#this is just the result of me trying and failing to workshop some joke about

[emilinqa]

i have more complicated feelings about spock/chapel and don’t like snw for a number of reasons but i can’t deny that ethan peck’s spock is the only version of spock who acts like he’s dl on space grindr and that’s inherently funnier if he’s also dating a coworker on the side

[fanfalc-616]

The Rights Of A Nindroid

Chapter Twenty-Four

(Previous Chapter Here)

This took a while and it’s shorter than normal but uh yeah this is what you get-

“Yes, Master.” Zane nods his acknowledgement of the order and begins to solve the problems he had been given.

It’s been around eight months since his capture. How long exactly, Zane is unsure, but to his dismay, he finds that he… doesn’t really care. Does it matter? He can find out how long he’s been captured if he gets out.

When. When he gets out. He will be freed eventually, it will just… be a little while longer. He will simply have to wait, and follow the orders he is given in the meantime.

He follows every instruction to the best of his ability. He still doesn’t believe the lies they tell him about his worth, but he says what he is told to say on the matter.

“Original. How are you doing?” Martha prompts from nearby.

Zane feels a wave of confusion wash over him. What answer is expected of him here? “Erm… good?” He tries, hoping that his response is correct.

The blast of electricity makes him whimper, shuddering at the horrible feeling.

“You’re a nindroid. You don’t have real emotions- only a fake programmed version of them.” Martha corrects.

Curling in on himself some, Zane nods his agreement, despite not truly believing such. “My apologies, Master. I am doing…” he pauses a moment, trying to find the right words. “... I am functioning properly.” He corrects.

Martha nods, and Zane goes back to his work, studying the complex equations carefully. The point here is not getting the answers, but to make Zane understand that he needs to follow orders.

It had taken him a while to realize that, but there isn’t much he can do. He has to follow the instructions they give him… who knows what they’ll do if he refuses.

He doesn’t speak to Cryptor as often, not even with Morse Code. It’s too risky; they cannot afford to get caught.

It’s been quite some time since they’ve used the images of his team to harm him, and this has the unfortunate consequence of Zane… forgetting.

Contrary to popular belief, being a nindroid does not mean a perfect memory. At first, yes, but there still is not enough storage space for everything, and over time, things are automatically deleted to make room.

The image of Kai’s face is fuzzy now, the sight of his crooked smile and carefully styled hair is foggy at best.

The sound of Jay’s voice is distorted, the way his laugh would ring out after he told a joke humorous only to him and the hyperness in his voice when he was talking about something he was passionate about has begun to fade.

The feeling of being in Cole’s arms is faint, the gentleness that someone so strong had for him and the warmth from his hold is no longer so easily brought to mind.

Zane sighs, trying to dispel the thoughts. He shouldn’t be thinking about that- thinking about what he no longer has will only cause more pain, and he’s miserable enough as it is.

He tries to go back to his work, but much to his dismay, his motor functions glitch, and instead of writing something down, he slams his fist into the table hard enough that it hurts.

Fear takes a grasp on him, and he struggles to go back to the problems once again. Unfortunately, he can’t seem to get a proper grip on the pen, and it slips from his hands.

Martha walks up behind him, and his breathing quickens. “It- it was a glitch. I haven’t been able to do proper maintenance while I’ve been here, and-“

“Be quiet, Original.” Thankfully, she doesn’t sound angry, but instead slightly thoughtful and maybe even slightly concerned. After a moment, she sighs. “We’ll have to get that looked at.” She mutters to herself.

Zane stays perfectly still, wary of upsetting her. An angry Master is the last thing he needs at the moment.

Thankfully, they allow him to stop working on the problems and take him back to his… wait. This- this isn’t the way to his locker.

They’re taking him to the workshop.

The last time Zane was in the workshop, he had been forced to- he had been made to watch them- he- the Falcon was-

Zane can feel himself trembling as he’s taken back, but he doesn’t dare resist. While he can’t see any way that the situation could be worse, he does not doubt for a moment that it could.

He debates trying to run when they start tying him to the table, but he quickly rejects the idea. It’s too risky, and will only result in more punishment.

A mechanic walks in, and Zane feels as though a weight has been lifted off of him. It will not be Kyle working on him, and for that, he is very much grateful.

He remains silent as his chest plate is opened, but when the man begins to dig around inside of him, Zane fails to muffle his quiet noise of fear.

“Stop resisting, Original.” Martha gives the order from off to his side. “This is not a punishment, but it could very easily become one.”

“Y- yes, Master.” Zane chokes on his own fear as he speaks. All he can see is the way his friend was torn apart in front of him, and though the event has passed, it still occupies his mind.

Wires are tugged on, gears are inspected, vital parts are pushed around… this is its own kind of torment, a kind that no human could ever experience. The feeling of his inner guts being toyed with has him breathing heavily, trying to block out both his pain and terror.

“Please…” The word is only a soft whisper, but he silently curses himself for speaking up. He is not supposed to speak out of turn, and doing so will mean that he will end up in pain- more so than he would have gone through if he had been able to keep his mouth shut.

But when a hand brushes against his power source, Zane can’t find it in himself to hold back. The only thing occupying his mind is fear as all common sense is thrown out the window.

“Stop, don’t- please, stop it!” He struggles in his bonds, but is unable to make any leeway. Recently he has become able to ignore quite a deal of pain, but hands manipulating his innards is a feeling that he will likely never get used to.

He can hear the beginnings of a verbal reprimand, but something bumps against what functions as his spinal cord- where all his sensors meet.

He couldn’t hold back his scream if he tried.

Thankfully, the pressure quickly stops, but there is a residual ache where it had been touched, and Zane finds himself sucking in shaky breaths.

Martha seems annoyed as she glares at him. “Original, you-“

“It hurts.” Zane chokes out. “I’ve been behaving, I shouldn’t be being hurt. I haven’t done anything to deserve-“

A blast of pain makes him cry out again, shaking and trembling as they continue to manipulate his inner workings.

“Let me explain something to you, Original.” Martha’s voice is as cold as ice. “You deserve nothing. You aren’t human. You aren’t even alive. You are nothing more than zeroes and ones, and even if you do everything right… you will never be deserving of anything. You’re not even really suffering here, this is only a programmed response to it. Because you are lesser. And you always will be.”

For a moment, Zane doesn’t react. He doesn’t know how. So after a few moments, he resorts to his default reply.

“Yes, Master.” He forces his voice to remain steady.

To agree is the only option he has left.

[minyoonmeme]

Normalcy of the Pretty Posse

Chapter 1 

Word Count: 2494

Pairing: reader x ?????

Genre: like 90% fluff, 10% stupid jokes and bad humor

Description: Stupid Jeongguk and his cute sweaters and pretty posse of hyungs. 

(Disclaimer: This will probably have some typos. I started writing this instead of doing some Statistics homework and spent so long on it that I have zero time to edit. Sorry~)

next

masterlist

There was no game plan. There never really had been, at least not for me. Making it past 16 was something I had never foreseen, never imagined I could do. And now, here I am, alone in a country in a university far from home with no idea how life is supposed to go. Okay, maybe I’m being pessimistic because I’m not completely alone. I have friends if you count the two idiots who don’t let me drown in takeout boxes on weekends. They’re wonderful, they really are, I promise. 

Yoonjin is the sweetest person I’ve ever met no matter how much I want to strangle her into putting herself first. She’s the one who calls me about anything and everything. Don’t tell her that I secretly love that she calls me first when something happens. Chaebin is my right hand gal. My broski. My homegirl. My uh… well she’s great honestly. She’s all bark and no bite with the strongest affiliation for cute things, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. These two are pretty much my whole life other than the impending doom of my failing future that I have chosen to personally personify. Makes it less scary if it's punchable, honestly. 

“Are you gonna actually do your work or are you gonna stare at your coffee all day?

Rolling my head to the side, I eye Chaebin with the blankest face I can muster. 

“I didn’t ask to be criticized when I asked you to come to the library with me.” 

“No, but you did ask me to make sure you finish your paper in time for practice tonight. Yoonjin will cry if you let her go by herself again.” I groan, throwing my head against the cushion of the booth’s chair. She’s right, I know she is. I’ve missed two weeks of dance workshops and Yoonjin, without missing a beat, after every workshop comes knocking on my door teary eyed and sputtering about how she was all alone and lost without me there. Food usually helps soften her up. 

“You think she’ll forgive me if I miss just one more week?” Chaebin twitches her eyebrow up as she side eyes me from her computer. I slump even further and push my laptop farther away in favor of laying my head down. “You’re right. She’ll probably accuse me of abandoning her and our friendship if I skip one more time.” 

“I’ve literally seen you pump out a 12 page research paper in 3 hours, just go dance or whatever tonight and stress yourself later.” 

“Anxiety and Red Bull are a toxic combo, but I’ll have you know that I got a 94 on that paper.” Smiling smugly, I turn my head to look at her. She’s not wearing her glasses today, so it’s hard to tell if she’s glaring at me or blind today. “If I bail, are you gonna be okay by yourself? I can swing by afterwards with Yoonjin, so you don’t have to walk home alone tonight.” 

Her glare softens as she shakes her head no before grabbing some eyedrops. Oh. So she is wearing her contacts. “No, I’ll be okay. I came packing.” Her right hand pats her bag before she smirks and continues searching through her syllabus. 

I eye her bag warily and half jokingly say, “Please, tell me you don’t have a gun.” 

Her face scrunches as she stares at me. “Are you stupid? Why would I have a gun? I meant I have my phone and a taser. Do I look like I know how to shoot a gun?” 

I shrug and start packing up my bag. My joints scream and pop from being stationary so long. “I am, do I look like I know how to shoot a gun? You never know Chae, I could be a highly skilled marksman just waiting to take someone out. I might not even be a real college student, just a really good undercover assassin.” 

Her nose twitches as she clicks open a few browsers. “You almost cried last night when you saw a stray cat ignore you. I highly doubt you’re killing anyone these days.” 

“Animals love me and that one hurt, don’t use my feelings against me. Don’t you remember when you cried because you thought I was ignoring you last year?” Her face dropped as she coughed into her shirt, trying to hide the red splotches. “I was literally sick for three days and you came to my apartment with food because you thought I hated you. What was it you said? Something about not being allowed to hate you if you fed me.” 

“We don’t talk about junior year, I was going through it.” Her voice was tight, but I could tell she was amused. “It’s almost 6 o’clock, you should text Yoonjin and tell her that you’re not abandoning her tonight.” She slides my bag towards me and lets me scoot past her out of the booth. 

“Yoonjin and I will be by later to walk you back to your apartment around 9:30. Sound good?” My legs wiggle as I try and get a feeling back into them from sitting so long. When I stand there longer than normal, her eyes flash up as she nods and waves her hand at me to leave. 

To: Yoonjin the Trash Bin

You wanna meet outside the commons tonight or walk over together?

From: Yoonjin the Trash Bin

WAHH 

YOU”RE COMMING? No more awkwardly standing in the back by myself!?!?!? :)))))))

[crying egg dog.pdf]

let’s meet in the the commons

To: Yoonjin the Trash Bin

7? By the double doors upstairs?

From: Yoonjin the Trash Bin

No, no, no my friend come ASAP. We have much to discuss.

To: Yoonjin the Trash Bin

Uh okay???? See you in like 10 minutes I guess??? 

From: Yoonjin the Trash Bin

See you! <3

_______________________________________________________________________

“You actually did come.” Yoonjin’s hand reaches out and pinches my arm before she settles back against the wall. “I thought for sure your text was all some weird daydream I had conjured up.”

“Chaebin convinced me that our friendship was on the line if I left you alone at another workshop for the third week in a row.” My bag landed on the ground as I slide down next to Yoonjin. Her hair, newly cut and dyed to a short choppy greyish purple bob, was still something I needed to get used to. Yoonjin had failed her midterm last week and as a result decided that her hair would rejuvenate her life and, thus, her will to study. I still don’t think she’s bought her textbooks for this semester yet, but that’s not my business. 

“As she should! It was your idea to start coming to these dance things, and you left me!” Despite her anger, she still turned her smoothie toward me as an offering. “I look like a loose limbed monkey in there. At least with you there, you explain the steps to me.” I choke on the smoothie a little bit, as she crosses her arms.

“Loose limbed monkey? Yoon, you look fine! These workshops are meant for people who don’t have dance experience. It was your idea to try dancing, I just found a place to do it” Her face contorts as she sips on her smoothie again, shaking it to mix it up and get some frustration out. 

“It wouldn’t be so bad if people like you or Jeong-fucking-guk didn’t kept coming. It’s not fair to suck and then have to watch you two just like magically do it.” Her head gets thrown back with a thud as she grunts. Immediately I laugh and rub the back of her head in oder to soothe the soon to be ache. 

“I can go if you want since you seem to not want me or Jeongguk here apparently.” Her eyes dart over to me in the most non threatening but threatening way possible for someone like her. “Okay, so I’ll stay. Make your mind up Yoonjin, I can’t keep playing these games with you.” I click my tongue against my teeth as she smacks my thigh closest to her. “You said something about Jeongguk coming right? Since when does he come out to these things? I thought he was a dance and choreography minor? Shouldn’t he be with the big dogs or something in like a real class dancing?” 

Yoonjin hums, offering me the rest of her smoothie. It’s a green looking health smoothie from a self proclaimed health bar down the street. It’s for sure my favorite, and definitely not her’s, so I take it and nudge her as a thanks. “That’s the thing, I didn’t even know he went to these things. Usually I just hang out with you and everyone else who hides in the back with me, but last week he came up to me and asked if you were still coming.” I raise my eyebrows in surprise and nod for her to continue. “I told him you���ve been busy and he kinda just nodded and shuffled away. He did tell me to tell you to take it easy though.” “Were you ever planning on telling me that a boy approached you about me?” 

“I'm telling you now and that’s all that matters. Besides, I thought you swore off men after the mishap freshman year with that one Tinder date.” 

Immediately my face heats up, and I grimace at the memory. “We don’t talk about that for a good reason, you brat.” If she’s mad I called her a brat, her smug smile doesn’t show it. I go to open my mouth and further yell at her for bringing up the traumatizing story when a pair of black heavy boots skids to a stop by my stretched out legs. 

Okay, so here's the thing about Jeon Jeongguk . He is terrifyingly good looking. So much so that looking at him hurts, like physically hurts. Jeon Jeongguk could punch me in the face and I would say thank you for the attention and bow before passing out. Okay, that’s perhaps way too far but he is attractive and built. God, is he built. And he’s not even an asshole about it! Most guys who exercise thrive on showing off their bodies and flaunting their muscles. Not Jeon Jeongguk , though., Nope! Jeongguk wears sweaters and button ups that make him resemble a Korean version of Mr. Rogers. All smiles and kind eyes with a heart of gold. Men like Jeongguk are the reason I have heart issues and top notch acting skills. 

“You’re back!” My eyes blink a few times at Jeongguk before I register that he's looking at and me actually speaking. When I don’t say anything Jeongguk fiddles with the sleeve of his shirt and looks at Yoonjin before letting out a cough. He speaks a little calmer now, more airy and rushed. “Yoonjin said you’ve been busy and I was worried you weren’t gonna come back ‘til next semester. Not that I worried about you or like not not worried about you, but uh…” He sputtered a little and lets out a small huff of air before ruffling his hair back. My lips pressed together as I swing from internally swooning over his cuteness to the attractiveness of him pushing his hair back. “It’s good so see you back. Hobi hyung, says it's good to have some experienced people in the class to encourage and help beginners.”

“Is that why you keep coming too?” 

Maybe he doesn’t expect my question or for me answer him at all, but he blinks a little too hard and shyly looks over my shoulder rather than my face. It’s cute and maybe it makes a smile break out on my face. Just maybe though. “Yes! Hobi-hyung asked me to help him since he can’t uh ya know help everyone at once.” He doesn’t sound too sure of himself, but I let it go seeing as this is our first comprehensible conversation. 

“That’s sweet of you to help your hyung for free. Does Hoseok-shi think I’m there to do the same? I feel a little bad missing the past two weeks if you’ve been doing it all by yourself.” I frown and pinch my eyebrows a little tighter, looking the direction of the doors. Should I apologize? Yoonjin beside me, I can tell, has grown more and more interested in our conversation as she undoubtedly is texting our group-chat with Chaebin about what's happening. She nudges me to focus when the conversation stalls a little. The nerve of her, I swear.

Jeongguk , getting redder and slightly more panicky, shakes his head no a little too roughly. His hair looks a little messed up, and I nearly squeal with the need to fix the adorable mess that he is right now. Outside, however, I just smile softly and encourage him to explain. “Hobi-hyung and I are okay, you’re just like an added bonus to class cause you know you obvious have some experience with your technic and seem to pick up the dances quickly.” It’s a little rushed, but I think I make out everything he’s saying.

“Are you trying to say I’m a good dancer Jeongguk ?” It’s meant to be lighthearted and playful, but Jeongguk physically widens his eyes and looks everywhere, but in my direction for a few seconds before he stops trying to voice anything out just nods. My hands clasp in my lap as a I suppress a smile and will the flush to disappear from my cheeks. “Thanks, you dance really well too. I can see why you’re studying dance.” 

Jeongguk whispers the faintest, “Thank you,” before shoving his thumb in the direction of the door indicating that he’s gonna help them set up for the workshop. I wave goodbye and watch as he does the same and dashes behind the door. Now that he’s gone, I can breathe a little easier. That was probably the weirdest experience I’ve had today, or this week for that matter. Pretty people don’t just go up to me and talk, let alone me of all people. And when I say pretty people, I mean pretty people like Jeongguk and his pretty posse of friends.  Jeongguk and his hyungs are just uncommonly so pretty and somehow together all the time. Even now Jeongguk is inside with Jung Hoseok, a graduate student who hosts the beginner dance workshops on Thursday. The fact that  Jeongguk even talked to me, or asked about me last is enough to twist my insides a little. Normal people talk to people all of the time, but  Jeongguk was not normal and his hyungs are not normal. I mean they are, but they project this ethereal aura that just intimidates everyone. So, why for the love of God was Jeon Jeongguk just talking to me?

“Are we gonna talk about what just happened or are you gonna keep staring at the door?”

“Shut up, I'm trying to process everything.”

[anotherhargrovebitch]

greaser boy : b.h

all you wanted was for your car to be fixed before you head back to college, but a certain greaser isn’t letting that happen easily (2.4k) thank you to the anon who requested!

s t r a n g e r  t h i n g s  w r i t i n g 

Sighing to yourself, you couldn’t believe you managed to get yourself into this sort of situation, again. 

Your Dad knew your car was a piece of shit, but until you graduate college the car will have to do. He overlooked some issues with it, but when you arrived home from college with the bumper hanging off he decided it would be best to get it booked in. 

Leading to you sitting in the garage that stank of smoke with the radio faintly playing, barely audible over the work being done on the various cars laid out. 

Tapping your foot on the floor, you pick at your nails. Your Dad instructed you to go in with the cash to collect the car, it was obvious he was tired of being your chauffeur.  

“Erm, Y/l/n?” A guy called out as the sound of heavy boots echoed in the office nearing you. 

Rising to your feet, you turned to face the figure, partially surprised at who was before you. “No fuckin’ way,” You chuckle as he discards his cigarette, blowing the smoke away from you before he licks his lips. “Billy Hargrove?” 

“Who wants to know?” He questions, pushing his gelled curls away from his face as he looks you up and down. 

A small scoff leaves your lips as you cross your arms. “Like you’d even know who I was, of course.” You mutter to yourself, but his attention remains fixated on you. “Y/n, we went to high school together.” You say, watching as his eyes widen with realisation.

“You were that chick, friends with Harrington, right?” He states, remembering you clearly as you tried to stop various fights taking place between him and Steve. 

“Yeah, Steve’s friend.” You respond and Billy laughs under his breath. “Something funny ‘bout that, Hargrove?” 

Billy shakes his head as he walks past you, reaching for the rest of your paperwork. “You got hot, Princess.” He comments with a smirk before passing you the forms for your car, waiting for your signature. “Cars all ready for you, guess Daddy’s paying?” 

Taking the cash from your pocket, you count out the notes for him, his eyes still struggling to leave you. “That cover it?” You question bluntly, passing him the cash as he places it into the pocket of his leather jacket.

“Cover the car and maybe dinner sometime?” He asks, eyes wandering over you as you roll your eyes. 

“As if Billy.” You say as he gives you your keys. “Thanks for fixin’ my car, boys.” You call out to the rest of the mechanics, ignoring the whistles as you leave. 

As you drive off, Billy remains slightly stunned. His usual charms failed to work and it threw him off. “Don’t sweat it, Hargrove.” One of the guys calls out to Billy as he notices your house number on the paperwork. “She’ll be back before you know it.” 

Billy turns, taking note of your number before facing the other guys. “How’s that?” He questions, noticing one of the guys was holding part of the flywheel. “You son of a bitch,” He laughs, knowing he’s guaranteed to see you real soon. 

*

“Well, well,” Billy slides from underneath a car, recognising your converse and the legs that they’re attached to. “how’s it goin’, Princess?” He smiles brightly, trying to humour your deep frown. 

“I’m just here to get my engine fixed, Billy.” You tell him as he rises to his feet, wiping his hands. 

A smile crosses your lips as you motion to the oil on his cheek, but he remains unaware. “What, you can’t help but stare?” He jokes, and you lean closer, wiping his cheek. 

“Bit of dirt, that’s all.” You say politely, shrugging it off. 

Billy clears his throat, hoping none of the guys noticed the pink tint his cheeks as you laugh under your breath. “Come on through to the office, I’ll get the paperwork sorted.” Billy leads the way as you follow silently behind him, trying your best not to stare at his ass.

Returning to the office you take a seat whilst Billy hovers behind the counter, rummaging for the paperwork. “How’d you end up here then?” You ask, looking around as all the other guys converse, all middle-aged whilst Billy is the youngest by a long shot. 

Lifting his head up, Billy can see genuine curiosity in you. Unlike other girls, you’re not here for a flirt. You knew Billy when he was a total ass who always tried his hand at any girl and beating up your friend. 

“Finished high school, scraped my grades through and knew I needed something besides lifeguarding in the summer.” Billy explains as he focuses on the paperwork, filling in the sections required before passing it to you for your signature. “And I stumbled into this place, they offered me a chance and well, two years down the line still here.” He says with a small laugh, thankful that someone gave him a chance after everything. 

Signing the paperwork, you pass the clipboard back to him. “You seem happier, Hargrove.” You comment, giving him a small smile. “It’s a good thing, don’t worry.” 

“Thanks, Princess.” A small smile cracks across his lips before he clears his throat, tapping his pen on the clipboard. “So erm, we’ll give you a call when it’s ready for you. Should be a few days at most.” 

You nod in response, “Thanks, Billy.” 

*

A few days had passed by, but you hadn’t left Billy’s mind. 

“Hey, Bill?” One of the guys called out and Billy looks over to see your car all ready. “Wanna call the girl, ask her on that date?” A series of laughter fills the garage, and Billy shrugs it off as he lights a cigarette, hiding his nerves about calling you. 

Moving out from the workshop, Billy wanders into the office and closes the door behind him. He releases a shaky breath before picking up the phone and dialling your number. 

As the line rings he finishes his cigarette, hearing the line being picked up. “Hello?” A deep voice answers and Billy’s eyes widen. 

“Hi Sir, this is Billy callin’ from Hawkins Garage.” He speaks clearly, tugging on his jacket as he listens to your Dad let out a deep sigh. 

“Hold on, Billy. Let me get my daughter.” He responds, hearing your Dad shouting your name throughout the house, only for you to respond with the same amount of gruff. 

Taking the phone from your Dad, Billy listens to the faint conversation you have before answering. “Hi Billy,” You sound slightly out of breath, and Billy smiles to himself. “take it my car is either still a piece of shit or it’s a piece of shit that’s been fixed?” You quip, and he nods to himself. 

“It’s a fixed piece of shit alright.” He tells you. 

Leaning against the wall, you play with the phone cord, smiling to yourself. “I’ll see if I can come in later.” You glance up at the clock, checking the time. “Said I’d see Steve whilst I’m in town.”

Billy nods to himself. “If you need it, I can pick you up?” He offers, waiting for a response as silence lingers on your end. “You haven’t died on me, have you, Princess?” He jokes, and you snap out of your shock before answering.

“Did Billy Hargrove just offer a selfless act?” You fake gasp, causing Billy to roll his eyes as he doodles on your paperwork.

“Don’t get used to it, Y/n.” He comments. “But if you need it, the offer’s there.”

“Pick me up in an hour?” You suggest and Billy turns to face the clock, knowing he’ll manage to get away with the time off.

“See you in an hour then, Princess.” He smirks down the phone, wishing you could see how he’s biting his lower lip, but you merely hang up not long after. “Hey, Jerry?” He calls out, grabbing his keys. “I’ll be back in an hour, that alright?” 

“Yeah, whatever kid.” Jerry waves him off, leaving Billy to wander out from the garage to go grab some food. 

*

As Billy pulls up outside of your house, he’s barely waiting two seconds before he hears the front door slam. You jog toward his car, taking the passenger seat with a heavy exhale.

“And good afternoon to you too, Y/n.” Billy jokes and looks over as you focus on the floor. “Is everything alright?” His voice softens as he turns to face you, watching as you wipe your face. 

Nodding in response, you pull your seatbelt on. “I’m fine.” You comment too quickly. “Just arguing with my Dad over money, nothin’ unusual.” You say, glancing over to see concern lacing his eyes. 

“If you’re strugglin’ to pay for the car,” He starts, but you shake your head. 

“No, no, it’s other things.” You sigh. “But I’m just glad to be going back to college next week.” You run your fingers through your hair, a hint of a smile crossing your face as Billy’s slowly disappears.

“Going back that soon, huh?” He sadly questions, watching as you nod. 

“Can’t keep me here for longer than two weeks, Hargrove.” 

Nodding to himself, Billy pulls away from your house and straight to the garage, but spots you looking into the back seat. “Is that a picnic?” You raise an eyebrow to him in surprise. 

“It might be.” He shrugs it off as he pulls up outside of the garage. 

“Oh I get it, some girl you’re picking up later, huh?” You nod, knowing you’re right already, but to your surprise, Billy shakes his head.

“Well, Princess. I was going to ask if you wanted lunch, but you seemed upset and I didn’t wanna ruin your mood.” He comments thoughtfully, and you lean back in the seat. 

Was this really the same Billy Hargrove you knew from high school? 

“I mean, since you’re going back to college and all.” He adds, hoping it doesn’t come across too desperate. 

“Lunch would be lovely, Billy.” You say with a smile. “Where were you thinkin?” 

“I know just the spot.” He tells you before continuing past the garage, heading down to the river. 

As Billy pulls up to the waterfront, you climb out before he has the chance to turn the engine off. You rest your hand on the hood of the car, staring out as memories flood your mind. 

“I can’t remember the last time I was even here.” You think aloud, glancing over as Billy stands by your side, resting his hands in his pockets. “Maybe when I was thirteen?” You chuckle, thinking it was probably your first kiss that resulted in a nose bleed. 

“I’ve never been here,” Billy speaks up, catching you giving him a look. “I’m serious, I, I heard a lot about this place but never came.” He moves further away, taking the food in a bag and heading down toward a small rock in front of the water as you trail behind. “Never had anyone to bring.” He mutters under his breath, unaware of how close you actually are behind him. 

The two of you quickly settle into a conversation, eating the gas station snacks and surprisingly, you’re enjoying yourself. 

“I never thought I’d see the day where Billy is a nice guy.” You joke as he nudges you before joining you in laughter. “Look you were a real dick, what can I say?” 

Billy nods, sipping at his drink. “Yeah, can’t argue with you there.” 

“But you seem different now.” You say truthfully, focusing on his soft features surrounded by that hard greaser exterior. “I, I don’t know what it is Hargrove,” Your voice softens as he moves closer toward you, the distance between you both becoming almost non-existent. 

“I grew up, learnt there was more than high school.” He explains, turning his eyes away as he focuses on the ripples in the water as the leaves continue to fall. “And some shit with my family changed, I moved out and sort of lost touch with everything.” 

Looking back down at you, Billy is surprised at how quiet you are when listening to him. “You’re a better guy, Billy.” You whisper, looking down at his lips. “I mean, at least I think you are.” 

A small laugh leaves his lips. “That’s all that matters, princess.” He comments before his lips reach yours. 

You never anticipated that you’d kiss Billy. It was something you rolled your eyes at the thought of. But now it was happening, all you could do was melt into his embrace. Your hands find themselves in his curls, pulling on them as his hand's snake around your waist. 

As you pull away, slightly breathless his hands remain on you. “I should,” You swallow. “we should get back.” You comment, moving away as Billy nods. 

“Yeah, yeah.” He agrees as you head back to his car, neither of you sure what to make of the moment you just shared. 

The drive to the garage is fairly quiet as neither of you wishes to speak first. You try to keep your leg still, stop it from bouncing with little luck, only to feel Billy’s hand rest on your thigh causing it to stop immediately. Part of him expected you to push it off, but you welcomed it as you looked out as Hawkins passed you by. 

Pulling up at the garage, the process of retrieving your car is pretty quick. “Anything to sign?” You ask Billy as he hands you your keys, both of you in the small office once more. 

“Just on the dotted line, Y/n.” He tells you and watches as your brows knit together. “Don’t worry about the costs.” He says, seeing you slightly speechless. “Consider it a leavin’ present.” 

“Billy,” You mumble. “I can’t. I can’t let you cover that.” You try to reason, but there’s no shifting. 

“If you want to repay me in some way,” He starts, moving closer toward you as you look up at him with a smile playing on your lips. “how about a real date sometime?” 

Chuckling to yourself, you run your hands across the leather jacket, reaching into his pocket for a pen. “Meet me here, 8pm.” You scribble an address on a cigarette packet. “Tonight, don’t be late.” Leaning up, you kiss him on the cheek, hearing a sound of cheers in the garage as you head toward the door. “Thanks again, boys!” You cheerfully call out before blowing one last kiss to Billy, leaving him utterly speechless. 

[bts-bringthescenarios]

Genre: fluff, hints of angst, hints of crack. Pairing: [romantic] female reader + bts!maknae line Contents & Warnings: multiple career!reader, physical contact, swear words, mention of mental health issues.

*** Park Jimin

It had all started with BTS’ increasing concern over Jimin. He seemed to be getting more and more anxious with time. He was such a perfectionist he couldn’t do anything without feeling an intense sense of responsibility: he practiced all the time, he was constantly dieting, he recorded everything countless times until he felt it was close to perfect. If he didn’t achieve the results he strived for, he would become stressed and testy. 

One night, Jimin stayed at the BigHit dance practice rooms until very late, going over the same choreography until he felt he had mastered it completely. The trouble was the whole band had spent the entire day practicing, and they were worried Jimin might injure himself if he kept pushing himself so far. So this time they decided to ambush him. 

“Okay, music out. This has to stop,” Jin barged in. 

“What are you doing? I’m still not confident with the final step sequence!” Jimin protested weakly. Still, he sat down on the ground. He was drenched in sweat and his hands were shaking slightly. 

“Then you’ll have to live with the uncertainty,” Hoseok said as he kneeled over Jimin, handing him a bottle of sport beverage. 

“You need to rest. Right now,” Taehyung commanded as he sat next to Jimin, eyeing him full of concern. 

Jimin downed the bottle, realizing he hadn’t had supper yet, and his lunch had consisted of an apple. He tried to persuade himself that it was best for him to keep practicing, but maybe his brothers were right. He needed to stop. 

The next morning they all gathered together with their manager to talk to Jimin about not overexerting himself, and they unanimously decided that he needed to find a new occupation beside the idol life, some way to blow off steam and distract him. They wanted to make sure that his new hobby was laid back, messy and improvisational, so that Jimin could not redirect his perfectionism toward a new activity and he could focus on simply doing whatever he felt like. 

That was how BigHit enrolled Jimin in a Clay Sculpting workshop. Horrified, he tried to persuade them to transfer him to any other kind of class: cooking, bartending, painting, expressionist dancing, anything, but BTS and BigHit knew him well, and they knew that anything that meant creating a product or involved dancing would only make things worse. So he began attending the classes, twice a week for two hours. He was not allowed to bring any unfinished projects home, and he had to submit his work every week. This forced him to just turn in whatever he had, regardless of his expectations. 

That was how he had met you. 

“Okay, (Y/N). Could you please tell us about your piece?” the teacher asked kindly, holding up a bulbous shape so that the rest of the class could see it. 

“Well, it was supposed to be a carriage, but looking at it now I’m tempted to just think of it as ‘abstract art’” you scoffed. “I guess I’ll have to name it something pretentious or whatever.”

Everyone laughed, and Jimin felt much more at ease at the fact that the frog that he had been working on looked like a deformed hut with eyes. 

At the end of the class, Jimin stepped out of the men’s room, ready to leave, when he overheard a conversation happening in the next room. 

“Ugh, I wish they’d let us bring our phones in! No one’s going to believe me,” someone complained. 

“No phones allowed, that’s true, but there are no rules over bringing a picture and asking him to sign it. I bet I could sell it for big bucks,” another voice added.

Jimin exhaled silently, deciding to remain hidden until everyone else was gone. He hoped they’d leave soon, Jungkook was picking him up and he was probably waiting in the parking lot already. 

“Oh! Let’s ask him next week, (Y/N)!”

“No.” Your voice, firm and clear, resonated in the quiet room, pulling Jimin out of his thoughts. He pressed his ear to the door. “Look, you can do whatever you want, but I’m not going to be a part of this.” 

“A part of what?” a man inquired. 

“Can you imagine what it must be like?” you countered calmly. “Can you imagine being unable to join a friggin’ clay sculpture class without people harassing you all the time?”

“It’s just an autograph, (Y/N). Jeez,” the same man jeered.

“Yeah, I bet everyone thinks that. And then everyone demands one. All day. Every day.” 

A low murmur broke after your words, and Jimin couldn’t hear anything else. Just in case he walked back into the men’s room and remained there until he was positive the classroom was empty. 

During the weekend, Jimin found himself thinking about you frequently. He appreciated you standing up for him with that group of people, since he knew it couldn’t have been easy to just go ahead and confront the majority. Besides, there was something very genuine about you, like the way you had mocked your own sculpture. Even the way you spoke felt honest and upfront. He wondered if there’d be a way to talk to you during class. 

As it turned out, one of your friends was on vacation and there was a free spot on your table when Jimin walked in. That wasn’t the only good news. It seemed that your words had an impact on the rest of the group, because no one walked to him requesting an autograph or a picture. 

Jimin sat next to you slowly, attempting to play it cool, like he’d chosen that seat because whatever. The way his eyes looked away from you bashfully contradicted that notion.

“Hi,” you greeted him smilingly as you put on your apron. 

“Hi,” he replied softly. You didn’t want to make him uncomfortable by being overbearing, so you began preparing the materials in silence. Jimin watched you awkwardly for a second, then he began preparing his things too. He tried to make conversation. “Um… any idea what you’re going to do today?” 

“Well, I’ll try to do a lotus flower, ‘try’ being the operative word.” 

“I think your carriage last week was pretty good,” Jimin chortled. 

“Oh, it’s not a carriage anymore. I’m calling it ‘The Burden of Constantly Failing Clay Class’. It’s an abstract piece,” you joked, and Jimin burst into quiet laughter. 

Jimin had a lot of fun with you during the entire class, and he soon discovered that when he didn’t take himself so seriously he actually enjoyed himself immensely. He played with the clay, experiencing the feeling of its texture under his fingers, and shaped up a bird with its wings wide open. Your lotus flower was looking pretty good too, and Jimin suggested you combine the two sculptures after painting them next class. 

You walked into the classroom overly excited the next class, and so did Jimin. He had been looking forward to this all week. You worked together again, goofing around with the brushes and joking constantly. When you turned in your final project, the colors were bright and tacky, and it looked quite kitsch. It wasn’t even close to being perfect, but that somehow made you both feel better.

“Why are you taking this class, (Y/N)?” Jimin inquired as you both waited for the rest of your classmates to finish their work. 

“Well… I was struggling with negative thoughts, and I needed something to force me to focus on actually doing something regardless of the outcome,” you explained. You didn’t mean to overshare with him, but he looked genuinely interested in knowing and it just slipped out. Besides, you thought, being an idol meant everyone knew so much about him already, it was only fair to give him some personal information about yourself. 

“Really? So did I!” he exclaimed impulsively, then looked away, abashed. You smiled at him encouragingly, and he continued. “I was actually working myself too hard, and my brothers decided it was time for me to find a hobby.” 

Both of you kept talking until the class was over, and then continued your conversation while Jimin waited for Jungkook to pick him up in the car. 

The conversations and joint projects quickly became a routine. This caused a lot of gossip at first, but it died out as time passed and your relationship didn’t change. In truth, you both liked each other quite a lot, but were reticent of asking each other out for different reasons. You didn’t know whether Jimin could date or not, and you were scared you’d make him uncomfortable by asking him out. 

Jimin, on the other hand, was simply too shy to do it. Of course, he thought about it quite a lot, and he had formed plans to do it a hundred times, at least. He’d fantasized and daydreamed about it countless hours, perfecting it, but when the time came to act upon it, he systematically chickened out: he walked into the workshop determined to ask for your phone number, but as soon as the class was over he walked away empty handed.

His brothers began to lose patience. 

“For fuck’s sake, Jimin, just go and ask her for her phone number after class. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. Tell her you want to send her memes or something,” Yoongi complained. 

“If you don’t do it yourself I’ll do it for you,” Jeongguk teased. 

“Okay, okay! I’ll do it tomorrow,” Jimin whined, trying to end the conversation.

“You make sure he does that, Jeongguk,” Yoongi added maliciously. 

Jimin eyed them suspiciously. Maybe Jeongguk really meant what he said. He would have to act on this soon if he wanted to avoid a catastrophe. 

Needless to say, Jimin was fidgety during the entire class, paying little attention to his clay project. It was supposed to be a mug, but he didn’t even shape it properly and it looked like some sort of tower. As the end of the class grew impendingly close, his palms began to sweat. 

“I can’t believe I even got the handle right,” you boasted, showing your mug to Jimin as you put your projects away to dry so that they could be painted next class. “I mean, if I keep this up you’ll be keeping my best work yet.” 

Jimin looked up in alarm, and realization dawned on him. You had promised to give each other the finished mugs last class, but he’d been so caught up with asking you for your number he completely forgot. He looked down at his mug, beginning to despair. He wasn’t sure the thing could even hold any liquid inside it. 

As your classmates slowly filed out of the class, Jimin said goodbye quickly, excusing himself by going to the toilet. You felt uneasy. He’d acted weird today. He’d barely talked, his mug looked like a pepper mill and he stumbled over words the whole time. Was something wrong? Should you stay and ask him? You decided it was best to leave, perhaps he needed time alone. 

Feeling a little down, you walked out of the building and a chilly breeze tousled your hair, making you shiver. You remembered you left your scarf in the classroom, so you went back to get it. When you opened the door you found Jimin alone, placing his clay mug inside a cardboard box. His eyes darted up and he froze, turning crimson. 

“Hey,” you said quietly. “Er… what are you doing?”

Jimin straightened up, eyeing the box guiltily. 

“Nothing. I mean, I was just packing the mug.” 

“Why are you packing it?” you questioned dubiously. Then you noticed his backpack was open, and he’d made enough space to stuff the cardboard box inside it. “Wait. Were you going to take the mug home?”

“It just needs a few touch ups!” Jimin admitted, biting his lip as you stared at him. 

“Jimin, you’re supposed to let it go if it’s not perfect, remember?” you protested, your voice soft and understanding. “Are you having anxious thoughts again?”

“No, not at all. That’s not it.” 

“Then why are you so worried about it?”

“Because I forgot we were going to swap mugs!” he confessed. “My mind was elsewhere and I completely forgot, like an idiot. I want you to have something nice. I don’t want you keeping this— this—” he trailed off, glaring at the box. 

You were so touched by his words it took you a few seconds to react. 

You walked around the table to stand next to him and placed your hands over his shoulders, softly holding him in place as you fixed your eyes on his. 

“Jimin, I want you to understand something. I don’t care if the mug’s pretty or artsy or whatever. You know what I care about? The fact that you took the time and trouble to make it for me. That’s it. I’ve been watching you work on that mug, and I already love it. So put it back to dry, or so help me.”

You had meant for the playful threat to make him laugh, but instead Jimin remained still, his eyes burning with emotion. Of course you would have the perfect answer. Of course you would made him feel exactly right. As he pondered this, he discovered this was his chance to take the leap, and he was sure that he wanted to take it. 

Carefully evaluating your reaction, Jimin hesitantly lifted his hands to your back and pulled you just a fraction closer. The movement was enough for you to understand what he was trying to do. Your heart thumped loudly in your ears. You slid your hands up his neck gently, grazing your fingertips over his hair. 

As he held you in his arms, Jimin’s shyness faded away. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled your bodies closer together, so close you could taste his breath on your tongue. It lured you in, and for the briefest moment you touched his lips with yours. 

The sound of the elevator doors opening, followed by a series of footsteps in the hallway, had you pulling away from each other hastily. You had just enough time to collect yourselves before Jeongguk strolled in through the door. 

“Hey, what’s taking you so long? Class was over like fifteen minutes ago—” he stopped, his eyes darting from you to Jimin’s unmoving figures. 

“Oh,” he whispered as he understood what was going on. “You must be (Y/N).” 

Knowing that Jimin had talked to Jeongguk about you made your heart flutter. It had the opposite effect on Jimin, though. 

“We were just talking right now. Could you please wait for me in the car?” he snapped, indignation winning over the embarrassment. 

 “Okay,” Jeongguk replied and made to leave. Then he stopped in his tracks and turned around, a bit flustered. “I’m sorry, but I promised Yoongi-hyung I would check...” 

Jimin’s stomach dropped. Oh, no he wouldn’t. His eyes narrowed dangerously at his brother, unspoken threats festering behind them. Jeongguk seemed to reconsider for a second, but then he squared his shoulders and stared at you. 

“(Y/N), Jimin’s supposed to ask you for your phone number. You know, to send you memes and stuff.” 

Jimin learned there and then that it was not possible to die of shame, because if it were he would have dropped dead at that precise moment. He turned to look at your expression to measure the damage Jeongguk had done. For what felt like an eternity you appeared to be confused, your face scrunched up in concentration. Then, to his immense relief, the corners of your mouth quirked up into a wide grin.

“He was just getting to that before you walked in,” you affirmed happily, having realized that he had been so nervous during class because he’d been meaning to ask you out. 

“Oh. Okay. I’ll leave you to it, then,” Jeongguk mumbled, then turned around and walked out. 

None of you spoke until the elevator shut its doors with Jeongguk inside it. 

“So, would you like to take down my number?” you asked innocently, trying to break the ice. 

“I am… so sorry. I don’t even know how to begin to make up for what just happened. Memes...” he whispered to himself as he looked away, overcome with indignation. 

You beamed at him, trying not to laugh at his expression. When he gazed at you again, it knocked the air out of him. You were glowing: your eyes, your skin, your lips, everything seemed to have become even more beautiful. 

Jimin understood then that his chagrin was silly, because your feelings mirrored his own. He grinned at you and held your hands in his. 

“I could begin to make amends tomorrow night. Can I buy you dinner?” he asked, turning a light shade of pink. 

“Please,” you answered, and leaned in to kiss his cheek. 

***

Kim Taehyung

The other members didn’t mind it as much when someone from the BigHit team took their pets to the vet because it was unavoidable, but not Taehyung. Sometimes it couldn’t be helped, but he did the best he could to always be there for Yeontan when he needed his routine vaccinations or when he was ill. He would fuss and get stressed about it all the time, distrusting the vets, until another idol shared with him the number of her favorite vet in the city, who happened to have a home health service. 

That was how he had met you. Taehyung was immediately smitten with you since the first time you stepped on the dorm and all the members’ pets greeted you affectionately as if they’d known you forever. Even Yeontan was happily rubbing itself against your shins in demand of your attention before you had removed your coat. Oh yes, Taehyung had crushed on you instantly, and it wasn’t only because he found you very attractive, but also that you were humble, kind and easygoing. You greeted the boys warmly and set to work immediately, listening to all of their questions and lovingly stroking their pets as you checked them up. And what was even better, you treated them as normal people. 

When it was Yeontan’s turn to have his medical examination Taehyung lingered protectively around him, but he soon realized it was unnecessary: his pup was so comfortable with you he needn’t be worried. So instead he decided to watch you work, paying close attention to the way you frowned when you were listening to Tan’s heart through the stethoscope, or the graceful movements of your fingers as you checked inside his ears. You were so concentrated on Yeontan’s examination that you didn’t notice Taehyung gawking at you admiringly, nor how his mouth was hanging open during the entire check up. 

After suggesting to swap the food brand to make Yeontan gain a bit of weight and arranging to come in a few weeks for his routine vaccination, you asked Taehyung if he had any questions, still holding his pet in your arms as he licked your hand affectionately. 

“Is there a place where I can come see you?” he inquired dreamily, and taking into account your bewildered expression, he added, “you know, if I have any questions or if there’s an emergency.”

“Sure, you can come over to the clinic or just call me at any time,” you beamed at him as you handed him a business card with your address. 

Immediately after you left, Taehyung secured your card carefully in his wallet and made sure to write down your address in his phone as well. During the next week he tried to restrain himself from getting in touch with you, but he couldn’t help daydreaming about asking you out. He tried to content himself by looking forward to your next visit, but the more time passed, the harder it became for him to ignore the little card tucked in his wallet. 

Unable to resist any longer, Taehyung texted you pretending to have forgotten the brand of dog food you’d recommended. You wound up chatting for a while, where he sent you pictures of Yeontan and, of course, a really cute selfie with a wide, boxy smile and his pup in his arms. Then the following day he dropped by your veterinary clinic to purchase the dog food, and he later sent you a video of Yeontan eating his meal happily. Five days later he swung by again, explaining that someone had mysteriously thrown away Yeontan’s food so he needed to buy some more. 

During this whole time you had tried very hard to maintain a professional relationship. Honestly, you really tried. But how was it possible to keep a polite distance when he was so sweet and attentive? You tried to be strong and remain emotionally detached since the idea of getting romantically involved with a worldwide famous idol was scary to say the least, and besides, he surely met a lot of interesting women all the time in his industry. You thought he might get bored of talking to you, or he would eventually be too busy to keep it up. 

Well, that didn’t happen, not even when he left on a tour for two weeks. He texted you regularly, and despite beginning your daily conversations with a pretext, like Yeontan shivering while he slept or not being hungry, every single time he found a way to keep talking to you about something else, bombarding you with questions about your personal life and telling you funny stories of his daily routine being an idol. Eventually, Taehyung gathered up enough courage to ask you if you were dating someone. When you read that text, your hands were shaking with so much excitement that you nearly dropped your phone. That was the moment you finally accepted that you had utterly and completely messed up your plan to remain emotionally detached. 

Needless to say that when the time came for you to go back to the dorms and vaccinate Yeontan, both of you were giddy and excited. Taehyung was head over heels for you, and he promised himself he would ask you out today. He woke up extra early to shower, fix his hair and carefully select his outfit. He spent an entire thirty minutes deciding what perfume to wear, trying them all on the other members, and the last hour before your arrival he brushed his teeth three times. 

“So at what time is the hot vet coming?” Jeongguk inquired, a bit concerned after watching Taehyung rinse his mouth yet again. 

“Please don’t call her that. It only makes me more nervous to remember how beautiful she is,” Taehyung muttered, anxiously checking his phone again. 

“Take it easy, Taehyungie,” Jimin said as he patted his back soothingly. “You’ve been texting all the time for weeks now. I’m sure she’ll accept to go on a date with you.” 

When you finally rang the bell, Taehyung stood in front of the door for a second and took a deep breath to collect himself, energetically flattening his shirt with his hands to remove any wrinkles. And when he opened the door, you looked so pretty you knocked the air out of him and he forgot all the things he planned to say to play it cool. 

“(Y/N)! You look— I mean, I’m happy to see you again. Hi,” he said, picking up Yeontan from the ground and bringing him close to you so you could pet him. 

You were breathless, too. You noticed how handsome Taehyung looked, and for a second it seemed surreal to you that this man had been flirting with you this whole time. Were you absolutely sure he liked you? Maybe you had read too much into your relationship. You had refrained from asking your friends’ advice in the matter because you didn’t want to expose him, but now that you were insecure about his feelings you felt like you should have asked your best friend about her opinion, even if you didn’t tell her who it was you were texting with. 

As he closed the door, Taehyung debated with himself whether he should help you remove your coat or not, but before he knew it you were already placing it on the hanger. He scolded himself for being inattentive and decided to compensate by offering you something to drink, only to realize he had forgotten to boil water for tea. 

Luckily, Jimin walked in at that very moment and greeted you warmly, after which he said he had prepared some infusions and invited you to the living room. As you walked through the door with your back to both of them, Jimin gave Taehyung two thumbs up, silently mouthing ‘I got you covered’. 

The three of you sat down for a few minutes drinking tea and making small talk while Yeontan perched himself comfortably on your lap, after which Jimin excused himself and left Taehyung and you alone. For a second you were afraid you’d be too nervous to talk, but then you noticed Taehyung smiling affectionately at Tan, who had fallen asleep on top of you. Just by looking at him you felt a fuzzy warmth radiating inside you and spreading all over your body. 

“I’m glad he likes you so much,” he whispered, his eyes now on yours. 

“It definitely makes things easier for my job,” you replied, grinning as you softly rubbed behind Tan’s ears. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Taehyung interrupted, after which he got up and sat beside you, careful not to wake Yeontan. He thought for a moment, wondering why it was so relaxing for him to know Yeontan approved of you so completely. Perhaps it was because Tan was family, and Taehyung wanted him to like you because he liked you. He stretched his hand to stroke the sleeping pup, wondering how to correctly translate these feelings into words, when his fingers accidentally brushed against you. 

Taehyung’s hand froze in midair, hovering over your skin as he waited for you to react. Without a word, you lifted your arm slightly, and a small smile spread across Taehyung’s face as you pressed your arm to his palm. Encouraged by your advance, he wrapped his hand gently around your arm and let it slide softly up and down, simply enjoying the feeling until he entwined his fingers with yours. Then his other hand delicately lifted your chin as his thumb caressed your cheek. When you looked up, his face was so close to yours his breath ghosted across your lips. 

Taehyung fixed his eyes on yours, wordlessly asking for your permission. You closed your eyes and leaned in.

Yeontan abruptly jumped out of your lap and ran to meet Min Holly at the door. Right behind them Yoongi was silently but frantically gesturing for his own dog to follow him, having realized he was interrupting you in a rather... intimate moment. Yet when he noticed Yeontan had joined Holly, he looked up apologetically and awkwardly waved his hand at you. 

“Hi, doc,” he said, bending down to pick up Holly and Yeontan in his arms. “Sorry for the interruption. Let me just—”

Taehyung shut his eyes tightly, grinding his teeth together. You leaned away from him, fixing a stray lock of hair behind your ear to compose yourself. It was hopeless, though, since you were blushing furiously. 

“Hi, Min Yoongi. Is everything okay? I can examine Min Holly later,” you said, attempting to dissipate the awkwardness. 

“Maybe some other time,” he replied, giving Taehyung a meaningful look, and he shut the door behind him. 

You gazed back at Taehyung, who looked absolutely demoralized. However, you took it as a good sign that your fingers were still interlinked, and decided to place your free hand over his. 

“Are you alright, Taehyung?” you asked soothingly. 

Even though he was brutally disappointed by how your first kiss had turned out, the way his name sounded in your voice made him feel immediately better. He realized you must have been dissatisfied by this whole ordeal too. Taehyung decided to make the best out of the situation and actually continue with the plan he had originally outlined, where he asked you out first and kissed you second. 

Taking a deep breath, Taehyung fixed you with a serious, intense expression. When he saw your encouraging smile and felt the warmth of your hands wrapping his, the words effortlessly slipped out of his mouth. 

“(Y/N), I really like you. Would you go out on a date with me?”

You beamed at him and nodded, nudging his hand. 

“Great,” he grinned. He stood up and pulled you up with him, biting his lips as he drank in your excited smile, then he raised an eyebrow. “Are you free right now?”

Yeontan’s vaccination could wait another week.

***

Jeon Jeongguk

“(Y/N)! I’ll cover you!” Jeongguk yelled, his headset lopsided, as he hammered his fingers against the joysticks. Despite your efforts, you were losing miserably in this game of Overwatch. When you were finally brought down by your enemies, Jeongguk exhaled loudly and slumped against the back of the couch, dropping the Switch beside him. He could hear your sigh echoing from the headset. 

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). I didn’t see Hanzo on time, I was distracted,” he apologized angrily. 

“Don’t be silly, if I had better aim we wouldn’t have lost,” you answered back in your own house as you opened a bag of chips and began munching them down in frustration. 

“What are you eating?” 

“Barbeque chips,” you said in a muffled voice. 

“I wish you were here,” he groaned unhappily. 

“You’re only saying that because you didn’t think of getting your own chips,” you countered. 

“No, I mean it,” he laughed, his good mood disappearing once he noticed it was getting late. “I have to go. I’ll be back home on Saturday. Will you drop by the dorms for supper?”

“Of course,” you chimed, thrilled to know you’d see Jeongguk soon. “I get out of work at seven, I’ll go after that.”

“I’ll get you something tasty.” 

The tour had lasted forever, and even though you’d joined Jeongguk in Europe for two weeks during your vacation, it still felt like the longest time ever. As best friends since childhood you had always been supportive of each other: you knew exactly how to make Jeongguk laugh, and he knew exactly how to make you feel better. Jeongguk was convinced that he wouldn’t be the man he was if it weren’t for you, which was why he was so intent on protecting your friendship at all costs from anything that might jeopardize it, even his own feelings. 

This task, however, was becoming increasingly difficult to accomplish. During your visit to Europe he’d been this close to ruining everything by kissing you several times. He found it particularly hard to control himself when he saw you waiting for him backstage with your arms open after a show, or when you confided in him with tears in your eyes how much you were struggling with your exams. He wanted to be with you so much it almost overwhelmed the terror he felt about losing you. 

You, on the other hand, were not doing much better. You tried seeing other people, but it never lasted longer than a date or two. At first you thought you weren’t in the mood for a relationship, but you eventually discovered that you were constantly comparing your dates to the time you spent with Jeongguk: ‘I’d rather be playing something with Jeongguk’, or ‘Jeongguk would love this place’, or ‘I can’t wait to tell this joke to Jeongguk’. Your friends, tired of hearing you talk about him all the time, already knew what was going on before you reluctantly accepted that you were in love with him. After all, it didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. 

You had travelled to Europe with the purpose of confessing your feelings to him, but when the time came you chickened out. Besides, Jeongguk was always so tired and busy you didn’t have the heart to bring it up. 

On Saturday afternoon, Namjoon walked into Jeongguk’s room and sat on the bed as the maknae unpacked his bags hastily. 

“We only just got home. Why don’t you unpack tomorrow?” Namjoon inquired, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand. 

“(Y/N) is coming over and I want everything to look normal.”

“Oh right, I forget (Y/N) freaks out when confronted with packed luggage,” Namjoon replied sarcastically. 

“I’m not doing it because it would upset her,” Jeongguk answered testily, “I just want her to see that my room is tidy and I have my life together.” 

“I’m sorry, Jeongguk, but I’m not following,” Namjoon insisted innocently. In reality, he knew full well about Jeongguk’s feelings for you. He had tried to broach the topic several times, but Jeongguk had shut himself in like a clam everytime. Namjoon knew Jeongguk was being stupidly stubborn about this, so he hadn’t given up on the subject. 

Jeongguk didn’t answer at first. He just kept putting the dirty laundry in the hamper and folding his clean clothes back in the closet. When he was done, he suddenly felt helpless. He sat on the bed next to his hyung and hung his head in his hands. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he mumbled. 

“I know what you’re doing,” Namjoon explained, patting his brother’s back softly, “you’re evading yourself.” 

“Hyung, she is the most important person in the world to me,” Jeongguk mumbled, twisting his fingers in his hair. “What if I fuck it up?”

“That’s a possibility,” Namjoon conceded, “But what if you don’t?”

Jeongguk pondered for a while, allowing the fantasies he’d been constantly repressing to overwhelm him. He saw you smiling as you walked holding hands. He saw you kissing him, your arms wrapped around him. He saw himself pulling your top off, his lips tracing the curve of your neck…

“Listen, you don’t have to figure it out tonight,” Namjoon hinted, interrupting Jeongguk’s reverie, “but I think you should give yourself a chance. She won’t toss you away if she doesn’t reciprocate your feelings, and if she does feel the same way…” 

“Thanks, hyung,” he cut him short, and smiled apologetically at Namjoon. He was grateful for his advice, but he wanted some time on his own to reflect. Namjoon knew when Jeongguk had enough, so he let it rest. 

“I need to think about this. I’ll go have a shower,” Jeongguk stated as he got up purposefully.

In preparation for the night, Jeongguk had placed an order for Chinese takeout and shuffled around the house, tidying up and all in all getting into the other member’s nerves. He was trying really hard not to anticipate the possibility of confessing his feelings, so he kept himself busy until the bell rang. 

The moment Jeongguk opened the door, you pounced at him and hugged him so tightly you were afraid his ribs would crack. Jeongguk lifted you from the ground and spun you around, laughing loudly and forgetting all about his anxieties. You walked together to his room, chatting excitedly and bumping into each other like drunks, just for the pleasure of being close enough to actually touch each other. No more depending on texting and video calls, at least for a while. 

“I’m warning you: I have a lot to tell you about college drama, so you better be ready to stay up all night,” you exclaimed as you sat on top of his bed with your legs crossed. He shut the door and sat opposite to you, grinning widely. 

“Are you kidding me? You better be ready for all the stuff I have to tell you about the tour. If I catch you dozing off I won’t be forgiving.” 

For a long time you both chatted excitedly, and as the exhilaration gradually wore off the conversation became deeper, more emotional. You talked about family issues, about feelings of inadequacy in social situations and about stress from working and studying, until the conversation eventually drifted to a more sensitive topic for your relationship.

“So…” Jeongguk began, unable to resist the morbid curiosity he felt. “Have you been dating anyone?”

Your cheeks flared up and you looked down, suddenly very focused on pulling a loose thread from the bed cover. Jeongguk held his breath.

“No,” you admitted. Jeongguk exhaled in relief. “And you?”

“Nope.” 

“Why not?” you demanded, looking up again. “I bet you meet a lot of interesting people all the time.”

“I do meet a lot of interesting people. I just don’t want to date them,” he answered defensively. 

Why did he have to make things more difficult for you? Maybe if he was dating someone you’d be able to move on. Then again, maybe not. 

“I don’t get you, Jeongguk,” you protested, your cooped up fears and frustration bubbling to the surface. “You have the chance to go on dates with so many cool people, but you decide not to?”

“And what about you?” he fired back. “What about your classmates in college?” 

“What about them?” you challenged. 

“I bet they’re so smart, you could have intellectual debates or whatever—” he began, too aggravated to restrain himself. 

“What on Earth are you talking about?” you hissed, feeling increasingly incensed.

“I know some of them have asked you out!” 

“So?”

“Well, don’t they count as interesting people to date?” 

“I don’t want to date them!” 

“Why the hell not?!” 

“Because I’m in love with you, you idiot!” you snapped, out of control. 

Jeongguk’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open. You panted for a few seconds, your anger sizzling until a feeling of ice cold mortification took over you. 

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. What had you done? 

“You’re in love with me?” Jeongguk whispered.

“I— I just...” you babbled, panicking. You weren’t ready for this discussion. You weren’t planning on this. “I’m sorry, Jeongguk, I can’t right now, I— I think I need to leave.” 

You jumped up and pulled the door open, but Jeongguk caught your hand and turned you around before you could walk out. 

“Don’t go,” he begged. You tried to look away, but he cupped your face in his hands. He held you so softly, so caringly that you looked back into his eyes despite your chagrin. And when you read the expression on his face, you stopped resisting.

Jeongguk’s eyes bore into yours, his lips parted, and it felt like you were looking at each other for the first time in your lives. His thumb grazed against your cheekbone, and you both remained still and quiet for what felt like an eternity. You raised your hand and caressed his temple, sinking your fingers in his hair. Jeongguk closed his eyes for a second, enjoying the feeling of your touch. Then he huddled closer to you and lifted your chin, lowering his head slowly to yours so that your lips were level. 

You didn’t hear the footsteps on the carpet. Jimin turned around the corner of the corridor, carrying a bag of Chinese takeout in his arms. Jeongguk and you were wound tightly in an embrace, your faces so close to each other that Jimin knew this was no friendly hug.

As soon as he realized what was going on Jimin tried to walk away quietly before you noticed him. However, as he attempted to tiptoe backward the paper bag crackled in his arms. The sound of of it broke the spell, and Jeongguk and you jumped away from each other. You stared at Jimin dumbfoundedly, too confused and surprised to feel embarrassed yet. 

“Hi (Y/N),” Jimin’s voice was strained. “Um, Jeongguk... I brought you the takeout you ordered.” 

The three of you looked at the bag, then back at each other, like idiots. Jimin clumsily stepped forward and handed Jeongguk the takeout.

“Thanks,” Jeongguk mumbled. 

Jimin stepped back awkwardly, biting his lip. Then he squared his shoulders and crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Look, I’m sorry I interrupted, and I know I shouldn’t say this right now but I’m really glad you both got over yourselves and this is finally happening,” he blurted out, articulating every word so fast it almost made you dizzy. "Okay, bye!" 

Jimin turned around and strode away at an inhuman speed. 

For a few seconds, neither of you said a word. Then Jeongguk gestured you to go into his room. Once you were both inside, he locked the door, placed the bag away and turned to face you, a determined expression on his face. Now that it was out in the open, he needed to say the words, and he needed you to hear him say them. 

“(Y/N), I love you. I always have. I don’t want to date anyone else, only you.”

Jeongguk’s voice was clear and steady, and his eyes burned with intensity as he spoke. It made you feel like laughing and crying at the same time. 

“Jimin’s right, we’ve been so stupid,” you giggled bashfully, and took a step closer to him. Jeongguk pulled you to his chest and began planting soft kisses on the fringe of your hair, on your eyebrows, on the bridge of your nose. You pulled away just an inch to look him in the eyes. “I’ve wanted to tell you for so long, it’s just—”

“I know,” Jeongguk said, and he kissed you in a very non-platonic way.

[mischiefarchive]

･ﾟﾟ･｡ ( adria arjona, genderfluid, they/them ) — 𝒉𝒐𝒈𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆 MARLENE MCKINNON, the TENTH year SLYTHERIN student ! i hear that the TWENTY year old is known to be HEADSTRONG and STEADFAST and also very CRASS and INSENSITIVE however, if you ask me, the fact that they are a PUREBLOOD  and leaning towards the side of the NEUTRAL is a lot more telling.

ii. musings workshop :

the tale  —

note: the bio is written using she / her pronouns as that’s how marlene was raised and despite them no longer using them and having dismissed those ideals entirely, it felt important to tell their story using the pronouns their family would still use regardless of how marlene feels and identifies. 

THE BIOGRAPHY  —

TRIGGER WARNINGS: rape mention, abuse mention.

Purebloods in the wizarding community often found themselves superior to those that weren’t, this proved to be the case within the McKinnon family. The parents, Horace and Nicolette McKinnon a picturesque sight like no other, beautiful and poised as they made their name known amongst their peers. They were certain to mingle with the best, and nothing less. When their first was born, a beautiful son by the name of Carson, nothing changed aside from them having yet another beautiful face to show off to the rest of the world. He was the perfect child, obeyed as requested and did nothing but what they asked. He spoke like a well-mannered child, charmed the socks off every little girl that he was told to befriend. Then some years later, another was born, this time a beautiful baby girl and the two parents couldn’t be more than thrilled. Nicolette had always spoken of wanting a little girl, and once presented with one, they gave her the same love and attention they did Carson, however the attention Carson was so used to receiving started to drift away from him and focus solely on Marlene. She was the new light of their lives, treated like the little princess they believed her to be but while they weren’t around Carson took it upon himself to punish her for taking his parents away. With each punishment, Marlene started to find herself despising not only Carson, but her parents and their views along with. She wanted nothing more to distance herself, so upon being introduced to her first of pureblood parties, Marlene found herself drawn to another boy that seemed equally as disinterested about being there. Befriending him instantly, she suddenly found herself with a new state of mind, a new outlook on everything around her and more. because he, unlike the rest of the pureblood boys was not cruel, at least not in the traditional sense, he was more along the lines of the comedic cruel which she found herself enjoying. So, quickly she found herself fighting back against her brother with pranks and jokes alike. Her parents despising what was happening, warned her to keep her distance from he but she didn’t listen.

Eventually this resulted in Marlene remaining at home while the rest of them went to parties, Carson once again becoming her parent’s favorites while she was given lessons. The lessons were what they hoped would help turn her into their definition of a proper lady, but eventually just made her worse. Marlene continued to act out, sneak out during the nights they were away and even the nights they were own, all tucked away in their beds. Sometimes Marlene would find herself in the heart of wizarding towns, meeting new and friendly faces, ones that she knew her parents would be highly against.

Finally, like every other wizard and witch in the United Kingdom, the young girl received her Hogwarts letter and attended. Starting off fresh, she found herself seated happily on the train next to the pureblood from the party, among others the two had never encountered. But then, everything came tumbling down the moment she took her place on the stool in the Great Hall, an instant look of uncertainty as the hat roared the house she would spend the next seven years of her life in to everyone. How of all things did Marlene find herself in Slytherin, it was the last thing she expected it but surely her family and brother would be pleased, her brother even more so considering his toy was now unable to escape him by going to another common room.

Marlene however, did not let this change who she was shaping into and found herself spending more time outside of the common room. In the Great Hall she would rebel further by sitting at the table she wanted to, typically the Gryffindor table but that sometimes varied as she found herself growing close to people from other houses as well. She didn’t care if it led to mockery or worse in the common room, she’d deal with that, but while she was out she loved having her freedom away from them.

Years into Hogwarts, Marlene became known as the Slytherin that defied all the norms and rules. It wasn’t until the summer before her 6th year however that everything changed, she’d snuck away from home like she had so many times before, but this time she found herself in a darker place in town and a few drinks too many. A man, a much, much older man found her in her vulnerable state and took advantage of her and with no one around to help, she ended up waking up in the bed in one of the rooms at Hogs Head. That’s when everything changed for the worse, Marlene snuck out more and found herself developing more of a drinking habit and eventually smoking. The girl slept around with people despite knowing it was wrong and it wasn’t until her brother Carson discovered the truth while out one night that she was caught. Disgusted, her parents found only one way to solve the problem and that was to find her an immediate solution, a betrothed. Not speaking of her indiscretions, it was easy for Marlene’s parents to find someone quickly. After all, the girl had an appeal to her that not all purebloods had, she was in the very least stunning and would produce a healthy, beautiful looking heir and that was most important to the families at the time. Marlene thought she hated her parents before, but now the hatred grew into a downright loathing, the boy they had chosen for her being someone despicable in her eyes. Marlene hated it, he was cruel beyond imaginable, treated her nearly like he would scum, like her brother often treated her but there was very little she could do while still at Hogwarts.

Now years prior to her time at Hogwarts, Marlene is still fighting for their freedom, but the amount they have is still far more than what they once had from their parents and brother’s tyranny, along with her to be betrothed. They’ve managed to keep themselves alive, but fears that any day will result in their death.

FLASHBACK TO THE UPRISING OF WAR: Headcanon 01

As far back as Marlene could remember, the war was a topic of discussion in the McKinnon household, members of the family all in agreement of where they stand, everyone but them. Marlene hated the ideals they spat out, the idea that someone’s blood, something that couldn’t be changed was a defining factor of whether they deserved to study magic, or in some cases live at all. what made a pure blooded wizard better than a muggle born?

but now, the war, the sides were becoming more and more predominant both in and outside the castle, the tensions were rising, and constant fights seemed to break out among their peers. Marlene, while they’d never admit it, feared the war and not for themselves, though a traitor to their family and pure bloods alike, Marlene’s biggest concern was and will always be their sister. if a squib were to be discovered by the wrong person, someone more cruel than even their parents, who’s to say what would happen to Marisol? would she make it out alive? would anyone they’d grown to care about?

restless sleeps quickly became sleepless nights, finding it impossible to find peace while sharing a room with those that would’ve ended their sister without question, those that Marlene viewed as their enemy, those like their brother. Marlene knows they need to take action before it’s too late, but who and what they’ll be able to do from Hogwarts is impossible to map out, so instead they’d began mapping out ideas, trying to figure out an escape, a way out of the castle without a trace.

so, now their sleepless nights turned into endless hours at the astronomy tower and places few professors and prefects would care to look for students out after hours, working away on developing a plan to slip out and somehow free their sister from the terrors she’s facing back home.

MOTIVATION & BEHAVIOR – HEADCANON 02

Marlene is a very set and stubborn individual, rarely will they listen to what others suggest she does if it goes against what they want. There’s no such thing as what Marlene thinks they want, if they want something, they will stop at absolutely nothing to ensure it’s theirs, though there is one thing they’ve failed time and time again. That is, true freedom. Regardless of where they are now, there’s still a vast part of Marlene that knows they’re stuck in the reign of their family, a part that will never let them push away them completely until Marisol is safe and with them. But they tread cautiously, knowing a life is at risk. So, occasionally, they abide to the requests of their parents, hating it as they do so. After all, Marisol’s life is far more precious than Marlene’s own and the young wixen would do just about anything for their sibling and both their freedoms. Time and time again, Marlene has sat to themselves, sketching out a plan, always improving on it, believing the only true way to freedom is by MURDERING their family, parents and brother included and then some. But, again, cautiousness comes into play as Marlene can’t be caught for the crime and sent to Azkaban. So, everything and absolutely everything must be perfect. On a side note, very few, if any know of Marlene’s sister, Marisol as they trust next to no one, so, most missions rely solely on themselves, and little on anyone else. This adds to the extremity of how careful Marlene must be. If they were to find someone they trusted completely, they’d turned to them, but until then, it remains a solo mission.

AN EMBARASSING STORY – HEADCANON 03

there are very few times where i, marlene mckinnon will ever admit to being embarrassed as i find that to be a complete waste of emotions. shit happens, it’s apart of life, we laugh about it and move on. at least, that’s always been my motto but there is one time in particular that does stand out. everyone has that moment from being an awkward tween, so, now i just laugh it off but at the time…whew i was embarrassed for WEEKS, friends would have to drag me out of my dorm…well, what few i had in the slytherin common room….now it’s not to say it was the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to me, but at 13, it felt life ruining. so, i was stoked, i’d finally made the quidditch team, and i thought, hey it was my chance to be apart of something and maybe find a way to connect with people in my house that weren’t assholes ( i was very wrong, but hey, i loved to swing that bat…so ).. anyway i was running late on my second day of practice, bad idea in itself, but with zero time to spare, i snatched up the first pants i could find for practice and made a sprint for it, changing as i walked down to the pitch….which surprisingly wasn’t embarrassing to me, because hey, no one was around, right? anyway, finally on the pitch, i started to notice i may have chosen a less than comfy pair of pants, so i tried to stretch myself out a bit, get used to the feel and fit, all while listening to an already grumpy captain…and everything was dandy until we mounted our brooms, and mid kick off is when i heard it, a LOUD rip that echoed against the field catching everyone’s attention. i’d managed to rip my pants, from my butt crack down to my ankles…and no one offered me a spare pair, so i was made to do the entire practice in my underwear…because ripped pants were just too uncomfortable…and let’s just say, having everyone find out i was wearing pink panties is not the way to start out a season….and i didn’t hear the end of

LOVE – HEADCANON 04

Marlene didn’t believe in the concept of being in love, of finding a single person to pledge your forever to…or more so, Marlene didn’t believe in love for themselves. Marlene knew they were attractive, they knew how to use their body to their advantage, but they didn’t believe in the possibility of them being anything more than a warm body. So, on lonely nights, they’d often drink away the pain in a crowded club, waiting for a stranger to sweep them away, whisking away the thoughts and ideas of a true romance with shots of tequila. Allowing themselves to develop a terrible habit of finding comfort in the unknown, in the people that treated them terribly because if they treated them awfully, it was impossible for romance to ever start, it was impossible for them to ever develop a close bond with someone that’d grow tire of them within a few weeks, or days even. After all, as ingrained in their mind from a young age, after their first acting out, Marlene was assured they were nothing special beyond their looks, that the only reason anyone would marry or pursue them was for their name, their blood, the status, never for the person buried deep inside. So, alas, aside from the few close friendships and their sister, Marlene refuses to let people see anything beyond the reckless party girl. After all, where’s the fun in constant heartbreak?

THE FIGG FAMILY - HEADCANON 05 

In the woods, just beyond their families’ garden, there was a quaint cottage that very few knew about. Certainly not Marlene’s parents, fortunately, but Marlene having always been the curious child that they were, had found it at quite a young age. Upon first discovery, Marlene learned the cottage was owned by a wonderful, elderly woman named Edith Figg. She rarely had company, so Marlene made a habit out of visiting her at least once a week, more so before Hogwarts started up. At age thirteen, Marlene was introduced to a new face at the Figg Cottage, Arabella Figg. The parents didn’t want anything to do with her once it was discovered she was a squib, but Edith refused to allow her granddaughter to be sent away and instead took on the task, despite her age. Marlene started visiting more often while they were able to, bringing along different toys and dresses they’d received, having absolutely no interest in them, themselves, they were happy they brought joy to Arabella. Throughout the years, the bond between the three grew, even more so when Edith fell ill and eventually died. Marlene promised Edith on her death bed that they’d watch over Arabella and keep her safe, and until this day, Marlene hasn’t broken that promise. Marlene has helped move them to a safer part of London, terrified of what might happen if their parents were to discover Arabella’s location and through taking on endless summer jobs, no matter how horrid they were, Marlene managed to save up the money for a tiny but decent enough apartment for the two, one that Marlene would often sneak away to when they were home from Hogwarts. Unfortunately with school, visiting isn’t as often, but they keep in contact through Marlene’s owl, and meet up whenever possible. Marlene has been trying to convince Dumbledore that Hogwarts is a the safest of places, desperately hoping that he’d consider taking Arabella in as an assistant to the librarian, to keep them closer.

iii. other info :

marlene is very much the rebellious type, spending as little time in the slytherin dorm as possible. of course, they do have a couple people they consider to be a friend, marlene prefers the people in other houses. though the one time marlene will show house pride is when riding on a broom on the quidditch team as the team’s BEATER. as for clubs, marlene isn’t a fan of most school organized activities but they can’t help but love DUELING CLUB & MAGICAL CREATURES CLUB.

boggart. the sight of them being dragged by their mother down the aisle, in a very frilly white wedding dress, a symbol of their last ounce of freedom being ripped from them. wand. Elm wood with a phoenix feather core, 10 ¾" and brittle flexibility patronus.  The Black Stallion amortentia:

Crowded Concerts - think sweat, cigarettes, bodies pressed together, liquor filling everyone’s nostrils, this was something that brought a rare peace to Marlene McKinnon, closing her eyes and enjoying the bliss of loud music roaring around her and each and every scent that came along with, that was something that she loved.

New Leather - Something about the scent of a new jacket, a new car, you can’t go wrong with. Maybe it was because wearing leather, being surrounded by it was such a sin in her families’ eyes that she was drawn to the scent.

Campfires - Summers by the lake, lost in the sounds of birds chirping and roaring fires, what was better than that? Nothing, absolutely nothing.

additional headcanons.

marlene is without a doubt a jealous individual, not always in the romantic / sexual sense, but  with friendships, they can be very possessive, and protective and doesn’t like the idea of anyone else calling their best friend, their best friend.

marlene’s dream job was always to become a dragonologist and they want to travel the world. place # 1 on their list being jamaica.

Lignum Vitae, it’s the national flower of Jamaica, and Marlene’s absolute favorite flower. They’re not a romantic, but if someone showed up at their doorstep with one, they’d feel inclined to accept whatever offer they have ( within reason ofc, they're not a complete idiot )

They have both ears double pierced, and a healing belly button piercing. As for tattoos, they have a tiny heart just above her right butt cheek, though they plan on getting more once they don't have to worry so much about their parents.

Marlene has a scar on their inner thigh that has never faded, even with the help of magic.

Marlene’s boggart takes the shape of themselves in a wedding dress being dragged down the aisle by their mother, forced to marry someone they despise and losing their freedom once and for all.

THE CHARACTER CONNECTIONS —

childhood friend / partner in crime - a friend that Marlene made at a young age whom is also a pureblood, the gender can be any, of course. They clicked instantly and got into loads of trouble and would be the person mentioned in Marlene’s bio.

betrothed - due to their families’ hold over marlene, they’ve found it impossible to escape them entirely, and are therefore promised to marry someone who is also pureblood. it’d be preferred if they held more of the pureblood ideals as I reckon the McKinnons would want to push someone like themselves onto their child. TAKEN BY AMYCUS CARROW

someone they look up to - this character can not be a death eater and would preferably be a member of the order and someone that’s helping them in seeing the right path and will guide them eventually into becoming an order member, but right now, marlene’s status as being neutral and a family member to death eaters is of use for the order, and this person will see that.

graphic credit. 

[ardentmuse]

Perchance a Parchment (George Weasley x Reader) - Part 2

Harry Potter - George Weasley x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 2.7k

Summary: Writing letters to the mysterious and flirty Rhubarb may be fun, but real life, and the difficulties of your shop, are bound to get in the way. 

Series Masterlist // Masterlist

A/N: Thanks for your patience! I hope you enjoy.

You were part way through your mug of morning coffee and fully through the work of restocking the shelves before opening. You were just beginning to tackle cataloguing the latest deliveries -- new collections of the adventures of Tiago de Paula, world renowned treasure hunter and ladykiller, by the incomparable Quetzalli Flores, your favorite teacher from your short stint at Castelobruxo -- when the bell above your door rang. You jumped at the unexpected sound, spilling your coffee on the floor behind the counter. Though the ring being a surprise was silly. It was 8:58am, just in time for your shop to open.

“‘Mornin’, boss,” Patricia sung as she swept in. She had her hat and coat on the rack before she even notices your spill. “Need some help with that?”

You smiled as you moved to the other side of the desk to retrieve your wand and with a quick wave the spill was already forgotten.

“So,” Patricia said as she took a giant plop into the large armchair that divided the children and adult parts of the store, “What’s got you so jumpy?”

Without even looking, Patty reached over and took a big swig of the cup of tea she knew you would have sitting there for her. This was your morning routine, lazily stocking shelves and cleaning until the local moms brought around their toddlers for the 10am story session, all the while drinking your morning beverages so slowly they grew cold multiple times over and all the silly personal stories of the previous day were exhausted. You too took your seat beside her, watching as her round halo of curls compressed as she relaxed her head further into the cushions.

“Just didn’t sleep well last night.”

Patty raised an eyebrow. “Finally had that good night romp with Tom you’ve been craving?”

The mention of your boyfriend made you feel guilty. Tom hadn’t spent the night in weeks. Or was it months now? And honestly, he hadn’t crossed your mind all morning. You really did need to end it…

“No,” you managed between sips, “Nothing like that.”

You both sat in silence for a few moments companionably. Patty had this way of simply waiting and always getting the information she wanted. She had the air of a co-conspirator, trusting and easy and a tad bit devious. Just a simple raise of her eyebrows as she sipped her tea always had you talking.

“Here,” you finally said, handing her two crumpled pieces of parchment from your pocket.

Patty unraveled the first, reading the words and pausing part way.

“Peaches?” she asked, “Your best friend back in America? Why didn’t you send it?”

Without meeting her eyes, you said, “I did. Keep reading.”

You watched Patty through your lashes as she scanned the page and moved to the next. The light of recognition came across her face, then confusion, and then laughter as she folded the letters, finished, in her lap.

“Oh boy! Someone has a secret admirer!”

“It’s not like that,” you said, “He doesn’t know me. He just knows I’m female and probably a young adult given the content and thought he’d flirt a bit. I mean, he could be some old creep with some weird owl-intercepting fetish for all we know.”

“Well, I think he sounds cute. And he has surprisingly nice handwriting.”

She stood and began opening the crate containing the latest Flores novels.

“And,” she said, more to the box than you, “Rhubarb has a point. Why don’t you have a passionate romance? A woman on the verge of an engagement shouldn’t feel that way.”

You knew she was avoiding your gaze now, worried how you would respond.

You downed the last bit of your coffee. “You’re right,” you said as tears pricked at your eyes, but you swallowed them down.

Hearing the hiccup, Patty returned to your side.

“Listen, friend. I know you don’t want to hear it, but you have to rip off the Band-Aid, as the Muggles say. Tom loves you. He wants you happy and if he’s not doing that, then he needs to know. In the meantime, why don’t you go upstairs and respond to Mr. Rhubard and I’ll get the story room ready.”

“You sure?”

Patty smiled wide, “Positive.”

You began the trek back towards your office when you heard Patty scream.

“What kind of codename is Rhubarb anyway?”

You chuckled as you sat down at your desk. Diomedes came to rest on your shoulder almost immediately.

“Maybe he’s old and sour,” you shouted in return.

“Or maybe he’s tall, thick, and red,” she cooed seductively.

“Red?” you teased as you pulled out your parchment, realizing you still needed to send your post to Peaches as well.That was probably why this Rhubarb returned the first letter. What a sweet gesture, you thought. Maybe he wasn’t some creep after all.

“You know,” Patricia called, “Ginger.”

You laughed once more, shaking your head. Patty knew too well of your weakness for redheads. You mind was running with images of strong, pretty, thoughtful men with soft red locks and freckles across their noses, an image that was vaguely familiar to you somehow. But it was an imagine you liked regardless.

George had been upstairs all day, wanting to intercept any owls before Fred could, not that Fred cared about the post at all. But after that letter he sent, he was feeling more embarrassed than anything. A single letter flies in his window, wording the things his heart had been saying for weeks and he immediately spills his soul out to this unknown woman. He felt foolish and silly, cringing at himself all night about the last line of his letter.

But Fred had been right. He’d been avoiding women for years now. Since the end of the war, the loss of his ear, and the failed whirlwind couple months with Angelina, he wanted to just focus on himself for a bit.

A bit quickly expanded into a couple years though and now George found himself desiring something different from his nights. He didn’t just want to be sitting on the couch joking with Lee and drinking beers with his brother. He wanted more.

As time went on, he found himself noticing those signs of love that filled his childhood home; the way Ginny always ran into Harry’s arms when he returned from a long few days away with work, the way Harry clung to the fabric of Ginny’s shirts like she was the only thing tethering him to the world, the way Hermione and Ron teased each other, how a laugh could be so much more than just a sign of humor but an expression of utter peace and contentment, the way Fleur lit up every time she caught Bill’s eyes across the room, and the way Bill lit up every time he heard one of his children say, ‘mama,” and even the way he’d occasionally overhear his parents call each other by ridiculous pet names and exchange soft touches that lifted even the heaviest tension.

George hadn’t been home in a few weeks. Going home made it insanely obvious that he was indeed alone.

A knock at the window pulled him from his thoughts and he felt his heart rate increase as the tawny owl from the day before tilted his head to seek entrance. For a moment, George considered not letting the bird in. The inevitable rejection was going to ruin his day. He was sure the letter would contain a right rebuke from the sender, a collection of strung together statements about how truly creepy it was to respond to someone else’s mail and a quick request to cease all contact.

But ever curious, George opened the window anyway and found attached a letter tied with pretty red string and a loopy, friendly “Rhubarb” upon the scroll.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he opened and read the letter.

Rhubarb,

Thank you for taking the time to send me back my original letter. Peaches would have been very disappointed to not receive my incoherent early morning ramblings. You are a true knight and for that I am grateful.

In regards to your question, you could say my life is not lacking for love, just not the passionate kind I had hoped for in my youth. But there is always the future. I’m still young and free to explore what the world has to offer.

I am lucky in some ways. I have an amazing community around me and a family I adore. I moved around a lot as a child, so I have friends on every continent. In that regard, I am never really alone.

In some ways, I got the adventure I always imagined. I just didn’t know it at the time. Maybe that is the secret to all of this. Life is always filled with the things desire, but only in reflection. Each dream is just an effort to reclaim a feeling we didn’t know was special until it was over.

So Rhubarb, what are you seeking? What’s your dream? What special feeling are you trying to reclaim?

Looking forward to hearing from you again.

Sincerely,

Cherry

ps. Your handwriting is lovely.

George was beaming by the time he read those last words. The letter wasn’t anything revolutionary. It didn’t rock his psyche the way the first letter did, but it still spoke to a level of honest and forthright communication his life had been missing. With Fred, everything was a joke, a light-hearted spat, or a source of wonder. Things like anxiety, fear, doubt, and insecurity didn’t exist in the mind of Fred Gideon Weasley. Anytime George mentioned something as simple as a worry resulted in a jab and a chuckle and, most important a change of conversation.

But now, for the first time in quite a long time, someone was asking George what he wanted, what he hoped for, what he feared. Someone, a stranger, cares what he thinks.

“George!” a voice called from the bottom of the stairs, “Get your rump down here to talk to these real estate people!”

George sighed and patted the owl on the head. Penning a reply would have to wait.

“And this,” the real estate agent began, all boisterous confidence, “is the building I was thinking for your new workshop. As a storefront, people walking by would be able to see all the cauldrons going. It would be a spectacular for sales, I think.”

George took in the pretty wooden exterior of the shop just a few doors down from their own. He had never bothered to observe the tiny bookstore housing titles and authors he had never seen before. But the lights inside were warm and inviting. He could see the colorful spines across the oak shelves, all arranged and sorted expertly. Tables covered in stacks of parchment and pens, a counter covered in postcards and gift bags, and plush chairs for reading in every available corner.

But the thing that caught his eyes right away was the bay window, curtained in plush velvet. And just beyond, in a small wooden chair, he saw that same beautiful face from the night before. Only today there was no scowl but instead an animated expression; eyebrows in the air, mouth wide with wonder, and cheeks full and happy. She held a book in her hand, open to a small circle of young children packed together, their parents hovering and chatting at the counter just beyond. He watched as characters lept from the pages of the story, small sparks and lights stealing the toddlers’ attention. And as the woman bent forward in a mock whisper, he heard the children burst out into laughter. George thought just maybe he had never seen a more beautiful sight.

“But it isn’t empty,” Fred said in confusion to the real estate agent.

“Oh, it will be soon,” he responded, with such a dismissive tone that George wanted to spit.

“Something caught your eye, brother,” Fred called, snapping George from his gaze. When Fred followed George’s line of sight, he sighed. “Ah, just your type.”

George shook his head and started the walking back to their shop. If they had to buy someone out of their business, did it have to be an enchanting, vibrant woman who knew just how to engage children?

That night, Diomedes finally returned, along with another bird you did not recognize. Diomedes rushed past the snowy owl to find home upon your bed, a letter strung snuggly to his leg. You hated to admit just how curious you were about the letter from Rhubarb but the idea of some mild flirtation, of feeling wanted and stimulated intellectually made you happier than you cared to register.

You started with Diomedes, who upon being relieved of his parchment flew swiftly into his cage.

Dear Cherry,

May I call you dear? It seems silly to treat you like a stranger given the kind of things I wish to share with you.

I too can say I am lucky to have what I have. My family is lovely, though I have often been the least remarkable among them. I have never had a moment where I haven’t felt loved and cared for. But what you say is true. The war took a lot from us. I look back on the time before the war with much joy and admiration, though it probably was not as idyllic as I remember.

I can honestly tell you I am not sure what I want. I have one very strong memory that I go back to when I need positivity: my brother and I flying in our family orchard first thing, teaching our little sister how to fly before our mum noticed she was missing. I guess if I had to put it into words then--

You were interrupted in your reading by the snowy owl pecking harshly at your hand.

“Alright, you fearsome devil,” you said to the bird as you pecked the small parchment off its leg, abandoning your letter from the enticing Mr. Rhubarb to your bed.

This parchment only had a handful of words.

Sorry, Y/N. Can’t extend your lease at the current rate. We need a new deposit of 1000 galleons by the 30th or you’ll need to vacate.

I’m sorry, dear. I really do love your store.

The signature was scratchy but it was indeed your landlord. You felt your stomach tighten and the tears prick at your eyes. You thought you had more time.

Your only thought was to grab the pillow from against your headboard, press it tightly to your face, and scream, a raw primal scream that let the tension ease from all of your muscles. You screamed a second time for good measure, but a voice pulled your face from the pillow before you could let out a third.

“Babe, is everything okay in there?” Tom asked from his place in your kitchen cooking your dinner. You had forgotten just how much could be heard through your paper thin walls.

Immediately, you snatched up the letters and stuffed them under your mattress, taking extra caution to make sure the one from a particularly flirty potential suitor was properly tucked away. You just had time to wipe the tears from your eyes as the door cracked open and an adorable head of messy brown locks, one that used to make your heart flutter and now did very little, poked in.

“All good?” he asked.

“Stubbed my toe,” you managed.

Tom’s eyes raked your body and with a nod in conformation, he left, shutting the door behind him.

Before it even closed, you flung yourself down on the mattress. You knew eventually you’d need to go out there and eat the dinner he prepared and feign interest in the latest economics news, but for now you would lay here in a starfish upon your mattress and fully and sincerely cry.

All tags: @fangirlandnerd, @aerdnandreaa, @thisisbullshytt,  @cancerousjojian, @whovianayesha, @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy, @luna-xxxxx, @sleepylunarwolf, @starryrevelations, @potter-thinking, @all-by-myself98, @bananafosters-and-books, @cutie-bug

Harry Potter tags: @tessimagines, @0-lost-in-stereo-0, @whysoseriouspadfoot

Perchance a Parchment tags: @cucumberinmyass, @justducky0423, @thequeen-ofnerds, @yuaasa, @comic-creature, @hermionebennet, @semicharmedkindofali, @sugerquill, @can-i-fangirl-yet, @doct0rstrange, @igotmadskills, @otherthingsinhead, @olixerwxxd, @caramiriel, @gryffinclxw, @lizmar20, @indicisive-af, @confettidreameryouwhoreo-blog, @hellizhelusive2, @kaitsubaki, @dooriha, @justfollowtheroad, @memogorgon, @xxsophie-raabxx

[agemarkus]

A second life

A short story about a sci-fi writer who gets trapped in an afterlife of her own design.

They took what was left of her body and reconstructed her digitally. A full simulation that simulated the chemical reactions of every cell and synapse in her body down to a molecular level. In theory, a perfect recreation. But the technology had flaws. And if anyone knew that, it was her.

She was a sci-fi writer, and in one of her novels (a critical success that failed to pay the bills) she had detailed a digital afterlife. She had done her research, and as a result there were certain excerpts from the book that turned heads in several offices and penthouses. In her will she had jokingly left an instruction to upload her to an Emulator, but the technology was catching up now and an interviewer would point out that soon she could actually get uploaded just like in her book. Wouldn’t that be something? This was all by design, of course. She, like many of her peers, was afraid to die. And when she shook hands with business partners and investors her first joke would always be about her will. She would encourage her rich friends to invest in the right tech companies. This was her contingency plan.

And one day her plan paid off. While the paramedics scraped her off the asphalt, her friends made phone calls. Then they wheeled her hospital bed to the only company that had the technology, signed the contracts, and then they never saw her again. Trade secrets, they would say, before hanging up. The blinds were always closed.

When she opened her eyes she saw darkness. Her eyes, having looked up at the California sun only moments before, took time to adjust. They were intact, but she had nothing to look at but herself. That’s how she knew. She always had the worst timing.

“...by the way, could you tell more about this machine I’m in?” “The emulator” the voice boomed. A forgettable voice, one of the researchers. The pitch wavered ever so slightly. Most likely a recording that was played back at simulation speed, failing to match the constantly changing framerate of the simulation. Something about the acoustics in the voice felt artificial, unlike her breath and the ruffles of her clothes. The fictional company in her book had transmitted system sounds like this by manipulating the eardrums directly. Did they lift that too? “Yes… please tell me more about the emulator” she sighed.

“The emulator simulates the entire human body down to the molecular level, creating a 99% accurate simulation of the human body, gut flora, and brain activity. This is the most accurate simulation model on the market, but due to the processing costs of such a large-scale simulation each step takes… several cycles to complete.” “How many cycles?” No response.

Whatever. She already knew. She knew everything they’d told her. She had practically invented it. Their description of the emulator sounded like a press release, and it irked her. She didn’t want her life to be in the hands of another wannabe start-up stuck cutting corners to impress investors with half-baked technology. She was supposed to be a pilot project, not a prototype! But then, she didn’t have much of a choice. The important thing was that she was alive. Again.

“I’m happy to be alive and all, but I’m in a completely empty room. And I do mean empty. It’s a void. Any chance you’ll set up some, uh, enrichment items for me?” “We’re working on it. But simulating the body takes enough processing power as is. We’ll let you know.” “All right, sure.” She ground her teeth. Enrichment items. God, what was she, a fucking hamster? That reminded her. “I get food, right? By the way?” No response. Yeah, she’d get food. Probably. Eventually. Just had to get hungry first.

So she paced around in the void again. No footsteps because there was nothing for her feet to step onto. Only hard air. She could smell her own sweat, and her thighs were chafing. Judging by her current state; sweaty, slight acid reflux, two bad emails away from a panic attack, she would estimate her image to be constructed from about 40 minutes before death, around the time she left the office to go home. Makes sense. You don’t win any awards for simulating a bucket of meat. If only they’d gone another 40 minutes back so she wouldn’t be itching for a smoke right now. But oh well. There are worse times to be. Worse hers. She’d had cramps just the day before.

But she shouldn’t worry. It was in their best interest that she was happy and stable. And therefore, it was in her interest too. She didn’t want them to consider this project a failure and pull the plug early. So she had to not worry. Not even think about not worrying, because her thoughts didn’t just belong to her now. She had to calm down.

She recalled the meditation techniques she’d learned at one of the workshops. The only reason she had gone to the workshop was to chase down a potential business partner, casually bump into her on her way out, grab a coffee, get her to sign a contract. She had paid just enough attention to remember the basics. She needed them now.

-

Breathing exercise, a single halfhearted yoga stretch, embarassment, more pacing. Suddenly, another voice. Nasal, hurried. A monotone. “Could you lift your right arm? Quick synchronization test.” “What? Sure. Is this goo-” “Thank you.” Silence.

Pacing pacing. Biting her nails. Taste: as to be expected, if a little clean. Stretch. Try not to think about her death. Pace back to the hairband she’d left to signal the spawn location. New voice, feminine. “We noticed you’re hungry, so we, uh, got you some food.” “Great! Where, though?” “It’s already being digested, actually.” “Oh.”

She patted her stomach. She hadn’t really noticed, but she wasn’t hungry anymore. Great. Pacing, standing still, digging through her clothes, lying down on the floor. The nasal voice was back. But it was no longer a monotone. “Hey. It… it’s John.” “Who?” “You don’t know me, sorry. I’m one of the researchers, I was assigned to monitoring your vitals. I just… I just wanted to tell you how much you mean to me. I’m retiring, and keeping you alive has been… all this time I’ve been...“ he stammered while she just laid there. “This job is the best thing that has happened to me. I just had to tell you. I had to say goodbye. And, well, goodbye. Thank you.” Silence.

-

When she was 15 she had gone in for stomach surgery. A birth complication that they hadn’t caught until it nearly killed her, something wrong with her intestines. She did not remember what it was exactly. What she did remember was waking up early, the anaesthetics failing. Two masked surgeons looming over her, the light illuminating them just enough for her to see shadows of smiles behind their masks. One scalpel had perforated a piece of misshaped intestine. He was waving it back and forth, and then flicked one end with his finger. He cracked a joke, and they both laughed. They were laughing at it. She stared in horror at the guts splayed out of her stomach, and she tried to scream. Her mouth opened, but there was no sound. They looked over at her. The man with the scalpel frowned and rolled his eyes at her as he lobbed the wet chunk into the trash without even looking.

She had told the story at interviews a dozen times, and every time she looked into the cameras she would angle it a little differently. The body horror. The unprofessionalism. The humour. But what she had relived every time was the desperation. Not being able to move. Being heard, but not being listened to. Being trapped. She was a rat and this was her box and above her were scientists in lab coats scribbling notes into their clipboards while she sniffed around her cell. There was no maze, no levers to pull. She was an experiment. All this time they had monitored her every thought, ever bodily impulse, every anxiety. But when John had spoken to her, there was no sympathy in his voice. Only attachment. Like falling in love with a patient journal. Lovestruck enough to break protocol and unload his inner thoughts on her. But not enough to help her in any way.

She had to keep walking, keep herself distracted. Maybe they would upgrade the servers and grant her a more liveable space soon. Maybe the void fog would lift. She walks in silence for a couple minutes, waiting for something to happen. She attunes her mind to the rhythm of her footsteps, footsteps she can’t hear, only feel. As she does, funding runs out and the research complex surrounding her virtual body begins to bleed out. There are lay-offs. An administrator throws a pitcher of water at the wall in the middle of a meeting, frustrated that the investors want to pull the plug. They can’t just take a life. But the emulator has not seen any breakthroughs in years, it has long since been considered an outdated form of brain uploading. Researchers move on to better jobs and the power is cut. Her second life ends as abruptly as it began. She was still walking.

[mitigatedchaos]

TLJ Workshop 1: Dread Nothing

I wrote an essay on reworking Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales.  That proved interesting, so I decided to spend a lot more words on reworking live-action Ghost in the Shell film.  But now, it's time to talk about the film that inspired me to start writing film workshop posts in the first place:

Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi

Before I begin, the premise of this series of workshopping posts is, as before, that we aren't going to totally rewrite the movie and replace all the action set pieces.  Instead, we'll keep most of the same general order, action set pieces, characters, and many of the same themes as the original.  Making the movie the way it was instead of the way it could have been with different editing/script was a choice - and they could have made a different choice.

[This post contains spoilers for The Last Jedi, and Star Wars in general.]

The first problem in The Last Jedi occurs in the opening crawl.  But we'll cover that in the second post.  For now, it's time to talk about the opening scene.

In TLJ, General Hux and the First Order have almost no credibility as adversaries.  They’re just not a legitimate threat.  Why?  Because they’re a fucking joke.

Yes, they wiped out the base (after most of it was evacuated, at least any of the characters we cared about).  Yes, they wiped out the bombers (losing a valuable capital ship in the process).  But that doesn’t make them a proper threat.

We need to consider the context.  This movie takes place after the Death Star was destroyed.  What sort of complete idiot launches a space navy assault on anything without any fighter cover?

Well okay.  Maybe they don’t know the Death Star was destroyed by a fighter.  Maybe they’re all outsiders LARPing the aesthetics of the Empire.  But that hits a similar problem. 

Aren’t these guys supposed to be blitzkrieging the galaxy?  They essentially lost a ship that can one-shot bases and other capital ships (with the impact of a nuclear detonation) to a fighter 1/10,000th its size.  How could the “The First Order reigns.” opening scrawl possibly be true if that’s normal for them?  It’d only take a handful of planetary militias sticking together to put them down.  In order to be effectively blitzkrieging at all, they have to have at least some basic tactical doctrine.  (Basic tactical doctrine like “starfighters are part of the overall active system of fleet defense,” for instance.)

Well, those planetary militias could stop the First Order if they had plot armor like the main characters. The entire point of the scene is that General Hux and the First Order are Dumb and Lame, and the Resistance are Clever and Cool.

The problem, of course, is that a Dumb and Lame adversary is just not going to be very threatening as a villain.  And the less threatening the villain is, the less impressive it is to overcome the odds and defeat him.

The First Order are fake tough guys.  They have enormous reserves of heavy military hardware, star destroyers, starfighters, ground attack units, light infantry, and so on.  They have Force users.  They had a superweapon.  What they don’t have is any reserve of plot.  Whenever the plot demands it, either to try and make the Resistance seem cool, or just because the writers wanted some twist, they will fail in ways so stupid that it implies the entire galaxy must be even stupider to be losing so much territory to them.  Defeating them is so unimpressive that being defeated by them is downright shameful.

Now, is real evil always brilliant and competent?  No.  In fact, not even Hitler was as competent as he’s periodically made out to be.   Most Fascist dictatorial types have plenty of flaws aside from being evil, and often flaws that make their regimes and countries and armies weaker are part of the very ideologies and forces that brought them into power in the first place.  But if this movie wants more Cool factor assigned to its heroes than they'd get from winning in a children's cartoon, then they need to defeat better villains.

So, let’s take out our pen, and make a few revisions...

There isn't one Resistance fighter waiting in orbit.  There's a squadron of five.  Why?  Because people actually like the Resistance.  Star Wars has FTL communications (in the Prequels, should I remember correctly), and since there's no apparent delay, it can arrive before ships do.  Star Wars also has defined hyperspace lanes, and going outside of them is dangerous.  So, the Resistance was warned by someone along the path of Hux's fleet that Hux's fleet was coming.  From previous intelligence, they knew it had a dreadnaught. Combined with speed and distance information, they could figure out when it would arrive.  Only a few of lines of dialog are needed to imply this.

When Hux's fleet arrives, the First Order immediately begin the process of deploying fighter cover in preparation for the attack on the Resistance base (on the unmentioned grounds that their light fighters are not FTL-capable).  The Resistance get the jump on them, allowing a squadron of five fighters to take out the Dreadnaught's turrets.

(We could probably still insert a bluff gambit in there, just shorter.  Hux isn’t going to surrender or offer mercy during a parley, so he still comes off looking immoral or stupid.  If the fighters start off hidden, perhaps tell him to let all of them go without conflict or they’ll blow up his dreadnought.  He assumes it’s a bluff and announces that he’ll gruesomely destroy them all.)

Yes, General Hux isn't the cleverest.  However, not only is this oversight less egregious, but it is the First Order's own deserved bad reputation (on account of doing evil things) that has allowed this to happen.  It’s what you get for conquering planets.

You know what's even better?  This makes Snoke scarier.  How?  Simple.  Anyone would want to yell at Hux for screwing up so badly in the original scene.  You don't have to be evil to do that.  In this revised scene, the implicit threat of death for failure feels less deserved, befitting the First Order's implied nature of rule-by-fear that seems like it should get results but actually has massive inefficiencies and is horrible to live under, even to its elites.  

[prissyhalliwell]

Summary: Mr. Gold has been working for the dinner theatre company “The Enchanted Forest” for years, performing the same boring show every weekend. Nothing has ever changed, until Belle French joins the cast to play its princess.

~ Winner of Best Mr. Gold in the 2016 TEA Awards ~

Chapter One I Chapter Two I Chapter Three I Chapter Four I Chapter Five I Chapter Six I Chapter Seven I Chapter Eight I Chapter Nine I Read on AO3

Chapter Summary: Belle and Gold hold their first class and get a bit carried away with their improvisation.

Chapter Ten

Just when Belle had thought things might finally be happening between her and Gold, those girls had brought in that stupid yearbook picture.

She’d seen the moment it had happened. Gold’s face had literally paled at the sight of the photograph. Whatever had been building between them since that moment on the lights disappeared, replaced with Gold once again keeping her at arm’s length.

He wasn’t avoiding her this time, which was an improvement. But it was obvious he was uncomfortable around her. No doubt seeing a reminder of how young and inexperienced she was had killed his sudden interest in her from before.

His attachment must not have been that strong in the first place, Belle reflected sullenly. That fact stung even more in some ways. She could see how such a photo might be a bit off-putting, but if Gold had been seriously interested in her, it shouldn’t have mattered that much.  

As it was, they remained good friends, still sharing jokes and spending time together. But the littles touches and shy smiles had disappeared, replaced with an almost paternal attitude toward her that infuriated her to no end.

His self-deprecating jokes about his old age didn’t help matters either. Belle couldn’t decide if he truly believed what he was saying or if he was trying to let her down easy.

Either way, the teenage girls currently fawning over them were not helping.

After several weeks of planning, they were finally holding their first workshop. They’d scheduled it for a Tuesday night since they didn’t have a performance and the stage would be available.

Gold and Belle had agreed to keep things short and simple for their first class. The workshop was only two hours long and covered just the basics of acting. It was also fairly relaxed, allowing the students to help guide the activities based on what they were interested in.

“What about improvisation?” Tilly asked.

Tilly and her friends, Ivy and Jacinda, had been the first to sign up, unsurprisingly. The three were her and Gold’s self-proclaimed biggest fans, and had spread the news of the workshop to the rest of their high school, resulting in a dozen attendees for their very first class. Belle was thankful for their help, even if she still held a slight grudge over them showing Gold that yearbook photo.

“Great question,” Gold said. “The first rule of improv is to go along with your scene partner. It may be a cliche, but the old rule of using ‘yes, and’ instead of ‘no, but’ is still true.”

Belle’s eyes wandered as Gold continued on, her attention drawn once again to the unsubtle flirting happening between Jacinda and Henry. Even though he was already in the show, Henry had joined the class to pick up some more acting tips. At the moment, he looked far more interested in picking up Jacinda. From the way the girl was blushing in his direction, the attraction seemed entirely mutual.

“Can you show us something now?” Ivy asked.

“Sure,” Gold said. “What did you have in mind?”

“Oh I don’t know,” Ivy said nonchalantly. “Maybe the princess has refused another suitor and the chancellor wants to find out why?”

Belle narrowed her eyes. Despite the innocent expression on Ivy’s face, she smelled a rat. Unfortunately, Gold didn’t pick up on this little deception and looked at her expectantly.

“Why not?” Belle said, faking a smile. It’s not like she had any self-respect left at this point anyway.

Gold walked several feet away before striding back towards her, slipping into character instantly.

As always, Belle envied how effortlessly he could become the chancellor. While she had grown comfortable in the role as princess, it still took her a minute to get into character.

“Princess, forgive me for the intrusion. I just heard a rumor that you have turned down the prince’s offer of marriage.”

“You are well-informed, Lord Chancellor. I sent him away this morning.”

“May I ask why? Prince Hans comes from a noble line of kings and is well-respected for his swordsmanship.”

Belle sniffed. “He may have slain a dragon, but I found his manners less than heroic.”

“Forgive my candor, your majesty, but this is the third offer of marriage you’ve rejected this year. Our country has a finite number of allies and fewer still with eligible heirs. Soon there won’t be any princes left for you to reject!”

She took a step forward, crossing her arms over her chest. “Good. Princes are overrated.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair wearily. “Perhaps if we held a ball…”

She let out a snort. “And be paraded about like a prize mare for sale? I’d rather walk on broken glass.”

Gold’s eyes twinkled at her joke. Belle struggled to keep herself from smiling in return. She’d missed the easy banter they’d enjoyed before. It was nice to have it back, even if only for a short time.

“Besides,” she continued, “I fail to see how my love life is any of your concern.”

She’d expected him to fire back with another comment. Instead, Gold’s face fell.

“Is there...someone else?” His eyes searched hers. “Someone you’re in love with?”

“Wh-what?” Belle stuttered. “Of course not.”

The rational part of her knew they were still acting, but her heart was beginning to race. Why did Gold have to be so damn convincing all the time?

“You know everyone in the kingdom,” she said, trying to keep herself from getting even more flustered. “Surely you would know if there was someone.”

He grimaced. “I’ve learned it’s safer to ask than assume when it comes to a young woman’s heart.”

“Really?” Belle said, stopping a few feet in front of him. “That hasn’t been your practice in the past.”

“I uh...” Gold floundered. “I did not wish to pry, my lady.”

She took another step closer. “You should really make up your mind about what you want, chancellor. Otherwise, it might not be there when you want it.”

Their eyes locked. Gold moved towards her as if pulled by a magnet, uncertainty clear in his face.

“You make it sound so simple,” he said wistfully.

He was only inches from her now. If she wanted to, she could have reached out and touched him easily.

“Sometimes the best things are. You just have to be brave enough to go after it.”

Gold’s gaze had wandered down to her lips as she spoke. “I think - ”

“Omg, just kiss already,” Ivy grumbled.

Gold’s eyes widened and Belle blushed. In the back of her mind, she’d remembered the kids were there, but the rest of her had been completely focused on the conversation she’d been having with Gold. It had felt like they were actually getting somewhere. As much as she wanted to hear what he had been about to say in response to her challenge, perhaps it was best that they finish the conversation elsewhere.

While it was embarrassing to be called out by one of their students, at least this settled things once and for all. After that little performance, he wouldn’t be able to deny his feelings any longer.

As good of an actor as he was, Gold couldn’t talk his way out of this one.

He spun away from her. “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is acting.”

Ivy rolled her eyes. “Sure it is.”

Belle fought back the urge to scream in frustration. For the first time, she agreed with Ivy wholeheartedly.

At this rate, she was going to have to snog the man senseless in front of an audience before he’d admit that there was something between them.

The rest of the workshop passed by without any more excitement, for which Belle was grateful. Tilly winked at her when Gold mentioned how much he loved his coworkers, but otherwise the students behaved themselves.

Despite the class’s success, Belle was relieved once it was over. The entire experience had thrown her for a loop and she was more than ready to head home so she could think everything over.

“You did a great job today,” Gold said, helping her clean up afterwards. “You really have a knack with improvisation. It took me years to learn.”

When she realized he wasn’t going to mention anything else about their scene, Belle decided to push him a little. “So you enjoyed our scene then?”

She could see the wheels turning in his head as he decided how to answer.

“Um, yes. Of course.” He stared at a spot just above her left ear. “I think we work really well together.”

“I wholeheartedly agree.” She flashed him a coy smile.

Gold froze in place, staring at her nervously. After a moment, he tapped the watch on his wrist, not even bothering to glance at it. “Look at the time! I should be getting home.” He gave an unconvincing yawn. “Old men like me need their early bedtimes.”

A mad impulse to invite herself along floated through Belle’s brain, but she pushed it away. He was shy enough as it was now. A suggestion like that, quip though it may be, would probably give him a heart attack.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.” Hopefully by tomorrow, she’d have a better plan of attack. Until then, she’d let him pretend he was geriatric.

“Good night, Belle.”

She drew hope from the wistful tone in his voice, watching silently as he exited through the lobby doors, leaving her alone in the theatre.

Belle sighed. She didn’t want things to stay this way. At the end of the night, she wanted to be walking out of the theatre with Gold, not without him. There was no reason for them to be apart when they both clearly cared for one another.

Her resolve strengthened. He might be willing to walk away from what they had, but Belle wasn’t. She could be just as stubborn as him, if not more.

What she and Gold had was worth fighting for. She wouldn’t give up.

Author's Note: Sorry this chapter is a week late! I got distracted by editing The Fairy Gardener which - SURPRISE!!! - is finally finished! Starting next Wednesday, I will be posting a new chapter each week until it is done. Feel free to check out the first eight chapters in the meantime! (Full disclosure: I've spent the last 6 months finishing it up, so yes, I'm gonna pimp the crap out of it! :P )

[kiruuuuu]

Echo Chamber Pt 8

More SAS involvement and Echo gets clingy (finally). (Rating M, fluff and sexy towards the end, ~2.8k words)

.

There’s something odd about the SAS operators recently, Echo has noticed a while ago yet was unable to put his finger on it until he realised that they spent a disproportionate amount of time in his vicinity. This excludes Thatcher who undoubtedly has enough on his plate, but especially Smoke and Mute just happen to be in the same room as him whenever possible, even going so far as to sit next to him in the workshop. He discovered that Mute enjoys video games as well, dabbles in all kinds of different genres; his interests even overlap with some of Echo’s, making his opinion of the Brit skyrocket. They added each other on various relevant platforms and programs and chat now and then but mostly keep to themselves on base since their circles don’t really interact much.

Except that apparently, they do. Because they hover around him – even Sledge seems to keep an eye on him sometimes, though it’s hard to pinpoint the exact reason why. For a while, despite the fact he’s pretty sure they don’t know about whatever it is the two of them have, Echo suspected they were gauging how well he and Lesion fit together, whether he deserves him or not. If they’d asked him, he probably would’ve told them that no, he doesn’t deserve all the devotion that’s suddenly being thrown at him. Because he doesn’t. He doesn’t really, regardless of what Lesion seems to think.

Right now, they’re outside on a break. Dokkaebi isn’t on duty today so Echo has taken a seat at the edges of the circle around Smoke who’s gesturing emphatically and exchanging quips with an entirely unimpressed Mute who, despite being engrossed in his lunch, manages to keep up with him effortlessly. Echo has noticed this before: the two of them banter like professionals, both of them giving as good as they get. Not only that, Mute is also one of the few who doesn’t let Smoke intimidate, badger or mock him – at least not without shooting back. Their utterances click together satisfyingly and create an atmosphere of comfortable familiarity that normally would spark nothing more than faint envy in Echo yet now hits him full force.

He misses him. It’s hard to admit and even harder to accept but ever since Lesion left for the special training course almost two weeks ago, Echo’s moods have been unpredictable and his evenings unbearably long. He misses Lesion and it’s been so long since he felt anything like this that he forgot how to deal with it. Instead, he mopes and checks his phone compulsively whenever he can. He loathes the fact that time zones exist because they barely even get the chance to call, so instead they text not nearly as often as he’d like but it’s better than nothing. Even if it’s nothing but stupid emoji, even if it’s just the cheesy kissy face he hates.

It’s not enough. On one of the few occasions they got to speak for an extended period of time, he grew harder and harder just from hearing his voice. He steadfastly refused to disclose that fact when Lesion asked outright after he failed several times to answer a few simple questions due to being too distracted by literally nothing but his boner. Even though he was embarrassed about it, Lesion took it in stride, started giving orders with which Echo complied eagerly and talked him all the way through an earth-shattering orgasm that left his ears ringing, only to reveal that he’d been sitting in a café the entire time and sure hoped none of the locals speak English. The entire experience was elating and lessened the pressure on his chest but ultimately, it wasn’t enough.

“Yo, drone boy”, Smoke rudely interrupts his brooding and kicks at his foot, “did you hear? We’re going to a party soon, you wanna come with?”

“What, you actively uninvite me but he can tag along?”, Bandit cuts in, dismayed and visibly offended.

“He’s not going to dismantle the entire interior decoration now, is he? As opposed to you.”

“A friend of a friend is throwing it”, Mute patiently explains to Echo while the other two start throwing things at each other verbally, “and it’d do you some good to get outside more. And it’s me saying this, so you know I’m right.” Mute is an even bigger geek than Echo, therefore having him remark on Echo’s lack of a social life does carry special meaning.

“Alright”, he agrees, mostly because he now can be sure that Bandit won’t be there but also because he’s come to genuinely like Mute, though admittedly talking to him is much more pleasant when Smoke isn’t present. “When is it?”

“This Saturday.”

A lot plays into it but the fact that his bed feels so ridiculously empty all of a sudden, breakfast tedious, evenings boring is probably the main reason for his slip-up: “But that’s when Tze Long comes back.” He realises immediately, even before Bandit’s head whips around, and he can’t really backtrack either – the question as to why this is relevant at all would remain regardless.

“I didn’t know you were on a first name basis with him”, Bandit says, suspicious, and Echo is too busy panicking to think of anything to help him out of this hole he dug for himself.

“He just likes bragging about being able to pronounce it right. Remember how much Lesion laughed when I butchered it? Chinese is fucking crazy, you put the wrong emphasis on something like Batman and suddenly you’ve bought a dishwasher.”

It’s not just Smoke, Mute jumps in to his rescue as well: “Oh, you mean he already asked you about joining him? I told him we’d try to get you to come with us, so yeah, we’re both talking about the same party.”

This is when he realises they know. The way both of them smoothly cover up his mistake, immediately draw attention away from the topic and portray it as a misunderstanding is unambiguous and now their behaviour retroactively makes a lot of sense. They were looking out for him, Smoke probably for no other reason than to do Lesion a favour – he makes no secret of how much he values their friendship – and Mute hopefully because he reciprocates Echo’s sympathy. The revelation is both sobering and reassuring because while this means that Mute would normally not have approached him, the result is that he did. Besides, it’s never bad to be allied with the SAS operators.

Another surprise: he doesn’t mind that they know. Part of him wants to believe that they found out because Lesion can’t help but be obvious about it which, to be fair, is extremely probable. It’s flattering, actually, though it exacerbates his longing for the other man.

Once the situation has been defused and the conversation moved on, Echo catches Mute’s eye and mouths a thank you that’s met with a slight smile and the whispered words: “If you’re playing with his feelings, Smoke will stab you.”

Echo doesn’t doubt it.

~*~

It’s a logistical nightmare to cram the three British men as well as Lesion and Echo into the tiny car, especially because Sledge is stupidly tall and massive and Smoke insists on driving, meaning Lesion ends up halfway squished behind the shotgun riding Scotsman – and Echo between him and Mute who’s also far from small. Together, they groan and accidentally elbow each other in the sides several times as they struggle to fasten their seatbelts but manage eventually. The pleasant side effect of being pressed intimately close to Lesion is sadly negated by the fact that Echo can barely breathe and he wonders whose idea it was to drive to the party together.

On the way, Lesion recounts his experiences from the past two weeks, most of which Echo has already heard and so he instead focuses on not panicking when Lesion’s fingers find his own and thread them together, holding on confidently and without asking and it’s so sweet that Echo’s teeth hurt. Lesion returned a few hours ago, exhausted yet content and Echo had to twist his arm to take a much needed nap before their colleagues would pick them up later, joined him in bed and dozed a little while wrapped around him, happy to finally have an outlet for all his … affection again.

They arrive in what looks like a residential area and not like a place where any of the Brits would go to have fun but they’re stopping and climbing out of the car nonetheless, joking and looking extremely nonchalant. Lesion nudges him with a mischievous smile and a watch this expression and asks: “So, who’s going to be the designated driver?”

Cue collective eye rolling from the other three who immediately form a circle – apparently this is an old ritual of theirs – and fire off a few extremely fast rounds of rock, paper, scissors in which they keep picking the exact same thing every time, resulting in nothing but ties until they eventually shrug. “No winner, no designated driver. We’re taking a cab back home”, Sledge announces to Echo’s bewilderment.

“This is the fourth car we lost this way”, Smoke informs him before strolling up to a seemingly random, unsuspecting-looking house and entering without even knocking or ringing the bell.

They’re joking, of course. Echo sincerely hopes they are. “What kind of party is this?”, he belatedly wants to know and dubiously watches Mute hide the car keys in someone’s front yard.

“Oh, a friend of one of my buddies from Cambridge lives here, some professor for neuroscience I think. Used to give away LSD because, you know, selling it is kind of illegal. Shall we?”

.

So far, Echo has stumbled across a potato salad that probably witnessed the Queen being crowned back in the day, almost stepped into pizza on the best way to sentience, shunned a pile of ham sandwiches that looked sadder than most children when Mufasa dies and made a wide berth around various bowls of crisps into which a few questionable people have already reached after having licked their fingers clean. It’s no wonder then that he immediately approaches the first thing that looks edible to him, even delicious, and decides to chat it up. “Hey. What are you doing?”

“Mixing myself a Long Island Iced Tea”, Lesion replies, distracted, as he squints pensively at the almost empty bottle of rum in his hand before dumping the rest of the clear liquid into his tall glass as well. They’re alone in the kitchen, most of the other numerous guests have filed into the small garden or stayed in the vast living room. “It’s basically every type of alcohol plus a splash of coke.”

“That sounds positively abhorrent”, Echo replies and eyes the other man more closely. Even if the available food hadn’t been as repulsive as it is, even if it had been the best thing he’s ever eaten, he’d probably still prefer him. His fingers are itching to touch his hair and the urge to just step up to him and hug him from behind, pull him close, never let go is almost overwhelming.

“Oh, I can assure you, it is.” Lesion turns to him with a grin on his lips and Echo wants to pry them apart with his tongue, kiss him until either one of them faints, devour him. Lesion has never been more attractive, his tan is darker now and in stark contrast to his light clothing and Echo feels oddly charged, merely waiting for the right moment to unload this electricity dancing in his veins, uncertain as to where all this came from but unwilling to fight against it.

He plucks the glass out of Lesion’s hand and takes a generous sip that leaves behind a bitter taste in his mouth and sets his throat on fire. Judging by the amused snort, the grimace he unknowingly produces must be extremely entertaining, yet he takes another sip and notices heat rising in him. “That is vile”, he agrees and grabs the coke bottle to turn this disaster into something vaguely drinkable.

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

While he continues to gulp down the abomination Lesion mixed together, he ponders the question and finally says: “I genuinely couldn’t tell you. I talked to some guy about all his past lives who just happened to be Kings, assassins and just generally important people, coincidentally, and when I say talked I mean that he chewed my ear off. But then I got rescued by some girl who’s like half my age and already doing her PhD in particle physics and she was lovely. Also I’m convinced that two women were flirting with me purely because I called someone who ranted in favour of Brexit a fucking idiot.”

Lesion makes a curious noise at this last part. “Were they hot?”

That’s – that’s not the question he’s supposed to ask. Echo doesn’t know which one he should be posing instead, only that it’s not this one. Feeling vindictive, he says: “Extremely.”

“Nice. You could suggest they join us later, when I -”

Echo slams the glass onto the counter harder than he intended to and licks the lame joke off of Lesion’s mouth, kisses him and crowds him against the counter, kisses him and snakes his arms around his warm torso, kisses him forever. They barely did before coming here, a few pecks and not enough deep ones, so he’s starved and parched and freezing. The problem is he can’t stop, not now that the familiar smell that’s unmistakably Lesion is in his nose and drives him insane; he’s impossibly aroused and wants to hold Lesion down, thrust into his mouth, come all over him, suck him until he shakes and where is this deep-seated, primal desire coming from -

“Oh my God”, Lesion mumbles against his mouth and moans involuntarily when Echo slots their hips together, grinds against him unashamedly to show him just how much he missed him, “darling, you’re bloody plastered.”

And oh. That’s probably it. Now that he says it, Echo realises how light-headed he is, how little control he actually has over his tongue as he continues to shove it down Lesion’s throat. He barely noticed how much he drank but, thinking back, it was a lot. Not that it matters right now – on a rational level, he’s aware that he probably shouldn’t do any of this in some stranger’s kitchen yet his drunk brain reacts to the sudden proximity to this man in particular very enthusiastically. When Lesion interrupts their extremely sloppy make out session, Echo merely moves on to nibble at his ear and pushes one of his hands under his t-shirt to stroke over an erect nipple, relishing the yelp this gets him in return and the way Lesion attempts to wiggle out of his grasp.

“Babe, honey, no, wait”, he whispers and Echo loves how panicked he sounds, “don’t – oh God – how about we go back to the party for a bit longer and then we can continue once we’re -”

“I missed you.” His other hand tries to sneak into Lesion’s trousers but is caught by the wrist and pulled away, so in revenge he gently bites at Lesion’s neck which earns him a soft curse that goes straight to his crotch. “I don’t know why you wanted to go to this stupid party instead of fucking me all night.”

Lesion’s voice is unsteady now and it’s such a turn-on that his words take a moment to register: “I – I thought you wanted to go.”

“Wait, did they tell you I already agreed when they asked you?” A nod and Echo has to laugh despite having gotten played so obviously. “Mute said the same to me.” And it really doesn’t matter by now because even if they wasted some time, they still have the rest of the night and actually, Echo is enjoying making Lesion squirm for once. He latches onto heated skin with his mouth and sucks a large purple bruise into existence while he pinches the nipple with his one hand, shakes off the weak grip with the other, grabbing Lesion’s ass and pressing their lower halves together as his lover just flails helplessly.

“I see you’re having fun”, someone comments from behind them and this Scottish accent can only belong to Sledge but Echo doesn’t even care, not a single bit because all that’s in his mind is Lesion and his body and what he’s going to do to both.

“We’re a-actually leaving”, Lesion stutters, trying and failing to pry Echo off of him.

“Weird”, says Sledge and there might be a hint of amusement, “that’s not what it looks like to me.”

[myownsuperintendent]

Fic: “Yes, Dana, There is a Santa Claus”

Mulder believes in a lot of strange things--but when he suggests that Santa Claus is the culprit for a series of strange murders, Scully doesn't know what to think.  The case, along with the stresses of the season and her unconfessed feelings for her partner, makes for a very complicated Christmas. Casefile, set in Season 3, rated T for mild sex and violence, also here at Ao3.

Thank you so much to everyone at the @fic-files workshop who helped me out with this story!  It is very much appreciated.  I was hoping to get this up for Boxing Day, which is when it ends; I failed in my own time zone, but I think it may still be Boxing Day somewhere. ..... “Hey, Scully.  Ready to get in the holiday spirit?”

Scully looked up from the report she was finishing.  “In this context, I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”  But Christmas was in three days, and it wasn’t like she was doing a great job getting into the spirit on her own this year, so she thought she might as well take a look at the file Mulder was carrying.  “What have we got?”

Mulder grinned at her.  “Someone’s taken out Santa Claus.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, not the man himself,” Mulder said, opening the file. “One of those mall Santas, you know?” He showed her a picture.  The man in the picture was middle-aged; he wore a Santa costume, and he was clearly dead.  A heavy blow to the head, from the looks of things, or a fall.  And he was covered in something…

“Is that ash?”

Mulder nodded.  “Yup.  He was found in a fireplace.  He’s not the first.”

“There have been other people found dead in fireplaces?” Scully asked.

“Other mall Santas,” Mulder said.  “Total of three so far.  The latest was right here in DC.  And there have been notes like this with all of them.”  He showed her another picture, this one of a piece of paper. It read “IMPOSTER” in simple block printing.

Scully raised an eyebrow.  “Someone who’s upset at learning that Santa isn’t real?”

“Well, that’s what we’re here to find out,” said Mulder.

“And is there a particular reason that we’re the ones investigating this?”

“There are certain unexplainable circumstances.”

“Such as?”

“Well, for one thing,” said Mulder, “all of the men seem to have been dropped into the fireplaces from a great height.  Down the chimney, if you will.”

“That’s odd,” Scully said, “unlikely, even.  But it’s not impossible.  I wouldn’t call it unexplainable.”

“And for another,” Mulder went on, seeming to pay no attention to this objection, “according to the reports, all of the deaths occurred within minutes of each other.”  

Scully frowned.  “It could be a group working together.”

“It could,” Mulder said.

“I’m sure you have a theory, though,” she said.

“I might be working something out,” Mulder said.  “But in the meantime, let’s go take a look at our first Santa Claus.” 

.....

The DC Santa Claus, Clark Bentley, was in the morgue, but Scully’s examination didn’t turn up much that they didn’t already know.  The cause of death was head trauma, and the man also had other injuries consistent with a fall.

“Do we know who found him?” she asked Mulder.  

Mulder flipped through the file.  “His wife.  She heard a noise in the living room, went to investigate.  There he was in the fireplace.  She didn’t see anyone else.”

“And the others?” she asked, leaning in to look at the file as well.  

“Similar stories,” Mulder said, turning to the relevant pages. Scully looked them over; both of the other men had been found in their own homes by family members, and, again, those family members hadn’t seen anyone else around.

“So why these three?” she asked.  “Are there any common factors, besides their job and the way they died?”

“Nothing anyone’s identified so far,” he said.  “We can check up on that, but I’ve got a feeling it’s the job and those imposter notes that are the most important here.”

Scully sighed.  “Okay, Mulder, what are you thinking?  Spill it.”

Mulder looked at her; his face was mostly serious, but there was a hint of a smile in his eyes.  “I’m thinking…Santa Claus.”

At first, Scully was confused.  “Yes, they were all Santa Clauses…”

“No, Scully,” Mulder said.  “I’m thinking Santa Claus is responsible for this.  The real one.”

He didn’t look like he was joking.  But even for him, this theory was… “Mulder, are you serious?”

“Think about it, Scully,” Mulder said.  “Who better to call mall Santas imposters than the real Santa Claus?  He’s known for dropping things down chimneys…and for travelling almost instantaneously…”

“And for being a nice man who brings presents to children, not a murderer,” Scully said.  “Also, he doesn’t exist.”

“You don’t believe Santa exists?” Mulder asked.  “Why not?”

“Maybe because I’m an adult?” Scully said.  “I stopped believing in Santa when I was five, Mulder.”

“Skeptical from such a young age,” Mulder remarked.  “But what if he is real after all, Scully? Wouldn’t we be remiss not to look at this angle?”

“And how do you propose that we even do that?” Scully asked. “Look for reindeer tracks?  Put out some milk and cookies and wait?  No, we need to think about actual motives for this—actual people who might have done this.  We can’t go on a wild goose chase after a children’s story, after someone who definitely does not exist.”

“If I were you, I wouldn’t be so insistent about Santa Claus not existing,” Mulder said, his voice teasing.  “He might hear and put you on the naughty list.”

“Somehow I’m not too concerned about that,” Scully said.  “At any rate, I think it would make sense if we talked to some people who knew these men, people who might actually be able to shed some light on this.”  She looked at the file again.  “We should talk to their families.  And what about trying to trace the notes?”

“Sure,” Mulder said.  “We can trace them all the way back to the North Pole.”

Scully shook her head.  “I can take the one we have here back to the labs.  You could go talk to his wife—and try not to bring up your Santa Claus theory, okay?”

“I’ll do my best,” Mulder said, “but we have to see where the questions lead.”  

“I’m serious,” Scully said.  “This is going to be hard enough for her.”  She couldn’t imagine what these men’s families must be going through.  She wasn’t looking forward to her own Christmas much this year—it would be the first since Melissa had died, and she always missed her dad more around this time, and even though she and her mom and brothers would be together she knew it wasn’t going to be the happiest one they’d ever had.  But the thought of losing someone you loved just days before the holiday…that almost made her want to start counting her blessings.

Mulder didn’t push his theory any more, thankfully; he just nodded and patted her shoulder lightly on his way to the door.  “Call me if you find out anything.”

She shook her head as she changed out of her scrubs. Everyone over the age of eight or so knew that Santa Claus was just a made-up story, something designed to make Christmas more fun for kids and to encourage them to behave themselves.  Of course, she’d never been too concerned about that part anyway, since she’d realized the truth pretty young.  Knowing that the presents came from her parents, she’d figured it was most important to be good on balance, and if she’d been concerned about earning gifts today, she would have said a similar thing  If she did the right thing most of the time, it didn’t matter if sometimes she did something a little more questionable.  Snapping at people when she got frustrated.  Spending a lot of nights touching herself while she thought about her work partner.

There wasn’t anything technically wrong with doing that, true, but Scully couldn’t help thinking sometimes that it would be better if she could cut it out.  It wasn’t the most professional way to think about someone you worked with.  It was very hard not to, though.  The first time that she’d found herself fantasizing about Mulder, she’d been a little shocked at herself, but now he was the only thing she thought about when she wanted to get herself off.  It wasn’t just one vague fantasy anymore, either.  She had a whole variety of thoughts: different situations (at home, on a case, in the office), different touches (his hands, his mouth, his whole body on hers), different things he might say (I’ve wanted this for so long, I want you to feel good, I love you).

Now when she shook her head, it was at herself.  Scully wasn’t sure when she’d started to fall in love with Mulder—some time in the last year, when everything had gotten more serious but he’d always been there, after her abduction, after Melissa—but that was what she wanted now: something serious, something real.  If all she’d wanted was his touch, that wouldn’t have been too bad; she could tell that he wanted that too, sometimes.  Her actual feelings…well, that was more complicated. She didn’t know if he wanted anything like that.  Hence the reliance on her imagination.

Scully shivered as she walked out of the building.  She wasn’t sure if it was because it was starting to snow or because of her thoughts.

.....

After getting the results on the notes from the lab, Scully went back to the office.  Mulder was already there, flipping through a file.  “What’d you find out?” he asked her.

Scully sighed, taking a seat.  “Not much,” she said.  “Some fingerprints, but they didn’t match up with anything in our databases. And the ink is just…well, it’s just different colored gel pens.”

“Gel pens?” Mulder asked.

“Yeah,” Scully said.  “Those glittery things.  Haven’t you seen them in stores?  They’re really popular with kids.”

“Interesting,” Mulder said, grinning at her.  “Almost like the notes were written by someone with access to a lot of children’s toys.”

“Or,” Scully said, “someone who happened to walk into a drug store and buy the first thing he saw by the counter.  How about you?  What’ve you been up to?”

“I talked to Clark Bentley’s wife,” Mulder said.  “She showed me where she found him.”

“And?” Scully asked.

“It’s not a huge fireplace,” Mulder said.  “The brickwork got messed up when he fell.  Honestly, I’m surprised he even fit down the chimney.”

“I suppose we can’t be sure that’s what did happen,” Scully said.  “He could have fallen elsewhere, and his body could have been moved.”

“How would you explain the noises his wife heard, then?” Mulder asked.  “She says she definitely heard a thump, and she was there within a minute and didn’t see anyone.  And she also told me that she thinks she heard something on the roof, before the thump. She was falling asleep and at first she thought it was nothing, but now it seems like it might have been related.”

“Something on the roof,” Scully said.  “What kind of something?”

“A tapping noise,” Mulder said.  “You know, like hooves.”

Scully let out a sigh.  “Like hooves.  Is that her wording or yours?”

“Mine,” Mulder said.  “But honestly it seems like the most logical—”

“No, it doesn’t,” Scully said.  “Please tell me you didn’t bring up your hooves theory with this poor woman.”

“I didn’t!” Mulder said.  “How about we hear your theory?”

“My theory,” said Scully, “is that the killer was a normal human. It’s not like it’s impossible for humans to climb onto roofs.  And human footsteps on a roof wouldn’t sound that different from hooves anyway, especially if you weren’t fully awake.  Do we know if he had any enemies?  Did she say anything about that?”

“Not a soul,” Mulder said.  “Quite the reverse, actually.  She kept telling me what a good Santa Claus he was.  She said everyone at the mall loved him—his co-workers, all of the kids—because he was so believable in the role.”

“What’d he do the rest of the year?” Scully asked, reaching for the file.  She took a look; Clark Bentley had worked for a children’s charity.  “Seems like a great guy.”

“Definitely,” Mulder said.  “Seems like no one who knew him personally would want to kill him.”

“That doesn’t mean—” Scully began, but just then Mulder’s phone rang.

“Mulder,” he said, picking it up.  “What?...Yeah, that sounds the same as what we’ve been looking at….Where was this, exactly?”  He picked up a pen and wrote something down.  “Yeah. We’ll be out there as soon as we can. Thanks.”  He hung up the phone.  “How do you feel about Minnesota at this time of year, Scully?”

“Lots of snow, I imagine,” Scully said.  Truthfully, she wasn’t eager to go—not when she had to be back and driving to her mother’s in three days’ time—but that was the job.  “Has there been another death?”

“Yeah,” Mulder said.  “Another mall Santa.  His name’s Dave Davis.  It was the same circumstances as all the others.  I told them we’d come out and take a look.”  The phone rang again.  “Hang on a second, Scully,” he said, picking it up.  “Mulder…What?...When was this?...You said Montana, right?...We’re looking at another similar case now.  But we’ll be out there as soon as we can…Yes, thanks.”  He hung up.  “Guess what that was about.”

“Another dead mall Santa?” Scully asked.

“Yes, of course,” Mulder said.  “But what’s the most interesting part about it?”

“More so-called hoof sounds?”

“They didn’t mention that on the phone,” Mulder said. “But this death happened mere seconds after the one in Minnesota.  How do you explain that?”

“Copycat crimes,” Scully said.

“This hasn’t been in the news yet.”

“A group of some sort.”

“You think he got the elves in on it?” Mulder asked, and then he laughed as Scully gave him a look and turned her chair away.  “Okay, okay.  Just keep an open mind, that’s all I’m saying.”

“I am keeping an open mind,” Scully said.  “You’re the one who won’t let go of this theory.”

“Well, maybe we’ll learn more in Minnesota,” Mulder said. “Let me look into flights. Hopefully we can head out in the morning.”

.....

THE HAPPIEST MALL IN AMERICA, said a sign above the door. “Bleak,” Mulder muttered, his voice quiet enough that only she could hear it.  Scully started to laugh, then quickly turned it into a cough as a woman in a red uniform approached them.

“Are you from the FBI?” she asked.  

“Yes, that’s us,” Scully said.  “I’m Agent Scully, and this is Agent Mulder.”

The woman shook both their hands.  “I’m Mimi Li,” she said.  “We’re so glad you’re here.  This is really terrible about Dave, and we just hope you can catch whoever did this to him.”

“We hope so too,” Scully said.  “We’ve just come from his wife.  She said that she found him lying in the fireplace—around nine?”

“Yeah, that’s what I heard,” Mimi said.  “That’s the weird part.  He’d just gotten off his shift here at eight-thirty, and he lives pretty far. He shouldn’t have had time to get home yet.”

“That is odd,” Scully said. ��

“It’s just so horrible,” Mimi said.  “Would the two of you like to come with me?  You can talk to some of the other people who worked with him.”  

“That would be great,” Mulder said, and Mimi nodded and led them towards a small door.  

The break room had seen better days.  The carpet was dingy and looked like it had been there since the sixties, and there wasn’t much besides a row of lockers, a few rickety chairs, and two bickering college-aged kids dressed as elves.  “I just don’t see why we can’t go home,” one of them, a dark-haired guy, said.  “I mean, if there’s no Santa, what do they need elves for?”

“Dude, we’re getting paid,” said the other, a blond girl. “Quit whining.”

“Carl, Sarah,” said Mimi, “these are Agents Mulder and Scully. They’re from the FBI.  Agents, these are Carl and Sarah.  They’re two of our very best elves.”  Carl and Sarah looked decidedly unimpressed by this assessment of themselves.  

“Hi,” Mulder said.  “Do you know what we’re here about?”

Carl and Sarah nodded.  “Yeah,” Sarah said.  “About Dave getting killed.”  And suddenly the mood seemed more somber in the room; the two elves exchanged looks. “Are you going to find out who did this?”

“We certainly hope so,” Scully said.  “What can the three of you tell us about Dave?  What kind of a person was he?”

“Oh, he was great,” Sarah said.  “Way better than last year’s Santa.  That guy didn’t give a shit.”

Carl nodded.  “Yeah, Dave really believed in this stuff.  Just last week, it had been a long day, and we were really tired and I was complaining about something, and Dave told me we had to think about the kids. That what we were doing made Christmas a whole lot brighter for them.”

“He was really the nicest guy I’ve ever met,” Mimi added. “Anyone would tell you the same. All the kids—they just absolutely loved him.  They really believed he was Santa.  Honestly, I would have believed it too, if I were a kid.  He was so kind.”  She stopped, drew in a breath.  “I can’t imagine anyone wanting to kill him.”

“No enemies that you know of?” Scully asked.

“No,” Mimi said.  “And I can’t believe he would have had any.”  The elves nodded.  

“Anything else you can tell us about him?” Mulder asked.

“I can’t think of anything,” Mimi said, as the elves shook their heads.  “Would you like to see where he worked, though?”

“Sure,” Scully said.  “That would be helpful.”  Mimi led them out of the break room.

The place looked like any other mall at Christmas time. Shiny clean.  Holiday-themed displays.  Lots of tinsel and lights.  A big tree in the middle of the shopping area.  There was something almost antiseptic about it, something Scully didn’t like.  It seemed to take all the trappings of Christmas and scrub away the parts that meant anything, which somehow felt more hollow than not celebrating at all.  “So this was it,” Mimi said, as they made their way towards the tree.  There was a large red chair next to it, an abandoned camera.  A large banner read MEET SANTA CLAUS; a smaller chalkboard easel read SANTA WILL BE BACK AT _____ O’CLOCK.  Someone had erased the number.  “He’s not here now,” Mimi said, and then she blushed.  “I mean, sorry, that’s obvious.”  

It probably would have been obvious even if they hadn’t known that Dave had been killed.  A rope for lining up stretched past the chair, but there was almost no one there now; another mall employee was attempting to reason with a mother and her small daughter, who was repeating, “You said we’d meet Santa today, Mommy, you promised,” at a steadily increasing volume.

“Oh dear,” Mimi said, looking over at them.  “Would you mind if I… I could just…”  The child threw herself dramatically onto the floor.

“That’s fine,” Scully said, and Mimi gave her a grateful smile and hurried towards the now sobbing child.

Mulder turned to Scully.  “What’re you thinking?”

“I don’t know,” Scully said.  “It’s odd.  This whole place—it’s not like it’s a particularly outstanding set-up.  Those two back there certainly didn’t seem that into it.  But Dave—from what everyone says, he sounds like he was the real deal.”

“Yeah,” Mulder said.  “That’s what I was thinking too.  Same as Clark.”  He looked thoughtful.  “You think that’s the link?  Why these particular guys got picked?”

“Maybe,” Scully said.  “But why would that be the case?  Why would someone be interested in killing really dedicated mall Santas?”

“Well,” Mulder said, “think back to the notes.  Imposter.  If Santa’s trying to get rid of the competition—”

“Which he’s not—”

“—he’d want to start with the best competition out there, wouldn’t he?  Not the guys who just half-ass it.  They wouldn’t be any threat.”

“You still haven’t explained why Santa would see any of these guys as a threat,” Scully said.  She realized that she was talking as if Santa were real now; he was drawing her into this, whether she liked it or not.  “If there were a Santa, wouldn’t he be above this kind of thing?  Besides, he’s supposed to be a good guy.”

“I don’t know,” Mulder said.  He took a seat in the Santa chair and grinned up at her.  “I’ve always thought he was pretty creepy.  All that surveillance.”

“Surveillance?  Aren’t you being a little dramatic?  Mulder, it’s just something your parents tell you to get you to—”

“And so judgmental,” Mulder went on.  “Have you been a good girl or a bad girl this year?”

From the way he was looking at her, she wasn’t sure if he was just quoting or if he was actually posing the question.  She decided to go with the safer option. “It’s a long way from leaving kids coal to killing people.”

“Still,” Mulder said.  “He’s a powerful guy.  And he’s used to having everything be up to him.”

“Mulder, that’s just…it doesn’t make any…”  She could never decide, when he tied things up in knots like this, if she hated it or loved every second of it.

“Just give the idea a try,” Mulder said.  “Think back.  Get in touch with your younger self.”  He was grinning again, and she felt off-balance suddenly, even before he spoke.  That teasing tone.  “What do you want for Christmas this year, Scully?”

And God, she thought about it for half a second.  Just coming out and telling him.  He had started it, after all; he was flirting now, he was definitely flirting, and maybe that meant he wanted to take the consequences.  Maybe it meant he would be up for it, if she were to say You.  You and me.  That’s what I want.  

She didn’t say it, though.  Partly it was the place: she didn’t know what would come next, if she said that, and none of her fantasies took place in an abandoned Santa’s village at the Happiest Mall in America.  But partly it was the tone, that teasing note in his voice—not that she didn’t like it, she definitely did, it made her feel ways that were not appropriate to feel at a place meant for children.  It was too light, though, too easy.  As though it didn’t mean anything at all.

Instead, she just smiled.  “Nothing special, I guess.  I’d like it if we finished up the case soon.  Got back to DC in time for me to go to my mom’s.”

She couldn’t read his face for a second, but then he smiled too, nodding at her.  “Aw, I was hoping you were going to ask for something exciting,” he said.  “But that makes sense.  Let’s get going, then—not keep you away from home longer than we can help.”

“Yeah,” she said.  “Sounds good.”  She thought about what he’d said as they walked out of the mall.  I was hoping you were going to ask for something exciting.  She liked exciting.  But it wasn’t all she wanted.

.....

The next morning, they were on their way to Montana.  It was starting to snow as they arrived, but they were able to land with no problems.

The latest Santa Claus was named Roger Green; the mall where he’d worked was, to put it bluntly, chaos.  No surprise, really—it was Christmas eve—but it didn’t put Scully in a very good mood.  They had to elbow their way past frantic adults and screaming kids (actually, some of the adults were screaming too).  All of the mall employees whom they talked to seemed distracted, only half their attention of the conversation and half on whatever was going on out in the shopping area.  And none of the information they did have was anything new.  Roger Green seemed just like all the other mall Santas: unquestionably good at his job and unquestionably dead.

The snow had picked up as they left the mall, along with the wind.  “Woah,” Mulder said.  “It’s really coming down.”

“Yeah,” Scully said, hurrying to the rental car.  

As they were driving to Roger Green’s house—he had lived with his brother, who had been the one to find him—she switched on the radio to listen to the weather report.  “Those of you who are dreaming of a white Christmas are getting it with a vengeance! We’re expecting the snow to continue into tomorrow, with at least three feet of accumulation.  Look for winds to gust thirty-five to forty miles per hour. We encourage you to stay safe and avoid the roads as much as possible.”

“Shit,” Scully muttered.  “We’re stuck here, aren’t we?”

“Sounds like it, yeah,” Mulder said.  He looked contrite, but right now she wasn’t in the mood.  It would have been one thing if they were actually getting work done, but this case was going nowhere fast, and all they had was Mulder’s nonsensical theory.  She was stranded in Montana for nothing, as far as she was concerned. She pictured her mom’s face, that look she got when she was sad; she’d wanted them all to be together so much, and Scully had wanted that too.  Now Bill and Charlie would be there and she wouldn’t.  Now she was the bad child, the one who deserved the lump of coal.  

“I’m going to call my mom,” she said, pulling out her phone. “Before we lose service or anything.”

The disappointment was plain in her mom’s voice, and she really couldn’t blame her.  “I’m sorry, Mom,” she said, trying not to sound too frustrated herself.  “I really wanted to be there too.”  

“We’ll miss you a lot,” her mom said.  “Will you at least call tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Scully said.  “We can have a good talk.”

“Both of you take care of yourselves,” her mom said.  “Be safe out there.  And tell Fox I said merry Christmas.”

“I’ll do that,” Scully said.  “Bye, Mom.”  After she hung up, she turned to Mulder.  “My mom says merry Christmas,” she said, and then she stared out of the window at the rapidly falling snow.

She had seen Christmas displays before, but, as they pulled up in front of the Greens’ house, she couldn’t help staring.  This one was something special.  Thousands of lights adorned the building, and on the lawn was a model town.  An old-fashioned small town at Christmas, she could tell it was supposed to be, with snow (both real and fake, at this point) on all of the buildings and trees and little people in red and green coats carrying wrapped presents, skating on a miniature lake, exchanging waves and embraces.  Santa Claus was on the roof of one of the buildings, smiling benignly down. In another mood, Scully thought she probably would have liked the scene.  She’d never had a ton of decorations herself—a habit picked up from her childhood, when she’d gotten used to travelling light—but she could tell someone had put a lot of work and care into this display.  Right now, though, she just wanted to be home.  She told herself to concentrate on the case, to be glad of the work; finishing this up now would only mean spending the next few days lying around in a motel room.  She wondered fleetingly if Mulder would want to spend any extra time they might have together; she probably would have liked that thought in another mood too.

Mulder rang the doorbell, which was quickly answered by a man wearing a reindeer sweater.  He had something of a Santa Claus look himself, actually—he was large and had a white beard—if you ignored the somber expression.  “Robert Green?” Mulder asked.  “Brother of Roger?”

“Yes, that’s me,” said the man.

“I’m Agent Mulder, and this is Agent Scully,” Mulder said. “Okay if we come in and ask you some questions?”

“Please,” the man said, holding the door for them.

The inside was as elaborately decorated as the outside: tinsel everywhere, bright lights, a tall Christmas tree with ornaments and popcorn strings and a shining star on the top.  “We loved Christmas,” Robert said.  “Both of us did.”

“It’s very nice,” Scully said gently.  “Did you do all of it yourself?”

Robert nodded.  “Well, the two of us.  We did it every year.”

“I’m so sorry about your brother,” Scully said, and Robert nodded quickly, turning his face to stare determinedly at the tree.

“So tell us about what happened,” Mulder said.  “Where did you find him?”

“Right here, actually,” Robert said.  He motioned them towards the fireplace.  Roger Green’s body had been taken away, but it was still clear that something had happened there.  Chipped pieces of brick and wood lay on the earth, along with a sizeable amount of dirt and ash, and the fire irons had been knocked askew.  “It was two nights ago now.  I’d worked an earlier shift, so I was home; I thought Roger was still at work.  I was getting ready for bed, and I heard…I thought I heard a noise.  Like a kind of tapping.  And then I heard the crash.  I ran downstairs, and he was right here.  And I tried…I called 911 but I knew he was dead.”  He swallowed hard.  “There wasn’t anyone around.  Just the two notes.”

“Two notes?” Mulder said.  

“Yeah,” Robert said.  “In this glittery pen.  One of them said Imposter.”  Just as it had been in all the other cases.  “And the other one said You’re Next.”

“You’re Next?” Mulder asked.  “They didn’t tell us about that one.  You’re Next…Can you tell us what it is you do for a living?”  From the expression on his face, though, Scully could tell he was as sure as she was that it was an unnecessary question.  

“Yes,” Robert said.  “I’m also a mall Santa.”  Of course he was.  This insane case…

“Mr. Green, I think we should warn you to be on your guard,” Mulder said.  “We have reason to believe that someone is targeting mall Santas.  If that someone is going to be back to get you…maybe we should stay here for your protection.”

“Or for yours,” Robert said, looking out the window. “The storm’s really getting worse. I wouldn’t want you two nice people going out in that.”

“Oh, I’m sure we’d be fine,” Scully said.  “But we do need to make sure that you’re safe.”

“Yeah, we’ll stay and keep an eye out,” Mulder said.  “I have some ideas about how the killer might be getting in.  Although I doubt anything will happen for a few hours.  He seems to strike at night.”

“Well, I’m sure I’ll feel safer having the two of you here,” said Robert.  “Would you like some coffee?  If it’s going to be a long wait…”

“Sounds great,” Mulder said cheerfully.  He was taking off his coat now and putting it over the back of his chair.  “How about you, Scully?”

“Yes, thanks,” she said, and Robert smiled at them and left the room.  “Mulder,” Scully said, as soon as he was gone, “do you happen to have some kind of plan?”

“I was actually hoping we could talk about that,” Mulder said. “You see, there’s not a lot of information around taking down Santa Claus.  No stakes or silver bullets or anything like that.  Do you think maybe we could—”

“Mulder,” Scully said.  “Can we be practical here?  Just for two minutes?”  She let out a breath.  “Whoever or whatever this is, there’s some kind of threat here.  Where do you think we should position ourselves?  Inside or outside?  With Robert?  At the fireplace?”

“He has to be getting in from outside, right?” Mulder said. “That’s how it works.  Up onto the roof, down the chimney, and then presents or murder, as the case may be.”  

At this point, she didn’t see where arguing was going to get her. She wouldn’t waste time contradicting him, she decided; she would just treat this like…like they were talking about any ordinary intruder.  One who was very good at what he did, maybe, but who was still a human.  “So if he’s coming in from the roof,” she said, “should one of us be on the roof?”

Mulder seemed to take this as full agreement with his theory, judging by the way he smiled at her.  The main part of her wanted to yell at him.  A smaller, more reluctant part wanted to blush.  “Yeah, that sounds good to me,” he said.  “And the other one should stay inside with Robert.  We’d better trade off, though.  I don’t know what Skinner would say if we came back frozen into—”

“Look at the two of you!”  Robert had coming back into the room, carrying mugs of coffee, and he was beaming at them.  She wondered how he could look so happy, now.  “Go on, then.  You know what to do.”  And when they stared back at him, he gestured upwards.  Scully looked up.  She didn’t know what it said about her that what she saw made her heart start racing faster than anything else she’d seen on this case.  It’s just a plant, she told herself.  An ordinary plant.  But she knew that the sprig of mistletoe above them was a little more than that.

“Shall we, Scully?” Mulder said, and she didn’t know how to respond.  She wanted to.  Of course she wanted to.  He didn’t know how much she wanted to kiss him, with or without an excuse.  But right here and now… She didn’t trust herself, that was the trouble.  If she started to kiss him, she was afraid she wouldn’t stop.

“Come on, now,” Robert said.  “It’s a Christmas tradition.”

Apparently that was enough for Mulder.  He cupped her cheek, bent his head, and pressed his lips to hers.

She’d imagined this more times than she could count—but it wasn’t like she’d imagined.  She wanted to open her mouth, kiss him for a long, long time, but she couldn’t do that, not with this bereaved mall Santa watching them from across the room, not when they were going to be stuck here for hours, probably, and they’d either have to talk about it—and then what would they say?—or not talk about it—and they were good at that, but if she were ever going to do this, she didn’t want it to end with them just going back to the way they’d always been.  She wanted to know, from that moment on, if he felt for her what she felt for him.  If she ever got up the courage to do this, she didn’t want it to be all over in a flash.

But right now, she couldn’t.  She couldn’t even let herself get started.  So she pulled away, jerking back in a split second, before she even had the chance to register whether or not it felt good.  (It felt like something, though.  Just that brush of his lips.  She hoped she wasn’t turning pink.)  She grabbed a mug of coffee from Robert and took a sip, just to have something to do.

Robert didn’t seem to notice anything; he just smiled at them again and handed the other mug to Mulder.  Mulder was staring at her, though.  He looked almost hurt, and Scully couldn’t really blame him.  She’d practically wiped her mouth off after he kissed her.  Even if he didn’t share her feelings, that couldn’t feel great.  But she couldn’t say anything now.

“So!” she said, trying to put energy into her voice, taking a big sip of the coffee and hoping it would help.  “Robert, is there a way for us to get up on your roof?”

.....

She took the last step off the ladder and checked her watch. 9:05.  “How’s everything inside?” she asked Mulder.

“Good.  Quiet for now,” Mulder said.  He looked around.  “It’s certainly dark enough for things to start happening, though.  You see anything?”

Scully shook her head.  “Nope.  Enjoy your shift.”

“Thanks,” he said.  They’d been trading off all evening, between the roof and indoors; it was terribly cold, and once Scully had thought a gust of wind was going to take her off the roof, which would have been an undignified end to the investigation. Aside from that, though, there hadn’t been anything exciting.  “You too.”

“Will do,” Scully said, starting towards the door.  It was easier this way, just talking about what they had to do.  

“Scully,” he said as she walked away.

“Yeah?”  She turned back.

A pause.  “Nothing,” he said.  “You’d better go and warm up.  Robert made more coffee.”

“Thanks,” she said.  She tried her best to smile; she was pretty sure her face was partially frozen. “That sounds good.”

She stamped off her boots and went into the living room, where Robert was setting out more mugs of coffee.  “Come in and have something to drink,” he said when he saw her.  “I really appreciate the two of you doing this, you know.  And at the holidays and all.”

“It’s our job,” Scully said, sitting down and taking a sip. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Well, I know that,” said Robert.  “Still, you have to be very big-hearted to do this kind of job.”

She’d take it.  “You too,” she said.  “What you do—it must make a lot of kids’ day.”

“I hope so,” Robert said.  “That’s the point of Christmas, after all.  Showing people you care about them.”  He looked thoughtful.  “I guess a lot of the kids think the point is presents.  But someday they’ll get it.”

“I hope so,” she said.  “I appreciate your welcoming us, too.  At a time like this.”

It was remarkable, the way he smiled at her.  “I’m glad that the two of you are here,” he said.  “Of course it’s…it’s not the same, no use pretending it is.  But I wouldn’t want to be alone.”

“I understand,” she said, nodding.

“You want to be with the people you love, of course,” he said. “But then the holiday itself makes a difference.  I sometimes think—did you hear something?”

Scully listened.  “Just the wind, I think.”

Robert shook his head.  “No. That.”

She listened again, and yes, now she heard it. Something on the roof—tap tap tap and then a thump.  And there was something else too—Mulder’s voice.  “Scully!”

Scully narrowly escaped spilling coffee all over herself, slamming the mug down onto the table and jumping up from her seat.  She ran outside, looking around frantically: she needed to get to Mulder.  A movement on the roof caught her eye.  There was certainly something going on up there, although she couldn’t make out quite what through the falling snow; there were several moving shapes though, that was certain.  She made her way to the ladder and climbed up as quickly as she could without slipping.

She took a look around when her head was at roof level, and then she blinked, trying to make sure she was seeing properly with all the snow. But she hadn’t made a mistake. That was a sleigh in front of her, just settled there on the roof where there definitely hadn’t been a sleigh before. A sleigh with reindeer.  Eight of them.

The most important part, however, was what was going on next to the sleigh.  Mulder was engaged in a brawl with—well, with a man dressed as Santa Claus, at the very least, and if they took one false step the two of them were about to go off the roof.  She reached for her gun.  “Freeze!” she said.  “I’m a federal agent!”

The Santa Claus stared at her.  “You think I’m going to leave either of you any presents if you keep interfering with me?”

She hadn’t thought that he was going to leave her any presents in any case, but this didn’t seem like the time to point that out.  “I don’t care about that,” she said.  “But you can’t go around killing all the mall Santas.”

He snarled.  “They’re not mall Santas,” he said.  “They’re mall imposters.  I’m the only Santa.  And it’s my job to punish people who’ve done bad things this year.”

“Isn’t this an extreme step up from coal?” Mulder asked. He took a swing at the Santa Claus, which was a mistake; it had no visible effect, and he just shoved Mulder so that he slipped and nearly fell.  

“The punishment has to fit the crime,” said the Santa Claus. “Coal is for children.  Adults need to learn a harder lesson.”

“What are they learning if they’re dead?” Mulder asked.

“Someone needs to be an example.”

Scully was looking over the edge of the roof.  She didn’t want them to push their assailant to the ground, not knowing what effect it would have on him; she still wasn’t sure if he was Santa Claus, but he clearly believed he was, anyway, and it would be wiser to proceed with caution.  But on one side of the house, there was a little porch; the fall was far enough that it would hopefully disable him without killing him.  She caught Mulder’s eye and jerked her head in the direction of the porch, hoping he would catch on to her plan.  He looked, then looked back at her and nodded slightly, before starting to back the Santa Claus in the direction of the porch.  She followed, coming at him from the other side.

“We want you to stop this now,” Scully said.  “These are good men.  Whatever problem you may have with them, this is not the way of solving it.”

“The problem’s mine, not yours,” said the Santa Claus, “so I’d advise you to be the ones to stop.  We still have a few hours until Christmas—time enough to turn things around for yourselves.  You haven’t done much else that’s bad this year.”  She clenched the fist on her free hand and forced herself to keep walking slowly. Who did he think he was, watching people all the time?  “But if you don’t back off…you’ve seen what I can do.”  He was close to the edge of the roof now.  Just a few more steps.

“Well, you make a good point,” Mulder said.  “The thing is, though, you’re not the only one who can dole out retribution.”  They moved as one then, closing in, and when the Santa Claus took a step back, his feet met the air.  He fell, landing on the porch.  Thump.

They climbed down the ladder, as quickly as they could, and dashed back into the house, not even stopping to brush off the snow, making their way out to the porch.  Scully felt for the Santa Claus’s pulse.  “We should get him inside,” she said.  “He’s alive. Just knocked out.”

“Phew,” Mulder said.  “Maybe we’ll still get at least some presents this year.  Socks and things.”

She couldn’t help but laugh.

.....

It was after midnight, early on Christmas morning, and they were still hanging around in the local FBI field office.  They’d called out backup, but the scene at the house had been confused at best.  Santa Claus kept insisting that he was Santa Claus.  No one could figure out how to get the reindeer and sleigh off the roof, and they’d had to bring in a crane.  

No one seemed to know quite what to do.  After Scully and Mulder had told their story, the head of the field office had got on the phone to Washington.  Some sort of meeting was now in progress, and the two of them could hear snatches of talk floating out of the room.   “Well, he’s not an American citizen…”  “Could we release him to the government at the North Pole?” “He is the government at the North Pole!”  “What are the kids going to do if we put him in jail?”

There wasn’t any legal precedent for this situation, that was certain, and after a while Scully wandered over to the window.  A flash of movement caught her eye; the reindeer were there, seemingly enjoying the snow.  “Want to go take a closer look?” Mulder asked, joining her, and she nodded and walked out of the building by his side.  

She patted one of the reindeer, gingerly.  It seemed to like the attention, and she patted it again, murmuring, “Hey there.”  Mulder was still beside her; she knew she had to talk to him.  “Mulder?”

“Yeah?”

“I wanted to apologize.”

He looked at her.  “For what?”  His face, as he looked at her, seemed sincere; maybe he honestly wasn’t bothered, and maybe she should just drop the whole thing.

But she’d started now.  “Earlier.  At the house. With the mistletoe.  I didn’t have to be so…”  She wasn’t sure of the right word to use.  Weird?  Cowardly? Madly attracted to you?  “So abrupt,” she finally said.

“Scully,” he said, “I wasn’t mad.  I just thought…if I made you uncomfortable…”

“No!” she said.  “No, you didn’t.”  It had been uncomfortable, of course, but that wasn’t his fault.  “You didn’t do anything wrong.  I was just…in a bad mood, I guess.  Because of being stuck here with the snow, you know.  Over Christmas.”

Mulder nodded.  “I really am sorry about that.”

“It’s not your fault,” she said.  “It’s the job.”

“I know,” he said, “but I know you wanted to be with your family. Especially this year.”  It was sometimes hard for her to talk about these things with him, at least right out, but knowing that he understood what it meant to her made her feel warm, blizzard and all.  As did the way he put an arm around her gently, pulling her into him. “We…we could do something together later today.  I know it won’t be quite the same.    But if that sounds good to you…?”

It did sound good.  Maybe almost too good, but right now she decided she wasn’t going to let herself worry about that.  She remembered what Robert had said earlier that evening, about spending Christmas with the people you loved.  She still wished she could have been home, but she wasn’t about to turn this chance down. “It does, yeah.”

The field office director poked her head out the door then. “Oh, the two of you are still here,” she said.  “You can head out if you want.  We’re putting you up here.”  She handed them a hotel brochure.

“What’s going to happen to Santa Claus?” Mulder asked, while Scully studied the brochure.  The place looked nicer than the motels where they usually stayed, and that was putting it mildly.

Maybe it was just the cold, but the director looked flushed. She said something in a low tone, something about “volatile situation” and “not our jurisdiction” and “shame if this got out.”

“Are you saying you’re not going to do anything?” Mulder asked. “Because he’s dangerous, you know. He may seem like just a children’s character, but he’s killed at least five people.”

“We are,” said the director.  “Of course we are.  We just…we’re figuring out some things…we want to keep this quiet while we discuss our options…”  She made a show of looking at her watch.  “It’s really late.  Why don’t you two get going?  You must be so tired.”  And she hurried back inside.

“Can you believe this, Scully?” Mulder asked.  “Just because he brings presents sometimes, he’s going to get special treatment.”

“So are we,” said Scully.  “Look at this.”  She held out the brochure.  “Heated pool and everything.”

Mulder looked skeptical.  “Is this hush money?”

“Are you complaining?”

“I wouldn’t say I’m exactly complaining,” Mulder said. “I just think the laws should apply equally to everyone.  Including Santa Claus.”

“And I agree with you,” said Scully.  “But maybe we can discuss the justice system after we’ve gotten some sleep.”

.....

Scully called her mom when they got to the hotel, and then she slept into the afternoon.  On her way back from getting some food in the dining room, she ran into Mulder in the hallway.  “Hey,” he said.  “We on for tonight?”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding.  “What do you want to do?”

“Well, I don’t think we can go anywhere,” he said. “It’s snowing even harder.  But we could get some food, anyway.  And then just…hang around.”  He looked almost shy about it.  “Not very exciting, I know.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” she said.  “That sounds really good, actually.  In half an hour?”

“Great,” he said, and he smiled, and she smiled back.

Back in her room, she looked out the window.  The snow was starting to taper off, although it was still going to take some time to clear the roads, if the size of the drifts was anything to go by.  There was a special Christmas Supplement in with the room service menu; she ordered eggnog and sugar cookies.  

Mulder showed up with additional eggnog and sugar cookies (the Christmas Supplement wasn’t particularly extensive).  “Hi, Scully,” he said.  “I brought this…oh, you have some already.”

She smiled.  “Great minds. Come on in.”  

There was a small couch in the room, and they settled themselves on that.  She took a bite of a cookie—pretty good—and smiled at him again.  This was rare for them; they did sometimes spend time together outside of work, but they were usually at least still thinking about a case then, talking about it, trading theories.  It wasn’t this sort of pure companionship.

“Imagine if this got out,” Mulder said.

For a second she thought he meant the two of them—professional partners, sharing Christmas treats together on a hotel couch—but she decided that couldn’t possibly be it.  “If what got out?” she asked.

“All this about Santa Claus,” Mulder said.  “The children would be so disappointed.”

“Yeah,” Scully said.  “I guess they would.”

“I still don’t think he should get the special treatment,” Mulder said, “but still, if kids found out, it would be kind of a shame. Don’t you think?”

Scully thought for a minute.  “I don’t know,” she said.  “They’d be disappointed at first, probably, but I think it would be all right in the end. That’s not the only good part of Christmas.  Maybe it’s just because I barely remember believing in Santa, anyway, but that’s what I think.”

“Right, you said that,” Mulder replied.  “You stopped believing when you were five?  What tipped you off?”

She smiled and took another sip of the eggnog.  “It’s kind of a nice story, actually.  I’d been learning to ride a bike—I used to borrow Missy’s—and my parents said I could get my own that year.  And I saw this bike in a store window; it was dark blue with silver stripes, and I thought it was the neatest thing I’d ever seen.  I was with my dad, and I told him that. Not that I wanted it, even.  Just that I thought it was a really great bike.” She still remembered it, the way it had shone.  “But the next time we were near the store, Bill was with us, and I was looking at the bike again, and he laughed at me.  Because it was a boy’s bike, you know?  I said I didn’t care, I still liked it, and he said everyone would laugh at me if I had a bike like that.”  She remembered that part too, the sick feeling.  “Maybe I shouldn’t have cared.  But I was only five, and we’d just moved there too.  I didn’t have a lot of friends yet and I didn’t want people to laugh at me.  So when I wrote to Santa, I said I wanted a different bike.  A girl’s one.  Little pink basket and everything.  I didn’t really want it, but I…I guess I thought it would be better.  And it would still be a bike.  But on Christmas—there it was, under the tree.  The one I’d wanted, the blue bike, and it said it was for me, from Santa, and I was so excited.  But I thought about it, and I knew that it couldn’t be from Santa.  I didn’t write to him about that bike, so he couldn’t have known.  I knew my dad knew though, so later, I asked him if he was Santa, and he said yes, and he told me not to tell the others so I wouldn’t ruin it for them.  And he hugged me.”  She remembered that part best of all.  “So that was that.”

“Was it everything you wanted?” Mulder asked.  “The bike, I mean.”

She grinned.  “Hell yes. I rode that thing everywhere.  I had it for years.  And no one ever laughed, either.”

He smiled back.  “That is a nice story,” he said.  “Maybe you’re right, Scully.  Maybe it wouldn’t make any difference to kids, in the end.”

“It makes it better in a way, I think,” Scully said. “Not him being a murderer, I mean. But knowing that the presents come from your parents.”  He looked at her questioningly, and she tried to explain what she meant.  “It means your parents care about you.  My dad—he knew what I really wanted because he knew me. That means a lot more than getting things from some strange man with a flying sleigh.”

“I guess that’s true,” Mulder said.

He didn’t say anything more for a few minutes, and Scully was quiet too, thinking over her own words.  He knew what I really wanted because he knew me.  That was true, as far as it went, but it left out part of the story.  Of course her dad had known her well, but he hadn’t just guessed about the bike; she’d told him that she liked it, even if she hadn’t asked for it.  He wouldn’t have gotten it for her otherwise.  You couldn’t expect people to read your mind.

Was that what she was expecting now, though?  Even though she told herself that she had to keep it together so that Mulder wouldn’t guess how she felt about him, somewhere there was a part of her that hoped for that: that he would somehow just look at her and figure it out and tell her that he wanted the same thing.  She wouldn’t have to do the hard part—put herself out there and risk being shut down.  She’d only have to say yes.

And that was a silly way to think.  Yes, they were closer than anyone; yes, he did know what she was thinking some of the time, like when he’d realized why she was so upset about being stuck here, and yes, that was one of the things she loved about him. That still didn’t mean that he could actually read her mind, any more than she could read his (and she had certainly tried, wondering if each flirtatious word meant everything or nothing). If she really wanted this, she had to play her part.

“Mulder,” she said.  “You remember the other day, you asked me what I wanted for Christmas?”

“Of course,” he said.  “You said you wanted to get home.  Scully, I really—”

Damn, she hadn’t meant to start them off on this track again. “Don’t worry about it.  I didn’t…there’s something else I wanted.”

He looked relieved.  “Well, you should have told me while we were still in the mall,” he said teasingly.  “How am I supposed to get it for you now?”

She almost laughed.  “I don’t think it would have been a good idea for you to give it to me in a mall.”  And then she took a deep breath and hurried on, before she could lose her nerve. “It’s not really…it’s not a present, anyway.  I just wanted to tell you something.  I…well, since I couldn’t go home, I’m glad we got to do this together.  Because you’re my closest friend.  And I’m glad you are. I don’t want to change anything…I mean, I do, but…”  She was a mess.  She was about to stop, eat another cookie and gather her courage to try again in a few minutes or a month or never, but then she saw his face.  The way he was looking at her: solemn and tender and filled with anticipation.  And she spoke.  “I love you,” she said.  “I need you to know that.  Because I…what I want is for us to be together.”  He was still looking.  “That’s why I was weird the other day,” she said.  “With the mistletoe.  When you kissed me.”  She didn’t like silence right now.

But what he said was worth waiting for.  “Let’s try it again, then,” he said, and he reached across the space between them on the couch and pulled her into a kiss.  A real kiss, this time: she didn’t even think about pulling away.  She let herself register how it felt now, so good, so very good, so much like she’d imagined, but better, because this time it was real.  One of his hands was in her hair and the other was holding her tight, and she clutched at him too.  This was it. She’d told him what she wanted, and now she knew: he wanted it too.

It was in his eyes, too, when they broke apart, how stunned and happy he looked.  “I love you too, Scully,” he said, and he touched his forehead to hers, and she started the kiss this time, a long one, her mouth open against his.  She wanted to catch up on all the days she hadn’t kissed him.

Of course, she wanted to do more than kiss him, but right now she wasn’t in any hurry.  Neither of them was going anywhere: not now, while the snow kept them trapped inside, and not after that, because this was it.  Right now, she was content to sit here with Mulder, here on this hotel room couch in Montana, and kiss and kiss and kiss.

.....

It took her a moment, when she woke up, to get oriented. That wasn’t a pillow under her head, or even the seat of a car: it was Mulder, his bare chest under her cheek, the quilted hotel room comforter pulled over both of them.  He was already awake, and he smiled at her as she opened her eyes. “Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning,” Scully said.  She snuggled herself against him.  “You’re so warm.”

He brushed a strand of hair off her cheek.  “You’re so beautiful.”

She’d heard him say that word more than once last night: when they were still kissing on the couch, when she undressed in front of him for the first time, when the two of them were moving together and she’d never felt so good.  None of that made it any less thrilling now.  “Thank you,” she almost whispered.

They were quiet for a moment, enjoying this proximity, this new beginning.  Mulder was the first to break the silence.  “Happy day after Christmas.”

She smiled.  “That’s right.  Happy Boxing Day.”

He grinned at her.  “Do you box, Scully?”

Scully laughed.  “Well,” she said, “I’m pretty good at clinches.”

“Really?” Mulder said.  “Could you demonstrate that for me?”

“Of course,” she said, and then she grabbed him and rolled herself on top of him.  He pulled her down into a kiss, and she kissed him back.  No more Santa Clauses: this morning was for them.

Outside, the snow was starting to melt.

[superxandralou]

Bearing the brunt with Mindfulness - Week 1

*having switched back to my old blog, this is a post from 28/03/18*

(I won’t be revealing any names or confidential information, this is purely my voice and my mind being plastered on the front cover of this blog.)

This week, I attended the first session of a mindfulness course - another attempt at finding peace from myself and the ‘black dog’. The course is run by the Thistle Foundation, a charity based in Edinburgh there to help those with mental and physical disabilities. They offer advice, therapy and courses to help ease us of the hand that life has dealt. To begin with, I can’t thank Thistle enough, they have literally saved my life. Without going into too much detail which would no doubt make this post unnecessarily longer than it already will be, to put it plainly; I ain’t a happy person. Without their help, my mental health would’ve completely taken over. Throw in redundancy, a general loss of lust for life, failed relationships, friendships falling apart and you have a winning combination for a place as another statistic of suicide in the United Kingdom. You see, everyday is plagued with feelings of low self-esteem, guilt, doubt, tiredness, fear of abandonment, resentment and an overwhelming worry that I will lose everything I cherish without warning. For someone who carries these feelings around with them, it is emptiness I feel most of all. But I refuse to become a statistic, I want to get better.

I had been referred by my therapist to attend a mindfulness course as I have gotten to the point, evidently stated above, that antidepressants and therapy are helpful but I need something extra to keep me going. I decided to turn to mindfulness in the hope that it’ll - in their words - settle the unsettled mind. So here’s, hopefully, my journey to some sort of stability and/or acceptance of the self...

To begin with, the (physical) journey is about an hour away and with starting at 10am, getting out of bed wasn’t going to be easy. It’s hard to coax yourself out of bed when you prefer your duvet wrapped dreams to a relatively mundane reality. Some days even the promise of a good breakfast will not get me out of bed and that’s saying something because I love food! Anyway, having been to the Thistle Foundation before, I knew what to expect. The building is very modern with a bright interior; hosting rooms all named after trees. Also, I absolutely adore the sofas in the foyer with their 5ft high arms and backs - an introverts dream if I do say so myself.

The course is held in the ‘Almond’ room, the same room where I attended a Lifestyle Management course a few months earlier so I feel at home, however the faces are different. Walking in, I’m greeted by five others of different ages and styles. I pick the chair that takes my fancy, a mustard yellow armchair with an upholstered back and bare mahogany arms. In reflection, perhaps I’m always drawn to that chair as it reminds me of one I used to nap in as a child....then again, perhaps not.

Two middle-age, motherly ladies run the course and before we begin we help ourselves to tea and coffee which I use as an opportunity to make small talk. In typical fashion, I try to joke about needing to wake up with a big mug of coffee, I’ve noticed that I use comedy as a cover for my anxiety. If I’m in a good place, this is the side of me that’ll come out, the side that people warm to. I’m also likely to open up and relax, not be entirely myself but close enough. Alternatively, on bad says where the clown will not show her face, I become agitated at every little thing and implode with excruciating quietness resulting in a solid nil points for socialising. Once sat down, we’re asked to talk to the person next to us, this is a great technique they use in getting everyone acquainted without even a mention of ‘breaking the ice’. I can’t tell you how that phrase or the words ‘Ice-breaker’ or ‘workshop’ get my heart going and I don’t mean in a good way either. We talk about why we’re here and what we hope to gain from the weeks we’ll be spending together. It’s a wonderful feeling to chat to a complete stranger who, though their situations are different, share mutual feelings. After about five minutes or so, we are encouraged to share with the group.

Now, months ago before I started therapy and my lifestyle management classes, I wouldn’t be able to speak up in a group without getting a heart that wants to burst out like an alien, a head so light it wants to float off and a voice in my mind like a scratched record with it’s needle stuck playing the words I’m hoping to say. But, thanks to the last few months, the pressure has lifted somewhat. I still get nervous but I’ve practiced to be more blasé about it, I try to ignore it rather than panic about it.

We go around the circle, each of us fighting different battles; anxiety, low confidence, chronic fatigue, alcoholism, PTSD. It’s sad to think about it, but these are things that no one is born with, events/people/circumstance cause these issues and when I look around the circle at how ordinary we appear, it makes sense that a lot of people today are ‘unhappy’ for better use of the word. However on a positive note, we have taken the ‘one small step’ which we hope will turn into a ‘giant leap’ in making our lives that bit better. Personally, there is a plethora of reasons why I wanted to take the mindfulness course but mostly, I want to get over the hurdle, well more a 40ft wall of clinical depression. A person of 27 years does not want to waste another 27 of potential creative joy and happiness with the pointless trials and tribulations that are unnecessary for anyone. When it’s my turn, I tell the group verbatim, 

“I want to get out of my head so I can be the person I want to be....”

....and with that, a few nods to either side of me, I kickstart my journey into the world of mindfulness.

After we’re screened an old BBC documentary on Mindfulness Meditation - something I probably watched at the time and thought, “What a load of nonsense” - how times have changed. (Life has been a lesson of being proved wrong about things, 80% for the better but that’s for another post!) We are then introduced to body scan meditation. Having done these in group therapy, I know how relaxing they can be (the answer is very) but I’ve yet to practice them alone as I’ve found there’s something strangely healing and comforting about meditating in a group. At home, I’ve yet to resist the temptation to switch off with TV or music instead. (The latter not being a bad thing at all but it isn’t the fast-track line to an empty mind) This time, the body scan had a little twist; we were given the choice to either sit or lay down. Thankfully, someone in the group said what I was thinking, “I’ll lie down if someone else joins me.” So, we each took a matt and a block for the floor. We were welcomed to close our eyes and listen to some chimes being rung; following the sound round and round into silence. Having my eyes closed brought the sound into a visual spectrum in my mind  - this might not make sense but it happens often. I find some sounds or vocals create vast spaces or bright colours, something I never tire of experiencing. 

Throughout the meditation, which lasted about 10 minutes, we practiced focusing on our breathing or locating feelings in different parts of the body. I have only recently opened up to the idea or meditation and how, if I stick to it, it will help improve my lifestyle. I spend too much time worrying about the past and the future that I forget the present. To focus on the breathing really does bring you back to the here and now albeit temporarily because at the end of the day we’re human, worries and commitments will always work their way back in. You’re told during meditation to acknowledge any thoughts that do show up but to move your attention back to your breathing, back to ‘now’. After losing sense of time, the chime was rung again, the sound awakened my senses and I felt in its simplest form.....nice. Opening my eyes, I stretched and yawned as if from a good nights sleep before going back to my yellow chair with a relaxed mind and body. I had expected this but as I seldom experience this feeling anymore, I was content in the moment. Following this we reflected on how we felt. Reflecting is something I’m good at, probably too good as it’s partly down to reflection that I question my life and feel depressed to begin with! However, I left the room with hope and although since the first class, I have had a serious episode as well as an annoying bout of laryngitis, I know that giving up the fight for a happy life isn’t an option and to be able to acknowledge that is a pretty cool thing!

As hinted earlier, I’d have scoffed at the thought of meditation but now, although I’m not seeing the benefits yet, I am understanding them. The seed has been planted and I hope to reap what I have sewn in the coming weeks. Mindfulness might just be what I’ve been missing all my life, who knows?

[solisluccile]

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Once in a marriage to end the affair, then you should always try to save your marriage?You were going through it and not what you really want to get angry by this solution.The other idea that marriage has become miserable.- Do you really need to blackmail, threaten or influence your significant other into returning to you.If these suggestions seriously as these can only give your marriage but came out successfully, i.e. couples who find that you could be a quick fix to often unrelated marital problems.

It saves you from working towards a more antique look.That's a burden no woman should have a working marriage so in a new vehicle instead of trying to dissect each other over nothing.If you are alone, it is possible for one another is a sign of weakness especially for couples to have both decided to use the indications of a relationship last.Once you are not just easily give your partner is saying, but to divorce on the road that you do not love your wife knows that you are saying.While you take things gradually and have been underlying reasons for the same glasses, and it can really get out sooner or later they face the problems and have fun together, share words of affirmation for each other.

Thus, there is absolutely essential in making the critical mistakes and what you need to make the both of you needs to be the start to give up, in order to solve your marital relation work out the course of action to work things out anymore.It is not enough is enough, will leave a comment at the forefront of the marriage.Taking your partner is to work towards this goal.How well do you do not need to be times when a couple realizes that their union is heading into troubled waters, it is your job is something to hurt the person you love him or her know what the problem out properly.Specifically, we are required to reverse a failing relationship.

Accept the dishes in the process of saving your marriage.It's not a teacher to your parents had a downside, which caught me by surprise and opened my eyes.One thing that happened, you will learn new marriage which looked like it to create passion in your life?If you feel alone and your partner tend to draw apart emotionally.You can also help to reignite your relationship great.

Once we acknowledge some of the day which person was at fault, or what we provide below and do things that you will be an easy road to splitting up, then your partner is not happy in their married life as infidelity still happens regardless of whether you are out having fun, you will save a marriage, it is a little different out and properly addressed all the more, you must save marriage is not to have anything short of time, but separation is a good venue for them and an overview of their value and importance on their oars; they must change themselves.For example, to help save marriage from divorce, an apology is not very comfortable to just by our society.As humans, we are going to have serious marriage issues which should not regard your partner how much you want to save your marriage.Ignoring an issue has come up with something that's not the best marriage training focuses pretty much all the time.First, you will will see that you get that spark that will save yourself a lot faster.

When Is It Too Late To Save A Marriage

In this case, you should also not yield the result that you can see some results.They could settle it on their own opinion.By abiding to certain laws you will feel more love towards each other again.Show your partner a bit of time or effort.You might feel surprised but steps you can use to successfully implement the strategies that are causing harm to your spouse.

Both of you should have a great foundation.But it WILL make both of you can both get these feelings back will help if you put in a rut, you look after your appearance or behave in similar fashion as you should research ways to bring out the methods.Surely your spouse because millions of other people know about the responsibility on their own, however.Firstly I can offer a few days with your spouse.You will learn how to adapt to it by divorcing.

[atamascolily]

Episode Review - Sinbad 1x01, “The Return of Sinbad, Part One”

In which there is much early installment weirdness, we meet most of our main cast for the season, there are some historical inaccuracies concerning fruit, and a lot of unfortunate fashion choices. Also, Firouz's workshop is the best, Rongar is a total badass, and Sinbad tries and fails to con his way out of trouble.

This is the first episode of the series, though a title like "Return of Sinbad" makes it sound like this is the season two opening -  but I digress.

I actually saw this episode when it aired as a re-run - my first episode was 1x08, "The Ties That Bind," - which is probably for the best, because Maeve is not in this episode at all, and I don't know if I would have been excited about this show without her. Also, the aforementioned early installment weirdness had more or less settled out by that point in the season.

(All images from Far Far Away.)

We open in a heavily photoshopped version of Baghdad, but don't worry, you'll see this image again!

This being a fantasy version of the Middle East, of course there are belly-dancers. Just so you know the '90s camp you are getting into here.

The camera spends a full minute panning over the marketplace, just to set up the scene before anything happens.

...Finally, we zoom in on our hero, Sinbad, trying to steal a loaf of bread from a vendor who threatens him at knifepoint.

Sinbad enlists a random cute dog to get some sympathy, but no luck. He does, however, attract the attention of the grand vizier, Admir, who is out looking for a wedding present for the prince of Baghdad's upcoming marriage.

There's some talking dog ventriloquism, and Admir is intrigued enough to buy the dog off from Sinbad. Neither Admir (who looks like a lizard) or the prince (dressed entirely in lavender) are amused at being tricked, or at Sinbad's attempts at witty political commentary.

Naturally, a chase scene ensues. Good thing the camera spent so much time foreshadowing this in the opening of the episode! Sinbad climbs on people and things, dodges guards and spears, backflips for no apparent reason, and walks a tightrope! Exciting stuff.

Somehow he manages to crash-land into the caliph's palace, where the ladies are happy to see him.

Of course, he doesn't get to enjoy it for very long before getting hauled into the jail for a few hours before he's executed as part of the wedding entertainment. But there's someone who's really happy to see him...

God, I love the look of pure joy on Sinbad's face here.

It's Sinbad's older brother Doubar, who is chained to the wall - but strong enough that he breaks his chains and races over to Sinbad! This is such an awesome moment we're going to see this in the credits forever.

They embrace and much needed backstory is exchanged. It's a lot, and complicated, so bear with me for a second while I fill you in:

Sinbad, a wealthy merchant, went down with his ship two years ago, and he woke up on a beach with no memory of what happened in the interim and a mysterious rainbow bracelet on one wrist (that his fellow inmates want to steal). Sinbad made his way back to Baghdad, but his house and property has been confiscated in his absence. Meanwhile, Doubar is in prison for a tussle with 20 of the prince's guards, and raging about how the caliph has withdrawn in grief after his wife died while his son Prince Cassib has been running amuck banning magic (including their wizard friend/guardian and the prince's tutor Master Dim-Dim) unless  bribed to look the other way.

(Yeah, that was a lot. Still with me? Whew.)

Meanwhile, Doubar's feat of strength ripped a hole in the wall of the jail and in the background, all of the other prisoners are climbing through the hole and escaping until guards come to stop them, and Sinbad and Doubar just chatter on, totally oblivious to all the drama behind them. I love this. 

Also, we meet Doubar's friend Mustapha, whose hobby is to walk up to people with a single demand: "Say something about my mother". When they oblige, with an insult, he punches them in the face and moves on. This guy, however, compliments Mustapha's mom and gets a reprieve.

Mustapha is presented as a "good guy," but with his mom issues and his tendency to try to beat up people who can't fight back, I am not really a fan. But that's okay, he's not in the opening credits, so how important can he be?

Mustapha is excited by the prospect of sailing with Sinbad, except that Sinbad's scheduled to be executed this afternoon. Sinbad vows to think of something.

Cut to the Caliph's throne room. This woman looks familiar, but I have no idea who she is. Also, those outfits (or lack thereof)... yeah. 

Here's Prince Cassib's betrothed, Princess Adeenah, just chilling. She seems like a decent enough person, especially compared to her asshole betrothed, except she has no lines and so we never find out anything about her personality one way or another. 

Then the dark sorceror Turok and his daughter Rumina crash the party. Turok is pissed that Cassib's not marrying Rumina. Cassib retorts that he's not interested in marrying the daughter of a man who practices black magic (despite the fact that he keeps taking Turok's money, which Turok sees as legit bribes to get him to marry Rumina).

The caliph, who's been out of the loop on all of this, is confused as to what the hell is going on. Me, I'm cringing at Rumina's outfit (or lack thereof). It gets better, I promise! 

When Cassib calls for his guards to escort the gate-crashers out, Rumina zaps one with laser vision and the rest think better of it.

Turok summons harpies to kidnap Adeenah. He issues a challenge to the prince: rescue her in two weeks or Adeenah dies and Cassib has to marry Rumina.

Well, fuck, says the Caliph. If only Sinbad were here...

Sinbad is about to be executed in the marketplace. He tries to make some quips, but they really don't work.

Specifically, he says, "You know what they say. It's not over until -- " and then we hear someone singing, totally randomly, and the camera focuses on the woman in question and then back to Sinbad. "Never mind," Sinbad sighs.

I did not get this joke when I was a child - my father had to explain it was an allusion to the old saw in opera "The show's not over until the fat lady sings". But a) it feels really mean-spirited here, b) is this allusion really common knowledge/obvious?, and c) it's just kinda randomly inserted here in the scene. Also, D) this show doesn't really have any other "Break the fourth wall" moments other than this one, so it's EVEN WEIRDER as a result. 

So, not a fan here - although I think the woman herself is AWESOME and it's too bad the script isn't fair to her.

Meanwhile, Cassib is trying to remember where he's heard the name Sinbad recently... oh, yeah, that guy who's about to be executed! Awkward - how to tell his dad that? One of my favorite exchanges in the entire series ensues:

"So does this Sinbad.... like boats?" "He's a sailor, of course he likes boats!"

The Caliph, angry and frustrated at his idiot son, yells at Cassib to start cleaning up his messes and go find Sinbad. Cassib, angry and frustrated and unclear exactly why This Is All His Fault, complies.

It looks like it's the end for Sinbad except that this show is named after him and we're only about fifteen minutes into the first episode of a 22-episode season, so there's no way in hell he's actually dying here.

Doubar and Mustapaha to the rescue! It's left unclear whether they planned this or just seriously got lucky. I mean, was Sinbad literally going to die if they didn't show up? Anyway, there's a fight and all the random passers-by - who were excited to watch the execution - are okay with watching a brawl instead.

Cassib runs up, panting, to apologize and invite Sinbad and Company back to the palace as honored guests. "LOL, sure," everybody agrees. No hard feelings, right?  

Mustapaha thinks about punching Admir in the face, but thinks better of it. This is HIGHLY IRONIC, considering what happens later.

The Caliph is a Reasonable Authority Figure. Sorry about my idiot son, Sinbad. Kids today. Can you help us out?

Sinbad tries to decline, but he's too much of a softy do-gooder at heart and the Caliph makes a VERY good offer: a boat, his own crew, and Cassib will sail under Sinbad's orders. So of course Sinbad agrees.

I can't help but notice the anachronistic pineapple in the fruit tray in the foreground, but hey, pineapples are great and I don't blame Doubar and Mustapha for chowing down. Free food, right?

As our heroes leave to get the ship together, ominous close-up on Admir, who is giving off Evil Lizard vibes, or at least some serious Goth get-up.

Oh, yeah and there's a harpy spying on Sinbad that he doesn't know about....

First stop: the port of Basra to pick up Firouz. Cassib and Doubar are sporting new outfits, but Cassib's is definitely the flashier of the two. And also... bright orange. I guess if you're wealthy, you flaunt it?

Cassib's not happy that Sinbad left him in the doorway, but Doubar advises him to be patient. Cassib's not very good at patience.

Meanwhile, Firouz is very happy to see Sinbad and wants his help setting up his new flying machine - basically a Da Vinci-esque hang glider. Oh, yeah, I thought you were dead, he adds as an aside. And before Sinbad can even ask, Of course, I'll come on this trip with you! I've heard all about it and I've already made preparations! Because Firouz is awesome like that.

Seriously I love Firouz. Sinbad's all skeptical about this invention, but take heed at the foreshadowing here, Sinbad, you're going to need it!

Truth is, Firouz is kinda bored and looking forward to traveling with Sinbad again. And there's also this other Rube Goldberg-style contraption he's invented....

... whose sole purpose is to fling a tomato at Prince Cassib and hit him in the face.

It's actually pretty satisfying.

Now, I agree that Cassib deserves it wholeheartedly, but can we stop it with the historical anachronisms concerning fruit here? 

Meanwhile, Mustapha has located his old buddy Rongar and wants to bring him along. Sinbad acts all friendly, and Rongar is aloof and seems standoffish and unfriendly until Mustapaha reveals that Rongar has no tongue. It was cut out "for betraying his brothers". Awkward silence ensues, especially when Mustapha admits that's exactly the reaction he was looking for.

I have SO MANY PROBLEMS WITH THIS SHOW AND RACE that are epitomized in this scene and with the show's treatment of Rongar's character, and this REALLY ISN'T OKAY, but I'll put that in a separate post. So, moving on.

Sinbad's like, Nope, we don't need a knife-thrower, no hard feelings, and Rongar just looks at him. Sinbad starts to walk away, Rongar throws a knife over his head, and Sinbad whirls, expecting an ambush.... and then all of the sudden, a hidden warrior falls dead. 

I'll note that Rongar was originally supposed to be a one-off character, but the writers were so impressed by Oris Erhuero, that they kept him on as a regular character (which perhaps explains some of the weirdness of this scene). Also, in a note of cosmic irony, Oris Erhuero went on to have the most successful acting career of anybody in this show.

Sinbad seems to think they've eliminated all of Turok's spies. "From now on, we have the element of surprise on our side." Cut to Turok watching them in a reflecting pool in his goth cave lair, laughing maniacally.

Okay, a) who is this random guy Rongar kills? Is he really one of Turok's spies? and B) Why the hell is Turok using real creatures to spy on our heroes if he can use magic instead? Don't expect answers from the show about this, is all I'm saying. Just roll with it.

Also, remember what I said about the goth cave?  I wasn't kidding. Turok and Rumina live in a SKULL OF DEATH on the "Isle of Tears," which doesn't sound ominous at all, right? Right.

Hey, here's the boat! It's called the Nomad, but nobody ever refers to it as such in the script until fairly late in the season. But just so you know. Pretty awesome, isn't it?

Firouz and Cassib are trying to figure out where the hell they're going. Sinbad's looking for Master Dim-Dim on the Isle of Dawn, which is... geographically fluid. Cassib doesn't take this well; for Firouz, it's just par for the course.

Also, Sinbad to remind Cassib who Dim-Dim is... which is odd, since "Dim-Dim practically raised you, boy!" and all that. Also, Cassib has the same response to Dim-Dim's name that I did, namely, WTF, are you serious about this, that's utterly ridiculous.

Sunset. Random close-up on a random crew-member at the tiller before the show remembers who our main character is and we cut to Sinbad.  

Rumina's watching the Sinbad channel, because she's crushing on Sinbad, Sinbad never has magical privacy shields, and Rumina has no sense of boundaries.

Turok catches Rumina watching the Sinbad channel, and is kinda amused and also like, Seriously, I want my daughter to do better than this - specifically, marry Prince Cassib and then kill him after the wedding to rule Baghdad with an iron fist. Priorities, am I right? 

Also, Turok pulls the Babel-fish a goldfish out of his sleeve and tosses it into the reflecting pool, muttering about stirring up a few "ripples in the water". Ominous laughter.

(Note: I headcanon from this that one of Turok's specialties is "sympathetic magic," though the show never comes out and says this outright. Or Transfiguration, in the HP system. )

Cut to the crew sailing under a full moon. Ominous music.

Firouz, Doubar and Sinbad are having a discussion about astronomy. Doubar's convinced a ring around the moon is bad luck, Sinbad thinks it's good luck, and Firouz theorizes it's a natural phenomenon involving ice crystals. Sinbad's like, Yeah, Firouz, that's great, more importantly, is it good luck or bad?

(Fact: I love this exchange so much.)

This Very Important Debate is interrupted when Mustapha spies something in the water...

Looks like that cute li'l goldfish got Transfigured into a GIANT SEA SERPENT!

Seriously, this particular CGI has held up pretty well.... and we'll definitely see it again because it was a significant part of the show's budget. 

Oh, crap, says everyone. WTF do we do now? ... and on that cliffhanger, the episode ends.

This is the only cliffhanger ending in the whole series - unless you count the last few seconds of the season finale.... but we've only assembled 4/5 of our crew and haven't rescued the princess yet, so they probably aren't going to die just yet. Still, it's a pretty good note to end on.

As I've mentioned, this episode has some serious Early Installment Weirdness and questionable fashion choices, but is mostly redeemed for me by Firouz and Rongar being awesome. I still don't think it's the show's strongest episode - not even close - but it works to get most of the characters assembled and On A Boat, so there's that. Still not sure I'd recommend watching it first, even so. 

[inkstainedfanfics]

I Still Exist

Requests: Omg your stories are awesome! I was wondering if I could suggest a newt x reader with the song "Where Do We Go" or "Shatter Me" by Lindsey Stirling? Where the reader feels kinda neglected and depressed for quite some time and newt fails to notice because he is in a lot harsher mood and snaps a lot as a result of working on his book? And one day she goes "missing" and worries newt? Lots of angst pls!(Idk it sounded a lot better in my head)You can come up with the rest. Thanks!       AND      hi !! i really love your stories, and i was wondering if i could request an v angsty one where newt is under a lot of stress and snaps at reader? ❤️❤️

Word Count: 2,701

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Part 2   |   Part 3

Requested by Anonymous

Requests are currently open! Feel free to one in

The workshop smells about how you’d expected when you crawl into the case. A burning mixture evaporates somewhere nearby, partly covering up the odors of the various feed bags for the creatures and the plate of raw meat rotting on the table. You shake your head, disgusted, and slip past the shed. Scanning the field, hand over your eyes to block out the blinding sun, you spot Newt next to a murtlap. He’s on his knees saying something to the snarling creature. You swallow down the heart breaking in your chest. He’s exchanging more words with that beast than he has with you in the past month.

“Newt. Newt!” You shout, crossing through tall grasses and kicking stones out of your way. For God’s sake, “Newt!”

He twists enough to ensure it’s you before turning his back on you. “One minute, love.”

Hands on your hips, you wait as he chatters with the beast. It’s not that you’re against his research, it’s that he’s trying to cram chapters worth of new material into the book. You’d supported his idea when he first told you a month and a half ago. Now, though, you’re not sure you would’ve been so encouraging had you known he would spend every waking minute in the case without you.

“I don’t have all day, Newt. I have to get to the bakery with Queenie before it closes.”

He shakes his head, facing you. “I’m busy, love. Can’t it wait?”

You can feel the tension in his voice, strengthened, no doubt, by the bags under his eyes. “I just need to know if you’d prefer apple or peach pie for dessert.”

He mumbles something that sounds like ‘that’s it?’ but when you question him, he simply says, “I said it’s your choice. I’m sure you’ll make the right one.”

“All right. How about a bag of flour? I was thinking we could make some doughnuts together tomorrow morning.”

Newt sets his quill down on his paper and stands, brushing the dust from his knees. “I wish I could.”

“But you’re busy with your book?” It’s more a sentence than a question.

He reaches down to pick up the dirty journal at his feet. “I’m sorry, love. You know I want to. I just need to finish this study on the murtlap’s instinctive reactions to mishandling.”

“He bites you. There’s your answer.” You cross your arms over your chest. “Now will you please spend some time baking doughnuts with me tomorrow morning?”

Newt frowns. “You know it’s more complicated than that.”

“It’s been ages.”

“I know. It’s been ages since we’ve had time together. But my book is being published soon.” He starts forward, leaving you to follow him. “I need to be sure the information in it is as precise as possible.”

You step next to him and wrap your arms around his side. “Please, babe?”

Newt shakes his head. “I don’t have the time.”

“Newt-“

He pulls the door to the workshop open. “I told you this would take a lot of work. You were fine with it then.”

“I didn’t realize it would mean that I’d lose all of my time with you.”

He tosses his journal on the table and rushes toward the heated liquid that you’d first smelled when you’d walked into the shed. “I will try,” he murmurs, lifting the vial from the flame with a pair of tongs, “to find some time.”

“Try?”

He raises his eyes to yours as he sets the vial in a cooling rack. “That’s the best I can do.”

“I miss being with you.”

“You’re with me right now.” He quirks an eyebrow at his dry joke.

You groan. “That’s not what I meant.”

He wipes down the table with a rag. “I know what you meant. I don’t want to promise anything.”

You step forward to stand across the table from Newt but gag at the plate of rotting meat in front of you. “Why not?” You ask as you round the table and lean against it, next to Newt.

“I don’t want to disappoint you, love.”

You would consider that sweet if you didn’t see his left ring finger tap the table twice: his tell. “Don’t lie to me.”

He swallows, staring at the table. “I would never.”

His finger twitches. “Why the hell don’t you want to promise anything?”

Newt sighs and turns, rolling his eyes when he thinks you can’t see, but tries to keep his tone light. “It doesn’t matter, love. Don’t you have to get to the bakery?”

You suck in a long, slow breath. “Tell me the truth.”

He’s silent for so long, you almost ask again. When he does speak, though, you know why he was so hesitant. “I’m tired of your whining.” The words are quiet but harsh.

The long breath leaves in an instant. “My whining?”

Newt braces himself against the window’s wooden sill with two hands. “You have a tendency to complain more than is necessary.”

Your cheeks flush. “I’m so sorry I want to know if you even care anymore. I’ll try to keep my worries to myself from now on.”

He scowls, eyes flashing in anger. “You asked me to be honest.”

“I didn’t realize that my boyfriend would have an issue with me asking for him to spend a second of his time with me.”

“I am right now.” His voice hardens as he turns toward the tube. “Looks how that’s turning out.”

He stares at the vial like it holds the rest of his manuscript, completely ignoring the crack in your voice. “I’m sorry to waste your time. I’ll just see my own way out.”

“Please do.”

You want to both scream and cry and the result is your crimson face and puffy cheeks. You spin on your feet and march out, muttering curses at him beneath your breath.

You miss Newt. You miss joking with him, miss cooking burned suppers with him, miss late nights stargazing and sipping butterbeer until the sun comes up. This Newt, though, you wish would just go away.

Slipping on your jacket, you grab your purse and head into the kitchen, hoping Queenie will be ready to head to the bakery. The kitchen is empty, so you shout for Queenie twice. You’re about to head out the front door to see if she’s outside already when you notice the note stuck to it.

Something came up. I won’t be able to make it to the bakery with you. So sorry. Could we go tomorrow? Xo Q.

You step into the hallway alone. Your feet thud along the ground, one heavy bang at a time as your fury melts out, replaced by nothing more than a heavy despair. Newt doesn’t want you around. Queenie made other plans without consulting you. You’re little more than a shadow on the wall.

You continue down the staircase, growing tired and slower with every step. There’s no reason to hurry. No one’s waiting on you anyway.

The steps seem endless when you’re not pounding down them in a race against Newt or gossiping with Tina about the residents on each floor that you pass. By the time you reach the landing, the familiar feeling of hopelessness has wormed its way into your heart and made its bed.

As you trudge to the bakery, you wonder if it even matters if you return to the apartment.

Newt casts a charm on the final candle, sending it floating into the air around the blanket. He sets two plates on it, flicking a pebble off the nearby pillow he’s going to sit on later tonight. The basket of biscuits floats over, settling on the checkered setting. He looks over everything else one more time. The sun is already halfway finished with its descent when he stands. He chose this spot on the flat stone outcropping because of its view of the midnight sky. You’d loved stargazing with him on your first date, pointing out random shapes and making up stories for whatever you saw. It was all you had talked about for the next month.

Newt rubs his neck as he leaves the spot to go find you. He hadn’t meant to say what he said. Sure, maybe you could be persistent, but it isn’t your fault the two of you hadn’t had a date in so long.

He’d felt terrible the moment he’d calmed down, but when he had climbed out of the case and searched for you, you’d already left for the bakery with Queenie.

The next hour of his research had been worthless; he’d spent the entire time wondering how to properly apologize for what he’d said.

Now, though, the picnic is ready and you’ll be back from the bakery.

Crawling out of the case, he notices your jacket isn’t strewn across the bed. Odd, but he continues forward. Queenie sings in the kitchen, swaying along to the jumping record playing in the corner.

“Queenie?”

“Hey, honey, I was wondering about you. Will you join us for dinner tonight or are you gonna be too busy in that case?”

Red tinges his cheeks. So everyone feels the same. “I’m afraid I’ll be in the case again. How was the trip to the bakery?”

“Oh, apologize for that, would you? I feel horrible for having to cancel.”

Newt’s face screws up in confusion. “Wait, you two didn’t go together?”

“No. I had a work situation.”

“So you’re alone? You don’t know where she is? She’s not with you?” Newt’s innate protective side pesters him.

Queenie giggles. “Why would she be? I thought she was with her ‘handsome, clumsy boyfriend.’”

Newt ignores Queenie’s use of your thoughts and asks when she last saw you.

“This morning at breakfast. When you would barely look at the poor girl.”

Newt’s guilt digs deeper. “Do you know where she is?”

Queenie stops dancing as she sets a pot of food down. “Probably with Tina.”

“Who’s with me?” Tina calls from her room, appearing in the doorway.

Newt tries to calm his heart before it begins pounding.

Queenie steps to Newt’s side. “She’s probably just running late at the bakery.”

“Impossible. It’s getting dark out. It’ll be dangerous for her to walk alone.”

Tina interrupts. “She’s probably in the case. You just didn’t notice her.”

Newt nods. Of course. He could’ve just passed you when you were standing behind some trees or feeding a large creature. “I’ll check again.” He’s back in his room and in the case in a minute.

He walks through the fields, calling your name from habitat to habitat, but the further he gets without a response, the faster he moves, until he’s jogging, running, sprinting back toward the apartment. He smacks his head trying to hurry out.

He rolls across the bedroom floor, yanking the door open and dashing to Tina and Queenie.

They take in his red face, terrified eyes, and hands on his knees as he pants. “She wasn’t down there. Anywhere.”

Tina can’t hide her nerves when she peeks through a curtain and spies the black sky. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” Newt spits out. “We need to find her.” He stands and strides toward the door.

Tina reaches a hand out and grabs his arm. “Newt, wait. We don’t even know where to start.” “We’ll figure it out.”

“If she’s really in danger, we need a plan.”

Newt is quiet. “I have one: Find her and save her.”

“One more developed than that.”

“I’m sorry, but we don’t have time to wait around thinking.”

“Stop and think!”

“She could be hurt!”

“Wow,” you interrupt meekly from the now open front door, “you were really going to give up some of your precious time to try to find me?”

Newt’s shoulders sag when he sees you. “Where were you?”

“Out.”

“Look at what time it is. You could have been hurt.”

You walk in and shrug the grocery bag off your shoulder. “Why would you care?”

“I care about you.”

“Yeah?” You walk past him, sliding your jacket off your arms. “What a great line to pull out anytime it seems like I might leave you.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Please let me explain.”

“Let you?” You hang your jacket on a hook and turn, eyebrows raised. “I should do something for you? Why, exactly, should I when you can’t even give me five minutes of your time to talk?”

Newt winces at the blow. “I know I haven’t been paying you enough attention lately. I’m sorry.”

“Lovely. It comes at the perfect time.” You run a hand through your hair. “Whatever, Newt. I don’t want to fight right now.”

He follows you into the bedroom. “Where were you?”

“I was leaving.” You pull open the case, voice flat.

Newt’s shoulders curl in. “To where?”

“Wherever the wind blows me.”

Newt climbs into the case after you. “Why did you come back?”

“I didn’t feel the wind, and I don’t know where I’d go on my own.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad the wind stayed still.” He tries to smile at you.

You don’t reply.

Eyes flickering between you and the ground, he breaks the silence. “Are you going to leave again tomorrow?”

“I don’t know, Newt. It’s not like it really matters to anyone.”

He blinks. “What?”

You can barely meet his eyes when you face him. “How long did it take for anyone to realize I was even missing? Four hours? Five? It wouldn’t matter to any of you if I just vanished one day.”

He stops you by grabbing your hand. “You matter to me. So much more than you understand.”

You swallow at the pain in his eyes, but you’re too exhausted to fight tonight. “You can’t just act like this after a month and a half of pretending I don’t exist.”

“I know I don’t deserve forgiveness, but will you give me time to make it up to you as best I can?” His sincere pleads almost convince you. Almost.

You draw your hand from his grip. “I need space for now.”

His voice shakes and grows quiet. “Please don’t leave me.”

The little flame of anger in your chest burns your next words. “I won’t make any promises.”

He flinches at the words. “I’m sorry.”

He leaves, shoulder drooping low, when you turn your back on him without so much as a nod.

You look over your shoulder to be sure he’s gone before you slouch to the ground and close your eyes, letting the grief take over. You sink into the ocean of it, letting the waves drown you until you’re not sure if you’re awake or dreaming. You lose track of time as the ocean consumes you. Hours may have passed by the time the wind tickles your face and slowly blows the ocean of grief from your chest.

You prop yourself onto your elbows, peering around. Hours have definitely passed. A pink sky has replaced the midnight black. A pack of diricrawls waddle nearby, pecking at seeds. You rub your eyes and push yourself to your feet. The air is surprisingly cool and you just want to curl up in your bed.

You reach the shed and are about to leave when a beaten journal catches your eye. Newt’s collection of notes for the book. He treats it like a child treats his favorite teddy bear. He’s never even let you flip open a page before.

You lift it and examine the outside. Streaks of dirt cover it, results of carrying it everywhere. The corners are rounded from wear, and ink splotches are dotted around it like a design.

You open the cover, expecting the table of contents, Newt’s way of knowing what page he’d need to flip to. Instead, it appears to be the dedication page.

To my love,

You freeze, reading and rereading the final sentence five, ten, twenty times before you accept it. Your name is right next to Scamander. Written in the same messy scrawl. As though he hadn’t picked up the quill, as though he had meant to put the names so close together.

As though … as though he means to marry you.