start on that and you do whatever it is that you are doing, Dr. Bronzino”

“Excellent suggestion, Dr. Scully! Divide and conquer! I like the sound of that!”

“I’m sure,” she answered. 

“Which reminds me. I’m going to run back to my lab real quickly to gather another instrument of my invention. I’ll be back.”

“I’ll be here,” she said.

Scully was secretly glad to see him retreat as she set to work. She laid out her research of flies that she had started the night before and her morning coffee. She paused, trying to collect her thoughts before she delved into the day’s work, however, she couldn’t. Her thoughts kept going back to the abrupt conversation that she had with Mulder the night before. He sounded distant and aloof. She was reminded of his jealousy when he came back from the dead. She found her phone and dialed his office at Quantico. At nine a.m., he should have been strolling right then. However, it went straight to messages. She hung up before she could leave one. Growing disgruntled, Scully called the Georgetown apartment. To her surprise, it was her mother that answered.

“Hello?” Her mother answered.

“Hi, mom,” she greeted quickly. “What are you doing at the apartment?”

“Oh, I thought I would save Fox driving to drop off William with me this morning,” she said. “One less hassle to do. I also picked you and Fox up some groceries that you desperately needed.”

“We were fine,” she said. “Where is Mulder? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” her mom replied vaguely. “I found him sleeping on the couch last night with the tv on. William must have kept him up all night.”

She felt a twinge of regret twist her heart. “Is he okay?”

“I guess so. He seemed fine and left for the office with no issue. Why? Is there something that I should be aware of?”

“No, no,” Scully said. She pushed the thoughts of insecurity deep down. Now was not the time. “He seemed distracted last night. We only chatted briefly. Is William okay?”

“He’s a fat, happy baby who can sleep through anything. Just like you were. I’m here until Fox comes home if you need anything. Do you want me to tell Fox that you called?”

“No, no. Everything’s fine.”

Her mother was silent on the other end. “Well, if you do need anything, Dana, I’m here with William. Love you.”

“Love you too, mom.”

She hung up her phone and tried to ignore the new signs that taunted her. Nothing was fine except she was not going to say anything. Scully sat at the microscope and began to work.

A couple of hours later, Dr. Rocky Bronzino rejoined her with a crude-looking invention to he promised to give a giant break in the case. She half-listened to ramble on about the various mating rituals of insects until she noticed a pattern emerging with the insects. It took Bronzino to confirm her suspicions and identify the peculiar fact about the case. As she continued to examine the flys, at a quarter till noon, Agents Reyes and Doggett walked in. Scully looked at both of them and announced, “I’m glad you’re here. I think we just got our first real break in the case.”

“What did you find?” Reyes asked.

“Well, it's what the entomologist Rocky Bronzino found. The flies that ate at the brain and skull of the victim are all female. Every last one of them.” Scully motioned to a fly under the microscope as she spoke. 

Doggett looked towards Monica Reyes and asked, “Exactly how is that a break”

Scully thought for a moment and answered, “Well, what are the chances of that?”

Agent Reyes clarified, “You mean that the absence of males suggests there's a reason for the attack. Behaviourally.”

“Well, something biological is going on. Whether it's hormonal or chemical something has caused these bugs to attack,” Scully theorized.

Doggett added, “Or a need to express themselves.”

Scully asked, “To what?”

Agent Doggett continued, “This is a kid that calls himself "Sky Commander Winky." Agent Reyes and I were interviewing him as a suspect when this happened.” He showed photos of the victim’s back were the words ‘DUMB ASS’ shined a bright, red welt. “The paramedics arrived and treated him for an aggressive attack of bodily lice.”

She took the photos to examine them closer. “Hmm. Lice are not altogether uncommon in a school environment.”

Doggett snorted. “Except that these are better spellers than most of the kids.”

“Maybe they stayed late for after-school lessons,” she snorted. “So what are you saying? That this is just another dumb ass stunt?”

Reyes interjected, “Well, that was my first thought. But the victim here was just too freaked out by this incident to make me believe he'd staged this. Which leads me to think that while you may be right about this being a matter of biology, someone is directing the biology.”  She paused. “Maybe you might want to consult Mulder?”

“Why?” Doggett asked. “These are bugs we are talking about.”

“And how does one direct bugs?” She added.

Reyes shrugged and replied, “I don't know how but we've been running down a long list of witnesses.” She passed Scully the rest of the photographs. “A loner who was present at every dumb ass stunt and who had a run-in with this kid Winky at school just prior to the lice attacking. His name is Dylan Lokensgard. We're going to want to talk to him.”

“He seems like a promising start,” Scully replied. “Dr. Bronzino should be back soon. He promised to bring a piece of equipment that will help break the case.”

“We’ll be back then. Call us if you have anything. Let’s head back, Monica.”

“I’ll call you when I have something,” Scully replied.

She watched the two agents retreating. She glanced at the clock on the wall and did the math in her head. She probably wasn’t going to be home that evening that she had promised.

* * * * * *

Having Mrs. Scully watch William in Georgetown instead of Maryland was a bigger relief than Mulder had realized. Although he hit traffic on the way to Quantico, the extra hour of not driving had put him in a somewhat fairer mood. However, as the morning dragged on and he did not hear anything from Scully began to sour his fair mood. By lunch, he was mad. Well not mad, but pouting and being gloomy. If Scully were here, she would have chewed him out and told him to pull his head out of his ass. But that was just it. Scully wasn’t here to do that.

As noon droned on, Mulder heard a light knocking at his door and looked up with some surprise to see A.D. Skinner standing in the doorway. “Wow, Mulder. Even having an office out of the basement and looking depressed as hell.”

“And it’s good to see you too, sir.” Mulder rose to greet the man and offered his hand. “I suspect you did not come down to comment on my office.”

“No.” Skinner paused. “I had a meeting I needed to attend. I wanted to check in on you and see how things were. You know, just to see if you threaten to burn down the establishment yet.”

“Haha,” Mulder said lamely. “No. Things are normal. Just perfectly normal.”

“And you are a terrible liar. Why don’t you come to lunch, Mulder? Get your head out of your ass and get some fresh air.”

“I’m fine where I am,” he said.

“And I know you well enough to know when you’re lying. You’re jealous aren’t you?”

“About what?”

“I know Scully’s out in the field,” Skinner stated, “and you’re not.”

“Way to rub it in.” Mulder glanced at his computer clock and relented. “Fine, fine. It isn’t like I have anything else to do today.”

“Good. You could use the distraction.”

. . . . . . 

Back in New Jersey, Doggett and Reyes were still canvassing the school looking for more witnesses, Scully found herself out in the streets with the brazen etymologist, Dr. Rocky Bronzino. His continued efforts of flirting with her wearing down on her last nerves. She surveyed the empty street and how idyllic it reminded her. Dr. Bronzino focused on the tool he had brought from his lap that was designed to help them. He took a step back from the tracker to examine the surroundings.

“So many flowers ... so little time,” he murmured

Scully looked up from the trunk of the Land Rover. “Excuse me?”

The etymologist stated excitedly. “Pheromones, Dr. Scully. Heavy in the air. Nature's natural attractions. Driving the insect world to go forth and pollinate.”

As Dr. Bronzino began to advance on her, she took a few steps back. She shifted her gaze to the device he had brought with him. “I'm aware of how pheromones work. But according to this device, there isn't a single pheromone to be found out here.”

He began to tweak his machine and Scully rolled her eyes, looking back up to the sky. She smirked, remembering the time she was with Mulder when frogs rained from the sky. Dr. Bronzino was growing frustrated. “Well, that can't be right. The biosensor uses an actual fly antenna over which the pheromones pass. But I modified the EAG to measure in picograms which makes it sensitive to traces a mile in any direction.”

Scully watched an overly casual Rocky lean against the car, a confident hand on his hip, as he tried to charm her. Scully tried to remain professional and keep them on track. “But I'm still not sure why you think that pheromones might cause an otherwise harmless fly to attack a human so violently, Doctor…”

“Rocky,” he corrected. His whitened teeth shined as brightly as he flirted with her.

“Rocky,” she repeated 

He smiled, thinking his charm was working. “Bugs are small-minded creatures, and therefore very predictable. They don't have moods. They react to circumstance and stimuli as they have been doing for millennia.”

“How wonderful.” She tried to keep it professional. “So what do you suppose they're reacting to out here?”

Dr. Bronzino puffed out his chest like a mating dove and took a few steps forward. “It may be the bugs are being somehow driven crazy with desire. You know, they say we humans respond to pheromones, too.”

Scully put her hands on her hips, clearly uncomfortable. “Yeah, I tend to agree with that, yeah.”

Rocky pressed on. “‘Women's dormitory syndrome.’ It's believed that pheromones are the reason that women who live together share the same menstrual cycle.” 

“Fascinating,” she deadpanned.

Dr. Bronzino felt emboldened. “You know, when a male and female calliphorid fly mate they stay joined for up to one and a half hours. One and a half, doctor.” He punctuated the last few words for emphasis. “What do you think of that?”

Scully stood unfazed. This was not the first time she had to deal with this, however, this time was different. “You know, Rocky ... I'm a mother.”

He arched an eyebrow, not dissuaded. He looked at her left hand. “Mothers are women, too.” He took a moment to look at Scully surveying her. “I noticed a lack of a ring. And what does it matters? Women have biological needs, just like men do.”

“You are drawing dangerous conclusions without lack of evidence, doctor.”

“Well, as a trained scientist, I observe you are a woman. There is no ring on your finger to denote a marriage or a serious relationship in what we consider legally.”

“I can assure you that I am very serious. I am in a committed, nine-year relationship with the baby’s father.”

“Well, he is not here. You are.”

“Doesn’t matter, Rocky. Let’s keep focused here, please.”

“Well, relationships aren’t known to be monogamous,” he countered. 

“Seahorses, macaroni penguins, gray wolves, barn owls, and bald eagles,” she said.

“What do those animals have to do with relationships?”

“If you were a real scientist,” she pressed, “you would be aware of some of the animal species that are known to mate for life. There are some cracks in your argument. ”

“Well, there are numerous insects that perform a variety of mating rituals. Give it time, Dr. Scully and I’ll win you over.” She was about to reply but was interrupted by the beeping of the pheromone bio-sensor. Dr. Bronzino turned excitedly to the machine. “Big hit!”

“What is it?”

“A high concentration of c-13 calliphorone...incoming.” He looked up at the sky. Scully did the same and heard the beeping increase and then suddenly dissipate. “What? What happened?” He quickly went to check his machine.

“Nothing, apparently,” Scully commented drily. “We should get back to the lab. Agents Doggett and Reyes might have something for us there.”

“Are we going to continue our discussion of animal mating and ritual habits?” He asked, his voice heavily laced with innuendo.

“As far as I’m concerned, it’s done.”

“Dr. Scully, are you blushing? As the great Charles Darwin once said, ‘Blushing is the most peculiar and most human of all expressions.’”

“Don’t make me shoot you,” she sighed.

“I consider it a challenge.”

. . . . . .

“How do you like teaching at the academy,” Skinner asked. He watched Mulder use his plastic fork to push the mac and cheese around on his plate. “Mulder?”

“Um, interesting. A lot better than having to deal with the profiling cases in VCU even though I’m sure I will come calling. That’s part of the deal with teaching? We help out and consult as needed.”

“Are you that bitter that Scully is on an x-file and you’re not,” he asked.

“Am I that obvious?” Mulder asked.

“I’ve had hemorrhoids that weren’t as annoying with you,” he replied. “Or is it the fact that you don’t have the x-files anymore?”

The bluntness of Skinner’s observations caught Mulder off guard. He looked up from his food and took a few moments to reflect. “In theory, I shouldn’t. I have Scully and our son, things are about as normal as we can make them. But I can’t help but feel connected to them in some way. Seeing Scully out in the field, me not there…” He shrugged. “It brings up a lot of baggage.”

“Especially with Doggett?”

Mulder was quiet. “I blame myself. I should have stayed with her instead of chasing UFOs.”

“Doggett’s a good agent, Mulder. It was hard watching her, Mulder, during those months she was gone. Having to keep her pregnancy a secret. It was tough.” Skinner took a napkin and wiped his mouth. “You know, Sharon used to get mad at me when we first got married. I was still a field agent but the jealousy she would get. She felt inadequate with everything that was going on between us. Said she felt left behind.”

Well, Mulder thought, certainly hitting everything on the topic. Skinner continued to stare at Mulder. “And?” he asked. “What did Sharon do?”

“Well, we had a real nasty fight that was the start of our quarrels at the very beginning of our quarrels. I was in the field, missed an important date, you know how it goes.” He smiled to himself, remembering her. He thumbed at the wedding band thoughtfully. “But we made time. Communication wise. It didn’t always go well but we tried.”

“So, in addition to being an assistant director, you are secretly a marriage counselor. Wow, sir.”

“Knock it off, Mulder. All I am saying is that something is bothering you about this...arrangement, then make sure you take the time to talk to Scully.”

Mulder nodded. He decided to change the subject. “So, how is our old buddy Kersh?”

Skinner chuckled. “Tap dancing his way on the top floor so that you’re no longer there to bother him.”

“Well, at least some things never change,” he answered. “My advice, Mulder, from one man who tried to balance a career and relationship? Make sure you always leave time to talk and communicate. If not, the whole thing can go to shit.”

“Thanks, sir,” he nodded. His mind drifted to Scully. “I appreciate the advice. You should come down to Quantico more often. Skinner’s Lunch Hour wisdom.”

“Knock it off, Mulder,” he dismissed.

. . . . . . . 

After getting John’s call from the school, Scully took her car to investigate and meet them there. According to Monica, Dylan had somehow controlled the bugs during their confrontation. She was surprised by the number of cops, firefighters, and EMTs. She was even surprised to see people in hazmat suits. But to her surprise, Monica had found them a clue.  A used tissue.  They rode back to the medical examiner. As they rode the elevator to the second floor. Scully was the first to emerge carrying the tissue in a metal container with Doggett and Reyes flanking her. “Where did you get this again?” She asked.

“Dylan Lokensgard provided it to us when we interviewed him,” Doggett answered.

“I have to warn you, there's typically not a lot to be found in a teenage boy's sweaty kleenex.”

“Well, a teenage boy can produce other things,” Reyes replied.

“Don’t remind me of the future,” Scully laughed thinking of William.

“But we were looking for pheromones. Aren't there pheromones produced in adolescent sweat?” Reyes continued.

“Yes, it's what causes B.O., But all too obviously it's not all that attractive--to anything,” Scully countered. “While I was out with Dr. Bronzino this morning, we thought we had a possible hit this morning but it turned out to be nothing.”

“A possible hit?” Doggett asked.

“Well, Dr. Bronzino was more than trying to hit on pheromones.”

“Well, at least Mulder isn’t here to punch him in the face,” Doggett chuckled. 

“Yeah,” she said distantly. Scully’s brief thought of Mulder drifted away as she entered into the medical examiner’s office where Dr. Bronzino was bent over a microscope. She still needed to call him. The lack of communication between them was growing. “Let’s see what we uncover.”

As they entered, the biosensor’s beeps became progressively faster, startling the etymologist grew excited. “Finally! I knew it wasn’t broken!” He glanced up seeing Scully, Doggett, and Reyes. “Dr. Scully, I’m so glad you’re back! I've got a reading here that's going right off the scale. Holy Toledo! We've got pheromones coming out of the ying-yang here. C-13 calliphorene and how.”

As they got closer, the beeping became a steady tone, and then suddenly stopped. Doggett raised an eyebrow. “What happened?”

“I think my electroantennogram just... tilted,” Bronzino spoke in disbelief.

“What's c-13 calliphorone?” Reyes asked.

“Insect pheromone,” Scully supplied.

Dr. Bronzino’s attention shifted to the sample the FBI agents had brought. “Where did you find this mother lode?”

Agent Reyes answered, “A boy named Dylan Lokensgard. That specimen came from him.”

Rocky Bronzino sputtered, “A boy ... is secreting bug pheromones? That's impossible. Preposterous.”

Doggett glanced at Scully who met his gaze, trying to hide her smirk. He glanced back at the doctor. “You're the expert, Dr. Bronzino. How else do you explain it, then?”

When he didn’t respond, Scully asked, “Rocky?”

“A boy is a boy, a bug is a bug. You can't have it both ways,” he explained trying to wrap his mind around it, “science doesn’t allow it. Period.”

“I have a few theories,” Scully began, “Okay, so this boy's going through puberty, right? I mean, maybe his body chemistry is somehow just going crazy and it's his raging teenage hormones that are attracting all these insects.”

Reyes nodded in thought. “What if it's more than chemistry and hormones? More than biology? Dylan's not just attracting these bugs he's using them to act out.”

“Yes, but against what?” Scully asked.

“We saw him talking to a girl,” Reyes answered.

“Well, that makes sense. In a way. Teenage love,” Doggett connected. “The girl is the one in the dumb ass video. Captain dare's girlfriend.”

“How on Earth are you all making these connections,” Rocky said.

“We’ve experienced with cases like these,” Scully said. “Agent Doggett, why don’t you and Agent Reyes try to chase down the girl and check on her. Dr. Bronzino and I will check on Dylan.”

“We will?” He asked, confused.

“We are,” Scully confirmed. “Call each other in about two hours and meet back here?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Doggett nodded.

. . . . . .

It was evening by the time they got to the Lokensgards’ home. As Scully and Bronzino pulled up in front of Dylan Lokensgard’s house, her mind was elsewhere. She did not remember to call Mulder. As they walked up the sidewalk to the front door, Scully slowed and saw the front door slightly open. Scully slowed and drew out her flashlight. She knocked lightly on the door. “Mrs. Lokensgard? Dylan?” She called out.

Rocky Bronzino behind her was fiddling with the machine, trying to fix it, and it started emitting a series of steady beats. “Ah, got it! I'm getting a reading here. Trace levels inside the house.”

Scully shifted her gaze and replied, “Well, I guess that's probable cause.” Scully began her trek up the stairs when she was stopped by Rock Bronzino. “What now?”

Bronzino said quickly, “Dr. Scully? I just wanted to say this while I had a chance.” He smiled with bleached teeth. “This is so exciting. I've never had a partner before. And this isn’t a thing. This is a professional collaboration that happens only one time.”

Scully thought of Mulder and felt her heart twist. “I have. Don’t forget what I told you, Dr. Bronzino.”

“Semantics, Dr. Scully. I'd like to think of it as a hymenopteran relationship. Two scientists using their special knowledge reaching higher than either of them could ever reach alone. And if I may say so, Doctor, you complete me.”

“I’ve already completed. I already have a partner. I’ve told you this. Now, I got upstairs, you takedown.” She shook her head and thought of Mulder. She needed to call him once this was done.

“All right,” he exclaimed, “Partner!”

She rolled her eyes and jogged up the stairs. As she slowly examined the upstairs, her thoughts drifted back to Mulder and how she hadn’t communicated with him. Or her mother. As she neared Dylan’s room, Scully spied Natalie’s class picture on the bed. As her phone rang, she jumped, digging it out. “Scully?”

“Where are you?” It was John Doggett. He sounded rushed.

She looked around the room. “I’m with Dr. Branzino at the Lokengard’s house. But there’s nobody here.

“Yeah, well, I'm afraid the kid's on a tear. He's caused a car accident out here on Glenhaven road,” Doggett explained.

“How'd he do that?”

“You'd better see for yourself.”

“I’m on my way.”

Scully turned to make her downstairs while Rocky was just getting his equipment working properly. He looked up. “It’s everywhere, Dr. Scully. C-13 calliphorone. I'm getting a stiff new reading from up here.”

Scully nodded, “Yeah, Dylan's bedroom's up there. That’s probably what you’re reading. Unfortunately, he's not in it.”

“Where are you going?”

“The kid's on a rampage. I’m going to meet Agent Doggett.” The pheromone machine began to beep loudly and Dr. Bronzino cried in surprise. She called, “You got my number.”

Dr. Bronzino smiled and called out. “Does that mean you’ve changed your mind, Dr. Scully?”

“Not in your wildest dreams, Rocky.”

. . . . . . 

Mulder came home, hoping to see, Scully but his heart fell when it was only Mrs. Scully smiling with William. He should be happy to have his son but he was missing his partner more. After a simple dinner and promises of coming to dinner Saturday night, Mrs. Scully left Mulder alone with William on a Friday night. William was quick to fall asleep and Mulde put him to bed. He surveyed the empty apartment. It felt foreign without Scully there with him.

He went back to the couch and tried to get comfortable. Flipping on the TV, he found the Sports Center. He glanced at his cell phone. He checked it one last time before turning it off. If she wasn’t busy saving the world without him, she would find a way to let him know what is going on.

. . . . . 

As Scully drove to meet Agent Doggett, her phone started to ring again. She sighed and answered, “Scully.”

“Agent Scully,” Doggett’s voice filtered through the voice piece, “I need you to turn around and go back to Dylan’s house. Monica just called. She got knocked out and Natalie is gone. I think Dylan got her.”

“Is Agent Reyes okay?”

“Yes, I think so. I found her covered in some sort of web. Like a spider.”

Scully’s mind flashed to one of the first cases she and Mulder had on what was supposed to be a walk through the forest. “Call the EMTs and make sure they bring hazmat gear. I’m on my way back to Dylan’s house.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

“Take care of Agent Reyes first. And call back up for me as well.”

“You got it. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

She tried to dial Rocky’s number but it was disconnected. As Scully pulled back up at the Lokensgard home, it was still eerily quiet and something felt amiss. She drew her weapon and flashlight and took a few steps in. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Natalie Gordon, the girl that Doggett and Reyes had been after, sitting in a chair and crying. She asked, “Where are they?” Natalie shook her head, unable to speak. “Natalie!”

Natalie’s crying continued. She pointed upstairs wordlessly. Scully pointed her weapon upstairs and began to make her way to the attic. She widened her eyes in disbelief to see large human-sized sacs of web hanging from various positions. She instantly recalled the mysterious web-slinging, glowing insects from Washington state and how her, Mulder, and the park ranger were almost swallowed alive. As she examined them, a small voice emitted, “Help me. Dr. Scully, help me!”

Scully bent down to tear off the web. “Dr. Bronzino?”

“It’s the boy! And the mother!”

“Where are they?”

“I don’t know.” His voice sounded faint. “I don’t feel so good.”

In the distance, she could hear sirens. That must have been Doggett and Reyes coming with the cavalry. She tried to tear the webbing away as she heard the sirens sound to a stop. Bronzino looked faint suddenly and lolled his head backward and his eyes shut. She dragged him out and checked for a pulse. Feeling one, although faint, she began CPR. She heard footsteps running up the stairs and as the flashlight shined on her. 

“Agent Scully!” Doggett greeted. “Is that Branzino?”

“He was in one of the web sacks,” she explained quickly, continuing CPR.

“He’s smiling,” Reyes observed.

“He’s what?”

Scully looked down to see Bronzino with his eyes closed but he was smiling. “That sonofabitch,” she cried. 

Caught up in the moment, she slapped him against the cheek and got to her feet. The smack was resounding and caused Dr. Bronzino to sit up suddenly and place his hand against the red cheek. “What kind of care was that?”

“A dose of reality,” she snapped. “Make sure the EMTs check him out.”

“I thought we were partners,” he pouted.

“We worked together on this one case. That’s it.” She turned to Doggett and Reyes. “I found him cocooned up like these unknown victims. I had seen something like this once before when I first started on the x-files. That might be worth checking out.”

“We will,” Doggett said, trying to fight from grinning. “But um, do you find any signs of Dylan?”

“Gone. How is Natalie?” Scully answered.

“Fine. Shaken up but I think she’ll be okay,” Reyes said, trying to fight the urge to laugh.

“What?” Scully asked. She turned as the two agents stared at Bronzino who was now trying to charm a female EMT about his close brush with death. “Oh, come on!”

“I’m just saying,” Doggett said. “If Mulder were here, he would have slugged the guy.”

“Just because you were on the receiving end of the man’s fist once, John doesn’t mean he would slug another guy.”

Scully rolled her eyes and cast one lingering glance at Bronzino. “Speaking of Mulder, I need to call him.”

“Let him know about the human fly trap?” Doggett grinned.

“Both of you knock it off,” she grumbled. 

“Agent Scully,” one of the police officers called, “I need to get your statement!”

“Can it wait?”

“I’m afraid not, ma’am unless you want to do it in the morning,” the officer said.

Scully sighed. “Fine, fine, I’ll do it tonight.”

Her plans of going home or evening calling Mulder disappeared as she was left with Agents Doggett, Reyes, and the cops investigating the scenes.

. . . . . .

Saturday morning. The sun was just peeking through the windows of the Georgetown apartment as Mulder sipped his coffee. He was preparing to wake William up to take him to do a morning run to the shop down the street for donuts and a newspaper. Despite the jealousy and sour feelings, he had with Scully being in the field, being home on a Saturday morning with his son was nice.

His attention was drawn to the door when he heard a key sliding into the lock, the deadbolt turning, and the door open. In came Scully, still wearing the suit from the night before. She came in, kicked off her boots, and dropped her keys on the table next to the door. She sighed and Mulder stood quietly. “You look like you’ve had a tough case,” he called softly.

Scully looked surprised. “You’re awake.”

“I’m not much of one for sleep. You should know that by now,” he replied. “You didn’t call.”

“I’m sorry,” she started. Her tired mind tried to piece the past 24 hours. “I got busy and distracted. Everything came to a head last night. I didn’t want to wait to see you so I drove through the night…”

“You drove through the night,” he said.

“Yeah.” 

“As a doctor, you should know better.” He made his way to her in a few steps and wrapped his arms tightly around her. Scully was shocked by the greeting but relaxed a few seconds later. Her arms came under his and she hugged him tightly. Mulder squeezed his eyes tightly and buried his face into her hair and breathed deeply. “I missed you.”

Scully buried her face into her chest. His cotton shirt smelled of William, old sweat, and just home. “I missed you too.” She lifted her head and kissed him. Mulder smiled and kissed her deeply, not relinquishing his grasp. She chuckled tiredly. “You missed me.” 

“Words fail to describe it.”

She smiled again and looked about the empty apartment. “Where is William?”

“Still sleeping. He’ll wake up in another hour or so. What about you? When was the last time you slept?”

“I napped at the station before I hit the road.”

“You’re a doctor,” he admonished. 

“I know, I know.”

“So you know bed rest is the thing you need right now. I’ll call your mother later and cancel dinner plans.”

“Dinner plans?”

Mulder nodded. “We thought you were coming home last night so we were going to have dinner as a family. No worries. We can do it tomorrow.”

“Mom usually goes to church first thing.”

“I’m sure she’ll make an exception.”

Scully was already moving towards their son’s bedroom. The need to see her son was killing her. She opened the door slowly to see William still sleeping soundly. “He sleeps like you but like clockwork, he’ll be up ready for his bottle. We were going to run to the store to get donuts and the Saturday paper. I can pick you up for breakfast if you want?”

“That’d be nice.”

At the sound of his mother’s voice, William sleepily opened his eyes and gurgled happily. “He was up earlier, about three, with a diaper. Go ahead. I’ll get his bottle ready and get you some coffee. Unless you want to change.”

“No, no, this is fine.”

Scully bent down to pick up her son, cradled him, and sat in the rocking chair. Mulder smiled at the image before he went to fetch the bottle and coffee. As he came back and saw Scully, still disheveled from her case, smiling and cooing at their son, the anger and bitterness he had been nursing the past few days momentarily vanished.

. . . . . .

“Is William asleep?”

“Yeah,” Mulder replied, crawling into bed with her. “He’ll probably be up around two or three. He’s been consistent the past few nights with you gone. Don’t worry about it. I’ll take the first shift when he wakes up.”

Scully flipped the covers down for him further. “I missed this.”

“Missed what?”

“You, William, us.”

Skinner’s advice came back to him suddenly and Mulder said, “I have something to ask you. Rather something to tell you?”

“What?”

“I was quite moody and jealous when you were gone. I felt...I felt left behind,” he confessed searching for the right words. “I know I screwed up being abducted and dying and putting you through all that before William was born. With you gone…” He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“You did nothing wrong. I may have gotten caught up in the work,” she said. Scully reached for his hand. “But this parenthood thing, our relationship, we just need to strike a balance and find out what that is. I enjoyed Saturday with you and William. That’s something we wouldn’t have if we were still on the x-files.”

“True. But I still feel bad.” He pulled her suddenly towards her and she let out a yelp of surprise. He kissed her neck and nuzzled her pajama top open. “William can sleep through anything. And, correct me if I’m wrong, doctor, you’ve healed enough.”

She giggled and slide down so he had better access. “On the case, there was this etymologist that had helped us. Rocky Bronzino. The man kept flirting with me to no end. He ended up in a cocoon…”

“A cocoon you say,” Mulder murmured. 

His fingers were already unbuttoning her pajama top, his hand sinking beneath the elastic waistband of her undergarments. She shivered to feel his fingers touch her. “Yes. I got to say I was in a relationship,” she smiled. She sought more kisses from him. “Publicly. Openly. I am in a committed relationship with my partner.”

Mulder smiled and whispered, “You sound so sexy saying that.”

“What? I am in a committed relationship with my partner?”

“Yes.” Scully found herself topless and pulled off Mulder’s shirt. “He made me perform CPR on him.”

Mulder paused. “He did what?”

“Don’t worry. I gave him a good dose of reality.” She snickered. “By slapping him.”

“There’s the Agent Scully I know,” he breathed. “And good. I don’t share.”

Scully let him continue his ministrations, relishing being home and with him again. Her thoughts about the case as she just let herself be present and let herself be free. Mulder moved and loved her, silently thanking whoever was listening he had her and William in his life. After a passionate reunion, Scully cuddled against Mulder, resting her head on his heart. “I missed you.”

He held her and gently played with her hair. “I missed you too.”

On the baby monitor, William began to make noses, crying from one of his parents. “I got it,” Mulder whispered. He kissed her quickly. “And you’re right, we’ll try to find a balance.”

Scully laid back down in bed and watch his naked behind jog to the nursery. She lay back down to watch the shadows on the ceiling and he was back five minutes later. Mulder slid effortlessly back next to her, embracing her again. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “He was just talking in his sleep. Like you do.”

“You mean you,” she yawned. 

“I mean you.” He pulled her closer. “It’s good to have you home, Scully.”

“It’s good to be home.”

[hslllot]

Part I. Draft Day

fic masterlist | rated: m, mature | word count: 4.6k content/warning: hockey harry, nosey family members, a very brief mention of anxiety, overzealous hockey stans. 

DRAFT REPORT: The 411 on Harry Styles by John Michaelson for Sportsnet

There’s this kid named Harry Styles. He plays hockey. Ever heard of him? 

At this point there’s not much else to be said about the british Fighting Hawks’ centre, a lock to be the No.1 pick in the 2015 NHL Draft. 

Dubbed a generational talent, Styles’ abilities are at a level typically only seen in video games. We all know the Edmonton Oilers will select him with the first overall pick on June 26. In years to come, hockey fans from around the globe (but especially Oilers fans) will be on the edge of their seats, watching to see if the phenom can develop into a future Hockey Hall of Fame talent the way Wayne Gretzky and Mario Lemieux did. 

Here’s what you need to know about Harry Styles: 

Age on June 26: 19 Birthplace: Redditch, Worcestershire, England Current team: University of North Dakota Fighting Hawks  Position: Centre Shoots: Left Height: 6-foot Weight: 190 lbs NHL Central Scouting Rank (North American): 1st

Harry Styles is a franchise-changing player in every sense of the word. He looked like a pro player even before he flew across the pond at a young age to play in the Canadian Hockey League. This has been a long time coming but the future is finally here.

He is talented beyond his years and always has been… Styles has played against older competition his entire career. Growing up in the small village of Holmes Chapel in Cheshire, England, the options for minor hockey teams were limited. Styles struggled to find a team in his age group that matched his talent level and was forced to play with older kids - and even then his talent was unmatched. Like the two other players from the UK currently playing in the NHL, Styles eventually had to leave home and play junior hockey in Canada, where he still had to play up a year against Canadian kids that grew up in a country that eats, sleeps, and breathes the game. 

He should have been drafted 1st overall last year… Styles shocked the hockey world in 2013 when, instead of declaring for the 2014 NHL Draft, he announced he would be attending the University of North Dakota and lead the Fighting Hawks to an NCAA Championship. Styles, ever the media-trained athlete, dodged questions about why he chose to go to university for a year before joining the NHL, simply stating “University was always a part of the plan, no matter what happened with hockey.” The hockey community let out a collective sigh of relief when his agent, Jeffrey Azoff (whose father was, coincidentally, Wayne Gretzky’s agent), announced shortly after his championship win that after one year at UND, Styles would be declaring for the 2015 Draft. 

His trophy case is full... Harry Styles has won pretty much every individual hockey award he could possibly win in his career so far. During his CHL career with the Vancouver Giants he won Rookie of the Year, multiple MVP awards, the award for most goals, assists, and overall points, and scholastic player of the year. During his short-lived NCAA career with UND, he won Rookie of the Year, the Hobey Baker Award as the top men’s hockey player, and was named to the Academic All-American team. Unfortunately, Great Britain’s ice hockey team will not be qualifying for the Olympics or the World Championships any time soon, so unless Styles applies for Canadian citizenship, international trophies and medals will be difficult to come by. Regardless, I have a feeling that there will be many Stanley Cups in his future. 

He really hates underperforming… The kid puts a lot of pressure on himself. As we have seen with many successful athletes, an insatiable inner drive to compete can lead to greatness. Styles has that drive to be great and can be his own worst critic. “When I was growing up, my mum was worried about me because I was a bit of a perfectionist.” Styles told The Hockey News back in December. “When I had a bad game, I would get so upset about it. It’s just how I am and how I think every athlete should be. Good is never enough. It’s important to always keep learning and growing to better yourself.”

He is excited to play for the Oilers… Not that he would have anything bad to say about any of the 30 NHL teams, but the Oilers do hold a special place in Styles’ heart. “It’s a great hockey town with fans that are super passionate about the game.” He told The Hockey News. “They’ve been on a bit of a slide the last couple years but the team has a great history. Not many people watch the NHL where I’m from, but my dad was always interested in it and that’s how I got into the game. He was an Oilers fan during their dynasty years with Gretzky and Messier… So if they do end up drafting me first overall, I’ll feel honored to be a part of the team, and it’ll be a nice tribute to my dad.” 

Be sure to catch our live 2015 NHL Draft coverage on June 26 starting at 5pm EST/2pm PT only on Sportsnet.

“With the first overall pick in the 2015 NHL Entry Draft the Edmonton Oilers are proud to select, from Holmes Chapel in England, Harry Styles.”

The room erupted in loud cheers and applause as the Edmonton Oilers drafted the National Hockey League’s newest and most sought after commodity. 

Y/N’s closest friends and extended family roamed around her parents’ living room, congratulating one another with hugs and handshakes like one of their own family members was just drafted. That wasn’t the case though, they were all just deeply invested in the hockey team and the boy from England that was meant to turn things around after so many years of losing. They were so invested, in fact, that the family organized a gathering similar to something you might see on a holiday, like Thanksgiving or Christmas.

While it was not a normal holiday, for Y/N’s family it was just as significant. It was Draft Day. And every hockey fan in North America wanted Harry Styles to play for their team.

“That’s quite the suit, isn’t it?” Her uncle Will pointed to the television where the young man is dressed in an ornate red floral suit and black dress shirt. The suit was flashier than what most hockey players would wear, but it’s clear that Harry Styles is not like most hockey players. The camera panned to him as he stood up from his seat and hugged the two brunette women sitting next to him. He stuck out like a sore thumb among a sea of other young hockey players all dressed in variations of black and grey as they patiently waited to be drafted from the stands of the BB&T Centre in Florida. It was clear to Y/N that, much like his hockey skills, Harry Styles’ fashion sense was superior compared to his peers.

There was an air of excitement in the room as the draft party, all clad in blue and orange jerseys, watched the generational talent walk down the stairs of the arena and make his way to the stage. They collectively held their breath, the room becoming silent, when he arrived at the stage where both the owner and general manager of the team were waiting to greet him. Harry shook their hands before they handed him his own blue and orange jersey. As he slipped the jersey over his head and posed for a photograph with the executives, the silence in the room broke and excited conversations and speculations for the upcoming season continued. Y/N couldn’t help but feel a stir in her belly and a sense of anticipation for what the upcoming hockey season would bring. 

Her thoughts lingered on the man on the screen, wondering what it might be like to meet him, when her brother pulled her out of her reverie. “Can you believe you’ll be working with the Harry Styles?” 

No - she couldn’t quite believe it. 

In fact, everything happening in her life right now seemed a bit too good to be true.

Set to start her third year of university in September and having to complete mandatory practicum hours in order to graduate the following year, she somehow managed to secure a placement with her favourite hockey team. The Oilers were only taking three students from the university program and everyone in the program wanted one of those spots. 

The application process was incredibly stressful for Y/N. One telephone interview, one in-person interview, and a practical session where she had to demonstrate her athletic therapy skills to the team’s head trainer. She did well with the phone interview, given that they weren’t able to see her. She was able to look down at the talking points she wrote in her notebook and pause to take a couple deep breaths without making it obvious that she was reeling on the inside. Her anxiety got the best of her during the in-person interview though, freezing up when they asked simple questions like “why do you want to work for the team?” and “what experience do you have working with sport teams?”

She left the interview feeling embarrassed, but instead of taking the time to wallow and feel sorry for herself, she went home and spent hours upon hours taping her brothers’ ankles in preparation for the practical session the following day. There was no way she was going to let the opportunity fall through the cracks. Her dream of working for the Oilers was the whole reason she decided to go to school for athletic therapy in the first place. She was never any good at playing hockey but she knew in her heart that, someday, she would work for the team she loved so much. At the end of it all, she reckons her taping skills saved her, so she took her brother out to his favourite restaurant to thank him for letting her use his ankles for practice.

Fast forward a few months and she’s now stood in her parents living room thinking about how in three months she could be taping Harry Styles’ ankles.  

At the time of her application, no one knew the Oilers would be picking first in the draft. The aura around the team was a bit negative at the time (because of all the losing) and there were rumours circulating the city that some of the star players were rude to the support staff and liked to party a little too hard at The Ranch (which contributed to said losing). 

When she first decided to apply for the position her father warned her, “there’s a saying that you should never meet your heroes. What if they’re all a bunch of assholes and you end up hating the team you’ve loved your whole life?” 

Y/N ignored her father’s warning but silently hoped that others would feel that way, narrowing down the applicant pool. However, the rumours circulating the team had no effect on the amount of students applying for the job. The fans were loyal in Edmonton (a city not known by many around the world unless you follow hockey or are compelled to visit North America’s largest shopping mall) and although the team was losing, every kid studying athletic therapy wanted a shot with their favourite team. Y/N knew of at least fifteen students that she beat out for the position. 

Now, it’s late June and there is a general hype surrounding the team, as if Harry was about to come in and shine a light on the Decade of Darkness (a term Oilers fans use to characterize the recent years in which their favourite team hadn’t made the playoffs). That’s a lot of pressure to put on one person, but Y/N supposed that he’s been dealing with this kind of pressure since he was sixteen, maybe even younger. 

Everyone at her family’s draft party was, yet again, watching the television intently while Harry gave his first interview as an official member of the Edmonton Oilers hockey team. While Y/N normally loved watching these types of interviews, she was a bit zoned out- mesmerized by the look of him. The suit, the wavy chestnut hair, the dimple in his left cheek, the accent. The accent. She had never really been that attracted to hockey players, which many people found hard to believe given that she’s such a fan of the sport. All of the guys from her high school who played minor hockey were rotten and thought they were better than everyone else. She did have favourite players in the NHL, players that she loved and admired, but they were her favourites because she loves how they play the game, not because she wants to fuck them. 

There was something different about Harry Styles though. Not necessarily that she wanted to fuck him (especially since she recently signed an employment contract that would forbid it), but she was certainly feeling intrigued by him. He doesn’t look like the boys she went to high school with. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s British, or that he opted for a suit that set him apart from the rest of them, or maybe it was the duality of the way he held himself with unshakeable confidence in his floral suit, his gaze set intensely on the person interviewing him, posture strong and dominant, while simultaneously speaking so softly, his words laced with kindness and gratitude.

“When do you start working with the team, Y/N?” Her uncle Will asked from across the room, prompting everyone to look in her direction waiting for her response. 

The news that Y/N would be working for the Oilers this season shook the family. As soon as her dad shared the news with his brother, she started receiving messages expressing congratulations from her many aunts, uncles, and cousins, shortly followed by messages asking if she would be getting free tickets to games. 

“Um, mid-September, for training camp.” 

“You get to meet Harry Styles?” her 9 year old cousin, Billy, asked. 

“I do. I will be one of the team’s trainers.” The young boy held a look of wonder on his face, as if realizing for the first time that that his oldest cousin was actually kind of cool. 

“Do you think he’s single?” Her aunt Maria asked with a smirk on her face, turning to the television to look at Harry Styles. Aunt Maria doesn’t care much for hockey but she never failed to mention which players she believed to be handsome. She was also the nosey type of aunt that liked to inquire about Y/N’s dating life. “Maybe you two will hit it off.”

Y/N playfully rolled her eyes at her aunt, waving off her comment. But before she could retort, her father chimed in. “Ha! Yea, right! That’s not going to happen. She’s not allowed to date anyone on the team, it’s the rules. Plus, Y/N knows better than to get involved with any of these guys.” 

Her father was right. It is the rules. Y/N thought back to when she went into the Oilers headquarters back in April to sign her employment contract. She asked a lot of questions, making sure she understood everything about the document she was signing. 

“Personal relationships? Even friendships are forbidden?” she asked the head trainer, TJ, for clarification. 

“It depends. You can be friendly, sure, but I would avoid spending time with the players outside of training and game times. Could be seen as unprofessional.”  

Y/N understood why such rules were in place, and she had no issue with it at the time. A woman securing a position on a professional sports team was rare, let alone a woman securing a position with a professional men’s team. She knew when she chose this career path that it would always be an uphill battle and that she’d have to work harder and be more strategic than the men in her field. She wanted- no, needed to excel and prove that she could be a talented athletic therapist and a valuable member of the team, so she had no intention whatsoever of messing that up with any type of personal relationships. She also understood the power dynamic between the professional athletes and the support staff, the different ways in which power can be abused, and how personal relationships could complicate things. It all made sense to her. Plus, she was happy enough with just becoming friends with the other trainers and she probably wouldn’t have a lot of free time, anyways, balancing her practicum and her school work.

Today, however, she couldn’t help the very slight pull on her heartstrings at the thought of not getting to know Harry Styles on a more personal level. 

As if he’d even be interested in the first place.

In a hotel restaurant in Sunrise, Florida, a few hours after the draft, Harry Styles sat with his mother Anne, sister Gemma, and agent Jeff, celebrating his newly drafted status over a bottle of champagne. He knew he should be feeling elated, like it was the best day of his life, but all he felt was exhausted. The conversation at the table happened around him while he sat in his own head, unable to think about anything but what it might feel like to be tucked into his bed in his childhood bedroom in Holmes Chapel. 

The weeks leading up to the draft were an absolute circus filled with interviews and talking to the media nearly every day (he hates talking to the media), shooting promo for all of his endorsements (he’s thankful for the money they give him but he knows he is an excruciatingly terrible actor), and flying around North America to visit all of the potential cities where he might be drafted (it was a pointless tour because everyone knew where he was going to end up). 

He had only tonight to celebrate with his family before it was all set to start again. Him and Jeff will fly off to Edmonton tomorrow morning for a week to speak to the media there, meet the teammate he’ll be living with, and do a surprise skating session with some kids at a summer camp. Meanwhile, his mum and sister will fly back to England.

“Any idea where you’ll live then?” Anne asked her son, pulling him out of his thoughts and back into the conversation. 

“Hm?” He hadn’t a clue what his mum just asked him but he’d hate to admit that rather than listening to anything the three of them had been talking about for the last hour he’d been thinking about how he’d rather be sleeping “Sorry, I think the champagne’s got to me a bit.” 

“The team’s got him living with one of his older teammates and his family.” Jeff stepped in, knowing Harry wasn’t fully paying attention. “They do this with the young guys to get them used to living on their own. Teach ‘em how to cook, do laundry, and keep ‘em in line. He won’t be partying every night and bringing girls back to his place if he lives with the guy’s wife and kids.” 

“Oh please,” Gemma chimed in. “Not like any of that would be an issue for Harry. He’s been away from home for years. And he’s hardly got time for partying and dating.” 

Harry shot Jeff a look warning him to keep his mouth shut. When Harry found out about the living arrangements the team had planned for him, he was less than pleased. After all, he’d just spent the last year living in a dorm room at the University of North Dakota where he had complete freedom. Gemma was right, he didn’t have much time for partying and dating. But he liked having his own space, and he really liked being able to invite someone over after a game, either to celebrate a win or relieve some stress after a loss. 

“You never know, some of these young guys get their first big pay cheque and a taste of the big leagues and it can go off the rails pretty fast.”

“I like to think I raised my baby to know better than to get caught up in a pay cheque.” Anne placed a comforting hand on her son’s shoulder and he quickly reciprocated, reaching up to place his hand over hers.  

Not liking where this conversation was going, Harry finally cut in. “You did. And Jeffrey, you know I’m not that kinda guy. Either way, none of this matters if I don’t make it past training camp. For all we know I could be going back to the juniors for the season.”

“Doesn’t matter who you are or what kinda guy you are, H, it’s just what the team does. It’s tradition. And c’mon, I know you like to keep your expectations in check, but the team’s made it pretty clear that you’re gonna be in the starting lineup come October.” 

Jeff was right. The team had all but promised that he would make it past training camp. The question wasn’t if he’d make it past training camp, but in what shape he’d be in and how long it would take for the team to start winning games.  

“The coach said I’m small and need to bulk up, especially since I’ll be playing against older, more experienced men.” Harry could feel the weight of his mum’s gaze as she gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I’m not quite where I need to be yet, but I’ll get there.”

Harry and his family were stood in the hotel lobby with Jeff, convening on plans for the morning when he felt a small tug on the hem of his red floral suit jacket. He spun himself around, ready to confront the individual bold enough to touch him without his consent, to find a young girl, no older than five years old staring up at him. 

Harry looked at her, a bit taken aback and undoubtedly with a bit of confusion written on his face, and then spotted, a few feet behind her, two individuals who were most likely her parents. Suddenly, he realized that he may have actually had a few too many glasses of champagne and immediately tried to compose himself, standing straighter and trying to will away the exhaustion in his eyes and the haziness in his mind. 

“Oh - um, hello there.” He cleared his throat before using the soft voice he reserves for adorable, small children like the one stood before him. 

“Are you Harry Styles?” She asked with wide eyes and a small, timid voice.

“I am, sweetheart. What can I do for you?” 

A bright smile etched itself onto her face. But instead of answering him, she looked back at the adults standing behind her, motioning for them to help as she was too shy to proceed on her own. The man, who Harry presumed was her father, moved to stand beside her. 

“This is Millie. She wanted to say hi to you because she’s a big fan of yours.” 

Harry lowered himself in front of the young girl so that he was crouched down and eye-level with her. “Hi Millie, it’s a real pleasure to meet you.” He reached out to shake the young girl’s small hand. “Have you got anything that I could sign? Or I suppose we could take a photo if you’d like?” 

The young girl removed her hand from Harry’s, nodding her head eagerly. She began to unzip her jacket, revealing a bright orange Edmonton Oilers jersey underneath. 

“Oh? Look at that! You’re an Oilers fan. In Florida?” Harry lifted himself from his crouched position and directed his question toward at the girl’s father.

“Yes, well, we actually travelled here from Edmonton, to watch the draft in person.” Harry raised his eyebrows in shock. He knew that the flight from Edmonton to Florida is long, and likely expensive. The tickets to attend the draft live probably weren’t cheap either. “It’s not every day your favourite team picks first overall! Let alone gets to pick a player like you. We were so excited so we decided to make a family trip out of it. Turn around, Millie, show him the back!” Millie’s father handed Harry a sharpie as Millie turned her back to Harry. 

It was at that moment that Harry started to understand the weight of the moment. The name ‘STYLES’ was embroidered on the back of Millie’s Oilers jersey, above the number ‘15’ indicating his draft year. He was speechless. This was, after all, the first time he was seeing his name in the classic Oilers’ orange and blue colours adorned on a fan’s back. 

The feeling was different from earlier at the draft when they presented him with his own jersey. This one belonged to someone else. Someone bought his jersey before he’d even ever played a single minute for the team. They flew across the continent, from Edmonton to Florida, just to watch him get drafted. It was a lot for his hazy, champagne-diluted mind to take in.

Realizing he’d just been standing there staring at the jersey, he cleared his throat once again in hopes that he could hide the unknown thoughts and emotions he was trying to reconcile. “Wow, um, I didn’t realize you could get these already.”

Millie’s father laughed, “Man, they’ve been selling these in Edmonton since they announced we’d be picking first in the draft.” Again, the feeling was overwhelming for Harry. 

We’d be picking first in the draft.

To this family, and probably others in Edmonton, the Oilers were “we”. They win together, they lose together. If the Oilers pick first in the draft, they all pick first. It was their team. And now he, Harry, was a part of that “we”.

Harry reached down to sign the jersey on Millie’s back, quickly scribbling his autograph on the left side. As he straightened himself, he felt Anne move to stand beside him, apparently having sensed her son’s unease and unconscious need for his mother to join him in this moment.

“Hi, I’m Harry’s mum, Anne. Would you like me to take a picture of the four of you?” Millie’s father eagerly handed his phone to Anne and waved his wife over to be in the photo. Several photos of Harry and the family were taken, followed by a few of just Harry and Millie. 

“Would you mind if I took one of Harry and Millie on my phone as well?” Anne asked as she snapped the last photo. “This is the first time Harry’s met a fan wearing his name on an Oilers jersey. We’d like to remember it.” 

The family was more than happy to oblige so Anne took a few more photos on her phone, including one where Millie’s back was to the camera and the ‘STYLES’ name in full view. 

It was so like his mum to understand how special the moment was and to come in and save him. He couldn’t quite articulate what he was feeling in that moment, as understanding emotions and sentimentality were not his greatest strengths, and he most definitely never would have asked to take a photo to keep for himself had she not done it. 

The obvious feelings were joy and gratitude. Every day he was thankful to play the game he loved, to be successful, and to have fans that loved and supported him. It didn’t always make sense that complete strangers paid him so much attention just for playing a game, but he accepted it and always tried to show those strangers kindness in return. However, there was another feeling lingering, one that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Looking at his mum, he knew that she knew what it was. She always knew. And certainly she would make him talk about it later.

As they separated from the family and walked toward the hotel elevators, where Gemma and Jeff were waiting, Anne grabbed onto her son’s arm, holding him close as they walked side by side. 

“Do you see that they love you already, my darling?” She asked. Harry raised an eyebrow at his mum, unsure of what she was going on about. “I know you. I know that you care what people think and that you are scared to disappoint them. You just need to step out on the ice and be yourself. Just be Harry. They already love you and this is only just the beginning.”

WOW! OK. I know it’s a bit of a slow start, but I wanted this chapter to be more of an introduction to harry and the mc and to the fan culture that harry is about to experience!! I’ve already started on the next part so that should be up before Christmas! If you’ve made it this far, all I can say is that I love you and appreciate you. If you liked it, please let me know. I debated not posting this so many times (and I might even regret it later) so feedback will certainly ease my troubled mind!! I ALWAYS LOVE YOU, BUT ESPECIALLY TODAY!! xx Shan. 

Harry’s Draft Day Look

talk to me about generational | fic masterlist

[baby-grayson]

Kind Stranger| GBD

Word Count: 2.8k (teeny tiny) Trigger Warning: quarantine talk A/N: This is my first fic post ever! Please let me know what you think about this little teaser. Please please give me feedback about if I should keep going or if I can improve at all!!

The saltwater hit his tongue sharply. His body fell alongside his board in the water. While his feet met the ground again, he quickly scooped up the wayward board before it floated too far away. Arriving back on the shore, he dug the bottom of the board into the heavy, wet sand. He sat next to it, the tide kissing his feet and bare legs as it danced along the shore. He took a deep breath. He was at peace.

Grayson Dolan didn’t feel peace often: at least, not lately. The past two years had been one chaotic haze after another. Moving into a house in LA. Being on Fear Factor. Having his first stalker. Being there to watch his father pass. Starting a fragrance company. Erupting into a workaholic pattern of self-destruction to avoid dealing with the emotions of his father’s death. Announcing to his over 10million fans that he and Ethan had reached their last emotional string and needed to pursue a life that was happiest for them, including projects that pushed them as creators.

The creative projects were as scary and dizzying as they were exciting. He and Ethan traveled across the country in a custom van. They explored the Australian wilderness. They started a podcast with their friend, Ryan, to introduce the real, mature versions of themselves to the internet. Grayson had a small black notebook in his bottom left desk drawer with project ideas and timelines for the year.

But that notebook became pointless when the pandemic hit. He and Ethan were in the process of finding a new house after an incident with an unhealthily obsessed fan when the shelter in place orders hit. The first month was unstable; no one should have to move to a new house in the middle of a pandemic. But the craziness subsided eventually, Grayson and Ethan found a home to call their own for the first time in their lives. After living in close quarters during construction left them at each other’s throats, they found a rental in Malibu to live out the rest of their quarantine days. Periodically, the visited their mother in New Jersey.

Visiting New Jersey did not exactly follow the CDC guidelines. Grayson quelled the risk in his heart with the importance of his mother. If she wasn’t working and he and Ethan only ever saw each other, how dangerous could it really be? Besides, his mother needed him. After the death of his father, his mother was left alone in their house in rural New Jersey. She had nothing but the memories of buying the home, bringing home two twin baby boys, teaching her daughter how to ride a bike, and having tough conversations about her sons’ dreams… Yeah, she needed him. Grayson decided. Grayson still held guilt from not spending enough time with his mother after his father passed. He loved her more than anything, and in a deep place, a place so deep that he didn’t dare think on often, he would never forgive himself for not being there for her in the weeks following his father’s passing.

He thought of her often: like on this beach in Malibu. He thought of how she’d love to pull up a beach chair and enjoy a Mojito while soaking up the sun. The image almost made him chuckle. For a short second, he pictured Ethan and Cameron there with her. Cameron would pull up a beach chair next to their mother, blasting her latest musical obsession from a stereo. Ethan would try to surf, but eventually his more whimsical tendencies would give out and he’d try building the biggest sandcastle a 20-year-old man child could muster.

Grayson chuckled to himself, he buried his hands in the sand at his sides. He played with it in his palms, feeling the fine granules pass over his coarse skin. A thousand little diamonds slowly withering away at a firm and precise exterior. He was also reminded of his mother constantly telling him to exfoliate his callouses from building.

This was Grayson mid-pandemic. The mess of finding a house passed. The initial marvel of staying busy inside the house passed. Hell, even the wonder of cutting his home-grown mullet had passed. Now, he and Ethan traded turns being the more bored twin. Ethan had re-watched Stranger Things about 10 times by now. Grayson spent his days working out, following his regimented daily routine to soon reach a Planche Hold. Occasionally, one of them would reach a deeper state of boredom and go to bother the other twin. They would go to bed and rehearse the routine again the next day.

Unfortunately for Grayson, Ethan slept like the dead. His twin brother usually slept until 11:00 AM; the pandemic had pushed that to a firm 1:00PM. His brother’s sleeping beauty impression left Grayson with nearly half a day to himself. Grayson made a ritual out of going surfing. The beach was secluded enough to not require the precautionary thinking of masks and hygiene in a pandemic. It was just Grayson, his board, and the ocean. He spent his alone time thinking of the important people in his life. In some ways, this pandemic was almost a good thing for him. He spent last year moving too fast among emotions he was too immature to process on his own. This year the world forced him to move too slow in an attempt to let his mind and heart catch up to the rest of his life. His introspective moments on the sand and sea were his own to experience and process alone. Except today.

She looked down at him and smiled, “Good Morning”

His lips turned up softly, “Morning”

He watched as she walked away: a long, dark ponytail fluttering in the wind over a flowy, white sundress sundress with a small, leather purse hanging at her hip. Grayson leaned back on his palms when he noticed something. Her footprints weren’t even. In the sand, one foot was about two inches deeper than the other. He furrowed his brow, pondering it for a second before shaking his head. He dipped his hands in the water and wet his newly cropped haircut. He was seeing things, probably swallowing too much salt. He grabbed his board and headed up shore to his van.

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He wouldn’t have recognized her without the hair. The next day, he was paddling back to shore on his board when she walked by. He could make out her long, dark hair against the pale, sandy background. He squinted: not being able to tell if she was looking back at him. He smiled brightly and outwardly, just in case she could see him. His smile faded in a few seconds. what am I doing? He thought before padding back to shore to make his usually introspective campsite.

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The third day, he was firmly in deep thought about his next tattoo when she walked by. They made eye contact as they flashed each other warm, but polite, smiles. “Good Morning” “Good Morning”.

This secluded little beach not his own anymore. He shared it with a kind stranger. She was a silent reminder that the world continued to turn outside of his fast-paced, modern, social media based lifestyle. Okay he thought maybe I’m being a bit deep …but it’s nice to have someone else around I guess.  

Their routine played for two weeks. She would walk by Grayson, either as he was coming to land again or paddling his way back to shore. They exchanged greetings and smiles as they passed. By the time she turned around and walked back to her car again, Grayson was gone.  Sometimes she saw the imprint of him in the sand when he was gone and thought about him when he wasn’t there. For a few minutes, she would muse to herself about his name. Sterling? No too Disney. Lance? No too King Arthur. William? No too Royal Family.

Occasionally, Grayson would think back to her outside of his beach visits. Maybe he passed a girl with long, dark hair in the grocery store, or maybe he saw someone about her size on the other side of a parking lot, he would catch his breath quickly before realizing it wasn’t her. What would I even say? Are we friends? She probably doesn’t remember what I look like. Why do I care? That last one got him.

Why did he care? Sure, he thought, she was pretty. She seemed nice, well okay her Good Mornings sound nice…nicest he’d heard in a while considering the only other person who wished him a good morning was Ethan. Maybe that was just it, he was spending too much time by himself or with Ethan. Ethan and Grayson had been quarantined together for almost four months now. The only other people he had seen was his mother, sister, and friend Ryan. When you only speak to 4 other people face to face for four months, the girl on the beach was a contender for one of his closest friends. The thought settled well in his brain, rationalizing his anxieties about seeing her in public.

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About two weeks later, on a Tuesday morning, the sky was grey as the sun hid behind the clouds; the ocean water was unusually murky with dense foam. Grayson’s head must have been in the grey clouds because his usual surfing excursion left him tumbling around in the water more than usual. He started back for the shore earlier than usual, sensing that today was simply not his day. When the water reached his chest, Grayson started to walk upright in the water while dragging his board behind him. Not a few seconds later, he felt a sharp pain stab the outer edge of his left foot. “FUCK”, he swore out loud and gasped. The saltwater heightened the pain as he continued to trudge through the water.

He arrived on shore and noticed a jagged, long cut along the side of his right foot. The saltwater washed away the blood seeping through the wound: all that was left was a deep, slender slice taken out of the side of his foot. He tossed his board down, not bothering to dig it into the sand. He sat on the waters edge, trying to wash the sand out of the wound but wincing when the salt returned with its pointed sting. He groaned softly to himself.

I can’t walk back to the car like this, he thought to himself.

He threw his head back, frustrated with the situation. Frustrated with how he might have scratched his board on a rock from tossing it down. Frustrated from the deep wound spewing blood from his foot. Frustrated with his loneliness. Frustrated with the pandemic. Frustrated with his career. It all lead him here: sitting on a beach, more than half naked, with a bloody foot and a bruised ego. He sighed out loud and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Are you okay?”

Grayson nearly jumped, not because she was mean or aggressive but because he was having his internal meltdown under the impression that he was alone. He forgot about his little beach friend. Her brow furrowed softly, oh shit I should say something. 

“Yeah, I uhh I just got cut up is all” Grayson waived his injured foot softly from where it lay.

She hesitated for a second, neither of them was wearing a mask. Surely Dr. Fauci would approve of her helping a lone stranger who was in pain. She ignored the premonition, figuring that she wouldn’t be seeing anyone else soon anyway but remembering to put a mask in her purse for any future first aid incidents.

“Do you need a hand?” Her eyes were kind and caring, a deep brown that looked nearly gold in the grey light of that Tuesday morning. Grayson found himself looking at her, really looking at her for the first time since they started sharing the beach. She did not notice Grayson’s awkward gawk getting the best of him. She bent her head down, her eyes leaving Grayson’s gaze to search her purse for something. Grayson realized how small she was, probably only 5 feet tall and slender framed underneath her T-shirt and shorts. She unearthed a small, white package from within her purse. “Bandaid?” she offered, holding it out to him.

“Yeah that’d be great,” Grayson nodded softly and took the package from her. He looked from the white box to his cut and his muscles tensed up, unsure of where to start. He looked up at her, his brown eyes wide with uncertainty. She smiled softly at him, reassuring that frustrated place in his heart slightly. “Want some help?”, she was already kneeling down before he could start nodding.

Grayson slipped the white bandage box into her small palm as she started wiping away the larger pieces of sand around the cut. “You think it could get infected?” he asked, “By something in the water?”

She laid a piece of gauze over his cut as she shook her head. “No, the salt in the water would act as an electrolyte to dehydrate the phospholipid bilayer of any aquatic bacteria before it even got in.” He felt his eyebrows raise. She wrapped his foot in a larger bandage before adding, “uh I mean… it’s salt water, so you’ll be fine…..how did you do this anyway?”

“I must’ve stepped on a rock coming out of the water,” Grayson coolly forgot to mention his earlier debacle of looking like a Saint Bernard on a surfboard.

“If a big guy like you can get taken down by a rock, I have no chance in this world,” she remarked while standing up and putting the box back in her purse.  Grayson laughed out loud with a wide smile. Her joke wasn’t even that funny, but it had been so long since he heard someone make a joke besides Ethan.

She smiled down at him, “I like the band” she gestured toward the solid black tattoo on his right ankle. “I think I would go with an anklet though,” she added with a soft confidence.”

Grayson tried to stand on the freshly bandage foot, “True but this way I’ll never lose it in the ocean.”

It was her turn to laugh, she flashed a bright smile at him and let out a happy sound. Her laugh died down as Grayson stood up tall: a tanned, muscular Adonis standing before her. “Well um..I’m glad to see you’re doing okay,” she started to step away from him, “See you later.” She smiled before turning away.

“See you later,” Grayson waved goodbye as she turned her back and continued her walk. He stopped himself, why was a grown man waving goodbye in public like a kindergartener at school? He let his hand fall to his side before picking up his board and walking back to his van. He looked down at his foot, I guess Ethan is taking out the trash tonight..and making me dinner. 

On the other side of the beach, she drew in a breath and cursed to herself, shit..I didn’t get his name..

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Grayson returned to the beach the next morning without his board. He decided that getting his bandaged (freshly done and kissed with love by Ethan) foot was too much of a risk. Also, he feared cutting up his good foot with a matching gash. He couldn’t depend on pretty girls with nice eyes to always be there with bandaids.  Instead, he sat down on the sand, letting the water run over his right foot and leg. He held his injured leg in his bicep, folding his knee up to meet his chest. With his free arm, he tried to skip stones in the water from his position on the ground.

He tried his best to enjoy his introspective morning with the ocean, even though he wasn’t in the water.

“I almost didn’t recognize you without your board” she looked down at him from under the visor of a black baseball hat.

He chucked, “Boards don’t pair well with bandaged feet.” He smiled up at her, “Thank you, by the way, for yesterday. I really appreciate it… You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s no problem….just being a kind stranger,” outwardly, she smiled gently but inwardly she cringed at the awkwardness of her own words. Grayson smiled gently back at her, she can’t have been too awkward if he’s still looking at her right?

“My names Kate”

“I’m Grayson”   A/N: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! This is the first thing I am ever posting and would really appreciate any feedback you have about whether or not I should keep going. <3 

[radiosteve]

Need Your Loving Tonight Ch. 3

Summary: Being left alone with Roger, even for a few minutes, confirms him to be just as cocky as you thought he’d be. However, he also invokes something else within you that you never would have expected. The boys discuss what the band should be called. As the band grows in popularity, a certain feeling within your heart does as well.

Note: Sorry this part took a little longer, I barely had time to write because of the 4th of July. But, I hope you enjoy this chapter!! It goes a little more into the reader and Roger’s feelings but there is still much more to come. Freddie will actually get to talk in the next chapter, I just didn’t feel like there was a good place for him to come in. The photo is one that I found on google. I do not own any rights to it. If you want to be added to the taglist send me a message or an ask and I’ll add you!   

Warnings: Some language

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader, John Deacon x Reader

Words: 2.4k+

October 14, 1968

The two words echoed throughout your head immediately after they left Brian’s lips. Of course the drummer that is finally adequate enough to be apart of the band is the one that just so happened to walk in on you and Tim. It also didn’t help that Roger was extremely attractive, and from what you’ve witnessed, pretty cocky. You were snapped out of your thoughts by the ring of the landline on a desk in the corner of the theatre. Brian rushed to the phone, hastily answering it as you stood watching him from across the room. 

“Yeah, ok. I’ll be there in a second. Just hold on,” he said into the receiver before hanging up. You looked at Brian with raised eyebrows, silently asking him what the phone call was about. As if he read your mind, Brian walked towards you and his bandmates to explain. “The guy at the front desk said that his shift is up so we need to get the keys from him to lock up when we’re done. I’m going to go grab them,” he looked at you and then shifted his glance quickly over to Tim. “Tim, why don’t you come with me.”

Tim shrugged his shoulders and followed Brian to the door, knowing better than to put up a fight. Once the door was closed, you slumped back onto the couch that you practically lived on at this point. Roger came up and sat beside you, leaning back against the couch before crossing one leg over the other.

“So,” he spoke, turning his head towards you as you peered up at him. “You and Tim are quite the cute couple,” he chuckled and you narrowed your eyes at the drummer. 

“Not that it’s any of your business, but Tim and I aren’t dating. It’s just a mutually beneficial relationship that primarily consists of sexual acts,” you snapped while he just rose his eyebrows higher at every word you spoke.

“So, you’re just fucking then?” Your eyes widened at how blunt he was, but you nodded. “And you’re an American?” He asked, despite already knowing the answer. 

“Uh-huh. Grew up on the Jersey shore, not that that’s any of your business either,” You sat up as he laughed at your cheeky comment. 

“If you’re from New Jersey then why don’t you have a horrendous accent?” he leaned in closer to you, mesmerizing you with his beautiful blue eyes. They reminded you of the ocean water back home and you could practically hear the waves slamming against the sand.

“I don’t know. No one that lives near me has a thick Jersey accent. Guess you’d have to go a little farther north,” you practically whispered the end of your sentence, so enticed by everything about Roger. It wasn’t just his big, precious eyes that drew you in. It was his shoulder length hair that’s color fell somewhere between blonde and brown. It was his feminine face in combination with his rough hands and raspy voice. Everything about him seemed perfect and it almost made you feel dizzy. You were snapped out of your trance by the sound of Brian and Tim reentering the room. You and Roger pulled back from each other as Brian set the keys on the table closest to the couch. Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you realized how creepy it must have been for you to have been staring so intently at Roger. Little did you know that Roger had been lost in a similar train of thought about you. 

Brian took a seat in between you and Roger on the couch as Tim pulled over the drum stool and sat opposite of the couch. Tim flashed you a wide smile and you tried your best to return the favor. A wave of exhaustion flooded over you, finally feeling the effects of many drum auditions and two bouts of embarrassment. You stretched up to lean your head on Brian’s shoulder and close your eyes for a few minutes. Brian shifted his head to make you more comfortable and began to speak quietly enough to not disturb you. 

“I know this is a little premature, but does anybody have any names in mind? For the band, I mean,” He tried to move his head to look at Roger but found it rather difficult to do so without waking you up. The boys softly debated for almost an hour, while you still slept soundly on Brian’s shoulder. 

“I think it’s a great name!” Tim whisper yelled as Brian and Roger rolled their eyes. “What’s so wrong with the band being called ‘Staffell & Sons’?”

“Number one, were not your sons. And number two, we’d sound like a bloody construction company,” Roger asserted, gesturing wildly to accentuate his point. Just as Tim was about to bite back with a snappy comment, you started moving around and mumbling in your sleep.

“The hell did she just say?” Tim looked at you with curiosity and confusion etched across his face as you stopped moving. Brian turned his head the best he could to catch a glimpse of your face, bringing a smile to his lips when he saw the corner of your mouth turned up in a grin. 

“Who knows, but it would probably still be a better band name than ‘Staffell & Sons’,” Roger mocked, not noticing Brian’s shift in focus. Brian’s eyes still traced over your sleepy smile when everything seemed to click into place. 

“Smile,” he spoke gently, lifting his head up to face his band mates. “We should call the band Smile.” He looked back down at your infectious smirk, recalling that it had been one of the reasons that he took an interest in you in the first place. After another moment of adoration, Brian fixed his eye line back to his bandmates in an attempt to gauge their response.

“That’s not bad actually,” Tim agreed and Roger nodded along. “What made you think of that?” 

“Well, uh, Roger said he was a dental student,” Brian spoke, a light sheen of panic spread across his face. He didn’t want them to know that the band name would be dedicated to his best friend. Brian liked having his own little secret. 

“Alright then, Smile it is.”

--------------------

It was nearly midnight when the boys had decided to depart, making their way back to their respective apartment or dorm room. Brian had woken you up right before they left, promising to walk you back to your dorm after he locked the building up. You stood outside, clutching your jacket tighter as the cold autumn air brushed through your hair. Roger and Tim stood beside you, waiting for Brian to finally lock the last door. 

“All done,” he shoved the keys back into his pockets and hopped towards you three. “I guess I’ll see you all tomorrow.” And with that you all said your goodbyes and headed in different directions. You and Brian began your long trek across campus in the cool, frigid air. 

“So you finally got the band all put together,” you bumped into Brian as you strolled, bringing a smile to his face.

“Yes, finally. If I had to sit through one more mediocre drum solo, I might have dropped out of school entirely,” Brian spoke, looking down at you as you giggled.

“Got a name in mind, Mr. Band Man?” 

“We decided on one while you were asleep. Speaking of which, how is it that you manage to fall asleep practically anywhere? First, during a riveting astronomy lecture and now an incredibly important band meeting. Do you need to see a sleep specialist? I know a guy,” Brian rambled on making you forget how cold it was as you erupted in laughter. 

“Some would call it a talent,” you offered as you tried to suppress the giggles that fled from your lips. “What name did you end up choosing?” you asked after you calmed down a little, a grin still masking your face. Brian looked down at you, knowing that he and his bandmates had made the right choice. 

“Smile.”

“I quite like that.”

“Good, because we’re not changing it,” Brian chuckled, turning to look at the sidewalk in front of him. “Now, tell me about the situation between you and Tim,” Brian blurted out, earning a groan from you.

“Oh god.”

February 27, 1969

Throughout the months following that first initial band meeting, the boys grew closer and closer. You found yourself immersed in music as you spent copious amounts of time around them. They had their first gig only a week or two after Roger joined the band and it went off without a hitch, besides when you had to give Brian a pep talk before he went on stage. They had written a few songs and even got a record deal from Mercury Records at the beginning of the year. To say you were proud was an understatement. You went to every gig and nearly every practice, showing support for your best friends and favorite band.

You and Tim continued to fool around in spite of Brian’s threat to quote ‘beat the shit out of Staffell if he hurts you’. And even though you were thoroughly satisfied by Tim’s touch, there was always a part of you that was drawn to Roger. You don’t know what it was but his soft lips and bright blue eyes always managed to make you weak in the knees. Unfortunately, you weren’t the only girl that seemed to share this sentiment. Even your roommate Sally begged you to introduce her to the handsome drummer. Your heart panged with unwanted jealousy every time you saw him take a new girl to his van after the show. But you just brushed it off and moved on, ignoring the ache that you felt in your chest. 

Everything with the band came together beautifully, bringing you to where you were now. Standing in a parking outside the Royal Albert Hall with a cigarette hanging from your lips and two coats covering your body.

“Hey Rog, can you light me up? I can’t feel my fucking fingers,” you shivered out as he nodded and reached over to light your cigarette. Your breath hitched for a second as his knuckle brushed against your lip. “Thanks mate,” you mumbled as you puffed on the cig.

“Look at our little American, calling people ‘mate’,” Roger teased, earning an unamused glare from you.

“You try living in a different country for two years and not pick up on some of the local slang,” you countered as a shiver raked through your body. 

“Here,” Roger handed you a flask filled with whisky. “It’ll help warm you up.”

“Not to sound like your mom or anything, but you really shouldn’t be drinking before you perform,” you took the cigarette from your lips only to replace it with the warm flow of whisky.

“Yeah, well it helps to calm my nerves before I go on stage. Not all of us have our best friend to calm us down like Brian does,” he mumbled, taking the flask back from you and taking a swig for himself. Just before you were able to speak again, you were interrupted by Brian and Tim. Behind Tim stood a man that appeared to be around your age with long, dark hair and an unusually large set of teeth. You flashed a bright smile at the three men before you, your eyes lingering on the stranger behind your two friends.

“Hello love,” Tim came over and wrapped an arm around you as you took another drag from your cigarette. Tim nodded at Roger and leaned over to whisper something in your ear. His hot breath against your neck made you squirm and giggle. Tim took the cigarette from your hand to take a drag before placing it back between your lips. Roger glanced at you snuggled up against Tim before taking another quick drink from the flask in his hands. 

“The place is packed,” Brian spoke, both excitement and nervousness laced within his tone. “This might be our biggest gig yet.”

“Oh my god, that’s wonderful!” you exclaimed, meeting the gaze of your best friend. “You guys are going to do so well, I just know it.” You looked back towards Roger who seemed to be lost in thought until he noticed your eyes on him. He gave you a tight lipped smile and wiggled his eyebrows before you looked back up at Tim. 

“Oh, by the way this is Freddie Bulsara. He goes to Ealing with me. He’s a friend and a big fan of our music. You don’t mind if he stands backstage with you while we’re on, do you?” Tim said as he gestured to the black haired man beside him.

“Oh not at all! The more the merrier!” you spoke leaning to get a better look at Freddie as he gave you a wide smile. 

“Great! We’re on in four minutes, so we should probably head back inside,” Tim peered at his watch before guiding you and the others through the door. You were too busy putting out your cigarette to notice Roger taking another long sip from the flask while he looked at the way Tim held your hand. 

Once inside you gave Brian a pat on the back as you reassured him of your confidence in his musical abilities. Just before the band was announced to go on stage Tim leaned down so his face was level with yours.

“Give me a kiss so I do well,” he pointed to his mouth and you giggled. You pressed your lips firmly against his, savoring the feeling that came with it. You pulled away and he grabbed his bass as the announcer introduced the band. Brian went on stage first with his guitar strung around his torso, followed quickly by Tim. Freddie stepped up beside you, trying to get a better view of the stage. As Roger went to step from behind the curtain, you remembered what he told you earlier about his nerves in the parking lot. You grabbed his shirt, pulling him backwards, and planted a soft kiss to his cheek before releasing his shirt from your grasp. He looked at you with wide eyes, red cheeks, and a slacked jaw as he slowly walked backwards to get to the stage. His eyes never left yours, even as he approached the curtain that blocked him from the audience’s view. 

“For good luck!” you shouted as he walked on stage with a smile plastered across his face. 

Taglist: @retromusicsalad @bohemiansweede

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Tatanga the Mysterious Spaceman

Debut: Super Mario Land

Tatanga, I am so, SO sorry. It’s been over a year and we still haven’t given you your own post. That changes right now. I hope you’ll forgive us. It’s bad enough that Nintendo abandoned you, we can’t let ourselves forget about you, too!

Tatanga is, without a doubt, one of the most important of all weird Mario enemies. He was the final boss, for crying out loud! And he deserves to make his grand return.

Tatanga pilots a ship called the Pagosu, and there is a lot going on with its design. But I really like it! I’ve never seen a spacecraft like that! Truly built for battle, and probably really good at it, too. Too bad this is the game where Mario conveniently happens to own a plane that shoots missiles!

In the Mario Character Encyclopedia, Tatanga vows revenge. "I'm Tatanga, a Mysterious Spaceman. In 'Mario Land', I took over Sarasa Land and tried to take Princess Daisy as my queen, but Mario got in my way. This time I'm gonna do the same to him!" Oh no! He’s going to get in Mario’s way?! How somewhat inconvenient for our hero!

And what do you know, he DOES get in Mario’s way! Tatanga reappears as a boss in Super Mario Land 2, because as we all know by this point, Super Mario Land 2 is perfect at everything the first time without trying. He’s the boss of the Space Zone, and he has a new, smaller spacecraft, which is easily defeated by a few of Mario’s jumps. Hm. Maybe he’s not actually as capable as he seems. Maybe that’s why he’s not in games anymore. Maybe he’s dead. Who knows!

I always love blobby tentacled alien designs, of course, but Tatanga is a good and cute little goblin man! He reminds me of Beast Boy, but bald and purple. You know, Beast Boy? From Teen Titans Go (2013)?

Except for in some really weird comic book, where is is a LARGE goblin man! But don’t let his looks fool you. This iteration of Tatanga is way wackier than the original! He lives in an alternate dimension inside a Game Boy and hypnotized some guy in New Jersey into freeing him, and then took over Disney World. You know, the classic Super Mario-style shenanigans we’re all accustomed to.

And that’s really it, unfortunately! The closest thing we get to a Tatanga reappearance is Katsini in Wario’s Woods, who’s a completely different character and not even confirmed to be of the same species. They even made two whole games about Mario in space, and completely neglected to bring back Mario’s only existing (in the main platformer series) alien foe! What the heck! 

If he can’t appear in Galaxy, he’ll probably never appear, sadly. Tatanga is dead and that is that. Just ask Miyamoto. He’ll tell you the same thing, probably.

[thesovereignsequel]

31. Tell me about your current party!

1.) The Wayfinder’s Hearth:

Myrrh, my necromancy wizard and life cleric tiefling: They’re a skittish person with lots of trauma but a desire to destroy death.

Mary, the half-drow grave cleric: She’s a relatively composed gal who respects post-death traditions and has an interesting opinion on undeath. Any day now she’ll go absolutely feral. She’s Myrrh’s closest (and second ever) friend.

Milah, the goblin bard and kiddo of the party: She’s babey and we’ve decided she’s also the chosen one. She’s basically the heart of the party, with her song skills and fun raven.

Helena, the human rogue: She’s a noblewoman to her core, but can and will destroy any opponent. She’s unfortunately the subject of Strahd’s affection.

Tristan, the human ranger: RIP he’s gone :’0:’0 He was a boy w/ character development to go. So very buff, so very angery, but in reality soft.

Annolare, the tiefling warlock: who is his patron?? We’ll never know! He’s an incredibly charismatic twunk living his truth.

2.) Dungeon Fungeon Party:

Viper, my assassin rogue tiefling: They’re horny, emotionally complex, and southern. Strong chaotic neutral vibes.

Arisi, the kobold bard: They’re a small and vicious kobold who loves embarrassing the party. Strong grandparent vibes.

Vexle, the goblin monk: She’s a strong, capable, and matter-of-fact gal. She’s horny for a Prince ;0

Solana, the Eladrin rogue/Paladin: She’s a mom with incredible insight and incredible stealth skills. Literally no one can lie to her.

Pix, the sea goblin ranger: She likes to drink and make drinks, shoot things, and electrify people. She’s the no nonsense/tolerates some nonsense type.

3.) The Empyrean Veil (I DM THIS ONE):

Gallia, the elven arcane archer: She’s a weeb but for fey shit. Strong neutral vibes.

Amenhotep, the aasimar Paladin/sorcerer: Big Boy. Royal boy. He’s just trying to be arbiter and that’s valid.

Vermini, the ratfolk rogue/bard: he’s a rat boi. He does what he wishes and damn if he doesn’t do it in style. He’s too charismatic for his own good. New Jersey vibes.

Umhra, the aasimar Paladin/sorcerer: boy lost in time, revived by his goddess. He’s got a fuckin flying cat and he’s ready to go feral.

Minori, the drow rogue/cleric: She edgy, she sad. She’s essentially a perpetually wet cat, but who can do cool flips and knife tricks. She beefs w/ her goddess constantly.

[amandaoftherosemire]

Bulletproof -- Part Four

Fandom: Marvel/College AU

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader, Platonic!Steve Rogers x Reader

Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes

Author: @amandaoftherosemire​

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 4,189

Format: Series (Complete)

Warnings: Language, angst, embarrassment, non-sexual nudity.

Summary: You and Steve gossip about Thor and Bucky while you sit for him. You and Bucky have a conversation.

A/N: I’m having an absolute blast writing this one. I just hope people have as much fun reading it as I do writing it.

Moodboard and beta’d by: @hellzzzbelle You’re seriously the best ever, peach!

Part Three here

Part Four

A couple weeks later you sat nude but for the sheet wrapped around your legs in Steve's studio. Steve planned to turn your covered legs into a mermaid tail in the painting he had planned. You had made excellent progress on the first pose, though it had taken longer than either of you would have liked. You hadn't been able to pose for him more than a few hours a week due to both your own course load and your unwillingness to risk Bucky finding out. There were only three times a week that you and Steve were both free and Bucky was guaranteed to be out of the apartment for a set amount of time because he had a class on quantum mechanics he never skipped. That limited your options.

You were completely comfortable, but it had taken every session over most of those weeks to get to that point. Each time you had a period of discomfort and silence, but with each session that awkward feeling eased. By today, that embarrassment had thankfully dissipated almost immediately. If Steve had ever looked at you with anything resembling lust, you'd have bailed in a heartbeat. Steve, however, only touched you to adjust your pose and, once both of you got over the initial discomfort, his expression never wavered from an almost impersonal focus. To your relief, you had learned the first day that he appreciated you on a purely aesthetic level. His love for you was as chaste as yours for him.

He had plans for four works and had started with sketches for the one that was the closest to clothed as you would get in order to give you time to adjust. As soon as you were comfortable, however, he had wanted to start on the mermaid pose he had seen in his head the day you offered to help. You couldn’t wait to see yourself with a shiny green tail. Propped up on one arm, your legs drawn into a curve next to you, you leaned forward as though you were trailing your fingers in an ocean below.

"So Gamora turns around, takes one look at Peter grinning like an idiot at the bartender and chucks all three darts directly at his back." You and Steve had agreed it was better that you talk. Not only did it make you feel better about having your tits out in your best friend's apartment, it also caused you to unconsciously slip into poses and attitudes that Steve often preferred to the poses with which he started.

"Not only does she bullseye the zero on his jersey, she threw them hard enough to puncture the skin deep enough that they stayed in. He spins around to see who threw them and she stares him down, tosses her hair over her shoulder, and then turns on her heel and stalks the fuck out. My girl doesn’t take anybody’s shit." You sighed appreciatively and glanced up through your lashes at Steve, careful not to lift your head entirely. "I really admire that."

Steve was snickering as he tried to keep his pencil steady on the page. "How am I supposed to get this sketch done if you keep telling me stories like that?" he asked. When you lifted an amused brow but stayed silent, he rolled his eyes and prompted, "What did Peter do?"

Lowering your eyes, you focused on holding the pose correctly while you answered. "Took off after her, darts still sticking out of his back. He may be a moron, but he really is crazy about her. I don't know if he's ready for her, though. He still needs seasoning."

Steve looked over your form. "Can you drop your left shoulder just a hair?" When you complied, he nodded and looked back to his sketch. "How about you?" he asked. "You gonna make an honest man out of Odinson?"

"Nope!" You couldn't help but be amused at the question. You knew it bothered Steve that you had a fuck-buddy relationship with Thor. It wasn't that he had a moral problem with it. Rather, he thought you used casual relationships to avoid anything more serious. You couldn't tell him you went into every damn one hoping to fall in love. Maybe if you could, you'd finally get over Bucky. You were certain even a new heartbreak would feel like a step in the right direction.

Unfortunately, it hadn't happened yet. You refused to get into anything more serious, especially when you knew that someone like Thor deserved the pieces of yourself that you’d given to Bucky. In recent weeks you’d discovered you were nowhere near getting those pieces back. At least you’d started moving in a friendlier direction with Bucky. You weren’t avoiding him, and when you saw him you weren’t low-key ignoring him anymore. He hadn’t taken the hint, so you’d decided to turn it up a bit.

"Why not?" Steve decided to try to pin you down. He wasn't an idiot. He'd figured out more than you gave him credit for.

You shrugged, trying to appear casual, and ruined the line of your shoulders. "He’s fun but he’s not the keeping kind. Not for me."

"Lift your left shoulder and tilt your head a little to the right, okay? Does he know that?"

"Of course." You scowled. You were a little offended that Steve might think you'd be so careless with someone’s feelings. "What’s going on, Steve?"

Steve kept his head down and his eyes on the image that was coming to life under his hand. He couldn't quite get the expression on your face right. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he felt like with the right angle, he could find the missing piece. "That’s a good question," he answered absently. "He and Bucky nearly got into a fistfight at the gym this morning and I could have sworn I heard your name. I thought maybe things had gotten more serious between you."

Your thoughts turned inward, and Steve’s pencil began moving more quickly. He flipped the page, desperate to capture your expression before it changed. Thoughtful, but with a touch of sadness, you looked as though you were examining the scars from an old wound.

As a matter of fact, you were. Bucky confronting Thor over you was exactly something he would have done back in high school. He had always warned the guys that asked you out to treat you right or deal with him. He’d acted the big brother even as his eyes raked you with a banked heat that thrilled as much because of its restraint as its fire.

You let everyone who knew the story believe that you had turned away from Bucky because of Gina, but the truth was more complicated. You’d walked away from years of friendship because he’d betrayed you far more deeply. When you woke in the hospital expecting his face to be the first thing you saw, and he was nowhere to be found, some little piece of you had withered away.

When he had been in the accident that took his arm, you’d refused to leave him. His mother had lied and told the ICU staff that you were his sister, so you’d be allowed to see him. You and Steve had been there every step, helping him adjust, keeping his spirits up. You had been sure that he would do the same for you.

Yet, when you woke from your mistake with several bottles of Jameson, the first face you saw was Steve’s, of course. Natasha had finally found Bucky, however, in Gina’s bed. Thoroughly drunk, he’d left his phone at the party. You knew it wasn’t fair to blame him for not knowing you needed him, but when Steve had asked if you wanted to see him, you had said no.

Bucky then did the unthinkable and listened. He hadn’t barged into your hospital room to see that you were okay for himself. He hadn’t done anything that you expected. Fair or not, you couldn’t help but feel that he’d proven that whatever he felt for you was neither very deep nor meaningful. You had closed yourself away. If you had been wrong about Bucky, who could you ever be sure of?

“It couldn’t have been anything about me,” you said softly, and the sadness that colored your tone had Steve’s eyes snapping up. Your pose was perfect, and Steve moved quickly to capture it. Furiously, he drew as fast as he could. One day, when this had passed, and you were happier than you could believe possible he’d show all these sketches to you. He wanted to be able to show you how far you’d come. You’d already come so far. Thoughtfully, you went on, “I haven’t even seen Thor for a couple of weeks.”

Desperate to move away from anything that made you so sad, Steve gently reassured you. “I must have heard wrong.” He done no such thing. Bucky had said your name several times as he got in Thor’s face.

You almost rolled your eyes. You couldn’t believe Steve would try to pull this shit with you. He was obviously lying. Which meant that Bucky was starting fights about you. Your heart picked up a little and you cursed yourself. “Is it just me, or has Bucky been acting weird lately?”

“It’s not just you.” Steve paused, concerned that he might hurt you, but he was worried about Bucky and needed to talk to someone. He knew you cared, no matter how hard you tried not to. “Honestly, I’m worried but I can’t get him to talk about whatever is bothering him.”

“Huh.” You knew it was a bad idea, knew you were only opening yourself up to more pain, but where you loved you couldn’t stop yourself. Even had you not loved Bucky for himself, you would have cared about him because of your love for Steve. You’d risk anything if Steve needed it. “You want me to try? Maybe he’ll talk to me since I’m not so close.”

Steve scowled. “I’m not going to trade one friend’s well-being for another’s.”

“It’s not quite that dramatic, Steve.” He lifted his gaze to yours with a dubious look on his face. The corner of your mouth stretched into a wry half-smile. “But I can understand why you might feel like it is.”

“I wish you’d stop beating yourself up over that.” Steve dropped his eyes back to his drawing. “You think I don’t know that you’re sitting naked in my studio because you think you owe me something?”

“I got to forget most of that night,” you said softly, your voice throbbing with remorse. “You didn’t.”

Steve didn’t look up, but his voice got stern and you couldn’t help but smile. “I got to save one of my best friends. You lost one of yours. If he’d just been a boyfriend, it wouldn’t have been so bad. But he was supposed to be your friend first.”

“It’s not all his fault. We were all reeling from losing your mom.”

Suddenly Steve’s eyes were on yours and it felt like he was staring into your soul. “You’re still in love with him, aren’t you?”

You couldn’t lie, not to Steve, not now. Somehow, in these moments in his studio, just the two of you, with your body and soul bared, you had to be honest not only with him but with yourself. “Sometimes I feel like I always will be.” You were looking at Steve, but you weren’t seeing Steve. In your mind true blue eyes with a touch of soft green were replaced by stormy-gray-and-blue as changeable as the weather, a prime example of the beauty to be found in the mercurial. “Why do you keep making me talk about it lately?”

Steve released you from that soul-searing gaze and turned back to the sketch. He knew when he was done, if only he could capture the look of longing and love that had crossed your face, it could be his best work. “Because you need to. Maybe if you talk about it, you can get past it. Maybe you’ll finally let yourself have something more serious than a booty call.”

With a sigh, you moved back into the pose while you playfully smiled. “I wish I could have fallen for you, Stevie.”

He snorted. “Right back at you, beautiful.”

“You remember when we tried to make out? It felt so…” You trailed off, not sure how exactly to explain what had happened the night a little over a year ago that Steve had kissed you. You had not pulled away, but you hadn’t been able to respond, either. Steve was objectively dreamy. You loved him madly.

And kissing him left you cold. Go figure.

“The word you’re looking for is incestuous.” Steve was blushing again.

A shudder ran over your skin. “Please don’t say that word while I’m naked.”

“Please don’t talk about us making out when you’re naked.”

You couldn’t hold the pose any longer. Laying down, you laughed until you cried.

As comfortable as you were in your own home, you were still chuckling to yourself as you poured a cup of coffee in Steve’s kitchen. It was true you still hadn’t forgiven Bucky, but it wasn’t because he'd had sex with someone else. That was Bucky. He couldn't help being a slut any more than he could help being tall, broad, and entirely too pretty. The man simply loved women.

Not in an indiscriminate way, but an entirely unpredictable one. He didn't seem to have a type. There had been multiple times that you'd expected him to move on one woman, only to see him turn to her friend. You couldn't find a pattern, as though he had some criteria that you just weren't capable of seeing.

You'd long ago come to terms with that, when you'd dealt with what had led you to drink entirely too much, too quickly. After walking in on Bucky and Gina, you’d ended up in a drinking game with some douche, whom you'd kneed in the balls when he got too pushy and took off before he could get his hands on you again. He'd probably have followed you all the way home if he hadn't been overtaken by Steve, running past him to get to you once he'd heard you'd left the party at a run.

If Steve hadn't gotten there when he did, you probably wouldn't have survived. All because you had gotten your heart broken and made stupid decisions when drinking. You knew you were lucky. Your mistake hadn't been fatal. You'd picked yourself up and come to terms with the fact that Bucky would never have treated you that way if he had been adult enough to love you the right way. That didn't mean he didn't love you, just not in the way you needed. And it was okay to need something more.

But maybe you could find a way to have your cake and eat it, too. Hopefully, without too much damage to your heart in the meantime.

Bucky let himself into his apartment with a sigh of defeat, feeling like he'd been beaten with sticks. He’d barely made it through his first class of the day. There was no way he could make it through the rest.

Every time he'd run into you over the past three weeks, he couldn't help but imagine what his life would be like without you in it. For years you’d been remote no matter how close he’d ever come, but at least he could see you, hear you, knew you were safe and so the world could continue to spin.

He was barely sleeping, running over the conversation he'd overheard and trying to imagine what it might mean. How did you almost die? And why had no one told him? Why had Steve prevented him from laying eyes on you for weeks after? How was he ever going to find out?

Somehow, it had been even worse than he’d been anticipating since the night he’d eavesdropped. He didn’t know how or why, but every time he’d run into you for the past couple weeks, you’d been so much warmer toward him than you’d been in years. It felt like you had died, two years ago, and only once he knew how much worse it could have been was he allowed to see more than just your ghost.

When he walked into his kitchen to find you in a long silk robe, humming softly as you doctored a cup of coffee, it was like his inability to stop thinking about you had conjured you. He stopped in his tracks, dumbfounded and heartbroken. If it had been only fantasy, as he had dreamed a thousand times, he would have walked up behind you to slide his arms around your waist and bury his face in the side of your neck. Unsure, he murmured your name questioningly.

At his voice, you jumped. He wasn't supposed to be back for another hour. "Holy fuck!" you shouted and hissed as hot coffee slopped over the rim and onto your hand as you whirled around. Laughing a little breathlessly, "You scared the shit out of me!" You grew concerned when you saw the absolute misery on his face. You instinctually moved forward to soothe, following your heart no matter how dangerous.

"What are you doing here? And…” he asked, utterly puzzled by your appearance and gesturing toward your attire as he trailed off.

"In my robe?" No matter how your feelings may have changed in the past couple weeks, you still really didn't want to get into it, so you used an excuse that was frequently true, though in the past you'd always dressed first. "I came over to steal some of your coffee and stayed to chat with Steve for a few. Don’t you have class right now?"

Bucky's eyes narrowed slightly. He couldn't explain why exactly he didn't believe you, but he knew your face better than he knew his own and he'd always known when you were up to something. "Yeah," he answered, wishing he could call you on it, but aware the two of you no longer had that rapport, "but I’m not feeling very good."

You walked forward, setting your coffee on the table. At this point, you weren't thinking of anything but alleviating the sadness in Bucky's eyes. "Are you doing okay, sweetie?" You reached up to rest the inside of your wrist to Bucky's forehead, then your palm against his cheek. Looking into his eyes, you said sternly, the way you would when he was feeling sorry for himself. "You haven’t seemed yourself lately."

Bucky had to take a moment before he could speak. Not entirely certain anymore that this wasn't a dream, he let himself bask in the long-lost sight of warm and caring eyes. Clearing his throat, he answered gruffly, "Don’t worry about me, babygirl." He flashed you the smile he reserved for only you, but he was still heartbroken enough that it didn't reach his eyes. "You know me, I don’t let anything get to me."

You hoped he hadn't heard your breath catch in your throat when he called you 'babygirl'. He hadn't used any endearment for you in years, let alone that one and it nearly cleaved you in two. When he followed it up with the smile you knew was also yours and yours alone, you remembered why you always felt like you were special to Bucky. It was because you were.

You began to think that whatever the reason may have been, he had had a reason for letting you down. There had to be more to the story, because he genuinely cared about you. And you could see that he needed you right now, regardless of what he said. "Sure," you retorted with a dubious look and twist of amused doubt to your lips. "Well, if you change your mind and want to talk about it, I’m right next door."

Bucky simply gaped at you. "Really?"

"Yeah," you replied, mock seriously, "I live there." His eyes dipped, and he looked so sad and lost, unwilling to believe lest he be disappointed, your heart took pity on him. Your face softened, and you cupped his face tenderly in your hands as you ducked to catch his eye. "Silly boy," you said softly, your voice rich with warmth and affection. "Don’t you know? You’ll always be my Bucky-bug."

At the pet name, Bucky responded as he had always done. He sneered in mock disgust, but he couldn't hide his pleasure in the sly and mischievous grin that had spread across your face when you said it. "Ugh! Do you have to call me that?"

"Yes!"

"Fine, fine," he muttered rolling his eyes, before dropping his voice to a sexy, teasing tone, "just keep it between us, sugar."

You laughed and drilled your finger into his belly, aiming for the spot you knew was his weakness. "Oh, don’t you dare." You'd once been weak to Bucky flirting with you, but you'd since built up an immunity. You smirked as you grabbed your coffee and walked out with a sassy twitch of your hips. You turned at the door and shot Bucky the playfully seductive look you reserved only for him over your shoulder. "Like that's still gonna work."

After a brief conversation with Steve where the man blushed and evaded, leaving him with even more questions about your presence in the apartment that morning, Bucky prowled through the place. It was like you'd left your scent on the air and he couldn't stop himself from sniffing after you. His heart was lighter even as it trembled. You'd looked at him like you'd been happy to see him, like the last few years had never happened and he had his best girl back. Even as it made him feel better than he had in weeks, the question of why you had been here haunted him.

Had Steve finally made his move? Had he finally told you of the crush he'd confessed to Bucky back in high school? Had the two of you finally made all the pain he'd gone through worth it? Why else would you be wearing a robe with what looked like nothing beneath it in the kitchen of their apartment when you thought Bucky would be gone for hours?

He'd thought he'd be content when you were where you belonged, but instead he couldn't hardly stand it. He had thought that if he'd ruined his chance to make you happy, at least Steve could do what he failed at. He'd thought that knowing you were happy would ease his loss. Now that the day may have come, he realized he'd been wrong; nothing could ease this.

However, he loved you enough to let you go if it was what you wanted, what you needed, even if it was torture. If you wanted and needed him as only your friend, and as the friend of your lover, then that's what he'd be to you, no matter how much it hurt.

As he paced past the doorway to Steve's studio on his way back to his own bedroom, Bucky saw a sketchbook wedged in the door on the floor where it had fallen. As he leaned down to pick it up, he realized the sketch on the page in front of him was of you. Unable to help himself, he paged through the book to find every image was of you.

First came images of you stepping down with a proud and disdainful look on your face, gauzy fabric bunched in your fists and swirling around your thighs. Bucky could easily see the shape of your body under the gossamer material. You were even more lovely than he’d imagined. After that came the images of different poses and parts of you, a trim ankle and foot, followed by a bare shoulder or the nape of your neck.

Next came the images of you sitting with your legs curled to your side. His eyes traced over the curve of a perfect breast, the dip of your waist, the flare of your hip, before coming to rest on your look of quiet thought. He didn't know how Steve could have sat drawing this when Bucky wouldn't have been able to resist comforting you; he would have had to try to lift the clouds from your eyes and your heart.

When he turned to last sketch, he knew he had to let you go. Your face, the one he knew and loved more than any other, stared out of the page into him. He hadn’t known the name of the emotion that lived in those eyes the last time he’d seen it aimed at him. Now, however, it was crystal clear for all it was captured in graphite. Only that desperate love and longing wasn’t for him. When this had been drawn, you’d been looking at Steve.

Part Five here

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