#hopefully that covers the important tags people might be blocking

[random2908]

Ok, it's time for my crack Locked Tomb interpretation that I've promised... the two people I've been reading these books with. I will say first, the theory isn't itself a crack theory--in its general form I actually stand by it as a serious prediction. But some of the textual evidence I'm going to use is way out there, so don’t take this too seriously--I certainly don’t. Spoilers for Gideon the Ninth and Harrow the Ninth behind the cut. Sorry it’s long.

Ok, first, the theory, simply put: I think Alecto/AL is a Resurrection Beast. Personally, I found this "insight" fairly uncontroversial the moment the thought occurred to me, but one of my two friends who've been reading these books with me disagrees on the basic evidence; the other friend has embraced it wholeheartedly, though. So, ymmv, I guess.

The basic evidence starts with: well, what the hell else could she be? She's not human. The older Lyctors call her a monster. There is a missing Resurrection Beast: nine were born, five were killed, three are loose, and the narrative actually calls attention to this numeric discrepancy while glossing others (e.g. the number of Lyctors, which does eventually get explained). John presumably can't just kill Resurrection Beasts himself, or he would have (maybe?? who the hell even knows what his abilities or grand plan are at this point). There aren't really other monsters that have been presented other than revenants (of which Resurrection Beasts are the biggest) and heralds (which are spiritually part of Resurrection Beasts), and the third book of a trilogy isn't really the time to introduce them. (This, by the way, is also my argument that it wasn't aliens who destroyed the solar system in the first place--even though everyone else seems to have come to that interpretation (where by “everyone” I mean my two friends who have read this book). Being Doylist, it's kind of a cheap, lazy argument on my part, but whatever, I still stand by that as a prediction: no aliens.) And Alecto must be something much more powerful than a human because John is so much more powerful than a Lyctor. Finally, the stoma opens for John, and it only opens for Resurrection Beasts--it opens for him because he holds part of Alecto's soul and she is a Resurrection Beast.

The potential counter-evidence is the older Lyctors are confident they know her origins (but that doesn't necessarily make her not a Resurrection Beast), and the [other] Resurrection Beasts are drawn to her as much as to John according to Mercy (although in that case why haven't they attacked the Tomb? and also, again, that doesn't preclude her being a Resurrection Beast--we don't know their relationships with each other, and anyway, their attraction to her might have something to do with the Lyctorification process).

Ok, all that's fair enough. Let's delve into the crack interpretations now. I'm going to start with an irrelevant introduction, though, to explain my frame of mind when I came up with this. In the Appendices of Gideon the Ninth, Muir mentions that Isaac is named as foreshadowing for Gideon's sacrificial death, as in the Christian interpretation of the Bible, the Biblical Isaac foreshadows Jesus. My copy of the e-book did not have the Appendices, but my best friend's did, and she shared screens with me. It's slightly embarrassing that my best friend and I, reading this together, did not even guess from this, not even as a joke, that Gideon's father might be God. I mean, it's not... generally embarrassing--no one reading this should be embarrassed for themselves--it's only embarrassing if you know the two of us, know how good my best friend is at this sort of thing (she guessed the entire murder mystery in GtN a little more than halfway through, including that Dulcinea was dead and had been replaced by a Lyctor in disguise who had philosophical problems with God and was rebelling), and know what sorts of in-jokes and ridiculous speculation we tend to bandy around with each other--know just how often we, respectively and together, joke that some character or other is Jesus. And here it was right on the page, we read it out loud to each other and discussed it, and we didn't even see it. We were both completely taken in by the Gideon Episode One red[-haired] herring (as was, to be fair, Gideon himself). This speculation that I'm about to present came right on the heels of the two of us debriefing over this, because I was primed to read way the hell in too much into Biblical references.

The key line is something my best friend caught, not me. She wasn't even done with the book yet, but the line was bothering her (I'd completely glossed and then forgotten it--never let it be said that my bad grades in English Lit were undeserved). Page 327 (and I'm so glad to have an ebook so I can do word searches), Teacher is talking to Harrow in the dream bubble...........

To their silence, [Teacher] added: “I believe we are now being punished for what they did. Even the devil bent for God to put a leash around her neck … and the disciples were scared! I cannot blame them! I was terrified! But when the work was done—when I was finished, and so were they, and the new Lyctors found out the price—they bade him kill the saltwater creature before she could do them harm … Oh, but it is a tragedy, to be put in a box and laid to wait for the rest of time.

"Saltwater creature" stuck with my best friend. She had no idea what it meant, other than that nearly every mention of saltwater (or salt water, two words, the text is inconsistent) in Harrow the Ninth is alluding to Alecto in some capacity (we confirmed this by searching--again, I love ebooks for this kind of thing). But I was like... wait, I might know! This is my favorite Bible lore!

Muir is working from the King James Bible (based on the quotation at the end of Gideon the Ninth) which is impenetrable and also is a translation of the Latin Vulgate, which is mostly a translation of the Septuagint, which doesn’t even have an extant Hebrew version, so ugh all around. But for this purpose it’s close enough, so I guess that's what I'll use for my English version. Here is how the KJV starts:

In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. And God said, Let there be light: and there was light. And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light from the darkness. And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And the evening and the morning were the first day. And God said, Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters, and let it divide the waters from the waters. And God made the firmament, and divided the waters which were under the firmament from the waters which were above the firmament: and it was so. And God called the firmament Heaven. And the evening and the morning were the second day.

Ok, that word there, "the deep." What it says in the Masoretic text (the Hebrew Bible used by both Jews and Protestants) is "tehom," which is not quite a hapax legomenon, but neither is it a word that shows up very often, and importantly it only shows up in very few contexts that reference each other. It is certainly not the usual Hebrew word for sea, and importantly, in the Hebrew there is no "the"; it actually says "darkness was on the face of Tehom" like it's a proper name [capitalization mine for illustration, since Hebrew doesn’t capitalize]. Notice also how on the second day basically the only thing God accomplishes is cutting this thing, this "Deep" made of water, in half, sending one half up into the sky. This is a quick retelling of the defeat of Tiamat (linguistically cognate with Tehom) in the Enuma Elish. Tiamat, the Goddess of the Saltwater Deeps, Mother of Monsters and Dragons, is justifiably angry with the other gods and sets out to kill them; Marduk, the aspiring new head of the Pantheon, cuts her in half. Half of her he leaves on Earth to create the oceans (or just the Earth itself? been a while since I read it), and half of her he throws up into the air and it becomes the sky.

There is a lot of old Jewish writing, some of it predating Christianity, that just starts to touch on this, without daring to delve too deep (...as it were) and pull on the pan-Middle Eastern polytheistic roots of Judaism. (They had enough problems with people still worshiping Asherah, who in southern Canaanite tradition was the sea-and-mother goddess who was the wife of Yahweh the storm god, and who gets mentioned in the Bible a whole lot, without also bringing Tiamat into it.) The Gnostics really latched on, though. They said that this "deep" obviously in the text there predates God's creation, and used that as the foundation of quite a lot of their theological argument: that God (who they call the Demiurge) didn't create the universe ex nihilo (out of nothing) but rather that there was a being even more powerful that came before. And they named this more powerful, older being Bythos (among other things), which means "depth" in Greek. They changed the gender, but they brought Tehom the saltwater goddess back as the most primordial and powerful of all beings.

Bringing this back to Harrow the Ninth... Insofar as it's Biblical allegory (which isn't much--less than Narnia and even Narnia doesn't strictly adhere to Biblical narrative), I think we should take the Resurrection committed by John to be the Biblical Creation not the Biblical Resurrection. First of all, John becomes God by performing the Resurrection, which is a much better parallel to Genesis than to Isaiah or Revelations or whatever. Second of all, after the Biblical Resurrection, everyone who gets to be resurrected is supposed to live in eternal peace in Eden. In contrast, in Genesis, after the creation, people start out in Eden but are quickly expelled and then bad things happen. This matches the story much better, where the expulsion from Eden is due to Lyctorhood--the Resurrection Beasts come for the Lyctors and they have to leave Eden; in this respect, I guess John is really the snake as much as he's God, lol. (Worth noting that in some parts of Christian tradition--although I can't remember about Catholicism specifically--the snake is supposed to be Satan. This also ties back to Gnosticism where the Demiurge is malevolent; John, insofar as he did not actually create the universe on his own, is a much better match for a demiurge than a true god.)

So, anyway, taking John's act of Resurrecting all those people as the initial Creation rather than the Resurrection (the fact that Augustine doesn't remember his pre-Resurrection self, is effectively a new person, also points to this being effectively an initial Creation), the Resurrection Beasts actually come before Creation. They come from the dying of the planets. They predate John becoming God. Furthermore, Alecto is a “saltwater creature,” and she keeps her body after she's Lyctorified, meaning she's split in some way between John and her old body; she is Tehom. Back to the Gnostic idea, Tehom is a more-powerful being who predates God, and the only creatures predating God in Harrow are the Resurrection Beasts who must be comparable to him in power to create such fear: Alecto, then, must be a Resurection Beast.

The problem with this theory is it's a little Jewish and it's very Gnostic but it isn't Catholic. In the Gideon and Harrow, Muir draws references in her language from practically everywhere. But as far as I can tell she only draws allusions and allegory from two mythologies: Greco-Roman and Roman Catholic. And although Jews and Gnostics are drawing on a lot of the same source text, the  understanding is different, and the expansive side stories are different. Although, then again, who am I to say that Muir isn't also drawing on Gnosticism and this isn't our big clue; I've half convinced myself as I wrote this, with the whole John-as-Demiurge thing. It's a fun theory, anyway, and so I thought I'd share it.

(I'm aware that I've completely ignored any connection to Greek mythology, despite her name being Alecto.)

#locked tomb trilogy #locked tomb spoilers #harrow the ninth #harrow the ninth spoilers #harrow spoilers #hopefully that covers the important tags people might be blocking #I learned while writing this that I don't know how to spell 'resurrection' #I tend to put too many letters in #it seems like whenever I make theories about books it's always some weird religious thing #this write-up is SO much more Gnostic than what told my best friend over the phone a few weeks ago #(now that I've done more reading on it) #I knew there was bound to be at least one homestuck reference in these books but I did NOT expect it to be dream bubbles

[aspenflower17]

Finding You (Part 17 of ??)

Hello everyone! Thank you all for being so patient! I had pretty bad writers block and couldn’t figure out where I wanted the story to go from the last chapter. I was also dealing with some irl problems as well. It seems like a lot of creators were having the same problems though January and February though. Hopefully March will make everything smooth out! I think I figured out where to go from here (I have the end all planned out, but getting there without ruining the pacing is what’s been giving me problems). I appreciate everyone’s patience while I figured things out, and hopefully I can get back on a normalized schedule!

Anywho, if you’re new to this story and would like to start at the beginning, here’s the link to part 1. Every chapter should have a link to the next part at the end, so hopefully you decide to read it all :D

Tags <3 : @simpingforsatan @naimena @hachimochi @wrathandgreed @magi-minminxiii @rensphilia @a-dream-at-night @chloelikesobeyme @getbehindme-satan @theuglypugling @oofthelazyweeb @mammonismyfirstman (I’m not great about putting this on every chapter, but if you want to be added to the tags list, just comment below asking to be added (I don’t want to assume everyone commenting wants a tag so just make sure to mention tag in the comment) or you can send me a DM :) Also, I just went through all the chapters so far and I think I have everyone. If I missed you just remind me and I’ll put you in!)

Word Count: 2566

TW: some angst relating to last chapter but that’s about it

Satan sat in his room, contemplating whether telling Mc about Michael was a good idea or not. It’d been a couple days since she’d come over and he hadn’t heard anything from her. It was worrying him more than he wanted to admit, but he knew from spending a lot of time with her as a human, it would be a better idea for him to leave her alone until she was ready to talk to him. From the way she speaks about him, it’s pretty clear their relationship is a bit strained. Actually, it reminds me a bit of me and Lucifer, though with obvious differences. 

While the Avatar of Wrath would never admit it aloud, he did have a kind of respect for Lucifer. It took a different form than anyone else’s mostly because he knew him. All of him. Flaws, strengths, weaknesses, secrets. Well, at least up until his birth. He’d had no idea about Lilith and what Lucifer had done. Lucifer had definitely changed a lot since the Fall, but Satan could generally figure out what he was thinking or how he was going to respond to a situation. So, what was going on with Mc and Michael?

Obviously he didn’t want her talking with him at least. There was probably some fear she’d fall, taking the path of her ancestor but for a being in the Devildom. He couldn’t see any war resulting from her Falling. It would be from her own choice, with no forbidden fruit or humans involved. He was pretty sure Michael didn’t feel anything romantic for her, so it probably wasn’t anything involved in wanting her to stay for him. So why?

He was pulled from his thoughts by his DDD ringing. Hoping it was Mc, he answered by the second ring, “Hello?”

“Congratulations! You’ve won an-” Satan growled and hung up. Stupid solicitor.

There was a knock at his door, “Yo Satan. I got somethin’ for ya’,” Satan sighed, but got up to answer the door. Pulling it open, he saw Mammon and Mc on the other side, “Said she wanted ta talk ta ya. It sounded urgent so…” Mammon smiled a bit apologetically.

“That’s quite alright. Mc, hello. How lovely to see you. Do you want to come in?”

“I’d appreciate that. Thank you,” Mc entered his room as Satan shot daggers through his eyes at Mammon.

“A little warning next time would be nice.”

“Oi! If ya hadn’t been so… gloomy lately maybe I wouldn’t have been so worried- No, ya should just be grateful to the Great Mammon. I’m not an errand boy ya know,” and with that, Mammon stalked off down the hallway.

Satan rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything back. He understood Mammon was just trying to help him, “Well, it’s nice to see you Mc. How… Are you okay?” Mc was turning slowly, looking at his room in awe. He would’ve just figured she was simply impressed by his room like she had been the other first time she’d seen it, but she looked rattled.

“Oh! I was just… Umm… Your collection is really impressive,” she deflected his question, smiling. The unease remained in her eyes though.

“Yes. This is my personal collection,” Satan answered, leaving his question unanswered.

“It’s quite… impressive,” as she turned, Satan caught her frown again. Does she not like how messy it is?

“Though they’re not all on shelves, I make sure they’re all kept in good shape. I honestly just don’t have enough wall space or bookshelves for them all.”

“Oh… I understand. I tend to get book piles too,” Mc answered, a bit caught off guard. 

So it’s not the mess. What could it be?

“So, what are you doing here? Not that I’m not happy to see you. I just haven’t heard from you for a couple days.”

“I’m sorry about that and just showing up out of the blue like this. I had a lot to think about after… last time, and some things to research. Then inspiration randomly struck for my next art show. Not to mention, Michael’s been keeping a close eye on me ever since he blew up. I wanted to see you, and I didn’t even think to message you first. I’m sorry about that.”

Satan was at a loss for words. She wanted to come see me. She wanted to see me so much, she just showed up. I should really say something to her right now, but I’m not sure what to say.

“You’re not angry with me, are you?” Mc turned back to him, looking worried.

“Of course not. I was afraid you were possibly upset with me, and Lucifer I suppose, for what we told you. I know hearing something like that must be hard.”

Mc smiled, “Well, that’s good to know. As to what you told me… I do trust you guys. More so than I trust most of the other angels in fact… But you are demons and what you told me was… Anyway, I was researching what you told me to see if I could corroborate your story and I did find a couple different mentions of Lilith, one of which told of a connection between her and the fruit. I couldn’t prove or disprove the claims that he… That he was the one that shot her, but with how defensive he immediately got after I mentioned seven angels falling instead of six… I… I can’t bring myself to believe he’d do something that terrible yet, but I do believe you guys on everything else, and… it’s not beyond the realm of possibility. In any case, the Celestial Realm definitely covered up much of the war, including its causes. I had a suspicion when I originally learned about it, but figured it was all just in my head,” Mc looked Satan straight in the eyes, “I want to thank you for being honest with me.”

“How are you so sure we didn’t lie to you? Like you said, we are demons.”

“Call it a hunch,” Mc smiled, “Anyway, I really appreciate it, and I wanted you to have this,” she handed him a very lifelike drawing, “I thought you might like cats, so I frew my favorite one from the Celestial Realm.”

Satan couldn’t believe his eyes, “Leo?”

“Huh?”

“That’s Leo. I… half adopted him a while ago.”

“How can you tell?”

“Well, he’s got hearts all over him right? The one on his forehead and chest are the most prominent, but there’s a couple more on his back and stomach right? Hold on. I have a couple photos here,” and Satan went rustling through a drawer. It was hard to find a photo of him without Mc, but he knew there were some. Leo was a cat that he and Mc had adopted together. She’d used all her charm and reasoning skills to get Lucifer to agree to allowing a cat in the house. She had promised him it would only be the one cat, though they secretly were planning on getting another once Leo passed. They unfortunately didn’t get the chance to see that happen, as Mc passed away before Leo did. Lucifer had allowed Satan to keep the cat as a way to cope with Mc’s death. He listened to me! I told him to go find his Mom once he left me, and he did! I’m so happy!

He finally found a good picture to show Mc, “See? Same cat.”

“Oh my! You’re right! That’s incredible!”

“So, you said he was your favorite?”

“Yeah. Because of how transient most cats are, they don’t spend long in the Celestial Realm. He may not spend a lot of time with me, but I do see him around a lot, and he has comforted me before. A lot of the other angels think he was a pet of mine from my human life, and that's why he sticks around.”

“Well, who wouldn’t want to stay with you?”

Mc looked up at Satan, “You really think that?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“You didn’t even know me then. What if I was boring or really dumb in the human realm?”

Satan slapped himself internally for not being more careful, “I highly doubt you were either of those two things. I know when people come down here, they don’t lose any of their personality.”

“Really?”

“Yup. It makes the whole process of breaking them so much more entertaining,” seeing Mc’s worried expression, he cleared his throat and moved on, “With that line of thinking, angels would be the same way. Your placement was just decided by how good you were in life.”

“What if I was a Wanderer though?”

Satan sucked in a breath at that. She had been a Wanderer? There was a chance she could have ended up here with him?

“There’s a lot of theories on why someone might Wander. None of them are conclusive though. I wouldn’t worry too much about it if I were you.”

“Satan?”

“Yes?”

“When the time comes, will you answer my questions?” Mc didn’t look at Satan, but he had the feeling this was an extremely important question.

“Of course I will.”

Satan watched some tension leave Mc’s body, as she turned to him and smiled sincerely, “Thank you.”

“Well, of course. That’s assuming I can answer them.”

“I have a feeling you’ll be able to,” she answered cryptically.

“Very well then. Since you’re here, would you like to stay and read? Or we can go somewhere if you’d like,” she turned to him, and he couldn’t help the words that fell from his lips, “I just want to spend some time with you.”

Mc looked a bit shocked, but then she smiled softly, “I’d really like that.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They decided on reading, but not before they went downstairs to grab some snacks. As predicted, Beel was there as well.

“Hey Mc,” Beel grinned, his feast not yet begun.

“Hi Beelze… Actually, is it alright if I call you Beel?”

“Huh? Why wouldn’t it be okay?” Beel cocked his head to the side in confusion.

“It’s just… I don’t know you very well, so I didn’t know if it was alright. Plus, they always refer to you as Beelzebub in the Celestial Realm.”

“Wait… Do they talk about us up in the Celestial Realm?”

“Not a lot, but when speaking about our history they do talk about you all, especially Lucifer.”

“What do they say about me?” Beel had grabbed his wrist.

“Yeah, what do they say about us? I wanna know,” Belphie’s head popped out from underneath the table, making Mc yelp a little and grabbed onto Satan’s arm. His hand automatically covered hers, a reflex from when she had been a human.

“Oh yeah. Belphie’s here too,” Beel added happily, watching the angel and his brother.

Belphie smirked, eyes on their arms, “So, what do they say about us?”

“You give me a near heart attack and then carry on like nothing happened?” Mc asked, a bit embarrassed.

“Your fault for not looking,” Belphie grunted, looking at Satan who was nearly frozen in place, his eyes focused on the point of contact, “You woke me up so maybe you should be apologizing to me.”

“Belphie, don’t be mean. You were hiding weren’t you?” Beel asked.

“Well, yeah, but that’s not the point. And how long are you going to keep clinging to my brother like that? I know he’s stronger than me, but I’m not going to hurt you.”

Mc looked to see she was still grabbing Satan’s arm, “Eep! S-Sorry! I didn’t realize,” she removed herself and took a step away, face burning.

“That’s quite alright Mc,” Satan managed to get out.

“So, what’d you guys come down here for?” Beel asked, frowning a bit at Belphie.

“Ah, right. Snacks. We came down for snacks,” Mc said quickly, face still flushed.

“I can help with that,” Beel said, “Come over here Mc and I’ll help you pick food out.” By the time their snacks were decided, both Mc and Satan had to carry them up to his room.

“We have way too many snacks,” Satan observed, “I’ll still have some in my room a month from now.”

“Awww, come on you guys! I went down to resupply early to avoid Beel taking everything, but it was really you two I needed to watch out for?”

“He was already there when we went down. He sent us back with all this,” Satan answered, not really wanting to deal with Levi at the moment. The twins had already taken up enough valuable reading time as it was.

“Of course he would. He never thinks about me when he cleans out the fridge. It’s not like it’s easy for me to just leave the house to go get something, but no one ever thinks about me. It’s probably because I’m a-”

“Oh, do you want these then?” Mc cut him off, extending her full arms.

“Wha…? You’re giving these to me?”

“Sure. Why not?” Mc smiled at him.

Levi’s eyes went wide and his lower lip quivered a bit, “You’re so kind. You’re truly an angel now.”

“Because I wasn’t before?” Mc chuckled.

Levi’s eyes got even wider and he looked down, “W-Well, I-I… Just… Thank you for the food. I think I need to go back to my room now!”

“Oh, sure. Here you go,” the snacks were handed off, Levi only dropping 3 in his haste, and then he was walking as quickly as he could down the hallway towards his room.

“That was weird,” Mc commented, watching him hurry down the hallway.

“He’s weird,” Satan sighed, extremely grumpy that Levi not only interrupted them but then said something so thoughtless, “Don’t worry about him.”

“Sure,” Mc replied, though he was sure she was still wondering about it.

“Let’s just get to my room before we’re interrupted by anyone else.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Satan closed his book and stretched, enjoying the increase in blood flow throughout his body, “How are you enjoying- Oh,” Mc, who he had given the bed to, the place she had read before they would read cuddled together, was asleep. She was breathing deeply, book still clutched in her hand.

Chuckling, Satan padded over to the bed, and pulled a blanket over her. Coincidentally, it was one she had given him. She had been convinced it was the best blanket for reading ever. He had put a perseverance spell on it so it never got worn past where it was comfortable. Now that he had it for a long time, he found himself agreeing with her.

He allowed himself a moment to admire her sleeping form, the muntins in his window throwing a line across her face. She adjusted in her sleep, pulling the blanket closer. She smiled sleepily, murmuring something that almost sounded like his name. She truly is just as beautiful as before she left that last time. The last time I ever saw her alive…

His hand caressed her jaw line before he knew what he was doing, “I’ll never lose you again. For as long as you’ll allow me in your life, I’ll be here. I promise you that,” he whispered, leaning down and lightly pressing his lips to her forehead.

She stirred at the contact, eyes opening sleepily and focusing on him, “Mnh, Satan?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As always, likes, comments and reblogs are always welcome! Until next time!

#obey me! #OBEY ME #obey me! swd #obey me! satan #satan obey me #obey me mc #obey me satan/mc #finding you #aspenflower17 #obey me long fic #obey me! shall we date?

[quirkdotcom]

Where To? || Kaminari x Reader

Summary: Denki Kaminari has been working with the League of Villains for the school year. He's been putting up a front and fake personality to keep his secret safe. However, the one thing he didn't count on was you. In the end, Kaminari has been found in a pond, one hand from Shigaraki in his clutches.  The twist on this world? Like a popular tik tok trend, when you die, someone you have hurt the most comes to decide if you go to heaven, or hell. And you are his judge.

Warnings: Death

Authors Note: I honestly started this at like 3AM one night and now here I am 😳 Anyways, I hope you guys like it sorry for the angst that comes with it

Tags: @ijustwannachangemyuser @bluewritesmha @that-lowkey-weeb @pinkcowgirleggpanda  

One moment ago, you had been sitting in class, with the rest of 1A as they grieved together over the loss of Denki Kaminari.

Two moments ago, Aizawa was explaining how he had just received a call that Denki had been found, alone in a lake,  his quirk the ultimate cause. But one other important piece of evidence with him, a hand from Tomura Shigaraki.

Three moments ago, he had been explaining about Kaminari being the traitor of UA,  working closely with the League of Villains.

But now, you were standing across Kaminari in the same pond that he had been found in, an electrical current dying out as his cries stopped, his eyes finding yours.

"(Y/n)?" His voice was hoarse, eyes red and puffy. 

You looked around, fog rolling in around your legs, though you couldn't feel the water that looked to surround you, nor the fog.

"So...the rumors are true...I didn't think that'd I'd have to decide anyones fate so soon but…" 

"Wait...does that mean.." he started, but the words fell short, his amber eyes looking around once more. 

"You've died…"

"Then that means, " he turned in a circle, shaking his head quickly, "He...he got away!" 

You stepped closer to him, in response, he stepped away, "No! (Y/n) you have to be quick, decide my fate! Warn Aizawa Sensei that the league is on their way!"

"But...I need time…" you pulled back, hand falling to your side. 

"Just choose hell and be on your way! Please!" He pleaded with you, still leaving an open space between the two of you. 

You stared at him incredulously, "Kaminari...thats...I'd be damning you!" 

"Maybe I deserve it!" He yelled, his frustration and hate taking over as he kicked his foot, creating a wave of water that didn't touch you.

"All I ever did was pretend to be an idiot and betray everyone around me! And now you're here, and I have hurt you one more time!" His hands shook as he held them up, staring at them as they flickered with electricity.

"I sold everyone out each time. He asked me questions and without fail I gave them to him." 

You shook your head, "Come on...there had to have been a reason! Tell me that he was pressuring you or that he had some way of manipulating you!" 

His hands slowly turned to fists as he dropped them to his sides, "You don't get it! I faked everything!  I pretended about everything! I made friends in order to keep my cover safe! I even.. I even started to date you to keep my cover safe! So just hurry up and choose hell and go be a hero!" 

You stood quietly, his words like knives digging into your heart, creating chasms of heartache. Hot tears filled your eyes, you could barely wipe them away in time for them to be replaced with new ones, "That's..that's not true! Don't say it!" 

"(Y/n)!"

"No! Stop it! I won't believe it! I'm the one who gets to make the decision! Don't try to lie to me, I know what I felt and who I was with! You aren't like that!" 

At once, everything grew silent, neither of you saying a word more. 

Instead, you were reflecting. 

"(Y/L/N) was it? Im Denki, Denki Kaminari! Hero name Chargebolt ! Aizawa seated you next to me, so that means we're going to be good friends, maybe more if you catch my drift," 

You turned to the guy in the seat next to yours, immediately smiling and shaking your head, "Pfft wow! Are you trying to make a move on me already! I just transferred into the class literal minutes ago!"

"Hey what can I say, if I don't do it now, then the others might beat me to it," he flashed a wink your way, earning another chuckle from you. 

"Well, it's nice to meet you Kaminari, hopefully you help keep this class interesting," you held your hand out to him, watching as he shook it. 

"Sooo does this mean I've been friend zoned?" 

You didn't answer, only leaving him to guess as to what your answer was. 

"You...you were the first to welcome me into the class...even if you did hit on me right away. " You smiled softly, that memory of him had always been oddly charming to you.

"Because I had to keep my persona up," 

"You walked me to my next class, and any that we shared. You helped me befriend Mina, Sero, Kirishima, Jirou and even Bakugo…" 

"I already told you! I had to make sure no one questioned me or my actions!" 

"The second day that I had been in that class, at lunch, I had forgotten mine...so you gave me half of yours…and told me that if it happened again, you'd share any day," 

He didn't say anything for a moment, smiling before he did say something, "Sero called me a simp…" 

That day still felt so familiar to you….

"Oh no…." You looked around the table, seeing that the others, who's names you were still trying to learn, had all brought their lunches.

"What is it (Y/L/N)?" Came the pink haired girl, who's bubblegum skin matched in such a pretty shade. She looked so concerned for you, even if she didn't know you all that well.

You let out a sheepish laugh, "Ahh I forgot my lunch…this morning I was in a rush…" 

"Hey! Have some of mine!" Kaminari grinned, pushing his towards you, "We can split it!" 

You turned to him, mouth open a little as you were caught off guard, "Wait really??" 

"Yeah! And if it happens again, I'll share my lunch again! You can count on me,"

From across the table, the black haired boy, who had a contagious smile, coughed loudly, or cleared his throat, you weren't fully sure

After that, lunch had went by so smoothly, as if you had been friends with them for years. 

"And later that day, you even gave me your number! " he sat down, the pond water now going up to his stomach. Though, like you, he couldn't feel it. Whatever cold that seeped its way into his body, was long gone. 

You nodded, following suit and taking a seat, though you didn't look at the water too much, it was cloudy and murky, something you hated about lakes and ponds, "Yeah, and you sent me memes, even in class!" 

"Well, I wanted to see you smile…" 

"I know…" 

But perhaps the memory you would hold dearest to you, was one that he had tried so hard to block out as he worked with the League. 

The UA Winter Formal...just a few months after you had transferred into UA. The crew in charge of decorations had outdone themselves.

What was once the cafeteria, was now a room beautifully lit by fairy lights and pale blue lanterns. There were silky streamers hung across the room, catching the reflection of the lights off of them.  At the front, Present Mic was behind a dj booth, a line of students waiting to ask for a song to queued.

You walked further in, trying to spot anyone you knew.

Currently, you were dressed in a very light shade of yellow, so delicately pale that in this lighting, it would be mistaken for white. 

"(Y/n)! Over here!" Came the call from Kirishima, waving you over.

"Kiri! You look so manly! And Bakugo, I didn't think you'd actually show up!" You grinned as you walked up, earning a 'thanks' from Kiri and a scowl from Bakugo.

For the next few moments, you exchanged compliments with Mina and Jirou, and then joked with Sero. 

But when that all came to an usual stop, you realized what was missing, well..who was missing.

 "Where's Kami?" You asked, having to raise your voice slightly over the music. 

Bakugo turned to you, thinking back for a moment, "Dunce face said something about feeling claustrophobic or whatever, he said he'd be in the hall? I'm surprised you didn't see him on your way in," 

You nodded slowly, humming in return, "ah thanks," You left after that, making your way around the groups of people, waving as you could hear your name from some friends. 

As you reached the entrance once again, you looked up and down the hall, spotting him a ways away by a window, wearing black slacks, a white undershirt and black suspenders, his blazer hanging off his arm loosely, he had a tie on, a darker shade of red. 

"Kaminari! Hey!" You called, making your way over until you stood a foot away, "Why are you all the way out here?" 

"It was hot and stuffy in there, I needed some fresh air...and I was waiting to see if I could spot someone on their way in," 

Again Kaminari flashed a dazzling smile at you. And suddenly, your breath hitched in your throat, cheeks heating up.

Your stomach filled with dainty butterflies and you're pretty sure your heart stopped beating. 

What was going on?? Were you...crushing? But there's no way….

Sure Kaminari tended to flirt with you, and you always laughed at his jokes and smiled at him whenever he smiled at you.

And sure, sometimes when he handed you something your hand would brush his and you'd think about it for a few moments .

 And then there was that time when you were paired up in hero training, and you almost fell off a building in the city area, and then he pulled you back and basically hugged you because you were scared and then later on that was all you could think of.

...okay yeah you were definitely crushing but why did it have to act up now ?!

"Uhh…(Y/n)??? Earth to (Y/n)?"

 You blinked, looking back to Kaminari, who was now fully facing you instead of the window, "Sorry! I uh, spaced out there…"

"It's okay! I'm used to seeing you space off,  you do it often," Denki laughed, only furthering the complicated feelings you were having.

"I don't do it too often…" you gave a small smile, knowing full and well that you ventured into wonderland quite often.

 "Hey, (Y/n)...do you want to dance by any chance? Right here? I can still kind of hear the music," 

You gave a startled look, eyes wide as you took in what he said, but you quickly changed to a smile, "Yes! I'd love that!"

At your approval, Denki gently wrapped his arms around your waist,  pulling you closer to him, almost stealing away all the air from your lungs.

 You looked up to him, your hands moving up to circle around his neck loosely.

God he was so pretty. Even just the light that streamed in from the window seemed to make his eyes sparkle with their golden color.

 "What are you doing?" He murmured, gazing back into your own eyes, an amused smile played out onto his face.

You shook your head quickly, looking down and away, words caught in your throat.

 "(Y/n)...look at me," 

A hand moved away from your hip, gentle fingers cupping your face as he turned you to look at him. 

You weren't sure how it happened...but in a fleeting moment, he had kissed you. At this point, you weren't sure if the tingles running throughout your body were caused by you, or him. 

He pulled away for a breath with a smile, and you pulled him back for another kiss, an overwhelming feeling of happiness washing over you. 

After that, you both had left from the dance, and enjoyed the rest of the night together, watching movies and playing video games. It was the beginning of your relationship. 

"Denki.. whatever the reason for this...I know you aren't a villain. You're Denki Kaminari, the student who offered me lunch on my second day. You're the student who saw a general education kid crying and joked with them to make them feel better!" 

"(Y/n)..." 

"And you're the one who I..who I love okay? So stop trying to make me hate you! " 

His eyes went wide, filling with more tears. You rushed to him through the mucky water, grasping him. You clutched at his clothes starting to cry with him.

"I love you so much and I'll always love you, I swear!" You buried your head into his neck, feeling him hold onto you just as tightly as you were holding onto him. 

"(Y/n) I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry. I want more time with you, I want to spend life with you. Im sorry fuck..I love you so much. You're the reason I'm even here! Shigaraki was planning on attacking the school and he threatened you and I panicked and I tried to shock him and..and...the water here...I wasn't thinking," he started to work himself into a panic.

You stroked his hair, shushing him gently until you both calmed down enough.  

Finally, he looked to you, amber eyes red and puffy just as you had found him, and asked with a sad smile, "So...where to?" 

You shook your head, tears still falling as you kissed his forehead, the water and the area around you falling away, "I think we both know.."

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #boku no hero academia x reader #my hero academia x reader #bnha #mha #mha kaminari #bnha kaminari #mha denki #bnha denki #mha denki kaminari #bnha denki kaminari #Kaminari #denki #Kaminari denki #Kaminari denki x reader #denki x reader #Kaminari x reader

[snowdice]

Finding the Time to Study Fic 2 [Day 8]

Here is my starting post for today’s study break stories session. See this post for more details and feel free to send me asks to keep me going! It’s been a lot of fun so far! I will reblog this post with the story as I write them today. I’ll be constantly looking for ideas of times and places for Janus to have missions, so feel free to send in any you can think of at any point!

If you are a new follower or just don’t want all of these posts clogging your dash, please feel free to block the tag “study break stories” as all posts and voting about it will go there. You can still see the finished product of the story even if you are blocking that tag as I will not tag the edited chapters with “study break stories” but with the tag “folds in paper.” See edited chapters below. Chapters 2, 3, and what I have of Chapter 4 are under the cut.

My Masterpost Part 1

I also have a playlist on youtube (because Spotify didn’t have one of the songs I wanted). It’s short, and not really for serious listening, but I had fun with it.

My stomach decided to be mean to me for no reason, but I still want to try to get some stuff done. Might get suddenly distracted though so fair warning if I randomly stop posting/answering asks.

Chapter 2

The morning was just as torturous as Janus had expected it would be. He chewed through another pop-tart, this time bothering to actually check and see that it was a cinnamon-sugar one and drank three cups of caffeinated orange juice. Then, he waved his hand through the air and selected the 1st saved location on his device. He popped up directly behind his desk where he’d been standing the night morning before.

Someone, probably Remus, had shut his integrator down. He swiped a finger across the power button, and it flickered back on, scrolling through its morning start up routine.

 The machine scanned through all of the data in the three main system it was connected to and sorted all information into things that concerned him, could concern him, and did not before then sorting the first two categories into order of importance. As it did, he set up his screen reader so he would hopefully not start the day with more of a migraine than he already had. It took about 3 seconds for everything to turn on and settle.

Sitting down in his desk, he dismissed the notification that Remus had finished and submitted the report from their mission the day before.

 A mission had been scheduled for him today, and the details were in his inbox. A piece time travel technology had been accidently dropped by an archology student in the 1890s during a trip. It was an earlier model of emergency time travel given to time travels that would dump them back into the Registration Office in the year they originated. It wasn’t extremely dangerous, but could pose some problems, especially if someone who didn’t know what it was activated it.

Surveillance agents had tracked it down and found that it had been picked up by a local and sold. Though no one from that time had known what it was, they had identified that it was made out of a precious metal and it had been crafted into an expensive necklace. Janus and Remus were supposed to retrieve it today. It had been pinpointed that the most opportune time for the extraction was 1923 during a masquerade ball held by those who had bought the necklace.

 It was a fairly low stakes mission. He wasn’t set to leave for another couple of hours, so he clicked through the rest of the important notifications and then set off to meet his missions coordinator, Rhi, in her office.

Rhi and Janus got along fairly well. She was a well put together woman who took her job incredibly seriously. It was fair as her job was to organize all information and materials from every other department and make sure the agents she was assigned to got and understood all of it. A mistake from her could lead to an agent’s death or something far worse.

 This, of course, made her relationship with Remus… interesting to say the least. Janus could never place whether they were nemesis, frenemies, or mortal enemies, and he doubted he would ever know.

“Okay, but it’s the 1920s America,” Remus was already in her office arguing when Janus arrived. “There were so many gangsters! I could be a gangster. I would make a fantastic gangster! Just give me a gun, a snazzy suit with a white hat, and a buttload of alcohol. I will be running Chicago with Al Capone in five minutes.”

“Al Capone didn’t become a crime boss until 1925 and you are going to 1923,” Rhi said, sounding bored, “you aren’t going to Chicago, and as I have already stated, your cover is already decided.”

 “But-”

“It is nonnegotiable, Agent Clockson,” she said firmly. Remus pouted, but seemingly accepted his fate.

“May I come in?” Janus asked.

“Please do,” Rhi said. “You have been to the 1920s before, correct?” she asked Janus.

“Yes ma’am.”

She tapped the screen on her desk in response. “In the last two years?”

“About two months ago,” he responded. She tapped something else.

“Any blacks, reds, or yellows?” she asked.

“All green.”

“Great. Do you need a refresher course on basic cultural or linguistic procedures?”

“No.”

She pushed one more thing and then swiped the check-in document over to him. He glanced at the report stating he’d had no incidents of any level the last time he visited the 1920s and had opted out of the optional refresher course, and then pressed his finger against the screen to sign it with his fingerprint.

 The document returned to her side of the desk automatically. “Okay,” she said swiping another document from her left over to be in front of her. She twisted her wrist to copy it and slide copies to Janus and Remus. “Here are exact details on the time, place, and event you are going to, as well as details about your cover.” Janus scrolled through his quickly. It wasn’t as detailed as some he’d had considering this was a brief in-and-out missing, but he still took care to memorize everything on the page.

As he and Remus read through their things, Rhi got to her feet and turned to the storage compartments behind her desk.

 She grabbed out two packages and when they’d both signed that they’d read and understood the paperwork, she slid them across the desk to them. “These have everything you need,” she said. “Clothes, money, and an invitation to the party you’re off to attend. You are to get changed now, have a last check in with costuming to make sure everything is in order, and then report to decontamination in 23 minutes. Your set to leave in 38 minutes. Any questions?”

“How much-?” Remus started.

“None, agent,” Rhi said.

“But-”

“No alcohol,” Rhi said. “It is the prohibition era in the United States anyway.”

“Like there’s not going to be alcohol at the rich people party,” Remus said sullenly.

She pressed her lips together. “It is an in-and-out mission,” she said to both of them, and then turned to glare at Remus. “Do not get arrested.”

 “I don’t know,” Remus said joyfully. “I think I still have room for a 1920s mug shot on my wall.”

“Behave,” she said, “or I’ll report you for the cat you smuggled in from the 1800s.”

“You’d never,” Remus said. “You enjoy the cute pictures of Diesel Fuel I send you every day too much, and you know it!”

“Just… don’t get arrested.” She turned to Janus. “Don’t let him get arrested.”

“I’ll do my best,” Janus promised, standing. “Now come on, Remus, we need to get changed.”

“You just want to see me naked,” Remus replied with a wink, but he did stand.

 “If I see you naked one more time in my life Remus, my eyeballs will fall out of their sockets,” Janus said, waving to Rhi as he pulled Remus out of the door.

“Kinky.”

Janus’s eyeballs almost did fall out right then and there with how hard he rolled them.

They got changed quickly, Remus complaining and saying if he couldn’t dress like a gangster, he should at least be allowed to wear a flapper dress. Janus had long ago learned to ignore his ramblings. He did seem enthused about the included mask for the masquerade. It was a silver fox shaped mask with green accents that reminded Janus of the Egyptian God Anubis.

 Janus’s own mask on the other hand, was only designed to take up the left half of his face. It was mostly golden with a black swirled design. Attached to the side there was a plume of golden tipped white feathers. He had to give it to the costuming department, they did have good taste.

Once they were both dressed, they were poked and prodded by one of the costumers to make sure everything was accurate, fit right, and had been put on correctly.

After that, they went to the decontamination area to have themselves and everything they were taking with them sterilized so they didn’t accidently take any pathogens to the 1920s. They also received an oral vaccination to be sure they didn’t pick up anything from the 1920s and bring it back.

Then they were ready to go. The correct time-space coordinates had already been sent to their timepieces. With a push of a button, they were off.

  Inciting Incident

Chapter 3

Janus and Remus both appeared at the same moment a couple of feet apart in what looked like the inside of a garden shed. There was already a man waiting for them a few feet away. “Sup babes,” Remy said, just like he always did. The T-Agent looked their costumes up and down and whistled. “Now that,” he said, “almost makes me want to be one of you time jockeys.”

“They wouldn’t let me have a gun or a canister of moonshine,” Remus pouted.

Remy snorted. “Sorry, babes, but that makes my job a lot easier. If I’ve gotta fish you outta the 1920s criminal justice system, I’d rather it not be because you shot someone on accident ‘cause you don’t know how to use the safety.”

 Remus groaned dramatically. “Everyone is lame.”

Remy just shook his head. “Meet back here when you’ve got the necklace,” he said. “Don’t make a move until after 11:05pm and before 11:17. That’s your window.”

“We know,” Janus said. “See you then.”

“Have fun at the party boys,” Remy said and then lowered his shades to look at Remus, “but not too much fun.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Remus, already towing Janus out of the garden shed. The way had been specifically cleared for them, so they met no other people before they’d rounded the house the party was taking place and had gotten onto the driveway in front of the house.

 Without missing a beat, they strolled up to the front of the house, just as a car pulled into the end of the driveway. Janus rang the doorbell, and a few moments later, a man who was clearly the butler answered the door. They handed over their invitation, and the man immediately let them in.

The party had already started when they slipped into the medium sized ballroom that had been decked out in streamers and other decorations. Janus’s nose immediately wanted to scrunch as the smell of sweat from all the dancing already going on as well as the too strong perfume meant to cover that stench wafted over him. It was by far not the worst smelling time period, but he was pretty sure some people still weren’t aware deodorant had been recently invented.

 He checked his time piece which had been disguised as a fancy wristwatch for this trip. “Okay,” he said. “We have about two hours before we need to make our move. We should…”

Remus’s attention was already being dragged away by a young man who seemed to be providing guests with food. “I’m going to go ‘mingle’,” he said, winking.

“No!” Janus hissed. “Re- Richard! No!”

Yet, he was already disappearing into the horde of stinky bodies, likely to go scandalize a bunch of rich folks, and leaving Janus alone. Janus mumbled a curse under his breath that he was sure no one around him would understand even if they could make it out.

 Unsure what to do with himself, he wandered over towards where the live musicians were playing jazz music, being sure to keep out of the way of the dancers. He was edging around the makeshift dancefloor, when one of said dancers must have misstepped and knocked into another one. The second man stumbled right towards Janus, arms pinwheeling. Janus reached out on instinct to catch the man as he fell.

There was a moment where the two of them just stared at each other, surprise evident on the other man’s face. He was wearing a mask that just covered the area around his eyes and the top of his nose, revealing a smattering of freckles across his cheeks that Janus imagined extended to his nose.

 The mask was a light blue velvet with a flower stuck on the side near his right ear, and a trail of curled golden ribbon bobbed down around his chin. The party continued on around them, a blur of movement and sound.

“Are you alright?” Janus asked.

The man blinked up at him and then tilted his head slightly to the side as though confused, before a smile slowly grew on his face. “Oh, I’m fine Dove.”

“Dove?” Janus asked.

He giggled. “You have dove feathers on your mask,” he explained, reaching up a hand to touch one. His finger brushed the tip of Janus’s ear, “and I don’t know what else I am supposed to call you.”

 “My name is Lee,” he automatically lied.

“Is it?” he asked, sounding amused. “Doesn’t seem to fit you well. I like Dove better.”

“Oh?” asked Janus. “And what’s your name so I can not call you that?”

The man chuckled. “Call me Pat.”

“Hello Pat,” Janus said.

“I thought you didn’t want to call me by my name.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Hmmm,” Pat said, finger tracing idly across Janus’s forearm which was when Janus realized with a start that he was still holding the man in his arms. He quickly went to release him, which Pat allowed with clear amusement.

 Yet, instead of completely stepping away, Pat grabbed Janus’s arm. “What are you doing all the way over here by the way?” he asked. “Don’t you want to dance.”

“Oh,” Janus hesitated. “I don’t really dance.” Or at least not in the way the people around him were. He’d had basic training for this style, but it had been a while and he was a bit rusty.

“Everyone dances Dove,” Pat claimed. “At least if they know the steps and have the right partner.”

“But I don’t know the steps,” Janus said with an eyebrow raise.

He hummed. “Well, I know the dance pretty well by this point,” Pat said. “Why don’t I teach you how it goes.”

 He was agreeing with the soft beseeching tone before he even realized it. Pat pulled him into the middle of the throng of people. He seemed to think, bopping his head to the music playing for a moment, before looking back at Janus. “Heard of James Johnson?”

Janus inclined his head.

“Well, have you heard his new song? Because there’s a dance that goes with it.”

He took a few steps away from Janus and started to dance. Despite his claim to know the steps, he wasn’t particularly good, but he made up for any loss of rhythm with pure enthusiasm.

 Janus found himself smiling at the man, and after a few moments, joined in with the dance. Despite his lack of practice, he ended up having a better natural rhythm than Pat. Pat didn’t seem to mind that he was being outperformed, however. On the contrary, he giggled at himself the couple of times he stumbled.

When he fell into Janus’s arms for the second time that night, Janus decided he’d probably had enough dancing for the moment and pulled him off to the side to get something to drink and cool down a bit.

He watched the man take a snack and some punch from one of servers and thank him happily before turning back to Janus. Pat was easily able to keep Janus’s attention as they chatted. He was bubbly and soft, and Janus found himself enchanted as they talked.

 He was explaining the steps of a different dance, a couples one. “Knowing how to perform the tango will entrance any girl you want,” Pat said, something mischievous sparkling in his eyes. “Assuming you’re that type of fella.”

“As opposed to what?” Janus asked.

Pat leaned in a bit closer. Not too much, but enough that he was definitely in Janus’s space. “A different type of fella,” he said simply, before smiling and leaning back.

Janus let out a shaky exhale and took a sip of punch. He glanced over at Pat. “Tell me about yourself, Pat,” he said.

Pat hummed in contemplation. “Well, I went to France recently.”

 “You did?”

“Oui, c'était amusant, mais j'ai eu des ennuis”

“What kind of trouble?” Janus asked curiously.

“Oh, the kind with a pretty boy and crepes that were way too sweet. Anyway,” he continued. “Other than that, I mostly help out my friend. He’s an inventor.”

“And how do you help him.”

He shrugged, “Running errands mostly, and making sure he gets enough sleep, because otherwise he gets distracted and forgets. And you?”

“I’m a banker,” he said, remembering his cover, but felt compelled to add, “but I like to travel as well.”

“You do look the type?”

“And how is that?”

   Pat shrugged. “I can always tell a wandering spirt from the masses, and you are easy to spot.” Pat looked at him then with a secret smile on his face, and Janus felt suddenly known, like the man in front of him had known him for years even though they’d only just met. Looking at him then, he wanted suddenly for that to be fact and not a flight of fancy.

He was brought firmly back to reality in the next moment. “Lee,” a pointed and familiar voice said. Janus’s head snapped up to see Remus, staring at him. He tapped his wrist. Janus glanced at his own wrist: 10:58pm. He just barely managed not to curse.

 “I,” he said looking up at Pat. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

“That’s okay,” Pat said easily. “It is getting rather late.”

“Yes,” Janus agreed. “Well… goodbye.”

Pat, titled his head, a half smile on his face. “I’ll be seeing you around.”

Janus nodded, and turned away from him towards Remus. He didn’t look back as they excited the ballroom. They snuck into a small side closet for coats that wasn’t being used as it was summer.

“So,” Remus said when the door closed behind them.

“Don’t,” warned Janus.

“I’m not one to judge,” Remus said.

“Shut up.” He glanced at his watch. It was 11:02. “We’ll go in 5.”

 “I have to give it to you. He was very cute.”

“We’re not talking about it.”

Remus just laughed joyfully, and Janus did his best to halt the blood rushing to his cheeks.

At 11:07, well into their window, they slipped back out of the closet, and towards the stairs as the party raged on.

Despite how Remus usually never shut up, he was able to be quiet when it counted. They snuck to the master bedroom of the home’s owners in silence. The door was already wide open by the time they got there, and Janus didn’t think anything of it. At least, he didn’t until they entered the bedroom, and there was someone already there.

 He turned from the dresser he’d been standing in front of to face them, sending Janus the same smile he had down in the ballroom. Janus and Remus both froze. “Sorry, sweetie,” Pat said. “Were you here for this too?” he held up the necklace they’d been sent for. He closed his fist around the charm made out of time travel tech.

“What?” Janus said.

Pat giggled and winked. “Unfortunately, I need it a bit more than you at the moment. So, I’m gonna have to go.” Janus stepped forward, not really sure what he was intending to do, but Pat just smiled. “See you some other time, my Turtle Dove.” With a snap of his fingers and loud crack, he disappeared. The mask he’d been wearing fluttered to the ground.

  Arc I: Finding Cinderella

Chapter 4

Janus was frozen in surprise for a few long moments after Pat disappeared. Which had been, admittedly, his mistake, because, while their window had technically been until 11:17pm and it was only 11:10, the loud crack that whatever Pat had been using for time travel made, garnered the attention of someone else.

“Uh oh,” Remus said, likely hearing footsteps. “Hide.”

That snapped Janus into action, but instead of hiding immediately like a sensible human being, he chose to go for the only link to the man who’d just stolen time travel tech and waltzed away, the mask.

Which was why he ended up getting arrested.

 Remy tsked the moment they were all alone in the police car having come to ‘transfer Lee to another facility.’ Remus was already waiting in the front seat, and flashed Janus a smug smile. If Janus wasn’t still handcuffed, he’d slap him.

“Well,” Remy said. “At least you didn’t shoot anybody like I asked. I was joking by the way. I didn’t really want to pick you up from a 1920s police station period.”

“It wasn’t my fault.”

“Mmm, nah, ‘cause Remus managed to not get arrested this time, so you defiantly screwed something up.”

“Oh, he defiantly wanted to screw something all right,” Remus said joyfully.

 “Remus,” Janus hissed.

“What?” he asked. “I’m not the horny one for once. Well, no, that’s a lie, but it didn’t affect the job this time.”

Janus groaned and leaned his head back against the seat.

Remy pulled into a seemingly random garage around 20 minutes later. “Alright,” he said. “Here we are.” He got out of the car and then helped Janus out before uncuffing him. “Here’s your ‘watch,’” Remy handed him the timepiece that had been confiscated when he’d been arrested.

Janus put it on and activated it. “Shit,” he said.

“What?” Remus asked.

“An appointment with cultural outreach has already been downloaded to my calendar for once we get out of decon.”

 “Oof. Going to baby jail,” Remy laughed. Remus was cackling.

“This,” Janus said, “was not a cultural faux pas. I did nothing that indicated that I was not from this time. I am not some rookie.”

“Don’t forget cell phones don’t exist in the 1920s,” Remus sang.

“The real question is whether or not my foot exists in your…” Remus disappeared before he could finish, a smirk on his face. Janus growled. “By Remy,” he gritted out. He selected the decontamination chamber from his queue, ignoring the appointment that came after it for now.

He knew exactly where Remus would be standing when he landed, which was why he stepped forward on reentry to ram into him.

 He yelped in surprise. “Sorry,” Janus said pleasantly. “I must have also forgotten landing procedures.

Remus laughed good naturally. “Aw, come on Jay,” he said, bumping Janus back, albeit much gentler than Janus had been. “It’s not a big deal. You just go talk with some crusty old college professor who is far too interested in spoons and then everything’s fine.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” he growled. “They’re treating me like I’m an idiot who accidently invented disco in the 1920s when I was conned by some free agent time traveler.”

“‘Conned,’ Remus said. Is that what they’re calling it now?”

5238

“I know where and when you live Remus,” Janus said.

Remus gave him a dopey smile as the decontamination cycle finished and the door unlocked. Janus’s wrist buzzed telling him that the coordinates to the cultural outreach office were now unlocked. Instead of pulling them up, Janus walked to the door.

“Um,” Remus said, following him. “Aren’t you supposed to be going to your appointment?” Janus just kept walking towards their office. “Uh… Jan?”

“It’s absolutely ridiculous that I have to go to cultural outreach,” Janus said. “In fact, no one can make me. If they want me to go have a discussion about the definition of ‘bushwa,’ they’re going to have to have me dragged there.”

5356

“Mmm, I feel like The Boss won’t be too happy about that, and I have a feeling she’d be 100% down to dragging you there herself.”

“Well, then, let her,” Janus said, stalking through the door to his office. “I’m not going to…”

“Ah, Agent Picani,” the woman standing next to his desk, clearly waiting for him, said when he came through the door. “Dr. Picani was informed that there were complications with your last mission and wishes to have a conversation with you and asks that you meet him in his office at the AMO.”

“Oh, um,” Janus said, stumbling a bit before plastering on a regretful half smile. “Unfortunately, I actually have an appointment right now at Cultural Outreach. It’s mandatory and very important, and I have to go now. So, I’ll have to take a raincheck on that.”

 “But-” she started, frowning.

“Remus, work on the report!” Janus said quickly as he waved his hand to bring up his timepiece display and jammed his finger at the glowing appointment card in his queue. A few moments later, Janus was at Cultural Outreach.

Cultural Outreach was not part of the TPI, though it often worked very closely with them. It was a collaboration between the government and multiple universities to help government workers, politicians, and other citizens understand and bridge cultural gaps. It had existed before time travel was invented but had expanded to also teach people who needed to time travel how to behave in unfamiliar times and cultures.

 After it had to be expanded to provide for the TPI, it had been moved to Silver Mountains University. The building had once just been a museum, but it had been thoroughly renovated and there had been add-ons for office space and some classrooms. It was still a museum, however, its purpose had expanded greatly and there were many areas that were off limits to the general public.

One of these areas was the fourth floor, where Janus’s timepiece had dumped him. This was the floor that was almost exclusively for TPI agents and staff of Cultural Outreach who worked with them.

 He immediately turned away from the reception area, hoping that he could escape and go sit on the university’s quad or something of the like for the next hour or so in hopes the woman his brother sent to fetch him would give up and go back to the AMO. Yet, the receptionist apparently saw him.

“Janus Picani?” he asked.

Janus grimaced and turned back towards him. “Yes,” he said.

“Is something wrong?” he asked. “You’re 5 minutes late for your appointment and seem disoriented.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Is your timepiece malfunctioning?”

“No.”

“Uh… okay. Well, if you sign in here, I can take you to your appointment.”

“…Fine.”

 He begrudgingly stepped forward and touched the screen he’d gestured to sign with his fingerprint, and then let the man lead him down the hall.

The door they stopped at was propped open slightly, but he still paused and knocked. “Professor Eran? Your 2:30 is here.”

Janus had just a moment upon hearing the name to think that maybe there was actually some sort of intelligent design of the universe and whatever being of ultimate power had crafted it was a dick.

The door opened and Virgil Eran’s eyes immediately narrowed on him. “Janus.”

“Virgil.”

“I see you’re still late for everything.”

“I see you’re still a bastard.”

 Janus saw the receptionist slowly back away in the direction they’d come.

“Why don’t you come in?” Virgil said faux pleasantly.

Janus did, because he really didn’t have much of a choice at this point unless he wanted to jump out of a window… or push someone out of a window.

Virgil turned back into his office and took a seat behind his desk. Janus unhappily followed him in and sat across from him.

He took his time pulling up whatever the TPI sent him and reading it over. “So, I see you failed your recovery mission and were arrested in 1923.”

 “It wasn’t like that,” Janus said. “I shouldn’t be here.”

Virgil gave him that same suspicious look he used to give Janus whenever Janus claimed to have not eaten his hot pockets out of the freezer in the middle of the night. He’d only been lying 80% of the time. Virgil had a tendency to forget what he’d eaten in a half-conscious state at 3 o’clock in the morning.

“I shouldn’t,” Janus snapped defensively. “Nothing went wrong with anyone from the time period. An illegal time traveler screwed up the mission details.”

“Well, it is still protocol to make sure nothing slipped when agents go off script. You weren’t prepared to be in a jail cell, and it is possible that you screwed something up.”

6168

“I didn’t screw anything up,” Janus growled.

“Alright,” Virgil said pulling up a document on his desk. “The mission started on July 27th, 1923 at 9:58pm, correct?”

“Oh, god, we’re not really going to fill out a time sheet. I don’t have time for that today.”

“It is protocol and best that the information is documented when it is still fresh in your mind. Besides, your schedule has been cleared for the rest of the workday.” The bastard was enjoying this. He knew how much Janus hated this stuff.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Janus said, “it was the damned illicit time traveler.”

“And I will be the judge of that,” Virgil said. Janus should have just bit the bullet and had coffee with his brother. “If you truly did nothing wrong, your supervisor will see that when I send this to her.”

#study break stories #not writing

[dragonheart-swtor]

WIP Wednesday

I was tagged by @sleepswithvillains, thank you so much!!! It’s been a while haha

No-pressure tags: @pineaberry, @sith-shenanigans, @swtorcompanionsgoofin, and anyone else who wants to!

This is technically a WIP in the sense that it’s not really a complete standalone one-shot, but I’m not sure if I’ll actually finish it soon, so... have the whole thing with most of it under a cut xD But have a very upsetting scene with Eidorrah and Andronikos having to go undercover at a seedy cantina for... *waves hand vaguely* some reason I never bothered to figure out, it’s not important, it’s about the Feelings that happen when Eidorrah has to pretend to be a slave again because that’s really the most believable disguise they can put on with the face brand they have.

Tags: TW attempted sexual assault (doesn’t get any further than a grope and an attempted kiss),  hurt/comfort, triggering pre-existing trauma, gendered & sexually charged insults, misgendering. this one’s a doozy folks, read at your own discretion.

-----

Eidorrah scanned the room, a quick glance from under their lashes, hopefully surreptitious enough not to be noticed. Andronikos had stopped by the buffet table and was smiling slyly as a couple of other people laughed at some joke he'd made. The room was relatively crowded, people clumped into groups of a half dozen or so each socializing, noise from conversations and pazaak games melding into a nonsensical chatter.

A hand closed on their arm, interrupting their scanning – they whirled and stumbled as they were yanked off-balance, falling into the chest of the man who'd grabbed them – Human, middle-aged, wearing a second-rate suit and smelling of cheap alcohol. They scrambled to right themself, panic seizing in their chest, and he laughed – he'd pulled them down on purpose, and he wasn't letting go of their arm let go of my arm!

Sparks crawled under their skin, prickling along their spine, and they almost released the lightning on pure reflex.

They caught it at the last possible moment, swallowing the taste of ozone and squeezing their eyes shut as the man pulled them closer again, saying something that didn't process correctly in the blur of panic and the noise of the crowd. They couldn't shock him. They couldn't throw him away, couldn't make him let go, because they were a slave, not a Sith, and if they blew their cover now this would all be for nothing -

He looped his free arm around their waist to hold them still and released their bicep to grasp their chin instead, forcing them to look up at him. This time his words processed - “Hey now, pretty thing. Why so nervous? Ain't gonna hurtcha.” He leered down at them, the heat of his arm around their waist searing into their back, tightening their chest until they couldn't breathe -

Andronikos!

He was all the way across the room, distracted, he would never see them – Eidorrah flung out their senses, groping blindly for his mind in the mess of color and sound that so many people in one place created in the Force. There, umber and bronze and the steady hum of a string instrument marking his thoughts from the rest – they latched onto his mind and shoved, forcing their way in and pushing a flood of panic-terror-trapped-fear-help-HELP through the connection, unable to think enough to communicate more clearly.

Through the connection, because the sound shouldn't have reached their own ears, they felt his glass slip through his fingers and heard it shatter as it hit the floor, splattering whiskey across his shoes. He paid it no mind, swearing and whirling to search for them in the crowd.

Eidorrah snapped fully back into their own body in time to cringe away as the man holding them got tired of waiting for a response and leaned down for a kiss, turning their head away so his lips met their cheek instead. He growled and fisted a hand in their hair, making them yelp as he yanked their head back by it, forcing them to look up at him again.

Andronikos's fist connected with his cheekbone just as the hand around their waist moved down to grope their ass instead, catching him off-guard and snapping his head around. He let go of Eidorrah in his shock, and they stumbled backward, almost falling over in their haste to get away from him. And then their view of the sleazeball was blocked as Andronikos stepped between them, one hand resting on his blaster. “Back the fuck off,” he snarled as the scumbag recovered.

He scoffed, though he was touching his face like the punch had done some damage. “What, this little whore belong to you?”

Andronikos stiffened, and Eidorrah could feel him fighting the urge to just start a bar fight then and there. “Keep your filthy hands off them,” he growled instead, fingers tightening on his blaster where it was holstered at his hip. “They're not your property to touch.”

“Yeah?” Sleazeball asked, taking another step forward with a sneer. “What, didn't your mommy ever teach you to share?”

Rage coiled pitch black around Andronikos in the Force, a serpent begging to be allowed to strike. “No,” he agreed, quiet and low. “So I'm gonna give you one more chance to walk away before this gets ugly.”

Something in his face or voice must have made Sleazeball rethink it – his eyes flicked from Andronikos's face, to his blaster, to Eidorrah behind him, back to his face. Finally, he sneered, turning away. “Tch. Bitch isn't worth the trouble. Keep her, if it means so much to you.”

The rage-serpent in Andronikos's mind twitched again, hissing and demanding retribution, but Andronikos stood stone-still until the man had disappeared into the crowd and involved himself in another group. Only then did he turn to Eidorrah, the anger on his face belying the worry they could feel beneath – his face was blurring. When had they started tearing up?

He took their shoulder gently. “Come on,” he muttered. “Let's get out of here for a minute.” They nodded numbly and let him lead them away, out a side door into an empty hall.

There he finally turned them to face him full on, grasping their shoulders. “What were you -”

They hiccuped a half a sob, unable to hold it back completely now that the immediate danger was gone, and he stopped mid-sentence, letting go of their shoulders. Eidorrah scrubbed tears out of their eyes only for them to be immediately replaced with more, gulping unsteady breaths and trying to stem the crying before it could start in earnest. “Hey,” he said uncertainly, and they forced themself to look up at him. The anger wasn't gone, but they felt him set it aside, and instead of voicing it he said, “It's okay. You're okay.”

They swallowed hard and took a step forward into his arms, left open probably unconsciously as his hands hovered near their shoulders. He hesitated, slowly dropping his hands to pat their back uncertainly as they tried not to cry into his shirt. “I'm sorry,” they choked out through the tears. “I'm sorry. I couldn't – couldn't think of – I didn't know what else to – to do, I couldn't fight him or – or he'd know -”

He might have nodded; they couldn't really be sure with their face hidden in his chest. “It's – I know. We can talk about it later. I should've known better than to leave you alone in a place like this, dressed like that. I've got your back.” He snorted, stroking their back again. “Kriff, Sith. Quit making me get all sentimental.”

Eidorrah laughed – or, tried to; what came out through the tears was a horrid honking noise that made both of them start laughing in earnest despite everything. “Sorry,” they mumbled, pulling back and wiping tears off their cheeks. “Big, bad pirate. Big, bad Sith.”

“There you go. That’s the spirit.”

#swtor #swtor ocs #sith inquisitor #eidorrah #wip wednesday #fanfiction #i keep making andronikos deal with shit like this and he is woefully unprepared Every Single Time #andronikos revel

[dreamcatcherfication]

Sting Me Once, Shame On You

Finally! Another one-shot! A request! I’ve written something new! And in the span of an hour and a half? I’m on a roll here.

Hello everyone, and welcome back to your daily programming. Today we have a fic based of off this request, and I was very interested in this one. Some people in my family are actually allergic to bees, but the descriptions I used for this story actually come from my brother, who’s allergic to nuts. I’ll probably explain it more in the tags, but it’s not important to the story. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this very specific fic! Sorry for any spelling/grammatical errors, I had literally no time to edit this, and I’m praying it’s the least bit coherent.

Writing Masterpost

If you want to send a request or a prompt, my inbox is always open! I publish a story at 8:00 AM PST everyday, so I’m always in need of new ideas. If you want to be tagged in my works, just let me know and I’ll be sure to tag you!

Prompts | More Prompts | The Trifecta of Prompts | Original Prompts

Trigger Warnings: Anxiety, fear, allergic reactions, bee stings, descriptions of swelling, difficulty breathing, hosptials

Summer days with the queens were spent out in the park, or walking to lunch together as they enjoyed each other's company. It was their main reprieve from the stress of the modern world and its constant moving. These few summer days were their moments to calm down and simply enjoy the company of each other and the beauty of the world. 

Today, the queens had decided for a relaxing picnic in their small garden. There wasn’t anything special, but the quality time they spent together was enough to make it a wonderful day. It was sunny for once, a blessing for the women who sat sprawled on the grass and blankets. It was more for aesthetic than anything, but a small woven basket sat in the center of the blankets, its top open to show the many foods Jane had managed to pack in there. 

Kat and Anne were off to the side, throwing a frisbee back and forth as they ran around the garden. Jane was unloading the basket, spreading the foods out for everyone to see. Cathy was on a lawn chair, reading a book while Anna stood behind her, in a perfect position to block the Sun from Cathy’s eyes. Aragon was sitting with Jane on the blankets, her eyes on the beheaded cousins, making sure they wouldn’t run into a wall when trying to catch the frisbee.

Anne threw the frisbee high, forcing Kat to jump to get it. Just barely, the girl grabbed the frisbee in her grip, keeping it from getting lodged in the bushes. “Nice catch, Kat!” Anne cheered for her cousin. Without responding, Kat threw the frisbee like a blade, the disk slicing through the air and impaling Anne in the stomach. Anne made an oof sound as she collapsed on the floor. “I’m good!” She wheezed, standing up. “All good.”

Over with Cathy, Anna had a hat on that blocked the sun from her eyes. “How long do you think that disk’ll entertain them?” Anna questioned, turning her head to face Cathy.

Putting a bookmark over her page, Cathy shut the book. “I would say not much longer, but you never know with those two.”

Chuckling, Anna helped Cathy out of the chair and they made their way over to Aragon and Jane. By now, Jane had managed to spread out all the food items on the blankets, plastic containers keeping them safe from ants. “We can start eating whenever the cousins are ready,” Jane told them. “But that might be a while,” she mentioned, raising an eyebrow at Kat and Anne who were still running around the garden, shouting with glee. 

“Anne, Kat -” Aragon called. Again, Anne had thrown the frisbee high, so when Kat turned her attention to Aragon, the disk went flying over her head. At the last moment, Kat attempted to jump and grab it, but this time she missed.

“Come on!” She groaned. The frisbee became lodged in the bushes, thick with thorns.

Anne crossed her arms and walked over to the other queens. “How are we gonna get it now? The bush is filled with thorns, there’s no way any of us can get that.”

Anna and Cathy exchanged looks and shrugged. Jane frowned at the thorns and shook her head. Kat seemed just as hesitant as Anne, already itching her skin subconsciously. “Sorry Anne,” the German queen offered, “You can always try later.”

“Yeah, we’ll probably do that,” Kat plopped down on the blankets next to Anna. Anna nudged her friend’s shoulder playfully as the two got comfortable.

Watching everyone’s nervousness, Aragon didn’t get it. “You can avoid the thorns, the frisbee isn’t that far inside,” Aragon pointed out.

Still, the others weren’t on board. “Maybe it’ll be better to come back with some weed cutters,” Jane said.

Aragon stood up and made her way over to the bush. “It’s my fault it got stuck, I’ll risk getting a scratch.” The others were silent, watching Aragon as she leaned down in front of the bushes. They were thick, and it was hard to see very far into them. But the bright red of the frisbee would’ve been visible for miles, so it wasn’t hard for Aragon to reach her hand in and find it.

Jerking her hand around, Aragon realized the frisbee was stuck on something. She yanked on it, harder and harder, trying to get the thing to come loose. “Ah!” she gasped, falling backwards, frisbee coming free. There was a small stinging in her arm, nothing too bad, but noticeable. Glancing down, Aragon realized it was a bee sting. The stinger was still stuck in her arm, but the little bee had fallen somewhere on the grass.

“Are you alright Catherine?” Jane called from the blankets.

Picking up the frisbee, Aragon made her way back to the others. “I’m fine. See? No problem.” She handed the frisbee back to Kat and nodded at Anne, who shot her a grateful smile. 

Sitting down next to Cathy, Aragon extended her arm. “I got stung by a bee in there. Do you know how to get it out?”

Cathy nodded and pulled out her bookmark, folding it in half so that it was thicker. “Hold still,” she instructed, putting the bookmark next to the stinger. “It’s not too deep, so this shouldn’t hurt.” Before Aragon could protest, Cathy quickly flicked the stinger with her bookmark, causing it to go flying out of Aragon’s arm.

Letting out a small hiss, Aragon shook her arm. It felt a little numb, but she chalked it up to being stung for the first time. “Thanks Cathy,” she rubbed her goddaughter’s shoulder.

For the next minute or so, everyone let their guards drop. There was nothing to be worried about, and the day was going by smoothly. That was until Aragon found that she was having trouble breathing. Her throat seemed a lot tighter than usual, and her eyes felt heavy. Her arm was starting to expand, a great pain enveloping it. She didn’t know what was happening, she didn’t know and because she didn’t know, she just didn’t know and -

Her thoughts ran wild, a panic starting to overtake them. “Aragon?” Kat noticed something was off first. “Is something wrong?”

Heaving a breath, Aragon reached her hand out. The others gasped at the sight of her swelling skin, covered in hives. “Oh my God,” Anna breathed out, leaning away from Aragon.

Right away, Cathy was on top of it. She pulled out her phone and dialled 999, knowing exactly what was going on. She was the only one who had seen the bee sting, and hopefully she would be able to get the right help in time. “Hello?” She said when the line picked up. “Hi yes, my friend is having an allergic reaction and we don’t have any way to help her.”

“What?” Anne had no idea what Cathy was talking about. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Aragon, terrified for the woman. Some innate fear had rooted itself in her chest, the crushing worry that Aragon wouldn’t be alright. That she had been powerless to help her friend. Anne knew fear, she would say she was more accustomed to it than most people she knew. But she had never felt the type of fear she felt now. The fear of not being able to help, and being the reason that someone she loved died. 

Following Cathy’s lead, Anna started to prop Aragon up. “Hey, talk to me.” She shook Aragon lightly. “We have to keep her talking,” Anna told the other three queens, making sure they were informed on what would help.

Jane put Aragon’s head in her lap, keeping it from falling on the hard ground. “Catherine,” she started, “what do you see in the sky?”

“Hmm?” Aragon mumbled. “Clouds. Lots of clouds.”

“Any shapes?” Kat questioned, moving to sit next to the spanish woman.

There was a moment of silence, suspended further with fear, but Aragon responded, “There’s a boat.”

“Good, what else?” Anna pushed.

“A sailor. Two sailors.”

Kat glanced over at Cathy who was still on the phone with emergency help. Hopefully, they wouldn’t be too long. The teenager turned her eyes to Anne, who was still sitting at the edge of the blankets. Her eyes were staring at the ground, unable to check on Aragon. “They’re waving goodbye. Goodbye to France and hello to England.” Anne’s ears perked up, but she didn’t move her head. “And, and, and.” Aragon choked on her words. “And there’s a maiden.” At that, Anne’s head shot up, her eyes wide with surprise. “Beautiful and carefree. But she carries a shadow around her. The other clouds block out the sun before it can reach her. Now there’s a man.”

All the queens, save Cathy and Aragon, shared concerned looks as they realized what story Aragon was telling in her haziness. “This man is big and large. Towering. He blocks out all the sun. The maiden is trying to run, but she can’t. She tries to fly away, but he catches her. And now she prefers the gilded cage to freedom.”

Before the story could continue, Cathy came up to them. “An ambulance is almost here. I need to go out front to let them in, you four stay here and keep her talking.”

Standing up faster than the speed of light, Anne was suddenly at Cathy’s side. “I’ll come with you.” Cathy ignored Anne’s strange behavior and jogged through the house to the front door. Kat watched her go, noticing how Anne refused to look anywhere but straight ahead, her muscles tight and unmoving. 

The three queens left sat in silence, staring at Aragon as she breathed heavily. The queen was muttering different words, her sentences incoherent. At least she was still talking, which was good. It felt like a million years before Anne and Cathy returned, followed by a handful of EMTs. They scooped Aragon up, one of them administering an epipen that would stabilize Aragon. After making sure she was stable enough to transport, she was picked up and carried to an ambulance.

Anne released the tension in her chest ever so slightly and fell to her knees. It wasn’t over yet, and her chest still felt like a million hands were squeezing it as tightly as possible. But Aragon would survive, and that was enough. She wouldn’t be killed by a stupid bee sting. Not today. 

The hospital was as typical as those seen in television shows, the halls white and the doctors in plain scrubs. Aragon was hooked up to an IV, her heart rate steady and her skin back to normal. No more hives, no more swelling, just her. Just Aragon. There was still a small puncture in her arm, a reminder of the original sting that caused all this panic.

A knock at her door alerted Aragon that someone was waiting for her. “Come in!” She called, adjusting in her bed so she could better see everything. 

After a moment, the door creaked open and Anna poked her head in. “Hey Catherine,” she greeted. “Are you okay to see all of us? The doctor said yes, but I wanted to warn you before everyone comes crashing in.”

“Yeah, send them in,” Aragon gave her consent, preparing for the appearance of her fellow queens.

The first person through the door after Anna was Kat. Her eyes twinkled with relief when she saw Aragon’s smile, and she came to stand at the foot of the bed. Next was Cathy, who rushed to her godmother’s side, gasping thankfully when she saw her happy and healthy. Then Jane, who came up beside Cathy and wiped a tear from her eye when she made eye contact with Aragon.

Finally, Anne sulked her way into the room. She came up beside Kat, her head down in shame. “I’m sorry,” she admitted immediately, addressing Aragon.

“What for?”

“I got the frisbee stuck in the bushes,” Anne confessed. “And you were the one who had to get it. I know it was your choice but… it’s my fault this happened.

Frowning, Aragon shook her head. “No, no it’s not. I got that frisbee under my free will, like you said. Therefore it can’t be your fault. It was my choice. Besides, I don’t blame any besides that bee.”

Hopefully, Anne glanced up and watched Aragon’s face for any sign that she was lying. “You mean it?”

“Yes, of course I do Anne.” Aragon opened her arms, and Anne came around the bed to hug her friend. “I’m fine, and I will be fine.”

“It’s probably a good thing Catherine was stung when she was,” Cathy commented.

It was Jane’s turn to be confused. “Why?”

“Because otherwise we never would have known she’s allergic to bees. And if something were to happen when we weren’t all together, things could’ve been a lot worse.”

A collective shiver travelled through the whole room. “I’m glad that didn’t happen,” Kat commented from in front of Aragon.

“Me too,” the older queen chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

“Of all things to be allergic to, why bees? Why not something cool, like poison ivy?” Anna tried to joke.

Kat laughed. “I don’t think it matters if you’re allergic to poison ivy. It’s poison ivy. It’s gonna suck anyway.”

Anna rolled her eyes and shoved Kat’s shoulder lightly. Cathy watched the interaction and raised an eyebrow at Anna who cheekily smirked back. “Once Aragon’s better, we can resume that frisbee match. Once we buy a beekeeper suit. Gotta be safe, right?”

“Really Anna?” Aragon laughed.

“Really.”

(They all laughed at the joke, but it was only a week later when Anne brought home an actual beekeeper suit that the experience became ingrained in their memories forever.)

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

@radcowboyalmondtree @boleynhowards @annabanana2401 @babeebobo@dont-lose-your-queerhead @everything-insanity @mindless-pidgeon @i-wanna-dance-and-sing-six @thenicestnonbinary @its-totes-gods-will @thatbolxyngirl @thenameisnoone @sixqueendom @frogs-in-clogs @timetoriseabove

#six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fic #six fanfiction #six fanfic #sixfic #catherine of aragon #the other queens are there too #i based this to a similar experience i had #my brother had an allergic reaction #except he was home alone at the time #i was in elementary school #and my mom was frantically driving me home #while on the phone with my brother #as he tried not to cry because he couldnt breathe #and when we got home #i stayed outside and listened as my mom gave my brother his medicine #and i could hear him scream from outside the house #still one of the most terrifying moments of my life #i based a lot of anne's feelings off of mine in that moment #the helplessness #i hope you all like this fic!!!

[let-it-show]

All The Love I Found In You 7/?

Sorry for the wait! Part 6 is found right here. The party is going on, Menander is weird, Kristoff is there, Anna is cute, there is also emotions and fun and Olaf brings alcohol! Aka it’s a typical party...probably...not really. Go right HERE for part 8! Tag for @hellodemoiselle​ !

As it turned out, Menander had made sure there was food. Further searching in the great hall revealed a long table of delicious treats, from sheep's head, lutefisk, and Polse med Lompe to piles of waffles, krumkakes, and lots of cheese. Elsa could see Anna salivating over all of it and had to remind her to watch herself. Elsa did not shove krumkake in her face and had to tell Anna to do the same. She focused on the cheese instead, though she couldn't help looking at the lutefisk.

Elsa tore her eyes away from the dish with regret. If anyone thought Anna was voluntarily eating it they would definitely think she lost her mind. It wasn't like people couldn't change their tastes, but lutefisk was a dealbreaker.

As Anna carefully worked on a normal-sized pile of waffles, Elsa found herself being tapped on the shoulder and called out to as people decided to approach her. She wasn't in the right frame of mind for it but she still spoke to anyone who needed her. There was a positive side to being constantly bothered at the party - no one was complaining. Even the couple of folks in town who liked to moan and groan about everything they could were having a good time.

Most everyone was tipsy and it was barely early evening. Normally Elsa wouldn't think she'd prefer her entire kingdom drunk but it was working out well. She'd like them all distracted while she and Anna dealt with their own situation.

"Queen Anna, you're the best you're...you're the best," said an elderly man as he half stumbled into her. Elsa resisted the urge to flinch and jump away. Anna wasn't as jumpy.

"Thank you," she managed. She turned to look for her sister but the table was blocked from her view.

"You're an even better queen than Elsa, even better," he continued.

"No you're totally wrong," said a sudden loud female voice to her right and if Elsa had her ice, she'd have immediately spook-popped a skating rink into the party. The voice came from a tall woman with black hair and what had to be the skimpiest green dress she'd ever seen worn that time of year. How was she not freezing?

"I am?" the man asked, and Elsa wanted to get out of the awkward situation but she also wanted to hear it all.

"Yea, Elsa was so...dignified and calm...so careful and wise...and Anna is-"

"Right here, she's right here!" Elsa said as she changed her mind on hearing it right away. She wasn't in the mood for anyone to diss her sister and - and was the woman somehow not aware that insulting the queen right in front of her was a bad idea?

"Anna is wonderful and fun!" the man said back. "Pay attention," he told the woman and stumbled off.

"I was going to say you balance each other out," the woman said as she proceeded to try and drink from an empty glass, glaring at it before walking away.

What on earth was that? Elsa just blinked and watched her walk off. It was a relief no fight broke out and they just snapped at each other. She also liked hearing someone defend her sister...and it was true they balanced each other out. It felt like even more reason for her to stay.

"AH Queen Anna!" A jovial voice came over the sound of the chatter and Menander broke through the crowd. He was dressed in a nice button-up shirt that was also very...roomy. He had to be swimming in it. It almost didn't match his fancy pants.

Maybe he spilled something on it. "Hello Menander! I see you started early..."

"Yes, we tried to find you first. After I walked the castle grounds, I returned to the hall only to see my men already pouring drinks and found the cooks already prepping! And so I said let's just start!" He held out his hand for hers.

Elsa didn't believe him really. He probably decided it was better to ask forgiveness than ask permission and just went ahead. Well, she wasn't mad. She held her hand out to him. "I see. Everyone seems to be having a good time, but I didn't realize everyone in town was invited."

Menander took her hand and lifted it to his lips. "Only for now! Your castle guards will escort out those who should not be here when the sun begins to dip." He kissed her hand and Elsa had to fight down some revulsion.

She didn't want anyone to do that. It felt too strange and personal even if it was an act of respect to her. "I feel they all may be too drunk by then," she told him. "The guards and the people."

"Perhaps, though most of them said they would not touch the drink until then. They still have plenty of time!" Menander claimed as he gently released her hand. His lips twitched into a kind smile. "I apologize...I realized only after that the act of kissing your hand is only for your true love."

He had noticed? Elsa's surprise was obvious as her eyes went wide. "Oh! Menander, I don't mean to offend! Really you don't have to apologize-"

Menander shook his head and then let out a little grunt as a member of staff nearly tripped into him. "Woah my friend, take it easy on the wine!" Menander laughed and steered the man in another direction before returning his attention to Elsa. "Ah I do. Queen, I must admit, one reason I started this party so early was due to the shift I felt in the air this afternoon. Something big changed, and it's good. It's beautiful! It has to do with you, of that I'm sure," he told her, grinning.

Hearing that again surprised her. How many times would that happen? "You think so? Well, I can only say I hope that you're right." She spoke carefully, unsure of whether he was trying to get some information out of her or just being his cheerful self.

"I know I'm right," he chuckled. "May I let the band begin playing? I believe dancing is key now!"

"Yes!" She looked forward to music and hopefully dancing around with Anna, maybe while everyone was drunk and didn't care what they saw...

"Excellent!" Menander gave a little bow. "I will let you get back to your love. She must be looking for you," he said with a little wink, before turning into the crowd.

Did he say 'she'? Elsa was too dumbstruck to stop him and ask him why he said that. Did he really know? He had to! Every time she had been around him he seemed to say something that indicated he knew exactly what was going on. At the same time, should she ask?

Elsa really hated how important parts of her life also had to be as confusing as possible first.

She was finally able to make her way to Anna, who was holding an empty glass and still carefully working on her waffles while chatting with Olaf. Elsaa couldn't help a smile. "You know, you can eat the waffles faster. I told you not to eat them too fast, but not even I eat that slow," she said when she was closer. She bumped Anna's shoulder with her own.

"Oh, Olaf brought me a drink and I worked on that!" Anna replied with a smile.

Olaf was smiling too. "Elsa! Something happened earlier, I don't know what, but I've never felt so great! I helped the party start early!"

Of course Olaf was involved. Elsa should have guessed he helped Menander get carried away. But nevermind that, she was intrigued by his other words. He'd mentioned feeling better that morning as well. "What do you mean something happened?"

"The magic in me seemed to grow and it felt like a heartbeat." He touched one of his stick hands to his chest and chuckled. "I know I don't have a heart or any of those other squishy organs you humans have. That's good, actually."

Elsa tilted her head a little. "A heartbeat?"

"It felt like I came to life, but again. It was comforting." He dropped his arm. "Do you know why? Did something happen?"

Anna spoke before Elsa could, taking her sister's arm as she did so. "Sort of. We'll tell you later Olaf! There's a lot going on in here right now."

"Yes," Elsa agreed and hoped he wasn't hurt. "Now's not the time, but I promise Olaf, it is good." Somehow it felt better for her decision to remain a secret between her and Anna for the time being. She didn't know why she didn't want to say more about it.

Anna cuddled against her a little. "Besides, I had this whole glass and it-it was strong."

"Oh, yea, I hope it was good. I asked Menander which bowl I should serve you and he had me use the bowl in the kitchen away from the general party," Olaf explained, and then sighed. "I really have to wait?"

"You had a whole glass in that short period of time? Anna...yes, Olaf." Elsa's attention was once again focused all on Anna. Her getting drunk didn't sound like the safest idea...

"Fiiiine." Olaf glared, but only for a second. "Oh I can't be mad. I feel too good! I still feel the heartbeat!" he exclaimed, and started to bounce off. "Have fun! I'm going to go dance!"

"Bye..." Elsa watched his sudden departure in thought. With the surge in happiness from Anna, Olaf's lifeforce was even stronger. Is that what it would mean, for her to stay there with Anna? Strength and joy growing in her magic?

The thought had Elsa more hopeful than she could remember being. She wanted to cover Anna's face with kisses, but restrained herself. "More food?" she asked instead.

"I'm full right now but...but you have some lutefisk. And are we not going to discuss what Olaf just said!?" Anna asked her with a bright smile on her face.

"Maybe," Elsa teased as Anna dragged her by the arm. "What's there to say? You and I together have done something to the magic you currently wield, and it's good. You want me to be seen as you eating lutefisk?"

Anna giggled. "I guess it is that simple right now. I'm just so happy, Elsa! Now-yes. I want you to eat it. Here, we'll just have to act...come on Anna, just try it! You might like it now!" Anna said, raising her voice.

"Um...N-no I couldn't." The only acting Elsa was good at was hiding things, she thought bitterly. "It looks gross." Her voice wasn't very convincing, all she wanted to do was eat every trace of lutefisk she could find.

Anna gave her a look, but kept on with it. "No no, I insist! Would I really say to try it if I thought it would make you unhappy? I care about you, you know. I only say these things with your best interests at heart."

Oh, was that the game they were playing? Elsa giggled and then tried to maintain her dignity out of habit as a woman walked too close to them for a second. "I know you do! But I like to argue when I really don't want to do some simple things."

"Hey! ...Aaaah yes you do. But sometimes I get really bossy for no good reason. Sisterly love I guess. I'm so shy and so bossy." Anna smirked.

"Look at you bossing me right now," Elsa said with a roll of her eyes. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt for me to listen...for once."

"No. No it wouldn't. It also wouldn't hurt for me to listen sometimes!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Elsa asked and felt she should be offended, but she was laughing instead.

"It means..." Anna stepped forward and jabbed her finger into Elsa's chest. "I should listen more when others worry about and care for me and want to help me. I don't actually carry the world on my shoulders even if I think I have to do everything for everyone."

"Yea...yea well..." Elsa faltered. "I think, I should also think about myself sometimes instead of my sister because I deserve to be happy too." It came out softer than she meant, and she wasn't sure how to act for a second.

Anna leaned closer. "We both deserve to be happy, and now that I'm staying, we both will be..."

Elsa leaned close too, wishing to capture her lips, eyes wanting to close. Before she could think about it anymore, someone tapped her on her shoulder.

"Queen Anna, my well is all funky, the water tastes like bad apples," a man slurred out and as Anna covered her mouth to laugh more, Elsa sighed and turned around to deal with it.

Elsa must have only talked to five people, but one took a very long time to tell his pointless tale with side stories every other sentence, and two people laughed so hard that one had to leave to throw up halfway through telling Elsa what their issue was. She was able to learn it had something to do with a duck made of snow - oops - but not much more than that. The music had started and it was cheerful, happy. Anyone that may have irritated Elsa had started to dance or eat. That meant she could make it back to Anna! When she did, Anna had a glass that was half-full.

"Another?" she asked.

"Olaf," Anna said simply with a wave of her hand. "Now eat the lutefisk!" she said, gesturing at the dish.

"Did you even leave this spot?" Elsa asked the question in a mumble. She did turn to take one of their thousands of dinner plates and serve herself some lutefisk. She threw on plenty of butter too. "I'm doing this to hide the taste," she announced loudly. Hopefully it covered up the sound of her stomach growling.

Anna giggled and then hurried to recover, to act poised. She started to burst regardless and again put her hand over her mouth. As she did so, Elsa spied a glittery snowman emerging from under the table behind her and sort of blowing away into the crowd. A few people made noises of surprise.

"Anna..." she hissed and started in on her food. Oh it was so good! She had to control herself and made a face as if it was gross.

It tasted like heaven and she wanted to unceremoniously gobble all of it.

"What?" Anna hissed back. "I'm doing fine! I'm acting just like you and not mingling and just eating."

"I don't do that!"

"You don't approach people either, you just sort of hang out..."

That much was true. Elsa just shook her head. "When I finish this..." She was going to suggest they dance, but again someone tapped her shoulder. She whipped around, ready to bite someone's head off. Instead of one of the staff or a citizen, it was Kristoff. "Oh..!"

He was dressed nicely. Kristoff had on pressed pants, a black shirt and a dark purple vest with the Arendellian crest on the right side. His hair was just as fluffy as usual and he smelled-he smelled good! His eyes held concern and sadness, but he looked like he was trying to suck it up. He held out his hand. "May I have this dance, Queen Anna?" he asked.

Elsa studied him. "Kristoff?" She looked over at Anna, who was staring in bewilderment. She didn't expect that either clearly. Then she looked back to Kristoff. "...Sure."

Kristoff nodded and pulled her to the dance floor.

It wasn't a total surprise. Elsa and Anna had both known that Kristoff would be expected to dance with the Queen everyone thought he was engaged to. Somehow though she hadn't thought he would approach so directly. He tentatively put an arm around her and pulled her closer as a little circle cleared for them to dance, all eyes on them. He pulled her closer still, so their faces were but inches apart. It didn't occur to her to feel awkward. It was Kristoff, her friend and someone with which no sparks flew. They were putting on a show and as she let him lead, she managed to follow into the steps.

The song was gentle, slow, and supposed to be romantic probably. She didn't care. "Elsa, I'm going to leave tomorrow," he said quietly to her. That was one reason he pulled her closer, to talk.

"So soon?" she asked, hushing her surprise.

"Yes. I need to get myself away as soon as I can or I will feel worse," he admitted, trying to keep his face from drooping.

"I...I'm sorry."

Kristoff offered a smile as best he could and she couldn't be sure whether it was for her or just appearances. "Don't be. It's not really your fault. Well...okay, I guess it is." She held back a cringe. "It's...there's stuff between you two that overwhelms anything else. I don't totally get it but I can't be to Anna what you are to her. That's, you can't help it. I think."

He was the same as always and fondness flowed through her. "I suppose we can't."

"Take care of her," he said suddenly as they turned. "Please, Elsa. Don't hurt her again. Please."

"I...won't." He was asking her not to hurt her again. Why?

He studied her and held his words for a moment. "Elsa, since the forest, since you stopped being here all the time, something broke in her."

Elsa narrowed her eyes. She didn't like hearing that from him. "Explain, Kristoff."

"She was okay for a little while. She tried. Whenever you would come home she was so happy and I saw hope. But then you would leave again and she would just shatter. Elsa, I caught her crying."

"Crying!?" Elsa asked, and nearly too loud. She immediately felt her stomach drop. Anna had been crying.

"Yes...it's been often, lately. Sometimes she even sleeps in her old room because she can't handle being in that bigger bed without you. She keeps it together in the day and tried her hardest around me, but..." Kristoff gaze flickered down to their feet as they moved about.

The crowd and music were nearly forgotten and Elsa barely caught herself stopping. She had woken up in that room, while Anna woke up on Ahtohallan. So, Anna had fallen asleep there, and possibly with tears on her cheeks...the bigger picture was that she was in so much pain she wept like that. Elsa didn't expect it. Her sister was so strong!

"Elsa?" Kristoff's voice was soft.

"But...I know how much she missed me. I know. But Anna having breakdowns over me? She's tougher than that..." Kristoff wasn't lying. Elsa just didn't like what she was hearing. Anna was emotional, sure, but even when she saw her with tears in her eyes when they said bye, surely Anna wiped them away an carried on.

Kristoff's eyes searched her face as he carefully chose his next words. "Anna is the strongest and most amazing person I've ever met. Having great strength doesn't mean she doesn't have great sadness. She feels everything deeply and that includes her need for you. And if...ha, if...since you're her other half, its more intense." There were tears in his eyes. "Please don't hurt her. If you need to go, take her with you or-or something."

"I've decided to stay," Elsa told him. That was a good thing that she had decided before knowing about Anna's state. It didn't stop her from feeling torn apart and even disgusted with herself. What the hell had she done to Anna with her own choices to follow some calling she hadn't initially understood? How bad had she hurt her by choosing to stay away? Even if she visited often, she wasn't there like before. Her vision blurred as she felt wetness in her own eyes. "I've-I've decided to stay," she repeated and tried to look at him.

"Then maybe she'll feel whole again. That's all I really want," Kristoff said, his voice cracking.

Elsa pulled him into a hug to finish the dance with as the crowd responded with several 'aaaw' sounds. She swallowed thickly and forced herself to hold back tears, resting her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Kristoff. I'm...thank you. Thank you for caring for her, for loving her."

His shoulder shook. He was doing his best to hold back sobs and Elsa said no more as she danced with him. She'd hurt Anna, and Kristoff had suffered enough as well. She was intent on staying, but a big part of her said she could potentially hurt Anna worse, somehow, and that scared her. It REALLY scared her.

The music slowed to  stop and slowly she drew back. Anxiety raced through her as she prepared herself for Kristoff's face. It was sad and stressed but he had managed not to break entirely. She quickly leaned in again, cradling his cheek in her right hand as she did so.

She wanted the best for her friend, her family.

After a moment she dropped her hand and planted a small, careful kiss on his cheek. The crowd made more noises; she ignored them. Kristoff managed to smile at her before stepping back. He still smiled as he turned slowly and began to walk away. She watched him gradually disappear into the throng of people.

The crowd began to mingle again gradually and Elsa started to move after a brief hesitation. She found Anna at the end of the dessert table with Olaf. As soon as she got to her, Anna started to greet her but was cut off as Elsa pulled her into  very tight hug. She heard a noise of surprise from Anna and relished the small sound. She wanted to be why Anna laughed happily, not while she cried.

"Elsa? What did Kristoff say?" she asked in a small worried voice.

"Oh. That...he just wants you happy, and he's leaving tomorrow." Elsa was not about to bring up the other parts.

"He's going?"

They stepped away from each other to look at Olaf. With yet another knot in her stomach, Elsa realized that in everything, he never really got informed. Olaf and Kristoff were so close. He was going to be hurt. Olaf brushed a lot off and was normally pleased as long as everyone was happy and honest. She caught an anxious look from Anna.

Elsa decided to say something. She knelt down inches from him. "Kristoff is going to the northern forest to stay with the Northulra. He's leaving tomorrow." She took his stick hand.

His eyes widened and he stared at her in disbelief. "He's leaving?"

"Yes...he is. I am staying and he is leaving." She hated putting it like that even if that was exactly what she was saying.

"He's...wait!" He placed his other hand on Elsa's. "YOU'RE staying?" The look of disbelief stayed on his face.

Slowly, she nodded. "I am. I am staying here with Anna. I belong with her," she said, resisting the urge to look up at her.

"...You're staying!" He said again and he smiled. "Elsa that's great! That's...there it is! That's the happiness  I felt earlier!" he touched his own face. "Elsa! An-and Anna from you too!"

"Yes." Elsa nodded and looked down to mask a smile. She should have known he'd be excited! "Now Olaf, Olaf go spend some time with him before he leaves. Please!"

"Oh! Oh yea! And Sven!" Olaf bounced up and started to run away as she released his hand, but he stopped just behind her. "I'm still sad," he said in a casual tone. "But I'll be alright." And with that, he was off.

Elsa watched him and suddenly noticed snowflakes drifting before her eyes. She looked up and around and noticed the small shower of gently floating flakes around her and Anna, plus that end of the table. "Anna?"

"I heard you say it again! I heard you and it makes me so happy..." She waved her glass in her had. It was still half full...with a different colored liquid.

"Anna..." Elsa pointed at the glass.

"I finished the other one and Olaf brought me this, I think he was just going to keep doing that..." she said and offered a guilty smile. "I'm glad because watching mysef dance with Kristoff was...knowing he's leaving was..."

Elsa stood quickly and took her hand. "Hey. Hey maybe slow down on those? Anna it's not even dark! And look at me, okay?"

"Hmmm?" Anna focused on her. "Yea?"

"Go back to thinking happy things, don't be sad. Um...but controlled happiness," she said as the flakes wobbled in size. "You're making it snow."

"Oh...oh!" Anna startled and stepped forward, into Elsa a little. "Mm, maybe I should have some bread.

"Maybe, where's that lutefisk?" Elsa asked, an arm around Anna's waist. She drew her to the table before noticing her lutefisk waiting for her. "Nevermind," she said and reached for a slice of seeded bread. She handed it to Anna. "Just put some more of something in your stomach, my silly Anna."

"Ooh, I'm yours now?" Anna smirked and shoved the bread in her face, trying to act like a smartass.

Mostly she just looked like Elsa drunk and eating bread. Elsa picked up her lutefisk, figuring they would both just look drunk together. She could eat her fish without pretending to be grossed out. "You've been mine for a very long time now," she said and fought the blush rushing to her cheeks. That was true, but she didn't have to say it like that.

"For a long time, for a long long time," Anna replied and leaned into her. She wrapped an arm around her. "I've loved you since I was born, so, that's a long time, huh?"

"I..." Elsa held back for a moment. "If I say yes, is that calling you old? Because I'd be calling myself really old, you know," she teased.

"I don't care," Anna said and pressed her forehead to her shoulder. "Smelly fish."

"Anna..." Oh dear. Anna hadn't even made it until night with the wine. "Perhaps you should have some ice water andWOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" Suddenly something cold was around her waist and she wiggled in a most undignified way. "An-Elsa!" she yelped as a couple of soldiers turned their eyes on them as did a few attendees.

"You said ice and I just kinda went," Anna pulled away her ice cold arm that was suddenly just dripping ice cubes.

Elsa ate her lutefisk and glared. "Thanks for that."

"Elsa can we dance? We should dance." Anna shoved the rest of her bread in her face and grabbed the plate away from Elsa before shoving it against a cheese platter on the table. Then she took her arms. "Take me in your arms and daaance with me!"

"Hey-"

"Get a damn room," a man said as he walked past them, interupting Elsa.

Anna sorted and burst into laughter as Elsa's mouth dropped open, staring after the guy. How rude! She wished she could throw a big iceball at him, but she had no powers, and Anna was laughing too much. "We have to dance, then we can go to the room!"

"Ssshh, ssh, wow!" Elsa started to step back. "Fine, let's get dancing," she told her and pulled her along.

As she did, she paid attention to the music and noticed it changing. It was a soft tinkling sound at first, slow and repeating, before a familiar melody began. It was slower than she had ever known it when she used to think of the tune often, but it was unmistakable. "Anna, this is the song you used to sing through the door...isn't it?" she asked as it continued its slow pace.

Two little flying birds made of snowflakes popped up next to Anna's head and began to flit about in the air, twirling around each other. Anna giggled more and dragged Elsa toward the dance floor. "Do you want to build a snowmaaan? Or dance with me around the haaall?" she sang along.

"Anna you need to calm down!" Elsa laughed, tripping after her.

Anna continued. "But you're around - I can't calm down at aaaall! I've got my arms around you-," she sang as she pulled her into a close embrace, "I won't let go, now that I've got you here to staaay!" She pressed her forehead to Elsa's. "Do you want to build a snowman?"

Elsa's eyes fell half closed. "No let's dance as long as we can," she added.

Anna brushed her nose gently on Elsa's. "I love you," she sang back and her eyes were actually wet.

The little birds flitted around above them and it took Elsa's a good few long moments to realize people had stopped to look at them. She tried to figure out if she cared and she sort of didn't. However, she moved her head back and started to move their feet to the continuing song. "You're an emotional drunk, you know," she said softly.

"Everyone lookin'?" Anna asked. She didn't look bothered, even if there were small tears forming. "I'm so happy I think I iced my face."

"You're crying, my tears are cold...did you not notice earlier?" Elsa was amused.

"Not really...they didn't bother me or anything, they don't now I just noticed..." Anna nearly tripped over her own feet. "Oh I'm making you look clumsy, they're going to talk about this."

"I don't care." Elsa laughed again. "Let's just keep going, at least until the sun begins to set," she told her knowing it was not long off. Then she would get Anna some water and steal her away from the rest of the party for a lot of cuddling. She had a lot to make up for.

Anna nodded enthusiastically and then stopped with a wince. Elsa could tell she made herself a bit dizzy. She held back from laughing at her silliness and just steered her slowly, avoiding any sudden twirls even if Anna pulled them into one or two.

A few people danced near them too. There were couples, there were kids dancing with each other, and probably friends. Everyone was tapping into the joy and having fun, something Elsa was grateful for. The dance and conversation with Kristoff could have gone downhill, could have been a mess but he was a good enough person not to take everyone down with him. He never had been. Anna was cushioned with her own happiness and too much alcohol so she hadn't broken down.

The sun was beginning to set and somehow all was well.

They separated as the royal guard began to escort people out. They combed through to be sure only royal staff stayed even if half the council was absolutely hammered. Elsa could see them wobbling around each other and laughing very loudly. She was happy to have avoided them all evening but with so many guests leaving it might become difficult.

It was no matter, she escorted Anna back to the table and took a glass of water just brought out. "Flick some ice into this," she told Anna.

Anna peered at it, flicked her hand, and a snowball immediately knocked the glass to the floor where it shattered. The guards looked up as Elsa buried her face in her palm. "No...no."

"I'm sorry!" Anna squeaked.

Elsa shrugged and reached for another. It was less stuffy and warm with the evening air rolling in and less of a crowd, so she didn't ask Anna to ice it. Room temperature was...safer. "Okay, no ice, just drink it."

"Fine. You should have a drink." Anna took the glass and almost spilled it as she gestured to a server bringing another bowl of a bright red colored fluid. As it was set down Elsa could smell the alcohol.

"They made that one strong." She decided one wouldn't hurt and took the ladle that was also served to get herself a full glass. "Drink your water, Anna..."

Anna nodded and started to chug it. Elsa took a sip of her drink and it was so strong she almost spit it right back out! It did taste good, though, so she gave it a chance and worked on it slowly. It was going to hit her pretty hard, she imagined.

Elsa also served them up a plate with krumkake and a pile of cheese. The dance floor was more open and the band was going, but she wasn't interested in the party anymore. "Want to get outta here?" she asked Anna playfully.

"Hmmm?" Anna blinked. "Where to?"

"Our room, but anywhere you want really," Elsa told her.

Anna thought for a moment, the rim of the glass against her lips. "I know!" she said suddenly and tugged on Elsa's sleeves since her hands were full. "Come on, come with me!" she demanded as if Elsa had any other ideas.

"Okay okay!" Elsa laughed, happy to let Anna pull her where ever she wanted to.

#Frozen 2 #fanfic #elsa #anna #kristoff #olaf #elsanna #body swap

[thatfanficstuff]

My Favorite Weapon - Chris Argent (Part 1)

Pairing: Chris Argent x reader

Warnings: uh...no.

A/N: None of this was supposed to happen. And there certainly wasn’t supposed to be a part two. Sigh. 

Request from Anonymous: Goody! :) I would like to suggest "I don't need a weapon, I am one." with Chris Argent x Reader, please?! Bonus points if it's the reader saying it. ;) Thank you! <3             

***

You’d been in Beacon Hills for about two days when you realized they had a massive supernatural problem. It figured. You’d moved from your last town because you were trying to get away from the otherworldly drama. And here you were, right back in the middle of it. Because, of course, the first friend you made would be a werewolf. But you and Derek just clicked.

Now, you were at your first pack meeting as Derek wanted to introduce you to everyone else. They were dealing with their current issue of the month and he thought they could use your help. You sat on a counter to the side as everyone filed in. Their eyes were all locked on you though no one said anything until an older man came in with a young girl you assumed to be his daughter. The two of you locked gazes for what felt like minutes but was probably only a few seconds. Derek glanced at you and arched a brow as he picked up on the chemo signals that said you were attracted to the new arrival.

You made a face and flipped him off which made him chuckle.

“Who’s this?” the man asked and your eyes found him again. The deep rumble of his voice did nothing to ease your attraction. Damn.

“Everyone this is Y/N. She’s new to town but I think she can be a big help,” Derek explained. He went around the room and introduced everyone. They certainly had a mix of supers in their little group.

“No. Absolutely not,” Chris said with a shake of his head. “The last thing we need is another untrained person getting in the way during a fight. She’ll be a liability to herself and others. Just because she knows about the supernatural doesn’t mean she should get involved in our business.” He was sexy even when he was being an ass. You were in so much trouble.

Your lips twitched as you leaned forward and rested your elbows on your knees. “Yeah, Derek. What’s the deal with just throwing me into a fight with no training or anything?”

He rolled his eyes. He’d seen you fight firsthand which is why he was so anxious to make you part of the pack. “She can fight, Chris. I’d trust her to have my back.”

Those piercing blue eyes darted over to you. “Is that true? Can you fight?”

“I’ve been known to hold my own.”

Derek gave you another look and you shrugged. You didn’t like being underestimated and you were annoyed that Mr. Sexy over there just assumed you were useless. You weren’t going to make it easy on him.

“Against a werewolf?” he pressed.

You pursed your lips. “I’ve never actually fought a werewolf.” You’d fought hybrids, witches and vampires, but no werewolves.

Chris glared at Derek who held up his hands in surrender. “Fine, Argent. Run her through her paces. You decide if she’s worthy or not.”

The teenagers in the room were just looking between the three of you, obviously entertained by this conversation. It was your understanding that Scott kid was a true alpha so you were surprised he was just sitting there, saying nothing.

He must have felt your gaze because he turned to you with a smile. “No point in getting involved in the discussion until something is said I disagree with. No offense, but we don’t know you.”

You shrugged. “I get that. You’re looking out for your pack. It’s what you’re supposed to do. I’m just not used to seeing it is all.”

He tilted his head with a frown, obviously wanting to ask you to explain. Relief flowed through you when he didn’t. You weren’t even sure you could get these kids to understand how bad a pack ruled by fear was. Hopefully, they’d never have to find out.

“Are you even listening?” that low voice snapped.

You turned to Chris with an arched brow. “Sorry, I got bored of the conversation about two minutes in.”

One of the others snorted a laugh but quickly covered with a cough.

“Glad to know this is so important to you.” He took a step toward you, glowering. As if you would be intimidated by the likes of him. You’d spent too long having to hold your ground against people that actually would hurt you to be afraid of the ones that wouldn’t.

“Chris wants you to meet him tomorrow at the house,” Derek said.

By the house, he meant the remains of the Hale house that had burnt so long ago. Why they all liked to go up there to train, fight or whatever, you had no idea. You shook your head and hopped off the counter. “Nope. Let’s get it done now. There’s no point in putting it off.”

Chris narrowed his eyes at you.

You sighed. “Look, I get it. It’s not you you’re worried about, it’s your kid. Believe it or not I do have some experience trying to keep teenagers alive under bizarre circumstances. This meeting was called to introduce me to the pack. You aren’t going to discuss anything important with me until this issue is resolved, so let’s get it done.”

So, the pack meeting became a fieldtrip out to the Hale place. Even Peter tagged along, mumbling something about watching the hunter get his ass kicked. Though you wondered if he was referring to you or Argent.

Chris and you stood in a clearing and the others settled around you. He tossed a black rod in your direction and you snatched it from the air. “That’s a good start,” he said.

You turned it in your hand. “What is this?”

“It’s a shock rod.” He pushed a button and the weapon doubled in size. “I’ve removed the power source from these. They’re strictly for training.”

You shrugged and shifted your weight on your feet. Chris did the same as Derek began to count.

“Go.”

You spent the first several minutes dodging his attacks as you sized him up and learned the way he moved. It had been awhile since you’d faced a non-supernatural opponent and frankly his slower speed was throwing you off.

Finally, you tossed the weapon to the side. You dodged a swing from one hand and blocked the arm that brought the shock rod into your space. With a twist of his arm and a shift of your weight, you rammed your shoulder into his stomach and tossed him onto his back. You heard the air leave his lungs with a grunt.

There was a stretch of silence. “Holy shit. That was hot,” Peter said, breaking it.

You flipped him off. “Stuff it, Hale.” You stood over Chris and offered him a hand. He looked between you and it for a moment before taking it and letting you help him to his feet. Once he was steady, you walked over and picked up your shock rod. You walked back to him and handed it over. “I don’t need a weapon, Argent. I am one.”

***

Of course, Chris agreed that you’d passed the test and you were welcomed into the pack. He still tested you when given the opportunity until he was convinced that you could use a gun correctly. He tried to test you on the bow but quickly relented when you showed him the crossbow was your weapon of choice. That and you could stab stuff. All that practice shoving stakes into the hearts of vampires came in handy.

They still didn’t know about your past. At first, you’d been hesitant because Chris was a hunter. He might be friends with the wolves of Beacon Hills for his daughter’s sake, but you weren’t convinced he wouldn’t send people after your friends on the other side of the country. Now, it just amused you when you continuously surprised them with your knowledge and skill. Really, if they asked, you’d tell them, but no one had as of yet.

It was now a couple of months later and you were at another meeting. This one was at the Argent’s place. Surprisingly things had been quiet lately. Still, the pack met weekly so everyone could stay informed about what was going on with their packmates. Chris had ordered pizza and the kids were eating as they talked over each other about that week’s finals.

You leaned against the kitchen counter while you ate. It wasn’t long before Derek and Chris joined you, one on each side. Peter was ‘busy’ as usual.

“Have I mentioned lately how glad I am I’m not in high school anymore?” you asked.

Both men chuckled. Chris reached behind him and grabbed a beer. He popped the cap and offered it to you. “Thanks.” You took a long drink before setting it on the counter beside you.

A couple of minutes later, Chris picked up the bottle and took a swallow before putting it back where he snatched it from. You barely even noticed, you were so used to him doing it by now. But Derek did. He took a step away from the counter as he faced your direction.

He narrowed his eyes and pointed between the two of you. “When did this start?”

Chris grabbed the bottle and took another drink as his lips twitched. He nudged your side. You pulled your attention from the teenage conversation. “What?”

Chris smirked. “Go ahead. Ask again,” he prompted Derek.

Your friend stepped in front of you to block your view of the rest of the pack and make sure he had your attention. “I asked when this started.” He gestured to the two of you again.

Your face heated. “There is no this. We’re just friends.”

Derek shifted his gaze to Chris who simply shrugged and shook his head. “I ask and she says no. Won’t tell me why so I keep asking.”

“Well, you seem very close for friends,” Derek prodded, his eyes flicking to the bottle of beer you and Chris were sharing.

“He’s not a sour wolf and he likes to cuddle,” you defended.

Derek leaned down so you were eye to eye when he smirked. “I don’t like to cuddle with you, because we’re just friends. I think you just proved my point.”

You stuck your tongue out at him because you’re mature like that. Chris laughed and ran a hand up your back. Suddenly, something one of the kids said caught your attention. You pushed Derek to the side so you could see the rest of them. “What was that?”

“Huh?” Stiles said, looking over at you.

“What did you just say?”

“I said, we’ve got a new kid in school,” he said slowly.

“Where did you say he was from?” You knew you sounded a little frantic, but this was important.

“Some little town in Virginia. Mystic Falls, I think.”

Well, shit.

#chris argent x reader #chris argent x you #chris argent imagine #chris argent fanfiction #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf fanfiction

[boogaloomagoo]

Whiskey Lullaby | Nic & Margot

We laid her next to him beneath the willow While the angels sang a whiskey lullaby

This was a bad idea. This was a genuinely foolish, poorly thought out, half-baked idea that was going to get her killed. Why had she even thought this was something she should suggest carrying out in the first place?! Margot was practically pacing a hole into the motel sidewalk, in her human form for the time being but still making certain that she was in a fairly cornered, darkened area. God, she really fucked it up this time, didn't she? Sure, I'll be your bodyguard for a potential clan of werewolves that will come for blood! TOTALLY rational and doable! What the actual fuck!? Granted, she thought she could take on two of them by herself - she had in the past. But more than that, any more than that, or an unanticipated factor being thrown into the mix, and she was utterly screwed. Well, then again, it wasn't as though she would be fighting them off alone. The guy -- Nicodemus, right -- he seemed more than capable of handling himself. If worse came down to it, they could tag-team and potentially come out with few scars. Hopefully. Groaning in her throat, the blonde finally rounded a corner before coming face to face with a door. Yeah, this was his. He'd given her the number earlier. So, all she had to do was... Swallowing thickly, she raised a fist and, after hesitating with it mid-air, rapped on the door three times.

Nicodemus felt good about himself and that should have been the first warning sign: he never felt good about himself. Existence was simply there and he was a blood-meat vessel inside of it, chugging along. But with the bottle of the American Honey that Blanche sent him, he felt decent. He hummed. He decided early on once his mouth started tingling and his fingers felt warm that he should stop sharpening his knives. Safety first, for whatever the fuck that even mattered. Somewhere outside, he knew Margot was wandering about. That went beyond his understanding, her willingness to suddenly protect him at all costs. He didn’t get it and the more he thought about it, the more his brow creased and the humming in his throat cracked. At least she hadn’t called him a hero. He would’ve lost it right then and there. Found another hopeless tree to splinter and shatter until the destruction felt good. For now, with whiskey in him, he could allow that to be what made him feel good. Small allowances. His own humming distracted him from the knocking until he heard the final one. The whiskey was doing its job at blocking things out, it seemed. Grabbing a flannel shirt to throw on from his kaleidoscope box of them, he forego buttoning it as he peered through the eye-hole. Speak of the bear. He unslipped the lock and opened the door wide, a lazy, baby-sized smile on his face. “Evenin’ Gold. Slow night out there?”

The seconds that ticked by following her initial knock seemed to roll by in slow motion, as if time had slowed after the action itself had been carried out. Or perhaps that was how Margot's mind simply perceived it - caution coiling in every taught muscle, anxiety mounting like a shadowy figure looming behind her, fingers digging so tight into her bare upper arms so as to create the indents of very angry, equally anxious little moons in the pale skin. When her ears caught onto the muffled sound of a lock being undone, she attempted to straighten her posture from it's already ramrod state, jutting her chin out slightly and placing both hands on her hips - all in order to present an image of self-assurance and confidence instead of the frightened child muttering to herself about getting in trouble that lay just below the surface. When the door finally revealed her charge, however, her shoulders slumped a bit, brow furrowed lightly in mild confusion. He was... smiling? Okay, that was definitely a shift from the negative shifts of his lips about a week ago. Not that it didn't look nice on him, but -- why? "It... I guess you could, uh, say that..." And what was-- Gold? Something - displeasure, familiarity, a simple passing sensation - something clenched within Margot's gut upon hearing the nickname. Her eyes shifted to glance into what little of his room she could view, and the glint of something caught her eye - a bottle? Or two? Soon enough she was leaning in a bit to give a tentative sniff of the air around him. The scent of whiskey; faint, but unmistakable. That explained just about everything. The blonde could feel the corner of her mouth lift up in a partially amused smirk. "I'm guessing you're having a fairly good night so far?"

The hunter blinked languidly at the bugbear. His mouth felt dry and his tongue traced around his bottom lip as he sent a cursory glance to either side of the door. Nicodemus didn’t particularly care what it might’ve looked like to some shitty voyeur. Didn’t particularly care for much, regardless. But a care was still there somewhere. He returned to look at Margot, back straight and her posture screaming professionalism. All she needed was a badge and uniform, then she’d look ever the part. ‘Do you know how fast you were going?’ A low laugh started in his chest and he fought to keep it down, his hand coming up to cover his mouth. Damn, his cheeks felt warm and he bit his lip to draw the blood somewhere else. He hated that he was one of those blushy drinkers. “I don’t think there’s any wolves in the room,” he said, eyes casting up and to the right as he thought. He placed his hand low on his hip once more. She was smirking at him and dark brows rose when his eyes fell on her again. “Goin’ well so far, yeah. I’m enjoyin’ the fruits of my labor.” With his upper body turned, he gestured to the bottles of Wild Turkey American Honey. God bless Blanche Harlow and her fake ID. “At least I ain’t doin’ it dead ass in the middle of the woods somewhere. Then you’d really have your work cut out for you, huh?” He was talking a lot and not drinking enough, but now he had a guest and his expression brightened by a fraction. Southern hospitality and the need to pour himself another shot kept him locked between her and the doorway. “You allowed to drink on the job, Gold? Plenty for two.”

Blue eyes watched his facial expressions shift with a silent curiosity. Alcohol had such an intriguing effect on people - some could be swayed into a flurry of anger, others drowning in their sorrows the deeper they sank into a bottle. And then there were those whose spirits seemed to lift with each shot, higher and higher until they were floating happily on a cloud that nobody else but themselves could see. Where the hard lines were akin to rusted-gears that had seemed to ground out each furrow of his brow and every frown, there was now a smoothness, an ease with which his features rose and fell. He was definitely in a better mood than the night they met - although, Margot could argue that from their conversation online, he didn't exactly seem to be a person whose dander was always up. But to see him so obviously relaxed, possibly even, dare she say - bordering on a giggly drunk? "Yeah, I definitely would not recommend that. I'd hate to have someone catch a bear hauling a boozy guy back to his hotel room. Not that I'd mind," Or would she? Should she? There was far too much effort tacked onto that particular train of thought, and so Margot decided to focus on his offer instead. She quirked her mouth to the side, glancing over her shoulder as though someone of import might be watching their exchange. "I..." She hesitated for another beat before releasing the grip on her hips, nodding fervently. "Sure. Why not? It is a pretty slow night, after all," She noted with a small, appreciative smile up towards him.

He watched her thoughts cross over her face, a thoughtfulness to it that he wasn’t expecting. He had expected her to leave, go back to whatever post she had picked and leave him by himself. But she hadn’t and she was engaging with him. A lot of people were talking to him a lot more lately and Nicodemus didn’t know how to process it, like a kernel that wouldn’t come out of the garbage disposal. Kept clacking around in his head and confusing him. “Well, cher, you did say you were a big ass bear,” he said with a slow smirk of his own, his words heavy with Cajun drawl. “That sounds like somethin’ a big ass bear wouldn’t have a hard time doin’.” His fingers lightly tapped at the door frame as she considered his offer. Again, he’d expected a no. A quick getaway and a shrug, that was it. But then she was nodding at him and he fought hard to keep his mouth from parting in shock. Oh, she had agreed. What the fuck? Right, alright. He offered, she accepted. A smile shifted his shock away. Sometimes shit didn’t always go the wrong way and while he could barely grasp on that watery concept, droplets still remained on his fingertips. It took him a minute that felt like an hour before he cleared his throat and returned her nod with a slow, deliberate one of his own. He stepped back to the side and gave her space to enter. He wasn’t a particularly messy individual and he was glad that sober Nicodemus had bothered to put the knives and guns away in safe places. Very little in the room said much about him, aside from the snowglobes, whiskey bottles, and the half-read copy of The Count of Monte Cristo. His thumb traced the pulse in his neck. “Help yourself. Honey whiskey alright? Ain’t just askin’ because you’re a...” His voice lowered thoughtfully as he closed the door, a secretive smile tweaking the corners of his lips. “Y’know.”

Oh. Right. She had... actually referred to herself as that in their online conversation. Another effort to prove herself hardy enough to take on the task of being a competent guardian for him. Right. Sometimes, Margot truly did wonder why she chose certain phrases, but in reality most of them were taken from either television or what she'd heard other people around her age utilize. It just seemed like an accurate depiction at the time. "Exactly, totally what I am. So, not out of the realm of possibility at all," Was he all that surprised that she had accepted his offer? Perhaps. It wasn't as though either of them came off as particularly social, which actually worked a bit in her favor. He didn't seem the type to pry, and Margot wasn't fond of those who did. So far, everything was playing out smoothly. Stepping past the threshold into his room, her gaze idly found itself lingering on his frame for a moment, noting the unbuttoned flannel with a bit of familiarity. She herself had a cornucopia of them, varying patterns and makes, due to the functionality and comfort factors. Flannel was a good thing. Next she focused on the interior of the small room, hands once again finding purchase grasped onto her arms in front of her chest - a protective sort of stance, but not exactly defensive. Not at the moment. Oh, wow, had he really just...? A prompt snort flew past her lips, head tilted back to regard him with a quizzical yet amused expression. "I'm more of a berry girl, if we're being honest. But honey'll do just fine," Her own lips curved up of their own accord, arms lowered to hang a bit more loosely; guard slowly lowering. "Or was that a blonde reference? Goldilocks? Barbie? Hell, I could go on all night.”

Nicodemus held his hands up in mock surrender. "Won't catch me sayin' different." Fuck, it felt so strange to invite someone in. The smile and the heat up in his neck, living in his cheeks, were well and truly alive. But there was a cold in him that burned hotter than any fire that liquor could start. Frigid and near-death since before he knew what death meant. Loneliness is a shield, solitude is a weapon. If any of you isn't made of steel or iron, what use is it? Softness served nothing except the dead. It didn't serve him. Yet he clicked the door shut behind him, grabbed one of the plastic hotel cups, and started to pour honey into ice. "Nothin' pretty. In fact, it started lookin' cleaner after I got here." Fill the emptiness with noise. He took a sip and felt better. Did she just snort? Yup, he was feeling good again. Smiled at her as he offered her a clean cup. "Guess we're just gonna have to compromise then, huh?" The flush was there again and he moved away, occupied himself with the small gathering of things on his table. It didn't do well to idle. Too much could happen if he did. At her question, he turned back to look at Margot. "Your hair, uh, it's like gold. Honey gold. Whatever. Y'know what I mean. Don't think they have bugbear Barbie yet. " He shook his head and rubbed at the back of it. Tugged at the back of his flannel shirt. "Y'want ice?"

"Good," Margot fixed with a stern gaze void of any actual seriousness, the upturn of her lips giving that away quite easily. The step that she had taken, both physically and metaphorically, entering a portion of his life by going into his hotel room, was beginning to feel less daunting the more she took in the surroundings. They weren't unfamiliar; she and her father had stayed at the Traveler's when they initially arrived in town. And she could clearly recall not wishing to linger here any longer than they had to. Now, however, in a room that was obviously being more lived in compared to a one-night stay, there was a sort of... coziness, that couldn't be denied. Indeed it looked a lot cleaner than their room, a soft hum of approval at the insinuation. "I don't doubt that. I seriously didn't see one maid the couple nights I stayed here," Pale fingers rose to take the cup from him with a gentle thanks, glancing down into the contents before taking a sip. She couldn't help but shiver, face puckering as the sting rode it's way down her throat. And then he was mentioning her hair again and, in favor of focusing on his last question, she took a step towards him. "Do I know? Never had anyone call it honey gold before," She then tilted her head, allowing the loose waves to cascade a bit with the motion. She wouldn't deny it - Nicodemus intrigued her. All new people did, but based on how they had met, he could definitely be classified as a special case.

“I’ve got a running theory that the place is run by vamps and ghosts,” Nicodemus said, a slight conspiratorial edge to his tone. “I haven’t seen a soul since I got here.” He looked at her curiously. He knew little to nothing about her, but that was changing. She knew French, liked Secret of Nimh for some fucking reason, had her own little shack in the woods, and had stayed in the Traveler’s Rest as well. Whether or not that last one established some sort of camaraderie, he wasn’t sure. Staying at the place felt like passing through a certain veil into a next world. Or that was just the effect the town had on his head, let alone the whiskey. The whiskey that had her face puckering and he let out a little laugh. “Sure as shit ain’t berry, is it?” He wondered what the berry stuff she liked was and if it would be worth trying one day. That thought was short-lived. His brows pinched together as she stepped closer to him and he tipped his head back slightly to look down at her. Did she just shake her hair at him? The image of a bear once towering over him, fur splitting into gold, rooted him in place. A sip of his whiskey followed before he answered, his gaze holding hers. “”Spose you don’t,” he rumbled out with the slightest lift in his shoulders. “Probably haven’t had to play bodyguard for anyone either. Off to one hell of a start in a series of firsts, huh?” He smiled, his teeth making a rare appearance before they were gone just as quick. The hunter held the tip of his tongue between his canines. “Guessin’ that’s a no to the ice.” A step back and the space between them widened as he took a seat at the rickety table he tried to balance out with the bible from the nightstand. “Sure I’ve got some cards around here or somethin’...”

Ghosts were a concept she could readily agree with. They meandered the woods a great portion of the time, and in her bugbear form were not only visible, but could be interacted with as well. Some didn't care to pay Margot any attention, but there were those who would talk for hours, even when she couldn't technically communicate back. But they still remained a good company for the most part. Vampires, however - vamps - Margot couldn't help but seal her lips to contain the mounting laughter rising up her throat. Once she was certain she had a decent grasp on herself, she nodded, albeit a bit reluctant to admit that was the reason for not seeing anyone around. "Could be? Not that the ghosts I've met make it a habit of running motels, but, maybe that's a side-job they don't talk about," Observing Nicodemus, Margot came to the assumption that he likely had a 'running theory' about quite a lot that went on in White Crest. He didn't seem the type to be overly paranoid, maybe a healthy dosage like she herself possessed. Or was she attempting to find similarities that simply weren't there? Either way, she had gotten him to laugh, even if at a bit of her own expense - that was progress. She shook her head, lips smacking as the taste lingering on her tongue and a shiver ran through her frame. "Nope! Not even close... But this is good, too. Put's hair on your chest," Her palm thumped atop her own as if to prove the point, letting out a minor cough. Ah, there was that contemplative look, directed solely on her. She never felt the urge to wither beneath it, like when most men of his stature and demeanor would gaze at her. Then again, it was fairly obvious to her that Nicodemus didn't fit into the category of 'most men' at this juncture. "Not by choice, no. There were times, but... yeah, this is new. I don't regret it, though," She felt the need to tack that last part on quickly, fingers clenched a little tighter around the cup. When he distanced himself, she took a moment to wade through a thickness that felt far too similar to loss, and quickly tipped the remnants of her drink down her throat. Oof, that burned something fierce. Gasping out a rough exhale, she shook her head and followed after him - not sitting, but standing just a few feet across from where he rested. "If not, we could always play Never Have I Ever. I've heard it's a good game when you wanna get to know people," And I'd like to get to know you.

Nicodemus rubbed a hand over his bare jaw before he tapped at his bottom lip thoughtfully. “Know many ghosts, huh?” Somewhere in him, beyond the steadily increasing tide of honey liquor, he recalled that bears and ghosts were familiar with each other. But it was a surface-level understanding. It was enough of one to get by with, enough of one to act on whenever the time and the money called for it. In his hotel room, with the air conditioner set to comfortably cool, time and money had little to do with him or Margot. “Don’t recall ever meetin’ one, so I ain’t puttin’ off ghost motel just yet,” he said offhandedly, a slim assured smile present. If he kept running theories, checking numbers, he wouldn’t get lost in thought. Getting lost in his head was a dangerous road to stumble on. It would lead him deeper into territory unknown, territory like not allowing death to come for a bugbear. He wondered what that meant for him. He didn’t believe in fate and nothing believed in him, yet...He looked at her. There it was, getting lost in thought. The hunter looked into his plastic whiskey glass like both an epiphany and an epilogue. It brought him back and he glanced up at her. Up at her because she was still standing. The familiarity of the moment wasn’t lost on him and for a breath of time, he just looked up at her. How the hell did either of them get there? What made him worth protecting and what made her worth saving? Thoughts and considerations so rusted in his head that they ground together like teeth in a restless sleep. And then he smirked. “Not regrettin’ it too much either. Y’know you can sit,” he said with a laugh like the hum of an engine. A machine loosened by the liquor in his gears, in his head. He slid his hand across the table to tap at the open spot across from him. “I won’t bite you or nothin’.” She wasn’t kidding when she said she preferred something smoother like berries. Even then, she still humored the heat he offered and that was a perplexing thought. Never Have I Ever. Reflexively, like blocking a hit, he sat up a touch straighter and loosely folded his arms across his chest. “I’ve never heard of that one,” he admitted but didn’t rebuff. He was curious. Slowly, he nodded. “How does it help you get to know people?”

"A few. Definitely way more here in White Crest," Which was saying something when you took into account that the world was literally teeming with ghosts to those who held the ability to see and interact with them. "They, uh, they're pretty conversational. Which kinda sucks because the most I can do is grunt and nod along to what they're saying," A bemused smile flitted across Margot's lips at the memories of her walks alongside those numerous spirits, and she nursed her bottom lip gently. "I could always shift and see where they hang out. Tell you which spots to avoid or, y'know, where they hide all the soaps and shampoos," A sly wink turned in his direction, peach-toned lips curving into a mischievous smile. She could certainly find plenty of ways to benefit him if she so chose to - the real question was why would she?

Did all of this stem from the fact that he had saved her? It seemed the only plausible explanation, mainly due to the fact that aside from her father and... well, nobody else had. Not in such a dire situation, where most others would have simply turned away and let nature run it's course. And then in a blur of screams and growls and blood and fur and torn flesh - he was there. She was growing uncomfortable with musing on the why's and the how's, though, because it never stopped at face value for her. She could tear away into the depths of people's motives, whether she needed to or not, and the possibilities, the never knowing, haunted her more than she could ever express. So, she wouldn't dwell. Now, she would sip at her whiskey, slide into the seat offered to her, settle back and regard Nicodemus as he simply was in the moment - a person. Though her brows arched in mild surprise at his next assurance. "Well, that's good to know. 'Cause I definitely bite back," She paused, then immediately chuckled, low and hearty, fingers loosely splayed in front of her lips. Whoa, where had that come from? Was it too forward? Fuck it - they were drinking whiskey in his motel room. Fuck verbal caution.

"Okay, so, it's basically a drinking game. One of us says something we've never done before. But if you have done it, you drink. And we go back and forth, yadda yadda, and in the end one or both of us just get entirely shit-faced. Sounds fun, right?" She had leaned forward a bit in her explanation, front row of teeth gleaming as she beamed at him, before motioning to her cup with a small quirk of her brows. "Gonna need a filler, though." Ghosts didn’t make any sense to him. A controversial thought considering what Nicodemus did for a living. People died and that was it. It didn’t pay to believe in anything that came after. He didn’t have anything to tether him to the world. Why Margot would smile about ghosts, he wasn’t sure, but she seemed...happy about it. Not that he was someone that could recognize happiness unless it pressed against the back of his eyes with a knife edge. But she looked happy about it and he got caught up in that thought, wound up tight that he didn’t speak for a long moment. “I don’t know about your bodyguard duties dipping into incorporeal territory, Gold,” he finally said with a raspy laugh. “But if I start feelin’ haunted, I’ll let you know.”

The pad of his thumb rubbed blindly against his fingers as he alternated them. A slow circle before he moved onto the next. The rest of him was motionless, yet some part of him always needed to be in motion. Perhaps that was why he hardly slept. He wouldn’t blame it on anything else, like a sudden resurgence of conscience or deep thought. ’Cause I definitely bite back. The hum in his throat caught and he threw back the rest of his drink to chase down any thought that was surging up. “Jesus fuck,” he coughed out as he adjusted in his sea to close the centermost button of his flannel shirt. He felt like fire, like burning itself. “Went down the wrong pipe, boy howdy.”

The hunter offered Margot a dry smirk, looking between her eyes and her hair. The latter, an odd object of fixation that he felt far more comfortable attributing to the drink in him than anything else. A drink that he needed more of. “Alright, I think I got the gist of it,” he said with a nod as he unscrewed the bottle and topped himself off. The hunter’s eyes focused on her cup as he leaned forward, his fingers on hers for a brief moment as he held her cup and filled it just the same as his. “Guess I’ll start?” He asked as he sat back, lifting his eyes to look at her. “Never have I ever...sang drunk karaoke.”

"Then you should've gotten the silver package. Comes with a guarantee of protection against 'Ghosts and Ghoulies' of all kinds. It's not too late to add it on, either. Just two easy payments of diner turkey clubs," Mmm, did she love those sandwiches. Then again, there wasn't much in the food department that she couldn't rightfully stand. But what surprised her more than the fact that he was willing to pay her in food was how... open, she currently felt. Not 'open' in the sense that Margot would be willing to spill every secret about herself to an... acquaintance? No, it was the much safer kind, the one that would ramble on about being a flannel aficionado and lover of all movies with Madeline Kahn.

Maybe it was the whiskey. The burn had filtered out after her last drink, leaving a pleasant warmth to reside in her limbs and belly and head. That familiar sensation of being grounded yet floating at the same time encompassed her entirely, and every time he would look her way, there was always a trace of a smile playing on her lips. Even when he seemed to choke on his own gulp, and she made a 'Pffft!' sound before covering her mouth with widened eyes. "Oh cripes, are you... yeah, you're fine, you're fiiine," Her momentary worry formed and dissipated in the same blink of an eye, hers finding themselves lingering on the fingers buttoning his shirt before shifting to her cup.

Then he was filling her cup, which apparently meant that his large fingers find purchase around her slim ones. The digits didn't tense, for once, instead focused on the sensation, savoring it for a later memory that might mean something or nothing at all. This time there wasn't a coldness to his retreat, just a tingle along the skin as she raised the cup slightly, already prepped to take a sip. And down it went with his first Never, the corners of her mouth raised high in fond recollection. "It was the summer of 2013," She began after lowering the drink, tongue prodding the corner of her mouth, "My dad and I had literally just... stopped at this bar after our shift - we worked at the same welding factory, then - and it just so happened to be Karaoke night. We were a couple beers in since we lived within walking distance of our place, and, I kinda gave my dad this look... I had to drag him on stage, but, eventually we got up there and belted out Queen. God, I wish I had a camera for it, we. Were. Amazing," Margot chuckled at the memory, before righting herself in the chair and clearing her throat. "Okay, okay. Never have I ever... gotten so drunk I blacked out."

“Oh, now I gotta upgrade? I think you’re startin’ to swindle me here, Gold,” Nicodemus huffed, his shoulders shaking with the quiet laugh. With the liquor burning in him, it felt alright to laugh. It almost felt alright to live. With the fire in him, he wasn’t as much of a rundown cathedral of fallacies. Lost to time, lost to decay. Mossgrown and tired. His skin felt alive under his own fingers, pads tracing lines and faint scars across his palm. “Here I thought you were just wantin’ to put that you donated to charity on your tax forms by bein’ here.“ His laughter continued in spite of his own self-degradation. He was untouchable. He was damn near as open as a church on Sunday, yet one door still remained closed.

He swallowed down the irritation of his throat and chose to numb it with more whiskey. That was how it worked. That was how it always worked, didn’t it? “It ain’t gonna be this that kills me.” He half-assedly raised his plastic glass like a false king. A king of nothing, not even the lone inheritance to the Bossier name, and there was freedom in that. As small as it was, considering the way he willingly bound himself to the life of hunting. The Bossier name meant little, but he took pride in what he did. He looked at her. It wouldn’t be the booze that killed him. Maybe it would be letting someone in. He passed that thought over and leaned in.

Margot was a great storyteller. Far better than he was. She didn’t stumble over her words quite like he did, or answer in minute grunts when someone laid their life out for him. There was a liveliness to the way she spoke that kept him focused entirely on her, his fingers no longer swirling and his heel no longer bouncing. She spoke of her father with such fondness that he almost felt that ugly green creep up. He didn’t know his dad and considering the way he fucked off to nowhere, it didn’t matter. But her story did and he smiled down at the table when she finished, his hand against his neck as he learned. At her next Never he grunted and shrugged, throwing back a quarter of his own drink. “Once. It’s real hard for me to get there, constitution an’ all, but hoo boy, when I got there, I got there,” he said with a shake of his head. “I was headin’ out of New Orleans for the last time and I hit up Bourbon Street. It’s, uh, notorious for its indecency. Anyhow, I just kept drinking at bars until they kicked me out and I just made my way down.” He pantomimed walking down the street with two fingers. “Stopped by every bar. I think it was the second to last where I don’t remember what happened. Woke up in an alley with beads and, uh, someone’s bra across me like a bandolier. Might’ve been two.” His face heated at the memory. It didn’t occur to him to consider how he got there. That he had heavily thought about smothering his mindless grandfather just an hour before he took to the street. “Alright, alright. Think I’m gettin’ the gist. Never have I ever...Never have I ever been awake for two days straight.”

The smile that began inching across the stretch of Margot's lips was soaked in impish glee, tongue poking out to dip across and savor the lingering hint of whiskey. At heart, she yearned to enjoy life - had been brought up to believe that in the most quaint and quiet and simple of environments, lay the most cherished of memories made, and for the making. The closed off exterior lent itself for others to believe the opposite. She was a paranoid shut-in whose only solace was finding out new ways to seal herself off from the world and it's many, many dangers. Her father had inadvertently aided in creating that image, though she knew it was born from the right reasons. They had no other means of protecting themselves where physical altercations weren't concerned. "You don't 'gotta', just a suggestion. I'm looking out for you here, dude.”

The idea of Nicodemus being a charity case struck a sour chord, and her smile faltered slightly, eyes lowering to stare down at her cup. With the air of calm bemusement that settled between them, she idly wondered if this was solely being done out of regard for his safety. Right now, she was enjoying herself, enjoying another's company. That... just didn't happen very often in her life. Not outside of herself and her father.

Obviously he had fallen prey to her next Never, and she watched with eager fascination as he downed his own gulp, awaiting the story behind his reaction. Already she felt the beginnings of a smile curl upon her lips, but she attempted to stave it off for as long as possible. Though she couldn't stop a snort from arising from her, head bowed slightly. "Mm, that's... definitely interesting," She would have asked what size bra it was, but he seemed sufficiently bashful about the entire ordeal, so she wouldn't pry for the time being. Still it was enough for her to snicker lightly. Until his next Never. Her laughter trailed off into silence, and she tilted her cup with loose fingers before raising it to her lips in a long swig. Not pleasant. "Definitely done that before. Not because I wanted to.”

The strangeness of the situation settled over Nicodemus as he watched Margot smile and much like when someone cried around him, the inebriated felt compelled to match it. His large hand wrapped around the small plastic cup as he tapped out a nameless rhythm. No gun in his hand, no knife between his teeth. Somewhere else, he might've felt vulnerable. On edge and looking for an out. But he didn't. He didn't think whiskey was the reason for that. Why he felt comfortable around Margot, he wasn't sure and that uncertainty made his fingers tap. Tap not clench. She didn't have to give a shit that danger was lurking for him around every corner, under every crack. He himself didn't give a shit. "Yeah, yeah, I hear you," he mumbled, looking down. "Still gettin' used to that shit."

Her demeanor shifted and he frowned at himself. Rude and dismissive, he absolutely could be. A lifetime of no social contact other than his grandparents and the occasional stranger in the front yard with hard eyes had left him ill-prepared for company. A killing machine, yes, but a social butterfly? He was a hornet. To consider being anything else was death.

They were drinking again and he welcomed the burn of distraction. "Interestin' is a word for it, yeah." He rumbled when he laughed, slim crows feet landing at the corners of his eyes. Nose scrunched. The hunter shifted as she downed her next Never. Suddenly, he wasn't interested in the next Never and more interested in the story behind what she didn't say. Her response said enough. "Ain't keen on it either if I'm bein' honest with you, Gold. Don't sleep much these days. This," he paused as he added a little more to his cup. "Is supposed to help. Mostly doesn't, but hey, placebos been around long enough, ain't they?" His tongue prodded his bottom lip as he chewed over the question. "Can I ask what happened?"

Margot could have guessed the exact words before they formed in his throat. It was only fair, considering that they had both divulged the details of their respective Nevers thus far. Of course, she also hadn’t meant for the game to take such a three-sixty where it concerned the mood of said truths. Margot’s lips twitched to the side, becoming a tightly clamped seal. Her hesitance was worn like a flashy outer garment - there was no need to hide it, and with Nic being as perceptive as she believed him to be, it wouldn’t have done any good either way. Her chest felt suddenly far too tight, as if the whiskey had burned too deep, siphoning a portion of air from her lungs. Constricted and in desperate need of release. She exhaled, long and slow through her nose, before forcing a smile onto her features. One that appeared almost as pained as she felt.

“You make a habit out of something, you’re bound to make yourself believe in it. Hell, maybe it actually does work in some weird, twisted way. Enough that you don’t stop,” She wasn’t directly referring to Nic or his issues with alcohol, nor would she ever. Vices were, and should be, to each their own. Her father had them, her mother once, and she certainly held a fair amount. Coping was coping - whether a mechanism or a method.

Talking things out was supposedly a method. A shitty one, far as she was concerned. But, the game was the game. “I was thirteen. And… we had just moved. Again. Maybe the fifth time… Sixth? No, no fifth, I remember. We’d come from Dulvey - it was so fucking humid, and we were in the car, sweating out every ounce of water we’d poured into ourselves. ‘Cause the air condition had stopped working a while back, and we never got the chance to fix it. Not before dad… had his feeling,” A bitterness laced the word, lines reminiscent of a scowl forming along each side of her lips. “See, after… stuff happened, my dad got real paranoid about hunters. Not animal ones - hunters who go after people like me. People who aren’t people, in their eyes. And he swore we were about to be found out by this group of guys he worked with. Said they were asking him too many questions, didn’t like the way they’d look at me when I stopped by to visit him. So, we packed the little we had and just... left. We were living out of a motel at the time, barely stayed longer than four months. We never stayed in one place very long. And dad… God, he was so fucking tired. And I knew how to drive, so I did. Three days, we just drove. Or we’d stop and rest, but when he thought I was asleep, I never was. I couldn’t. ‘Cause all I could think of was ‘The moment I close my eyes, they’ll catch us. The moment I let my guard down, that’s when they’ll come’. So we drove, and I didn’t sleep until we made it to the next state. And even then it felt wrong,”

By the time Margot had finished, her body had sagged, eyes slightly hazy as they stared listlessly at the table below her. She should come up with another Never, a part of her mind echoed. But the other half wondered what the point was to all of it. To any of it. 

Nicodemus watched her without blinking. As warm as the whiskey had made him feel, it seeped out of him fingers first. Not at all unlike the dispassionate cold in which he rounded up still-warm bodies and dropped them off. Not at all unlike cold, crisp dollars in his hand. In his pocket. Supposed he made a habit out of that too. But he didn't believe in it. Didn't believe in anything. He believed in the certainty of an odd number of bullets and the evens that leveled out at the end. His jaw tightened to a painful, sharp angle. He let go of the cup before the plastic started to crack but not before he tipped it back down his throat. His bad habit. He pulled away from the table, receded like a slow wave. A sick sense of humor burned his belly like acid as he listened to her tell her story, tell her fears, tell her tragedy. Hadn't his started the same? The death of a mother. The fear, the uncertainty, the knife's edge of oblivion that whispered a moon song. The kind of song that kept him dancing, blood like ribbons around his wrists. Or chains. When he closed his eyes thirty years ago, sleep evaded him. Sleep was where the demons came. Vulnerability was an open door, for either a hand to hold you or a hand to bite you. Either one could end it all. Bite his own hand and he could suffer alone. Decades old scars patterned his palms, cut off his lifelines before. Disconnected him from the then and the now.

As she finished, near lifeless and colorless, he said nothing. Maybe that was the knife. Maybe that was why he never asked for names. Names meant something. Completed faces and eyes in a way that unnerved him. The hunter exhaled a slow, steady breath through his nose as he finally allowed himself to blink. She looked at the table as he looked at her. His eyes narrowed. His tongue pressed against the sharp point of his teeth until he tasted his own blood and swallowed it. The poor excuse of a fan overhead circled precariously. His eyes slid past her, to the dim clock on the table. To the slip of a moon peeking in through the curtains that never closed right. Warmth crept in at his neck. His hands slid to the table. A lone finger began to tap dully against the wood. The finger just to the right of his trigger finger. She must have had an idea what he was. How he tore a wolf in two with just a silver knife and that damnable Bossier spirit. The one he couldn't seem to exorcise himself of. If you bleed, make the other bleed more. Wordlessly, he grabbed the bottle of whiskey and drank it entirely. He screwed the cap back on and set it down. Now well-oiled, Nic cracked open his iron jaw.

"Fear keeps you awake. Sometimes you have to kill it to sleep at night."

His voice was low, devoid of that mirth from before. Why didn't she just tear him in two if she even had the inkling of what he was? She could do it. Her bite was stronger. For as hard as his eyes were, the edges of his face softened. Waned under her presence.

"If I put my head down right now…" he glanced back to look at the misshapen form of a pillow behind him. "What's gonna happen, Margot?"

As easily as the game had begun, it had slowed to a halt. If anyone recognized that all good things came to an end, it was Margot. The moment he had asked, the second the story came to mind, the aching pause before it had finally rose in her throat - all frustration and bitter bile waiting to be expelled, not viciously, not spat; it drooled from her, drained thick and heavy and cloying, unending like the searing road had stretched over those long three days. No matter how many times she had repeated the entirety of events inside of her head, it never seemed to be enough. And like a poison of the stomach, it churned and circled and only grew in acidity until it seemed to eat away at her from the inside out. She had emotionally vomited right in front of a man who she had seen only once before, had seen bare and exposed, had talked to even less. And her belly still ached from the purge.

She didn't watch him, or maybe it was couldn't. More had been said between them than the simple telling of a story; she was certain he had to be aware of that. Nic wasn't stupid. That was both a relief, and a blatant danger. And the longer she sat with him, becoming aware of his mannerisms, his voice, had traced the sharp edge of his jaw when it thrust against skin and was certain it could cut diamond if he wished to do so, the more she began to realize that her forced naivety could not, and would no longer last. He was what he was, what they all were, and she had come to that realization before they sat at a table together in a crappy motel room. It dawned on her the moment he decided not to kill her.

Why did that seem so long ago, now?

Her gaze finally lifted, only to flicker to the bottle as it was hefted into a firm grasp and emptied of its remaining drops. Not unlike the second he drained the life force from that wolf. Swift, and decisive. Yes, that's what he was. There was no more room for a maybe. And she was, and suddenly stood once his question had lingered a few moments into the silence between them. For all the listlessness that had been her form prior, Margot righted herself fully; tall, proud, sharp. Blue gaze locked onto his features as she inhaled, fingers curling towards her palm atop the rickety surface. “I told you,” Exhale; fingers slowly splayed out as she approached him, the edge of the grey cardigan draped around her shoulders brushing against his arm. A small, almost sad smile formed, features softening in… it wasn’t understanding, but acceptance. 

“I’ll protect you,”

#para: nic #para: whiskey lullaby #//aka 'Lora kills Ash many times over'

[lamourche]

We Float | JHS

Pairing: Hoseok/Reader

Genre/au: Massage Therapist Hoseok

Tags: Agoraphobia, Sad Backstories, Angst with Happy Ending, Freeformish, y/n discusses an emotionally abusive relationship she was in before the story starts, hopefully not as depressing as these tags make it seem.

Words: 9791

a/n: Last year I was listening to too much PJ Harvey and wrote this fic. It is a little self-indulgent but what ff isn’t?

Summary:

Might as well get this over with. You sigh and raise your hand to knock, steeling yourself for patchouli and shell necklaces. The door opens. A face peers out at you. There’s no beard, no long shaggy hair. For a moment, you wish he did walk around shirtless. He’s handsome. He’s taller than you, with brown hair that almost falls into his eyes and undercut on the sides. Warm brown eyes and a cute nose. It’s fucking cute his nose. He’s wearing cargo shorts, a Hawaiian shirt and white crocs. Well, that’s better. He’s still handsome and his kind eyes make you want to confess some prior sin, but it’s easy to scowl at a guy in white crocs.

x

x

Big Exit

You shiver, raising your eyes to the darkening summer sky. The afternoon heat no longer lingers after work.

Hitching your massive bag laden with your ancient laptop and your study guides higher on your shoulder, a sharp, sudden pain spreads from the base of your skull to your shoulder-blades. You grind your teeth to stop yourself from making a sound like a dying pig.

If this doesn’t work, you are royally fucked.

You walk down the uneven cement steps leading from the sidewalk to the basement apartment.

Of course, this guy, a massage therapist who works out of his home, has potted plants surrounding the front door. Each looks carefully tended as if small birds land at sunrise for an early morning chit-chat. Of course there are vines grasping at the brick wall. They strive for what little sunlight reaches the narrow entry. Of course soothing music floats out the open window covered by a shear, purple-ish scarf.

This guy probably has a beard and walks around shirtless. He's going to talk at you about auras and chakras.

As if to scold you for your unkind thoughts, your neck seizes. Cursing under your breath, you reach the door. You just stand there, not knocking.

The problem is, the doctor is talking about surgery—expensive, many weeks of recovery with no paycheck—surgery. The muscle relaxants are so tempting and the pharmacy so willing to call your doctor for a refill (which she permits again and again), that you know it’s time to give them up. They work too well. They leave you too content in your tiny pre-furnished apartment by the freeway with your suitcases still packed, as if there were someplace else to go.

You spend those evenings in a daze watching dramas on your phone. The next thing you know the sun’s gone down, and you haven’t eaten. You can’t fall asleep, either. No longer in pain but unable to turn off the thoughts that wander and float in your brain, like the cars that whoosh past. You don’t even mind that you can’t sleep, you’re too content to just exist without excruciating pain. In the morning, too many cups of coffee do little to revive you.

It doesn’t bother you, is the problem. The fact that you can’t always remember where you left your wallet or if you left your apartment unlocked. You’re too content to exist in a fog.

So, a weekly massage in a basement apartment with a guy that probably calls everyone "buddy" and likes to talk about how Burning Man has become too corporate is worth it, right? It’s worth not having surgery. It’s worth not taking the pills.

Might as well get this over with. You sigh and raise your hand to knock, steeling yourself for patchouli and shell necklaces.

The door opens.

A face peers out at you. There is no beard, no long shaggy hair. For a moment, you wish he did walk around shirtless. He’s handsome. He’s taller than you, with brown hair that almost falls into his eyes and undercut on the sides. Warm brown eyes and a cute nose. It’s fucking cute his nose. He’s wearing cargo shorts, a Hawaiian shirt and white crocs.

Well, that’s better. He’s still handsome and his kind eyes make you want to confess some prior sin, but it’s easy to scowl at a guy in white crocs.

It’s the fucking easiest, actually. This makes you feel better for some reason.

But instead of welcoming you or asking you for your sign or talking about how your aura needs work, he looks around you to the street. He gives you a tight smile.

"I’m here for the five o’clock appointment," you say, hoping to move things along. You want to get this over with.

"Can you get that for me?" He looks disgruntled, as if you are somehow blocking his way, which you kind of are, you guess.

"Seriously?" You say, before you can stop yourself. "You want me to get your that box for you?"

He stands a little taller. "Is it really that hard?"

"No, but… whatever."

You turn around, neck twinging, to walk back up the steps to pick up the brown box. He doesn’t even say thank you.

Turning back to the front door, you pause on the stoop. If it wasn’t for the surgery, if it wasn’t for waking up in constant pain or mind-numbing delirium, you would’ve left the moment you saw the purple window covering and the potted plants.

But it took two buses to get here from work, and it’s going to take another one to get home, so you might as well get it over with. You follow him through the doorway.

It’s like entering another world.

The small basement apartment is inviting with mismatched, comfortable furniture that looks cozy. Each and every thing has its place. Colorful boxes and woven baskets are tucked here and there. Bookshelves and a couch sit to the left of the door, with a kitchen beyond. A small square table squats in front of the narrow sink and counters. There’s a half refrigerator and a miniature oven. It’s a bit like a large-sized play kitchen.

On the right is a curtain behind which you can see the massage table and a small end table with a pitcher of water. Just beyond is a short corridor leading back to where the bedroom and bathroom must be.

He moves to the kitchen, pulling a kettle off the stove. "Rose hip or sage?"

You neglect to roll your eyes, so you’re proud of your maturity. "Whatever," you say, wondering how long you’re going to have to talk to this guy.

He doesn’t answer, just raises an eyebrow. He pours the tea, sets two mugs on the table and sits down.

"You should put down that bag before you fall over."

You drop the bag to the floor, but your body feels odd without it. As if the extra weight is needed to force your body in the unnatural position it now thinks is normal. It now thinks is living.

"How long have been in pain?"

You sit down, trying to think of an answer.

"The insurance company sent over your paperwork." He explains, continuing to sip his tea.

"About a year," you answer.

It’s been longer, but you don’t want to admit it. You don’t want to admit that the first time you took the steroids and were pain free, you cried great big sobs of relief and joy. It’s been a year since you started treating the pain. The pain began long before.

He narrows his eyes at you. You resist the urge to look down, taking refuge in a sip of tea. It tastes like boiled grass water more or less, and you try to hide your disgust.

"Likes coffee," he mutters. He busies himself with your paperwork.

You wonder what’s written in there—probably—has no one to drive her home after surgery, has no emergency contact name.

"Well, I think I can help you." He sighs, looking you up and down.

"Great, thanks. Otherwise, what am I doing here?"

He crosses his arms in front of his chest. "I’m not sure exactly, with that attitude."

"Can we get on with this? Some of us have real jobs and I need you to fix me up so I can do mine."

Instead of moving things along, he leans back in his chair. "I’m surprised your doctor hasn’t recommended surgery and rehab."

"She has."

"What are you doing here, then?"

"I’m not sure."

"As long as we’re on the same page."

"The rehab is helping, but I don’t want the surgery. Also, insurance is paying for you even though I don’t go for all this."

"All this," he says, voice even harder.

You wave your hand dismissively at his apartment.

"What the fu—" He slaps a hand over his mouth before.

Oh god, you just made the man with kind eyes swear at you.

"I’m sorry." He stands, pushing back his chair. "That was completely unprofessional."

You stand, wincing from the pain in your lower back. "It’s okay. I was unprofessional, too."

He huffs a laugh. "But you’re a paying customer."

"Not really, insurance, remember?" You follow him to the curtain. "You can be as mean to me as you want."

"Well, maybe we should start over. I’m Jung Hoseok. I’m a massage therapist and usually I don’t swear at people."

His smile brightens his whole face. You want to capture it, put it in your pocket for when you need it. See, you don’t even need pills for the weird thoughts.

"I’m y/n l/n." There really isn’t much more to say.

He pulls back the curtain. There is a massage table, a faded colorful rug underneath and low music playing on the stereo. Moving in an efficient, graceful manner, he lowers the thick sheet,

"I’m guessing even after the steroids and muscle relaxants you’re still fairly tense, so I won’t do anything too deep." He pauses, looking you up and down, hands on hips. "Undress to your level of comfort, but I recommend taking off your bra as it will make working on your neck and shoulders easier. It’s definitely up to you, though. Put your things on the chair over there."

You glance around.

"Just let me know when you’re ready. Take your time. It’s important to be as relaxed as possible."

He leaves shaking his head. You are certain he’s already figured out that you’ve never been relaxed, ever. Not even before this new city, new job and new life.

You undress, folding your pants and blouse neatly on the chair and hanging your suit jacket on the hook. After a battle of nerves, you take off your bra folding it and setting it under your pile of clothes. You leave your underwear on, black but nothing fancy.

As you climb on to the table, a feeling hits you so harshly, you fumble and clutch at the sheets.

It’s nothing profound. It’s nothing earthshattering. It’s perfectly ordinary, like you.

You just wish you weren’t so ugly, is the thing. You would even settle for not pretty or not that bad or not a face people forget as soon as they see it. You don’t think about your body that often, no one sees it much, not even you, really. You don’t pay much attention to it. It just gets you places and lately it just hurts. But all of sudden you dream of it, a you with glowing skin and perfect hair and bright eyes.

You wish your arms didn’t have burns from all those summers spent working in kitchens. Your fingers on your right hand have those scars from when you fell into the rotating fan droning back and forth all summer in the house where you grew up. You wish your knees and legs weren’t scarred from a childhood spent scrambling over rocks and climbing up trees and falling into haystacks, a kind of courage you can’t even remember having, you can’t even hope to reclaim. It makes you feel older than your twenty-five years. Like a patchwork cobbled together, as if you were a repaired stuffed animal with obvious stitching and a floppy ear that’s the wrong size. You wish could tear off the outer covering and reveal something new and beautiful underneath, a new you to go with your new life. You’re always a before picture, but not an after.

You sigh, shaking your head.

This guy has seen more bodies than a bartender at a strip club. He’s handsome and relaxed and probably has a girlfriend or a boyfriend who’s kind and has a nice laugh and takes him to brunch and they hold hands across the table. You sort of hate this person whoever they are.

You need to stop this foolishness. It's been so long since you talked to anyone who wasn’t a bus driver or a co-worker asking your name for the fifth time that you’re getting weirder than normal. You get under the covers, face in the cradle as instructed and wait.

"Uh, are you ready?"

"Yes, shit, sorry," you call, looking behind you.

He opens the curtain, looking down at your body, like a mechanic assessing a car that needs repairs. You might as well be the robot you feel you are. You put your face back in the cradle and squeeze your eyes shut.

"I’m guessing you don’t want any scents."

"Oh fuck no."

He huffs in quiet laughter, moving around you gracefully you imagine.

"Let’s start with some deep breaths," he says, as he lays the sheet over your body. You only met him half an hour ago, but you can already picture him looking down at you, hands on hips and shaking his head at your poor body that you have somehow let get into this state.

He starts by laying his warm hand on your back putting just enough pressure for you to feel your body respond by sinking into the table. You hate how your body responds to his instructions as if you were an instrument to be tuned. He takes a deep breath and you follow, annoyed, wondering why you didn’t just have the surgery rather than lying on this man’s table in his basement apartment. He instructs you to breathe again. You hold back a snide comment that your body knows how to breathe. It is one of the few things it’s been doing successfully on its own. This is an hour and two bus rides you will never get back. What the fuck are you doing here?

An hour later, you don’t wonder anymore.

He drags his fingertips one last time over your temples, and you stop yourself from arching back as if to chase the feeling. He pats the bed gently, one hand on either side of your face.

"All done." He says softly. He stands from the stool behind the massage table.

You open your eyes and look up at the ceiling above you. He busies himself at the counter. You hear him squeezing water from a towel and walking the length of the massage table. He places a warm towel on your feet. You don’t flinch, you don’t startle, you don’t do anything but exhale and wonder if you really knew how to breathe before you met him. You can’t remember the last time anyone touched your feet. Has anyone ever? How are you so relaxed about this?

He's giving you some thoughtful instruction, but you can’t quite follow.

Your body feels inhabited. You don’t feel like a ghost hovering just outside your body, always watching, always criticizing, always berating you for your actions. It's like a kind of reverse exorcism where instead of removing a demonic presence from your body he has instead inhabited it with an angelic one. One that is like you, but not you, because she’s not reminding you of all the fuck-ups in your life.

Your limbs don’t feel like robot arms that you have to think about. Your mind is clear. You aren’t thinking about anything. You don’t remember feeling this relaxed maybe ever. Is this what normal people feel like? If your life was a musical, you would burst into song. Jung Hoseok would dance with you around his apartment, maybe on top of the table. Goddamn, you feel better than you have in ages. For the first time in a long time you want something, you want to feel like this always.

He moves around you, talking about drinking water and taking it easy the rest of the evening. He places a hand on your thigh. It’s not intimate. He’s just reminding you that he’s there. "Take your time," he says. "Don’t get up too quickly."

You don’t speak, worried about breaking the spell. It is so fragile, and it is so newly obtained you want to cherish it like the gift it is. You want to be this person in a bubble untouched by the outside world. You don’t want obtrusive thoughts coming in and taking this from you.

Shutting the curtain closed behind him, Hoseok leaves the small area. You can hear him moving in the kitchen.

You roll onto your side slowly, feeling sad that you have to put on clothes. You blink a few times. You can do this. You can put your clothes back on and walk outside. The feeling will stay for a bit, won’t it?

Your hair is in a braid, but now strands are falling every which way. You’re sure you will look like a fool in your work clothes. As if seeing your crumpled black suit for the first time, you wonder when you ever bought such a thing. It is the ugliest fucking polyester suit you have ever seen in your life. You don’t want to put your bra back on, but you figure it is a three-block walk to your bus stop and a half hour bus ride to your apartment, so you probably need to put it on, as much as you don’t want to. You’re not even sure you could carry off not wearing a bra even in the right kind of clothes. You put on your sensible heels. You’re wondering what clothes you could wear without a bra. Is that a thing you could do? You’re about to ask Hoseok but quickly reign yourself in. The filter keeping such tight control over your thoughts has been loosened. You might really break out into song.

When you step out from beside the curtain, Hoseok doesn’t say anything, just hands you a glass of water. He looks down at you critically. "Do you want to stay for a bit?"

You shake your head. All of a sudden going home and unpacking sounds like a good idea. A little bit of work, and it would be done.

"Thank you," you say, handing him the glass of water and smiling at him. Your face feels odd with the sensation. "I haven’t felt this good in I don’t know how long."

His whole face brightens into a smile that can only be described as blinding, but in a good way. He grasps the glass of water to his chest with both hands.

"Really? I’m so glad."

"Really," you answer, moving to pick up your bag.

He looks at you critically. "Can you get a back pack or cross body bag. I’m in pain just looking at you. Why do you carry all that stuff on your back?"

You shrug. You’ve never really thought of it.

He raises his eyebrows. "Well, I guess it will give me some job security."

You move to the door. "So next week, same time same place?"

"I’ll be here," he says, smile dimming.

"Thank you, really. I just… thank you." You aren’t sure how to express exactly what it means. He smiles and nods and closes the door behind you.

The sun has set in the meantime, and the autumn chill in the air is strong, but you aren’t cold. You can’t remember the last time you weren’t cold.

That weekend you unpack all the suitcases in your apartment, even buying a few dishes and some silverware. The apartment is still ugly—with terrible corporate furniture that looks like it fell off a truck and the freeway is your only soundtrack—but you have a book on the shelf and a mug in the kitchen and its yours, whatever the hell this place is.

The Mess We're In.

So that’s how it starts, and then it continues. Every Friday you show up on his doorstep at five o’clock.

The thing is, it works. Every week you feel less like a person trapped in a robot body. You had long ago started limiting your movements, like an old woman nervous of falling. You didn’t realize the way in which your body had become encased. Every Friday, a little of the hardened shell molts. You start to think of Hoseok's apartment as a kind of magical place. A place where a little of you comes back with each visit. Your bag seems to lighten with every block that you walk from the bus stop to his small, narrow door.

You remember that you like broccoli but not peas. You remember your favorite song and listen to it over and over again, the words reverberating in your brain as you try to go about your day. You remember that you like to go to the movies. When you have a few extra dollars, you go to a Sunday matinee. Alone of course, but you’re out of your apartment. You’ve showered and put on clothes and you are existing in the world. You remember that you like bookstores. You see a copy of one of your favorite books in a store window, and you start to cry. The tears come so suddenly that passersby give you a wide arc. So you aren’t exactly normal, but you’re feeling things again. Even as odd and confusing as they are.

You don’t really talk to anyone unless it’s the barista at the coffee shop or the guy that checks out books at the library. But it’s something. Every Friday Hoseok performs some kind of magical spell and a little of you comes back, more and more the curse that you’ve been living under, is lifted.

He doesn’t talk to you when you are on the table. After the first few attempts, he quickly realizes that you don’t want to chat when he is working on you, but before and after though, that becomes much less awkward.

Hoseok knows the names of things, you realize. When you tell him you like the flowers growing in the pot on the stoop, he tells you they are crocuses. He knows the words for the parts of your body that he slowly unwinds. The words wash over you as he mutters them above you like an incantation.

You don’t know the words for anything. You know spreadsheets and data. The work is all engrossing. You like having your corner of the world organized in neat boxes. It’s satisfying to get it done, to find a problem and fix it. But at the end of the day you look up and you realize you haven’t spoken to anyone.

Now that Hoseok knows you better, he doesn’t hesitate to tell you when you are doing something incorrectly, when your posture is slumped, when your body is trying to return to its former hardened shape. He can tell how many hours of overtime you’ve worked by the way you walk down the steps to his apartment.

Sometimes on a Sunday, you take the bus to his neighborhood. You want to hate it. All the attractive people with bikes with wicker baskets and artisanal cheese and cut flowers. You go and wander like a tourist in this part of town, because your neighborhood isn’t really a neighborhood as much as it is a freeway off-ramp. The only other person who lives there without a car is the homeless guy with the shopping cart. There isn’t much to wander among. Just your apartment building and a fast food place and a church in an industrial building and a business park that looks like it houses Ponzi schemes.

You have long ago stopped pretending you aren’t looking for him. He loves all these places, you think, and his house is filled with books and flowers and fresh food. He is like the healthiest human you have ever met. You want to run into him, talk to him outside of his apartment, do something normal to prove to him you are a normal person.

You aren’t, though. You can pretend for a while but that’s all it is. One day after work you sit on the bench at the bus stop and just don’t… move. You don’t stand when your bus arrives. Before you know it three hours have gone by. So you aren’t normal yet, but you're remembering how to pretend to be a person so that’s something.

If it wasn’t for your appointments with Hoseok then your lack of human interaction would be particularly troubling. But it’s a start. A new job, a new apartment. It takes a while, doesn’t it?

Hoseok on the other hand, always has people visiting, friends arriving for dinner after your appointment.

One Friday, two months after you started, the cold weather is starting to grip the city. It is windy and raining and depressing and you just want it to be over. You want sun.

Someone is leaving Hoseok’s apartment when you arrive. The man carefully shuts the door behind him. The single bulb beside the door gives a harsh light. The blond man is tall and broad-shouldered. Wearing a dark pea coat, he looks regal almost. He is literally one of the most attractive people you have ever seen in real life. Seokjin, you think. You’ve met him before. When you had lingered drinking water after your appointment. Hoseok had been trying to think of different teas you would like and asked you questions about your particularly unhealthy diet, trying to get you to improve it.

"You pick that up for him?"

You nod. Most of his friends don’t speak to you. They look at you like you’re just a customer, and that’s the way it should be. That’s all you are.

"You’re his Friday regular?"

"Yes."

He looks at you closely, narrowing his eyes.

You feel uncertain under his gaze, as if you are being assessed, graded and falling short. "Is everything okay?"

"It’s been a year. Almost to the day."

Your confusion must show on your face.

"He hasn’t told you?"

You shake your head.

Seokjin sighs. "Be easy on him tonight. I told him to cancel, but he didn’t want to miss your appointment."

With that, Seokjin moves around you. The chill in the air is harsher now. You wish you had one of Hoseok’s thick, black parkas that hang by the door to put on. You brush your hair out of your face. The wind stings. If it was important for him to keep the appointment, then you should do your part too. You pause on the doorstep. What would you have done if he had canceled? Even if it is human interaction that you’re paying for, even if it doesn’t mean anything beyond his kindness to any client, these Friday afternoons are the only thing keeping you sane. If he had canceled, you would have been lost. You don’t know what’s going on, but you’re thankful. You wonder if he knows—that this is the only human interaction you have, and you pay for it and you know you should feel like a failure, and you also know you don’t care, because it’s helping.

You knock on the door softly.

"It’s open," he calls from the kitchen.

You enter the apartment to see him sweeping. He's wearing a worn-out t-shirt and sweats. He doesn't look bad. He never looks bad, but he looks like he just woke up—no, he looks like he hasn't slept.

A chair stands in the middle of the kitchen, the small table moved to the side. He must have just had his hair cut. It’s a little too short and it looks a little too severe on him, like a school boy on the first day of school. Suddenly you wished you knew more about him. He’s good at deflecting questions, always moving the conversation away from himself. You don’t know anything about him other than he’s a massage therapist and knows the names for plants and flowers and he has given you a gift you can’t ever repay.

You wonder if he has a boyfriend or girlfriend and, in that moment, you can’t help but be jealous of anyone who knows him, truly knows him. All the feelings you’ve tried to push down rise suddenly to the surface. Because whoever that person is, they should be here making him feel better and fussing over his hair and making him tea and giving him a hot meal. Whatever it is you imagine significant others do, that person should be here doing it. It’s clear that he isn’t himself. His expression is tense, and he doesn’t put the broom away or the small table back in the middle of the room. There are dirty dishes in the sink. You glance about. Books on the coffee table, clean towels on the couch waiting to be folded. What’s going on?

"No tea tonight," he says, in a voice that seems to be admitting defeat. You’re about to offer to make it, but the look on his face stops you. His mouth is set in a firm line.

You nod and put the package on the book shelf where he likes it.

Without another word, you move to the other room. Tonight, the familiar ritual of undressing and moving under the sheets is a comfort when everything else feels so odd. This is an alternate universe Hoseok. You wish you knew how to get your Hoseok back. You can’t be the most relaxed person in this apartment because that would mean something was terribly wrong with the universe. You still can’t touch your toes. You still take the muscle relaxants when you can’t sleep. You aren’t normal and if you are the most normal one here then something is hopelessly lost, and you can't begin to know how to get it back.

He doesn’t fuss over your sheet and ask you about your week like he usually does. He’s quiet, moving around the room without a sound so you start a little when he puts his hand on your back. He begins with the breaths, but he’s rushed and shallow.

What should you say? If only you were a person capable of the basics of human interaction, then you would know what to do, but you aren’t, so you do nothing. You lie there and try to find that center, that feeling that has never escaped you every time when you’ve been here in the past. You go through the motions, trying to relax. The fact that he doesn’t call you on it, is all you need to know that something is wrong.

You turn over at the halfway point. As usual, he starts with your hands. There is something so incredibly intimate about the way his fingers work on your palm. Last week you are pretty sure you groaned out loud. There are certainly other areas of your body more intimate, but there is something so tender and so sweet about it, it makes you ache a little.

You force your hand not to curl up and hold his, as much as you want to. It wouldn’t be appropriate, and you would never want to make him feel uncomfortable.

Hoseok pauses and for a moment you can feel his breath on your palm. It is warm and stuttering and it surprises you. Is he truly that close and you’ve never noticed?

But then you fell a small subtle splash, like a tear you think. Not like a tear, but an actual tear.

This, even you can’t ignore. You open your eyes and Hoseok is leaning against the table, slumped and sad and so involved with his thoughts he doesn’t even notice you stirring.

"Hoseok," you whisper.

He sits up suddenly, as if just remembering you are there. You gather the sheet around you as he drops your right hand. You move to sit up. "Are you okay?"

He wipes his eyes and looks at you, so sad you want to give him a hug, but you are naked under the sheet and it wouldn’t be right.

"Can I help?"

He shakes his head, wiping his eyes. "I should have canceled." He looks down at you, taking in your sheet as it gathers around your legs and covers your body. "I’m sorry, I won’t charge you." With that he stands and leaves.

Oh god, surely you could have helped him. Surely any other person on the planet would be more helpful at this moment. But you’re the only one here, so you might as well do what you can.

You dress quickly. Hopping on one foot, trying to put on your shoes and pushing back the curtain, you think, what would a normal person do. What would a character in a television show do? They go out and drink beer and eat food, don’t they?

Well, why not take a chance, without even knowing where he is in the apartment you start talking.

"Listen, are you okay? Clearly you aren’t okay, but can I help? Do you want to get some food? I don’t know what you’re going through but I could buy you a drink. I mean I never see you out of this apartment. Let’s go to a bar and you can have a drink and you can tell me what's wrong."

The entire time you're trying to put on your boots, hopping around and he's just starting at you. His back to the kitchen counter as if you had cornered him there.

"You want to go?" you ask, the question lingering.

He glances at you and the fear in his eyes is palpable. He just stares at the door and back at you.

You look at him and look at the door and back again at him.

You are the biggest fucking idiot on the planet.

"Oh god, you don’t go out do you? That’s why I get the packages and your friends bring you food and I am such an idiot."

He waves his hand. "I didn’t want you to know, which is stupid because you had to find out sometime."

"Does it take most people two months?"

"No," he admits while trying and failing to hide a tired laugh.

"I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize, and your friend said—"

"What did he say?"

"Just that it was almost a year since."

"Yeah." He finally moves off the counter. He looks so tired. He looks like he is going to fall asleep right there in the kitchen.

"You should rest."

He moves in a daze. It is painful to see him this way. Not light on his feet, not smiling. You used to think his laugh was annoying and now you would give anything to have it back. He's always telling stories of funny things his friends have done and you used to hate it because you have no friends.

You realize maybe you don’t have friends because in addition to not knowing how to be a normal person, you’re kind of an asshole—so focused on your own pain, you willfully ignore anyone else’s.

He sits on the couch. You hesitate. Instead of sitting next to him you hand him the blanket and sit on the worn leather chair.

"The last time I went to restaurant there was an incident." He looks up at you, pleading with you to understand.

"Oh god, of course," you say. It was before you moved here, but it was in all the papers. You open your mouth to ask questions, but what is there to ask. You can’t help him, and you can’t know what he's going through. Even if you were better at any of this, you can’t fix people. If you have only learned one lesson in life, it's that you can’t fix other people.

"It started slowly. I didn’t want to be in crowds and then I didn’t want to be at work. I've always had clients here, and it just became easier not to leave. I had a panic attack in a movie theater a few months after. After that, I never really left the apartment. It wasn’t a choice really, not a conscious one anyway. It just became my life.

"It was easy to switch my practice to my apartment. It happened slowly. A switch got flipped and I can’t flip it back." He looks at you. "You’re the first friend I’ve made since it happened. I used to have a lot more friends."

"I’m pretty sure you have a lot of friends. I mean, I’m sure they're still your friends even if you haven’t seen them."

He laughs.

"Can I make you some tea?"

"I won’t even make you drink some."

"Thank you."

You’re glad to busy yourself. You move the table back to its place and do the dishes while the water heats. Having watched Hoseok so many times, you know what to do. By the time you bring the pot and the cup to the coffee table, he looks as if he's going to fall asleep.

"I don’t know how to help you."

"I’m your first agoraphobe."

"You’re my first friend in a long time."

He has never asked about what brought you to this city for a boring job where you know no one. His hands have never stuttered over the scars on your body. You wish you could thank him for that, but you don’t know how.

You bite your lip. "I don’t want to say the wrong thing. I mean, I’ve already said the wrong thing, so I guess it can’t get worse."

"You know that café on 3rd."

You know exactly the place he is thinking of. You always look for him there. "Yeah, I go there every Sunday. I pretend to do the crossword, but mostly I look a dumb stuff on my phone."

"I miss that place," he says, as he leans his head back on the couch and closes his eyes. "They still have the scones?"

"Yes, and they have these cinnamon rolls that make you think you can see god." Maybe there is something you can do. "Do you want me to bring you some?"

He winces. "I’m tired of friends bringing me things."

"Oh, look I’m there every Sunday morning. I won’t bring you anything, I promise, but if you ever want to join me there you can. I’m not great at human interaction though, so you're going to have to teach me how."

"I haven’t left this tiny apartment in almost a year."

"I know, but your social skills are obviously better than mine."

He laughs and puts his head on the arm of the sofa, stretching out.

"Do you want to call someone? Is there someone that can come over?"

He turns his head to look at you. "You know, you’re doing okay at this being a person thing."

You hand him his phone. He calls a friend while you do some more dishes and wipe down the counters.

Hoseok is asleep when Yoongi arrives. You’ve put on your coat. Your bag is packed at your feet. You feel like an interloper, a spy without a mission.

"You’re his Friday regular?" he asks.

"Yeah."

He looks at you accusingly as if the state of his friend is somehow your fault.

"I didn’t know."

"Jesus, how did you not know?" He shakes his head. You leave as he sits on the leather chair you just vacated, head in his hands, staring at his sleeping friend.

Winter hangs in the air. The steps up to the sidewalk seem particularly steep tonight, and you grip the railing like a mountain climber holding a fixed rope on a frozen slope.

When you get to your bus stop instead of standing under the shelter, you continue walking.

If only magic were real, you think. You’ve paid the price, certainly, to be owed some fearsome power. You’ve paid the price in scars and terrible boyfriends and missed meals and lost hours waiting for buses that never came.

But instead of something useful in exchange, the universe gave you suffocating armor that almost destroyed you before Hoseok began to dismantle it in his gentle way.

You’ve always kind of been an asshole. It helped you get out of that farm house you grew up in, and it helped you get away from a bad situation, but it would be better if you could make the world suffer for what it's done to him. It should. You would happily deal out punishments like a vengeance demon.

By the time you get home, your feet are bleeding and your body aches. You don’t know why you decided to punish yourself for the universe’s misdeed, but at least someone is paying. It just isn’t any of the people who fucking deserve to pay.

Hoseok doesn’t come to the café on Sunday. The tea you ordered gets cold, but that’s okay because tea can't really solve anything.

The next Friday he looks at you under his lashes. You don’t mention it.

Slowly the magic comes back. He’s himself again. Whatever it is that happens that makes you leave his apartment feeling like a ghost that is re-inhabiting its body, returns.

Every Sunday you order a pot of tea and a cup of coffee and he never comes, and you never mention it.

Beautiful Feeling

Spring is about to break but winter is holding on.

You drink tea on this Friday night, because there is a first time for everything. Hoseok tells you about the meal he’s cooking tonight for his friends. He moves around the kitchen, his movements graceful and fluid.

"Did you used to dance?"

"Yes." A shadow falls over his face.

You realize you’ve done it again. "You should teach me, because I can’t dance."

"Everyone can dance."

You shake your head.

He moves the small table to the side of the kitchen.

"Come here," he says. He has that note in his voice. The one that tells you when you are slouching, or when you are lying about how late you worked.

You move toward the kitchen and step up to him, feeling once again like a fool. He puts a hand on your waist and moves you toward him. He shifts your hips as your body is once again in robot mode, and you try not to blush. He has seen almost every inch of your body more or less, but standing in his kitchen like this is surprisingly intimate.

"You need to relax."

"Do you know who are talking to?"

"I know, I know." He mutters. "I thought you had made more progress."

Oh. Your eyes glaze over as you try to keep your composure. You’re not sure why such an offhand comment hurts so much.

He takes his finger and puts it under your chin, directing your gaze to him. "I’m sorry," he says, searching your face. "Don’t look down, look at me."

There’s no music, and you are in his tiny kitchen. Instead of counting off, he does this babababa thing, and you start to slowly move with him.

You realize that he wasn’t just a dancer, he used to teach. You don’t say anything, just enjoying the look of concentration on his face. This is must be what he looks like when he is working. When you start counting under your breath, he can’t hide his smile. You spend the entire time apologizing for stepping on his toes. At a certain point he can’t hold back his laughter when you move in the entirely wrong direction. He is supporting you with a hand on your back, directing your movements and whispering encouragement between smiles. But he seems happy, you think, and that's enough for you.

At one point, he spins you around and catches you in a dip. He stares down at you with a smile. You can feel his warm breath from the exertion. You have a momentary vision of him leaning down to kiss you. You can picture it so clearly, the feeling of his lips on yours, breathing in the same air, hands gently pulling you to him.

He jerks you up and immediately drops your hand, taking a step back.

"We should get started," he says, moving to the back of the apartment where he always goes while you change.

You shake off the mood quickly. He’s right. You’ve wasted too much time already, and you try not to think of his breath on your skin or the way he smelled of vanilla while he held you in his arms. It's just been so long since you’ve been with anyone, not since you moved here. You're making a big deal out of nothing. You strip off your clothes, leaving them in a pile. You forget to tie up your hair, but you just want it to be over. You want to be back to when things were normal.

You call to tell him when you are ready, and he comes in and everything is normal. Normal, normal, normal. Before you can stop them, the thoughts float in your head. What would it be like to wake up with him, lazy morning and loose limbs? What would it feel like if he held your hand, like he really wanted to? You try to rein in your thoughts.

Then he is touching you, the familiar routine starting, and you try to distract yourself. But this time every pressure, every movement seems filled with longing. You don’t know what to do with yourself.

Your body is betraying you once again. It wants. It has come out of whatever hard shell it had been living in since leaving your old life and deciding to craft a new one with just a few hundred dollars and your bare hands. Now it wants so much. It wants to feel this warm and happy all the time. It wants to have someone touch you in a way that feels like love, like this does.

Your body is confused. It’s confused these hours with real affection, with real tenderness. It doesn’t know any better. It’s just starved. It doesn’t know not to fall in love with this feeling. It doesn’t know that you don’t get to fall in love with him. It doesn’t know that he doesn’t love you back. Your heart hates you because it isn’t real. No one as kind as him would ever fall in love with you. Now your heart and your body hate you for it. They want to be at peace. For the first time in a long time, maybe in forever, that you've felt at peace, is here. And its' not real.

By the time the massage is almost over, when he is running his fingertips over your temple, you can't help the emotions rising to the surface and the tears that fall.

When it starts you can’t stop. Hoseok pauses, he hands stuttering, confused. You bring your hand up to your mouth as if that will stop the gulping sobs that are threatening to start at any moment.

You keep your eyes twisted shut wondering when he will leave you alone to your strange humiliating episode. But he doesn’t, of course. Instead he moves around to the side of the table, calling your name softly. He doesn’t say to stop or its going to be okay. He just keeps repeating over and over again that he’s here. I’m here he keeps saying and you want to push him away, but he has gathered you up in his arms. He has buried his face in your hair, and you can feel the gentle nuzzling of his cheek against your hair. It is so sweet you might die. He is sitting on the massage table, holding you in his arms. If only this could be real, you think. That’s the problem, you started wanting too much and now you can’t stop.

I’m sorry you keep saying and he keeps saying don’t be.

You open your eyes, suddenly aware of your nakedness under the sheet and the awkwardness of this position. You want to cling to him like this until he has peeled the sheet from your body and touched your skin again, but this time for real. You can’t stop the visions in your head of what it would be like to be with him.

You pull back. You need to get yourself together.

He's looking down at you, eyes intense. He bites his lip and his grip around your waist tightens. "Y/n" he breathes.

It comes out like a prayer. You're thinking that you may finally fucking get what you want, when the front door opens, and god knows how many of his friends walk in the apartment.

Hoseok screams and almost drops you, and you cling to the sheet. Oh god, nothing about this is funny or sexy. It is just incredibly humiliating. He over corrects and yelping, almost falls backwards on the floor. Thank god, the curtain is still pulled.

"What the fuck, Hoseok. You need to stop screaming." Someone calls.

"Uh, just finishing up."

"You have a client back there?".

"Uh, yeah." He lets go of you slowly as if worried that you will fall if left to your own. You nod, and he nods back. The two of you just continue to stare at each other like fools.

"I should get dressed."

"I need to make dinner."

"Cool. Good talk."

You move off the table still wrapping the sheet around you in a poor attempt at dignity and gesture for him to leave.

"Right, okay. We good?" He winces.

"Leave, Hoseok."

He moves into the other room, careful to shut the curtain behind him. You put on your clothes hopeful that nothing is backwards or out of place. What do you have to be embarrassed about, you think? You got a massage then cried like a total oddball and then he comforted you and looked like he wanted to kiss you. That’s all. Normal, normal, normal.

You push the curtain aside a little too forcefully. The hooks dangle ominously. Seven pairs of eyes stare at you and you want nothing more to get out of there.

"I’ll be going. Thank you."

Hoseok glances at you. Seokjin narrows his eyes and you don’t miss the This Is The One I Told You About glance he exchanges with the boys arrayed around the apartment. You don’t want to know if that is a good or bad thing. Hoseok wipes his hands on his apron and walks over to show you out. You’re sure your eyes are still red, and your hair is a wild, and this whole thing could not be more humiliating.

"You’ll be okay?"

"Yes."

"You’ll text me when you get home?"

"Yes."

"Okay then."

Please let me go your eyes must be pleading. He seems at war with himself wanting to ask what happened.

"Are you really okay?"

"It's nothing."

He shakes his head at you, disappointed in your answer. But he can't ask you to explain, not here, not like this.

He lets you go with a final nod of his head.

This Is Love

It's Sunday, two days later. You take the bus to Hoseok's neighborhood like you always do. The routine is comforting. It's cold, but spring is trying to find its way. The sun is making its presence felt. It's trying so hard to bring warmth and heat. It will be okay, you think. He's kind, and he won't think less of you because of your mini breakdown that was probably long overdue.

Your steps take you to Hoseok's apartment. You want to make sure it hasn't disappeared like in a fairy story. Sometimes you think the buildings on the other side will have swallowed it up, and it won't have been real. You imagined the whole thing just to get you through the last six months.

Your steps falter as you cross the street in front of his apartment.

He's there.

He's sitting on the stoop, eyes closed. You can see his chest heave. His hands grip the rail as he sits on the top step as if he’s just run a marathon. There's sweat on his brow, and his muscles are tense. The sun's rays make his skin glow, as if his inner kindness made manifest.

"Oh fuck," you say. "Holy shit."

He smiles.

"You did it."

He nods, his hands don't loosen their grip. He blinks his eyes open, dazed and a little lost he looks, as if waking from a pleasant dream, so handsome and sweet. You're so proud of him you could burse.

"Do you want to join me?"

"Sure, yeah, thanks." You squeeze in next to him. It's uncomfortable and cold on the uneven step, but you could stay there for hours if he wanted.

"Come here often?" he jokes.

Oh God. "I’m not stalking you or anything weird." Your face heats. You need to improvise. "I shop at the co-op."

He laughs. "You eat a lot of artisanal cheeses?"

"I go for the artisanal mayo."

"Does that place still smell like weed and old vegetables?"

"Yes, it's so gross."

He smiles.

You don’t know what to say or do. How can you talk to him when he’s out of his apartment? "So do you have any plans the rest of the day?"

He laughs so hard his eyes water. "I haven’t left my apartment in almost a year, so I’m not sure."

Goddamn, you are such a fucking moron.

"You really are terrible at this, aren’t you?"

You nod, afraid to talk for what might come out of your mouth.

"I thought it might be me. Because I haven’t made new friends in a while, but it is really you, isn’t it?"

"It really fucking is. I wasn’t lying when I said I don’t have any friends."

You can see the question on his face.

"It’s not very exciting."

"I was thinking maybe you were an assassin on the run from the government." He bites his lip. "What happened to you?"

"It's incredibly ordinary."

"Not a princess with amnesia?"

"No, but how would I know?'

He laughs. "Not in witness protection?"

You smile and shake your head. "How much have you thought about this?"

"I've thought about this a lot. You're pretty mysterious."

"I guess being angry and uncommunicative has its perks."

He removes a hand from the handrail, slowly carefully, his elegant fingers moving to clasp your hands, and it is so sweet and so intimate to be with him like this, squished on the step. It is the first time he's touched you in a deliberate way, a way like he wants to.

"Tell me."

You take a deep breath. You aren’t sure how to say it. You’ve never put it into words. "I was in a relationship. Everyone told me how lucky I was, everyone told me how I should be grateful. 'He wants to be with you even though you're not pretty, even though you say those odd things.' Everyone said it."

Hoseok shakes his head and grips your hand tighter.

"I was grateful. I was so grateful I didn't notice when it was easier to have him decide where we went and what we ate and what we should do. I was grateful and quiet. Then it stopped hurting when he told me I was dumb or when he laughed at me for wearing the wrong thing. I thought this was progress, you know, that it didn't hurt. But then it all stopped, all the feelings. I was suffocating."

Telling the story now, it feels like a story that happened to someone else. First the first time maybe ever, you think, I survived, not why didn't I leave sooner.

"One day after work I came home and with the last of my energy, I packed my suitcase. I got on a bus and I came here and I found a job and a place to live."

"You're very brave," he says, solemnly. It is a relief to hear him say it, and you are starting to believe it too.

"The thing is, I thought it was over. I thought I had won, but there were still ghosts to battle, you know."

He wipes the tears from your cheeks. "Do you think we could hang out sometime and not cry?"

"It’s because of you, you know."

"What?" he asks.

"I’ve never even said, thank you."

"You say thank you every week." He says, gently scolding.

"But not for the real reason, not for the way I’m slowly becoming a person again."

"I haven’t said it either."

You look up at him. "What could you have to thank me for?"

"Everyone has been really nice to me since everything happened." He shrugged. "But you… weren't. You’re the first person who didn't know, who didn't treat me like I'm dying of a nameless disease. It was obvious you had been through some kind of war and survived, and every week you were just yourself, and it was wonderful. I mean, you're the first person I got annoyed with since this whole thing happened. You really need to take better care of yourself."

"I'm socially inept and kind of an asshole, so we've got that going for us."

He laughs. "I think I should tell you, I have a crush on you."

"Oh, thank god." You cringe. "I mean, me too. I'm terrible at this."

He laughs, and it sounds like he doesn't mind.

"Though that isn't very professional," you mock scold.

"Those sounds you make on the table aren't very professional."

"I can't help it," you admit. "Honestly, I tried."

"I like it." He pauses. "The thing is… I still have bad days sometimes, not often, but I'm not even sure I can take you out on a date."

"I’m terrible at dates. You're not missing much."

He cups your cheek and even in the cold, his hand is warm. "Y/n, I’m getting better, but I might never be fixed."

He says it like it matters, as if you could ever find fault with him. He looks worried, searching your eyes. You do the only thing you can think of, you wipe the tears from under his eyes and kiss his cheek. He hums and leans his forehead against yours.

"Me neither," you say, gripping the strings of his hoodie as if he might float away. "But this is the best I’ve felt in a long time."

"Me too." He has a small, hopeful smile on his face when he pulls back, running his thumb over your cheek. "Can we sit for a while?"

You nod, and he puts an arm around you. His body is warm, protecting you from the cold and brittle wind. Tucked into his chest, you watch as he closes his eyes and raises his face to the sun.

a/n: thank you for reading. i really wanted the ending to be hopeful, and I’m praying that it is.  I wanted to write a story about how love can’t fix you, but give you strength to make your life better.

#hoseok x reader #hobi x reader #jhope x reader #jung hoseok x reader #bts scenarios #hoseok angst #hobi angs #jhope angst #jung hoseok angst

[trappingguy]

Rules!

1. Themes will vary with this blog. Mystery Incorporated is PRETTY dark at times, so it’ll be what you expect there. To that end, dark themes, violence and maybe swearing.

I will try my best to tag everything. These will be under the format of swearing tw. If you’d like me to tag anything specific, don’t hesitate to ask through anon / inbox / im!

I don’t have any triggers but I do ask you tag all of your NSFW (sexual) content.

Mun is of age, and as such I won’t be writing anything of the sexual nature with minors.

2. I’m private, which means I only write with mutuals (this is for my own sanity / comfort; everyone’s cool!). I’ll write with canon, oc, and crossover characters.

Although I’m private, when it comes to following people, I’m selective. We don’t have to have known each other prior to write!

As for following back, I usually take a week tops to do so - but if you’ve hit up my promo, I go through that eventually.

If it’s a crossover, I have to know the fandom and be at least a little bit confident with it. This is so I’m able to work with you, our thread and have muse for it.

I follow the tag #trappingguy. If there’s anything you want me to see, like dash commentary, just tag that and x-kit will alert me of your post! I may respond to ic stuff ic stuff if I’m feeling it.

In that sense, I’m chill with dash shenanigans with most folk, not just mutuals!

Absolutely no godmodding. It ain’t fun, fam. If you’re not sure what this term means, do look it up. This includes powerplaying, metagaming, and other things of that nature. This applies especially in fights if they happen (I’m chance-based and hope that you are too).

I can be picky with OCs. But rest assured, if you’ve followed me/interacted with my promo, I’ll always give your pages a read.

Please don’t be offended if I don’t want to interact with you (and please don’t try to guilt me into doing so!).

I DON’T CARE ABOUT AESTHETICS. I just think they’re pretty. If you don’t use formatting or anything like that, or heck - even wanna’ just do iconless rp - I have no problem with it whatsoever! It’s you, your writing and your muse I care about!

3. Please don’t rush me for starters or responses.

PLEASE understand that I have blogs galore and my muse tends to fluctuate; this can mean I’m everywhere at once and can end up neglecting a blog or two. It’s nothing personal; you know how muses are!

I have a full-time job (and I’m trying to get into screenwriting in my off-time) so sometimes I’m scrapped for time or exhausted. I’m also an introvert who deals with anxiety and depression, thus that may affect how much / how often I roleplay. If I don’t get chance to respond to anything ic or ooc, it’s nothing personal! Promise!

Chances are, I’ve probably has seen that bit of interactivity and just haven’t gotten around to responding yet.

My roleplaying style being para/multi-para, I may take a while to respond. I hoard drafts like a dragon - it’s really just the motivation to write and ship those out.

I hoard asks, but sometimes can’t find muse or interest for all of them. If it’s been a month or two, generally assume I’m not interested / can’t find muse for it. You’re free to send another though!

I answer asks from anyone - personals, rp blogs and anons. I’ll answer non-mutual asks occaisonally but I won’t be making threads out of them

4. Shippings? If they’re of similar age, sure!

If I don’t happen to be interested, don’t force anything on my character.

I do not ship incestuous ships. Do NOT follow/interact if you do.

The ship has to have chemistry; I’m generally shipping trash, but if they don’t click, they don’t click, sorry.

This is a multi-ship blog, meaning there will be more than one ship without them conflicting with eachother.

If you want to ship and I already have a ship of your choosing going with a duplicate, please don’t hesitate to hmu! My ships aren’t exclusive and each character/relationship portrayal is unique to me!

Relationships are eternal until you deem otherwise. If you’re not interested in a ship anymore, just let me know!

5. Whilst I am of age, I’m not aiming for sexual content on this blog (and will not be dealing with fetishes). The occasional joke is fine, but anything beyond that makes me uncomfortable, and I typically don’t recommend pulling it with my character if you’re interacting with me. 

6. About reblogs…

I am not a meme source, and reblogs clog up my activity. Please reblog any memes you find on this blog from their SOURCE. The exception to this rule is if there is no source; go ahead.

I don’t feel comfortable with Personals reblogging my IC or OOC posts, so please don’t do that. If I put something in the fandom tags for whatever reason (bar promos), you’re free to, though.

This goes for my art too unless it has the tag ok to rb, but otherwise only the person I drew it for can reblog it. If you wanna’ reblog something, I DO put it on my art blog eventually!

A few times is fine, as it happens, but repeatedly breaking these rules will result in me soft blocking you.

I try to participate in reblog karma as much as I can, but always reblog from the source/a meme source.

If a post or ask is for you, you’re free to reblog it to save it though - but only if you’re an rp blog!

7. I’m a para / multi-para blog, novella if I’m adventurous and have time. Whilst I may roleplay crack threads with shorter responses, this does not apply to all threads I write. This means:

I write my replies as detailed as I can muster, and length can range from 1 paragraph to 6.

Short responses (such as one-liners) in more serious threads where I’ve written a decent deal can instantly kill my muse for that thread.

Whilst I’d prefer for partners to at least somewhat match my length, it’s entirely up to you - just try your best and make sure you give me enough to work with. ♡

If my muse happen to go nuts out of nowhere - like, overboard - don’t stress too much about matching him.

8. Threads! You can yeet asks, memes, and even starters at me if I’ve liked a call! I’ll obviously have my own you can like.

You’re free to like starter calls even if we’re not mutuals; I can check out your blog that way. I still only write starters for mutuals though.

Starter memes are the BEST way to interact me because they just yeet a prompt at my face and really help me write starters. If you see me reblog one, send one!

If you want a certain verse, lemme’ know! Otherwise, I’ll probably default to a post-canon verse.

If you want to turn an ask into a thread, go ahead!

I don’t recommend writing starters for me unless we’ve discussed something. I don’t like to leave anyone hanging.

Please don’t assume things about my muse. If you’re uncertain about things, ASK.

IMs are open to mutuals, if you want to do any in-depth plotting. I also have Discord if that’s more convenient for you!

For the moment, I’m sticking PRIMARILY to Mystery Incorporated canon with some other media sprinkled in. It’s just because Fred has a lot of media to cover and I haven’t binged his stuff yet.

9. Guidelines on mains and relationships:

If we’re mutuals and we interact a lot, you’re welcome to ask me if I’d like to be your main!

Please don’t be offended if I deny, though; I typically want to pick those I trust to be my mains as well as people I can comfortably write with.

Not limited to them! I roleplay with duplicates galore so don’t be afraid to hit me up if you want to interact!

Pre-established relationships are a-okay in my book; if you have an idea for a relationship between our muses we can work towards, hit me up! I reblog those pre-established relationship memes every so often too. Romantic relationships link back to the shipping guidelines.

Also, friendship/family/rivalry relationships are EXTREMELY valid to me - so don’t feel scared about asking for them!

10. If you have any issues, please let me know and hopefully we can resolve it!

Mun is actually super nice, so don’t be afraid to hit her up!

I am absolutely terrible with IMs and Discord. I either respond quickly or days later, depends on my mood. Social anxiety tends to interfere with this (and more recently exhaustion from work) - but honestly, if you’ve sent something, I’ve likely read it and just haven’t gotten around to it yet! It’s nothing personal; trust me!

Please leave me out of drama; I’m here to have a good time, as is everyone else, and it pains me to see people arguing.

This is a little different with callouts - if I see anything on dash pertaining to any problematic users, I will take it into consideration and rb it if I believe them to be harmful.

11. To retierate, I tend to follow those that:

Write para and whom I feel my muse would click with.

Seem chill? Tone can really intimidate me honestly.

Have rules and about pages! Knowing the boudaries of my rp partners is super important as well as their lovely muses! Sometimes rules are enough, though, if you’re going to write the about eventually.

Tag their nsfw.

Don’t have massive icons - ie, have rp icons that take up an entire text post like 500x500 or something. I don’t want to clog the dash and it’s tiring to resize them.

…also, if I follow your hub blog (provided it doesn’t double as a personal), it generally means I’m cool with any blogs that are attached to it.

12. On threads…

If you’re not interested in a thread anymore, and would like to drop it, please let me know! I’d feel terrible if we’re both not having fun with it or if partners feel overwhelmed with the amount of threads we have.

Honestly, unless I let you know, our threads have no expiry date - so no need to worry about me dropping them without telling you. I can just be quite slow sometimes.

13. Mun does not equal muse! Anything my muse might say does not reflect on how I think unless I explicitly say so.

14. Know that if I follow you, I WANT to interact with you.

I literally couldn’t care less about follower counts. I care about YOU guys and our interactions.

15. Icons.

I make all of my icons by myself, however credit for the icon shape and psd goes here and here.

16. Rules are subject to change.

Please like this post if you’ve read the rules! You don’t have to, but it’s of personal reassurance to me if you have.

#.law

[dontdoitluke]

We Could Be Heroes - Ch 7

Sky High AU, but instead, it’s a superhero University.

Summary: Emma takes flight and discovers something volatile.

Chapter: 7/?

Word Count: 1,711

CHAPTER INDEX

Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list!

Tags: @calumamongmen   @myloverboyash   @toofadedtofight   @bigtimesos @lukescherrypie   @burncrashbromance   @bumblebet-20  @calsophat @kindahoping4forever @lockthisheartinchains @babylon-corgis  @lfwallscouldtalk   @badguycal   @justhappytoobehere

Notes: The boys aren’t in this chapter, sorry! This is a filler to hopefully get me through my block and introduce some important things happening later.

I wanna thank the ladies of the 5sos Angels GC for sticking with me throughout this whole ordeal. It wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for y’all. Thank you, Angels <3

Also, this chapter has a slightly excessive use of the word “fuck”. My bad.

In front of the tallest building on campus, Emma leaned against the cool brick wall and furrowed her eyebrows, the wheel in her mind spinning over and over again. She thought about shifting into a lizard, but then she wouldn’t be able to carry her phone. Perhaps a squirrel? Or a beetle? That was even worse, and she mentally kicked herself for even thinking about it. She could easily shift into a bird, but that was too easy. She wanted a challenge... but she also wanted to save the flying for later.

The spinning mind-wheel slowed to a stop and landed on one of her favorite furry animals.  

Taking her phone out of her pocket, she opened the ring connected to the case and put it between her teeth as she faced the wall to begin her shifting process. The air around her was still as her bones cracked and her skin tingled, adrenaline rushing through her blood like lightning. Her slender hands morphed into tiny rough paws and her spine grew into a long, bushy tail, and soon, her entire body was covered in a thick layer of gray and black fur.

Emma, now fully shifted into a fuzzy raccoon, chittered happily and moved closer to the building.

Raccoons can climb walls, right?

She placed her tiny hand-like paws on the wall and dug her claws into the brick, lifting herself a couple of inches off of the ground to test her grip. It wasn’t as secure as she had hoped, but it would have to do. After all, she did want to be challenged.

Starting off slowly, she began to climb, focusing only on the ledge of the rooftop that seemed miles away. Steadily, she climbed faster, and faster, until she was very nearly running straight up the side of the wall, the phone dangling from her jaws scraping against the brick and concrete. She was nearly there, only a few feet away from the ledge. Once she reached the highest window, she rested her tiny feet against the exterior frame and steadied herself before surging upward, grabbing onto the ledge and dangling for a moment before scrambling up and over onto the rooftop. Her body rolled across the cool concrete as she shifted back into her human form, and she stopped on her back, panting softly.

Emma gingerly removed the phone ring from her teeth and flexed her jaw. Checking the time, she smiled excitedly. 6:42 a.m. Only a few more minutes until sunrise. She stayed still a bit longer to watch the colors around her slowly turning from a deep black to a softer shade of sapphire blue, and when sapphire blue began to take on shades of purple, she stood and moved to tuck her phone into a safe spot behind one of the solar panels scattered along the rooftop.

She brushed the dirt and dust off of her clothes and stepped up onto the ledge of the building, looking out into the colorful horizon in front of her. Then she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and jumped.

Seconds before she hit the ground below her, she quickly shifted mid-air into a bright red finch and spread her wings in flight, her talons barely brushing the blades of grass as she swooped into the air. And just as she rose above the tall university buildings, so did the sun. As usual, her timing was perfect.

For Emma, one of the greatest things about being a shifter was flying. She loved how she felt when she was floating along the wind, her body and her mind feeling weightless and free. It was impossible for her to feel any emotion other than pure joy as she flapped her wings and rose higher and higher into the clouds, feeling the wind on her feathered face. Her favorite thing about flying was taking off right as the sun came up. 

She flew out of the courtyard and toward the coastline, gliding above the waves crashing along the shore to watch as the sun continued to lazily rise, and she continued to fly freely until the sun had fully risen, letting her mind wander off and her mental stress fall to the ground below. Her wings eventually took her back to the university campus where she landed gently on the ledge of the building where she began her flight.

Just as she began to shift back into her human form, the door leading up to the roof flew open violently and a young woman stormed out, followed by another young woman who was struggling to keep up with her. Emma immediately reverted back into full bird form before they could see her, and flew behind a wooden crate to hide. She didn’t normally care if anyone saw her shifting, but the woman angrily stomping onto the concrete roof was Cherice Alistair, and, like most people, Emma preferred to limit her contact with the self-proclaimed Princess of Goldbay.  

“She thinks she’s so fucking special just because she’s a fucking assistant that gets to play Teacher.”

They’re talking about Persey, Emma thought. Jeez, she’s still stuck on that? It's been days.

“What did your dad say?” the companion panted. Emma recognized her as Dee, a lovely rubenesque girl with rich dark skin and a shaved head. She was very quiet, usually, and she was also seemingly the only person who was willing to spend time with Cherice for more than an hour.

“He wouldn’t do shit! He gave me some fucking sob story about how that bitch Persey’s mom was the witch doctor that cured Grandmother and how he holds her entire family to some insane high degree,” Cherice waved her hands furiously, tugging at her thick red locks. “I can’t fucking believe her, acting like she didn’t know who Father was, acting like she didn’t know who I am...”

Inwardly, Emma laughed. It was pretty hilarious to see Cherice so worked up and not getting her way. Dee remained silent and moved to sit down next to a solar panel, groaning as she lowered herself to the ground.

“Like, who fucking cares if some old skank with herbs and crystals and oils inspired him to become a doctor. He would have been a doctor without that influence.”

“I thought your dad originally wanted to be a pilot.”

“Shut the fuck up, that’s irrelevant. He knows his true calling is medicine, just like I know mine is to be the next Mayor.”

Dee looked down and bit her lip, picking at some of the frayed strands on her jeans. “I don’t know, Cher, I’m sure she was just excited to be the teacher and took it too far, I don’t think it’s that big of a deal.”

Cherice slowly turned to face Dee, her face contorted with malice. “Not... not a big deal? That fucking bitch humiliated me in front of the entire class! She treated me like I was some kind of pest to be exterminated! And Father... fucking bastard... is acting like it’s nothing to sneeze at! And now I have to take that from you, too!?”

With every word, she grew more furious, and began to shake with anger.  

“Fuck that! She’s going to fucking pay, every cock sucking pathetic worm that sat in those cheap metal chairs and laughed in my face is going to pay, that lazy so called instructor that allowed that hippie bitch to lead is going to pay, Father is going to pay, they’ll all be fucking sorry!”

She let out a terrifying scream that pierced the sky and threw her hand in front of her as if slapping an invisible person, and every solar panel and HVAC unit in front of her was ripped from the concrete and thrown off of the roof in pieces. Dee scrambled backward and let out a whimper, and Emma squawked and flew up and settled on a far corner away from the flying debris, her tiny bird feet gripping the ledge tightly.  

For a moment, Cherice stood motionless, her eyes wide. She stared at her hands while her mouth hung open in shock. Dee slowly stood and moved closer to her cautiously.  

“Wow, I... didn’t know you could do that.”

“I-I... I didn’t either,” she whispered.  

Running a hand along her bare scalp, Dee took a deep breath and looked at the section of the rooftop that Cherice cleared. Aside from a few wires jutting from the holes they came from, the entire left side was completely bare. She sighed and put her hands carefully on her friend’s shoulders.

“Let’s go back inside, okay? You’re shaking like a leaf and I think you need to process this new power while you calm down. Let’s go grab some muffins. You love muffins, and today is your cheat day, yeah? I bet they have the ones with blueberries AND dark chocolate chips, those are your favorite, right?”

Dee slowly and gently turned the red-head toward the door and lead her to it, continuing to speak comforting words while Cherice mumbled about how everyone was going to pay for their crimes against her, and once the door was shut and Emma was sure that they were gone, she flew to the panel that her phone was hidden behind and shifted back into human form.  

“Thank God,” she sighed. Her phone was safe, and aside from being a little shaken up, she was safe as well. Or so she hoped. Cherice was a firecracker, everyone knew that, but now she has a new power and her anger was fueled to capacity, there’s no telling what she might plan next. She needed to warn her friends as soon as she could in case something actually did happen.

Before standing to exit the building, she spotted a tiny caterpillar inching its way along the brick. Instead of wondering how in the world it got up there, Emma licked her lips hungrily and moved to pick it up with her beak-

Wait, hold the fuck on, she wondered, shaking her head. I’m not a bird anymore... how long did I shift for?

She checked her phone. The time was 9:44 am. She’d stayed shifted an hour and a half too long.

“Ah, fuck.”

#whee wooo #wcbh #5sos #5 seconds of summer #ashton irwin #michael clifford #calum hood #luke hemmings #ficsos #are you guys pumped because i'm pumped #i was blocked for a month and I did not like it one bit #The next chapter will be great #i promise

[greekowl87]

Fic: The Ins and Outs of a Relationship

A/N: This started as a prompt that @minuete-blog submitted to me back in December for which I wrote a 200 word drabble. Then this beast was born and it’s rather long. I’m still not entirely content with it but at this point...hopefully it’s okay and you all enjoy. A massive thanks to @peacenik0 helping me out in the beginning with the inital feedback.

Sorry for the typos. Editing is always a weakness of mine. Hopefully I caught everything.

Tagging @today-in-fic

"You can't ignore me forever." "Watch me, Mulder." "Want do you want me to do?" He pleaded. Mulder used his height to block her into the back part of the office. "What should I do, Scully? I know I messed up?" "Messed up? Try big time up, Mulder." Ever since Diana, Gibson, and Cassandra Spencer’s disappearance, that is what had started. After she had nearly died from Ritter’s bullet in New York, a temporary truce had been called as he helped her with incredibly fast recovery. But that peace was short lived and with them back in the basement again, it seemed old tension flared up again.  Sure, she managed to keep a professional decorum while they were at work but in those rare moments when it was just the two of them, she let her ire burn furiously. Ever since they reclaimed their basement office, she continued to let her anger be known. "I get that, Scully. I get that. Trust me." "Trust you?" The irony was laced like acid in her voice. "Trust you? Just like you trusted me?" Come on, Scully, Mulder thought miserably.  

"We can't afford to be doing this. Not as husband and wife." "What the hell are you talking about?" She raised her eyebrow quizzically and her patience was clearly thinned.

Her silence was enough for him as Mulder produced the fake ring from his suit pocket. "Marry me, Scully." "Mulder." She grimaced pinching the bridge of her nose. “What is this? Some sort of sick joke?” "We have an undercover case. Arcadia. Sunny San Diego. Something about missing neighbors. It'll be fun, Scully. We get to play house." He cleared his throat. “A married couple went missing and are presumed dead. The locals asked for our help and Skinner thought the best approach would be if we went undercover as a married couple.” She yanked the false ring from hand and pushed her way forwards. Scully began to gather her stuff for the day. "The folder is on the desk. Our flight leaves at 10. Should I pick you up at eight?" She glared at me and he couldn't help but smile. She slammed the door behind her. "Eight it is then," he murmured, eyeing the empty spot where the file had been.

. . . . .

Scully slept fitfully throughout the night and woke up two hours before her five o’clock alarm was supposed to go off. She had not fallen asleep the previously evening easily either so she reviewed the case. She shook her head in disgust as she reflected what Mulder had told her previously.

We get to play house, Scully. That shit eating grin on his face. She twirled the fake wedding ring against the grain of her wooden kitchen table as she sipped her bitter coffee and the bitter liquid churned in her acidic stomach brought on by nerves. She stared at that ring and only could think about Diana.

Diana and Mulder. Mulder and Diana. The Gunmen had not implicitly said it outright but she was a good investigator, she could make the connections. They had been married but did Mulder know that she knew?

Marry me, Scully.

Mulder had asked her that one other time when she was in Maine. Even though she knew he had been joking, it reminded her that she had once considered and played with the idea of taking their relationship to the next level at one time. Her cancer remission had brought a new lease on life and reinvigorated their relationship. Even what had happened over the summer had given her some hope. But then Fowley’s game was strong and she was luring Mulder even more.

Trust me on this, Scully. Diana wouldn’t steer us wrong. You should trust Diana because I trust Diana.

What a huge pile of horse shit, she thought. Looking at the clock, Scully got up to pour out the rest of the coffee and prepare for her shower. As she was about to start her shower, she heard her front door open and close soundly behind her.

“Hey, Scully!”

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. She closed her eyes and called out, “You’re early.”

“I know. I thought I would get a jump on things since it’s our first case back,” he said. She could hear him rattling around in the kitchen. “Are you out of creamer?”

“Yes. You know I take my coffee black,” she called back.

That was his thing. Her space was their space. What she wouldn’t give for some sense of personal identity or freedom. He could wait. She showered prolonging each minute. Scully was angry and hurt. She was frustrated she could not understand Mulder and his lack of guilt or empathy. As she finished her shower, Scully resolved to keep communication between them only a necessity for the rest of the case, even if they were supposed to be married.

. . . . . .

Silence oversaw their car ride to the airport, their flight across the country, their landing in San Diego, and as he stood at the rental car place. Mulder had tried to get some reaction from Scully. Anything would be better than her stony silence. He scribbled his signature onto the last form and asked, “Hey, Scully, what’s today’s date?”

“February 23rd,” she replied quietly.

He paused in thought. That date should have been important but he could not remember. Instead, he scribbled the date and pushed the forms back to the car attendant to finish the rental process. Mulder gazed at his partner staring out the window watching other people from the airport.

“Scully.”

“I’m fine, Mulder,” she replied robotically.

“Talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to say,” she continued. “Let’s just hurry up to the branch office, sign the paperwork, and go to our hotel. Okay? I really don’t want this to take any longer than necessary.”

“Fine, whatever you say, Scully.”

She could hear the hurt in his voice, and despite her affection for him, she was glad. Maybe he deserved a little taste of his own medicine. Hadn't he done enough to cause her pain and betray her trust over the last few months? Even still, Scully felt guilty for causing him pain. Mulder had forgotten her birthday again, and at this point, she shouldn’t even be surprised. The only time he had remembered her birthday was when she was dying with cancer because he only had one more chance to do it. Now they had all the time in the world and he had chosen to spend it with someone else. Diana, whom he trusted more than me, she reminded herself bitterly.

“Let’s just go then,” she told him.

The rest of the afternoon was no better. After the agents concluded their business at the field office, Mulder drove them to their hotel for the night before doing their big move in the morning. Scully disappeared without even saying good night into the elevator. Mulder sighed and pocketed his room key.

Mulder had been undercover a handful of times. The idea of no longer being Fox Mulder had been appealing fantasy growing up on the Vineyard after Samantha’s disappearance. He opened the new wallet to inspect the further. Robert Andrew Petrie born February 23, 1964...married to Laura Ann Petrie on September 4, 1995...the dates swirled around his head. Shit. He winced and closed the wallet and remembered why the date was important.

Scully’s birthday. He had forgotten again.

After her cancer remission, Mulder promised himself to do better by her. He thought he had been on the right path, especially with the impulsive events that had happened in the hallway. Something had sparked in his brain but then the bee, and then Diana. And now look at where they were. They finally had their work back and his quest but had things really changed for him.

He could still do something tonight for her. Maybe she might forgive him a bit. Without a second thought, Mulder carried his luggage back out the car and rushed to the nearest shopping center with a plan forming in his mind.

. . . . . .

Scully sighed as she finished buttoning the new silken pajamas that her mother had bought her the previous weekend. She should enjoy what was left of her birthday. Maybe she could find Breakfast at Tiffany’s on the television and go to bed early. She was about to pull back the covers when she heard Mulder’s familiar two-note knock.

“I’m asleep,” she called.

“Two minutes, Scully. Please?”

“Not tonight, Mulder.”

“We need to talk, Scully. Please. I brought you an olive branch.”

Scully sighed and relented. She always relented and did what he asked. She opened the room door slightly and saw Mulder in a t-shirt and jeans. He held up a small bottle of rum and two cokes produced from the vending machine down the hall.

“Happy birthday, Scully.”

“What do you want, Mulder?”

“Why does it necessarily mean I want something? Come on, Scully.”

She sighed and opened the door wider as Mulder started to fix them two drinks. He pushed the drink into her hand and Mulder clinked his own plastic cup against hers. “Happy birthday.”

“And you remembered?”

“Well, my birthday is now yours too...well Rob’s is at least. I know I forgot again but I, um…” Mulder sipped his drink uneasily. “Scully, why are you angry with me? Isn’t it enough that I know I messed up?”

“Mulder,” she took a deep breath. But he was looking at her again in that way and she sighed. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“What? Is it Diana again?”

“It’s more than that!” Scully shouted angrily. “You dismissed me as if what I had to say meant nothing. You don’t trust me.”

“What are you talking about? I trust you. I do! Scully, you are working yourself up over nothing!”

“Stop dismissing me as if I am nothing! You came in to rub it in my face?”

“No,” Mulder answered. His shoulders dropped. “I just wanted to give you these. I saw Scully wearing them more than Laura. Happy birthday by the way.” She watched Mulder drown his drink and place a small box with a bow on the dresser. “I’ll see you downstairs at nine. The moving van will be meeting us here.”

He dropped the used plastic cup in the trash and left without looking her in eye. The door shut behind him and Scully looked down at her full drink and then to the small black box with the bow. She set the drink aside and wondered cynically what it could be. Did he see her or Diana as his partner on the x-files? What about this case?  She was supposed to role play his wife. She cast aside the bow and opened the box expecting to see something stupid. Instead, she saw a small folded piece of paper and two dazzling pearl-gold earrings. Her breath was caught in her chest as she uncrumpled the small note.

Scully - I can’t think of anything clever to write, but I wanted you to know that there is no one else I’d rather have be my partner more than you. Happy birthday - Mulder.

She inspected the earrings and Mulder’s words came back to her. Catholic guilt was insufferable.

. . . . . .

The next morning, Mulder had not slept at all after he had left Scully’s room. The elevator dinged and his breath hitch as Scully appeared carrying her bags. She was wearing the earring that he had gotten her the previous night and it matched perfectly with her golden cross. He still saw his Scully but he also saw what he imagined Dana being like in another life. Scully joined him in the lobby and frowned in response to his blank expression.

“Close your mouth, Mulder.” Her small hands automatically began to fix the sweater he had tried to fix on his shoulders. “You look ridiculous.”

“You look...nice.” She paused and raised her eyes to meet his. Something had changed in her Mulder had sensed. Color flashed her in cheeks as she fixed her eyes on trying his sweater. “Scully, I mean it.”

“Thanks, Mulder.”

Mulder watched her hands and noticed that her ring finger was bare. He caught her hands within his. “Where’s your ring?”

“Um, I was going to put it on later.”

“Let me,” he whispered. “Please, Scully?”

Scully looked away and was clearly uncomfortable. “Mulder…”

“Please?”

“Pocket.”

Scully closed her eyes as she felt his fingertips graze her abdomen as he fished out the ring from her sweater’s pocket. The cool gold metal was smooth against his own fingertips and her own soft hands were like grazing heaven. They both stared at their joined hands as Mulder delicately slipped the ring onto her wedding finger. “I know it’s not done properly, the proposal,” he whispered. His eyes lit up at some joke she did not know.  “But I’d imagine Rob and Laura’s marriage proposal being something kitsch and romantic. Rob wanted to impress Laura because he never felt good for her.”

“Laura likes Rob for who he is. It’s fine, Mulder. Really it is.”  Their hands fell to each other’s side. “I guess we better get going.”

“Yeah,” he murmured.

. . . . . .

“Stepford homes with identical lawns to a sixteenth of an inch in San Diego,” Scully mused. “It must be a crime.”

Over a dinner of burritos and locally made salsa, camped out on the floor with paper plates, the partners decided their next move.  Mulder was still pouting well into the evening that his basketball hoop had no place among CC&Rs and a Twilight Zone suburbia as his oversized steak burrito with a fork.

“Doesn’t this place just creep you, Scully?”

“How so? Or are you just mad about your basketball hoop?”

“Both,” he replied before taking a bite.

She hummed in agreement. He quietly took in the changed Scully in contrast to what he had seen the previous evening. She seemed a bit more open and forgiving. Maybe he was navigating the minefield of their relationship. Even then throughout the day, he could not resist touching her with simple gestures like an arm around her shoulder or just holding her close.

“My first apartment in Baltimore was like this when I started med school,” Scully chuckled at the random memory.

“What? A huge house with no furniture?”

“A shoe box studio with only a bed and a lawn chair,” she corrected. “I used my medical texts for tables.”

Mulder smiled with her. “I bet you have some stories.”

“Hmm…” She continued in thought. “Even though I still don’t know how my dad it paying for med school, I was determined to be independent so shady studio apartments were a must.”

“Well, we got a couch at least. And a nice bed upstairs,” Mulder listed, “and a television with a premium cable package for all our needs.”

“Well, I’d imagine you have particular tastes that are such a rarity to find.”

Mulder broke out into laughter and moved closer on the rug to Scully.

“So, what’s the plan for tomorrow?” She shrugged. “Return the china to Big Mike and see if we can’t get your basketball hoop problem sorted out with the owner of the homeowners association...Gogolak and we can take it from there.”

He nodded and got up from the ground and collected the remains of their dinner for the fridge. “At least we have leftovers for breakfast.” He offered his hand to Scully and he pulled her up from the ground. “Do you need any help with the bed?”

“I got it,” she said softly. “Thank you for taking the couch. Do you need me to bring you any pillows or anything?”

“I got all I need right here,” he replied gesturing to the television. He licked his lips as the air became heavy. “Good night, Scully.”

“Night, Mulder.”

She could feel his eyes on her back as she walked quietly upstairs.

As the hours trickled through the night and into the early morning, Scully found herself unable to sleep in the large foreign bed. The wind outside blew and she could hear the trees in the backyard and the billowing against the windows. She turned onto her side and drew the blankets around her shoulder but the uneasiness only grew worse. She tried to close her eyes to think about something else, do random math equations, trying to recite the periodic table, anything to sleep. But her mind drifted to Mulder and how in 72 hours things had changed yet again between them.

Why can’t I think of anything else?

She rolled out of bed, gathered her robe, and went downstairs for a glass of water. Mulder wide awake staring listlessly at the blue glow of the television lost in thought.

“Can’t sleep?” Scully asked from the top of the stairs.

Mulder looked up in surprise.

“Can you?”

“No.”

“Want to join me for a bit, Scully? Misery loves company.”

She sighed and wrapped the robe around herself tightly.

“I just came down for a glass of water.”

He patted the couch invitingly. “Come on, Scully. I won’t bite.”

After a moment of brief hesitation, she joined him on the couch. Mulder offered the blanket that he had been using and she shook her head slightly before his insistence won out. She tried to get comfortable as if this was the first time they had sat next to each other.

“Why is it so cold down here?”

“I haven’t quite mastered the settings of the air unit. I can go change it if you want. Try and figure it out.”

“No,” she whispered. She stalled him by catching his hand. “I’m fine. This is good. I mean, it’s no green leather couch but it’ll do.”

“I miss my couch too.” He smiled at her off-handed comment. “I thought this would be more of your style, Scully.”

“Suburbia and perfect little homes? Not by a long shot. Chasing monsters with a crackpot partner is more my style.” She yawned and covered her mouth. “Excuse me.”

“Maybe watching a little tv will help you fall asleep.”

Scully knew she should say no and go back upstairs to maintain any level of professionalism while they were undercover. They weren’t husband and wife, they were only pretending. But a part of her wanted to indulge. She remembered the small gestures like an arm around her shoulders or something small. It was nice to pretend and things would go back to normal when they were in Washington. She let the last of her anger and resentment go momentarily and just let herself indulge in the moment with him.

To Mulder’s surprise, she unfolded the blanket and lounged next to him. He extended the full length of his body so that Scully was comfortably cushioned between him and the couch. Scully sighed contently and rested her head on his shoulder under his chin. “It’s nice to pretend sometimes,” Mulder whispered.

“Is that what we do?”

“What do you mean?”

“We pretend everything is okay when it isn’t,” she whispered. His arm came around her waist protectively. This was the most she had talked about her emotions in months. “Do you trust me?”

“What kind of question is that? Of course.”

“Because lately it doesn’t seem like it. We pretend.” In the darkness, she felt like she could be open because she could hide in the shadows without giving too much away.

“Are we pretending right now?”

“I don’t know.”

Mulder could not find an answer so he simply settled for holding her. Scully took the silence neither as a good or bad thing given their current physical prolixity. Scully moved to get up but Mulder’s arm squeezed around her gently. Encouraged by this, she relaxed and instead focused on the late night infomercial playing on the television and tried to memorize the sensations of being held by Mulder. Sometimes, they communicated best when things went unspoken. He pressed a gentle kiss to her hair. “I hope not,” he murmured right before sleep overtook her.

. . . . . . .

Scully blinked herself awake momentarily unaware as the morning light peaked through the windows. She smelled Mulder’s musk and she thought she had fallen asleep in the early morning during a stakeout. Her leg brushed against something hard...oh shit! Scully blinked herself wake, clenched her thighs, and rolled out of place on the couch. Mulder groaned something incomprehensible, not fully awake but aware of the sudden absence. Everything came back to her in a flash and she winced wondering how she could have let things get this far.

“Scully,” he mumbled. “Shit, what time is it?” He opened his eyes to see her cheeks a bright red and her staring fixedly at his legs. He followed her gaze to see…”Shit!” The blanket was a vain attempt at modesty. “Sorry…”

“We had a moment, Mulder. That’s all. I understand and it’s a typical physiological response.” She had her arms wrapped around herself. “I’m going to get a shower.”

“Scully,” he called again. He daughter her left hand as she tried to walk past. “About last night…”

“It was a moment, Mulder. Nothing. We have a job to do today, okay?” There it was. The walls were back up and she had closed off to him again. “I’ll start the coffee for you before I go back upstairs.”

He wanted to say more but his voice escaped him. He settled into old habits and settled with squeezing her hand. “Thanks, Scully.”

Mulder expected her to pull away in silence but she returned the squeeze gently before heading into the kitchen. It was some progress and he would take it, even at the expensive of his body’s betrayal.

. . . . . . .

He told her the thrill was gone. It was meant as a joke but it hurt deeper. She grabbed his hand to prevent him from going downstairs and back to the couch for the rest of the night. She was upset with him for a lot of things: Diana, the mock story of their meeting, the toothpaste, and the toilet seat but she still cared for him. She was also very much confused.  More that but she would never openly admit that. She had also surprised him with her demonstrative behavior.

“Stay here tonight,” she told him. “We both know how uncomfortable the couch is.”

Mulder clutched the overstuffed pillow before sitting it on the edge of the bed. “What do you want me to do? I see you are mad at me but then there are moments like last night. Then you pretend as if nothing has happened. I see your uneasiness with me pretending to be your husband.”

He watched her bit her lip as she failed to come up with the right word. “That's not us, Mulder,” she replied.

“We aren’t supposed to be us on this case.” He nodded to her. “Green facial masks make me wonder if you’ve become an alien hybrid.” She gifted him with a small chuckle. “Go finish your beauty routine..”

“Are we going to talk?”

“We can try.”

She disappeared into the bathroom to wash off the facial mask satisfied with the answer. Mulder tossed the pillow back on the bed and stared thoughtfully at the 600 count Egyptian sheets and firm new mattress. He adjusted the right side of the bed knowing that is where she would likely sleep for the night.

“I was thinking of what I could do tomorrow,” he called to her. “I have a pink flamingo which is scientifically proven to piss off the neighbors, just like the scientific nature of the whammy.”

“The jury is still out on that one, Mulder,” she answered from the bathroom.

“Well, don’t worry about me tomorrow while you run down to San Diego. It’s all under control.”

“I do worry when you say it’s all under control. That usually means I have to save your ass.” Back and forth, verbal sparring, thrust, and parry. Let’s hide our emotions some more and everything is fine then.  “What on Earth inspired you to come up with that UFO convention bullshit at dinner?”

“I hate this entire suburbia thing, Scully.” She emerged from the bathroom with her face bright red from the green facial. “I was bored although you looked ready to murder me.”

“I was but yet you’re still here. Don’t forget I know how to do it properly if I wanted to. And not get caught” She took off her robe and cast it aside on the chair with Mulder’s sweatshirt. “What about that kiss?” Scully may not have liked talking about her emotions but she was skilled in trying to give him a heart attack without trying. “That seemed…”

“What?”

“I don’t know. We don’t talk about that much either, do we, Mulder?”

Mulder sat on the edge of the bed unsure of the next move. Scully sat across from him. “Do you want to know what bothered me the most about this assignment initially, Mulder?” She took his silence as an affirmative. She took a deep breath and decided that maybe talking about her emotions was the way to start. Maybe it was the close quarters they shared or maybe she was just tired of it. “I couldn’t help see Diana in the role instead of me. I can’t help but wonder...call me jealous but it’s more than you trusting her over me...I felt like there was something in the past that she was trying to reclaim. Everything that we had...have...I don’t know where we stand anymore, Mulder.”

He blinked and was shell shocked. For Scully to even admit this level of openness of emotion or how she truly felt was mind-blowing for Mulder. “You’re jealous?”

“And hurt. What happened after Cassandra Spender and at the Gunmen’s felt like a slap in the face. I know she was,” Scully paused to consider her words, “with you when you unearthed the x-files.”

“She was never officially on them in any capacity,” Mulder took a deep breath weighing the truth. “It was more personal in nature.”

“You two were involved,” Scully surmised.

Mulder looked away and gave a weak nod.

“Yes. For a whirlwind nine months.” He watched her expression stay neutral but he saw hurt in her blue eyes. “I thought I had finally found someone to listen to me, someone who actually cared. But I was wrong. Maybe I was too obsessed with the work or something, but she left one day...no notice or anything. Just a note. I can still see. Fox - It was never going to work.”

“That was it?” Scully felt her blood boil not because of jealousy but because of anger. Mulder deserved more. “She just left you?”

“I’m used to it, Scully.” He shrugged. “My parents were no good, Phoebe left me, and it was only natural Diana followed. I sometimes think these days you are bound to do the same thing.”

“Neither one of us is perfect, Mulder but you can’t get rid of me.”

“I almost did.”

Scully sighed and took his hands. “I don’t like how she uses you.” They looked down their joined hands again and felt the electricity in the air. “I know she means something to you, Mulder but…”

“Enough talking about it, Scully. Please? She’s not here now, is she? It’s us. We have our office and work back..” His thumb caressed the webbing of her hand. “Granted this a lot lackluster than I wanted.”

She took a deep breath. “This isn’t what I expected either. This isn’t us, is it?”

“No,” he laughed. “Scully, are we okay?”

“I think we’re going to be,” she whispered. A small smile was on her lips. “Honeybunch.”

“Poopyhead? Really.”

Both smiled and she looked down at their hands. “I wonder how, if it wasn’t for the bee, things would have turned out between us.”

Mulder caught the innuendo. “What if, Scully.”

She took a deep breath. “We can’t, Mulder...we’re on a case.”

“But...you want to…” Say yes, Scully. Please say yes. “Scully?” Scully nodded slightly as her eyes closed. His hands were becoming more insistent playing with the inside of her wrists. She felt herself clench like she did that morning. “Let me,” he whispered, “I promise I can be discrete.”

Shit, she thought, they shouldn’t be doing this. “Mulder...I don’t want…” Scully gulped the moment she felt him invade her personal space and ignite the tension with a searing kiss on the crook of her neck. It was like she had been electrified alive and leave her body liquified. “Mulder…”

“What? Is there something wrong?”

She stared at his hazel eyes, dilated with arousal. “I don’t want this...I don’t want to hurt you...I don’t want to be hurt.”

“You won’t,” he said. His large hands framed her face. “You’ve never left me.”

She shook her head. “Mulder, this isn’t right,” she replied stopping him. “We both know it. This is neither the time nor the place.” She saw something in him break. “Mulder, it’s not you, it’s…”

“No. No, Scully, I get it.”

“Mulder, that’s not it…”

“No, I get it. Maybe I don’t know you as well as I thought I did,” he said.

No, no, no! He’s pulling away again.

“Mulder, stop! Mulder!”

“Why do you want me to say, Scully? This is probably what would’ve happened in the hallway,” he snapped. Scully drew away from him as if she had been burned. “You know, ever since you recovered from your cancer, I wanted to show you how much you mean to me. That I could be something to you.”

This was spiraling out of control. “Mulder, let me finish,” she begged.

“No, Scully. I get it. I’ve gotten a glimpse at your perfect life if you’d never met me.”

She needed to fix this and get his dumb mouth to shut up somehow. He was getting anxious, talking himself down. “Mulder! Shut up, for one minute!” But he kept talking about how she would have been so much better without him. “Mulder!” At wit’s end, she grabbed his hand and forced him to stare at her. He stilled and lowered his gaze like he was ashamed to see her. “Look at me. At the very least look at me in the eye as I talk to you.”

“What’s the point?”

“I don’t want to screw this up, Mulder...whatever we have between us, I don’t want to screw this up. We’re healing, we need to heal before we do anything else, before we do anything else.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean, Scully?”

“You idiot,” she murmured affectionately. Her hand gently caressed his cheek. “This is probably the most communicative and open we’ve been with each other for a while. Do you realize that? We haven’t been this open about us in...God, I can’t remember.”

Mulder stared at her with the intensity he reserved for an x-files and her. “We have, haven’t we?”

“Oxford education my ass, Mulder.”

He nodded in acceptance. “I’ll leave you some space then tonight.”

“I didn’t say you had to leave,” she said. “We can still talk, Mulder.”

Mulder nodded in acceptance. “What else do you want to know?”

“Nothing,” Scully said. “We don’t have to talk either.”

She suddenly grew self-conscious. Maybe she was making a mistake and misreading this entire thing.   welled up in her chest as she pulled down the quilt of the bed and Mulder watched her before helping. “I don’t know which one is more awkward, Scully, this or playing house.”

“Shut up, Mulder and come to bed.”

Soon, they were under the covers and the lights were out. In the darkness, they could be open again. As they lay side by side, Scully on her side and Mulder on his back, they let the silence eschew them. What was there to say when it still felt there an ocean dividing them? Mulder watched her back and breathing patterns. She was still awake. “I’m going to go downstairs, Scully,” he announced. His whispered voice rippled through the stillness. “This isn’t working.”

“Mulder,” she countered. She twisted to face him. “Why?”

“It just isn’t, Scully. I’m going downstairs to sleep, okay? I’ll see you in the morning.”

He rolled out of bed and disappeared downstairs into the night leaving Scully confused and wondering just what exactly had happened.

. . . . . . .

Scully left for San Diego and the field office first thing in the morning before he woke up off the couch. She left him no note or anything which he probably deserved. As he drank his orange juice and surveilled the pink flamingo, Mulder had time to think as his photographic memory replayed the conversation over on repeat. In his mind, he had overreacted and clearly done something that Scully had been repulsed by.  What the hell were you thinking when you kissed Scully, he berated himself?

. . . . . .

That evening, after a close call with Scully almost bludgeoned fire poker, both sat down in the living and shared a pizza. In front of them laid the evidence Scully had brought back from San Diego. He took a large bit from the pizza and asked, “So aside from you almost decking me tonight with a fire poker, my basketball hoop was also mysteriously returned to the garage as well.”

“So, the mysterious forces are returning basketball hoops and fixing our mailbox. Are you sure it wasn’t the neighborhood watch?”

“Very funny, Scully.”

“But seriously, you think there is a creature traveling from yard to yard? What inspired such a theory?”

“A trash monster if you will.”

“How original.”

“I can’t explain it yet, Scully but we need to dig out there without blowing our cover. I’ve already called for a digger tomorrow morning to start on it.”

“And how are you going to disguise that?”

“A reflection pool.” He tapped the side of his temple. “There’s nothing in those damn CC&Rs about a reflection pool.”

“Clever. So tomorrow, we watch you tear up the yard while I will be the good little housewife?”

“Unless there’s something else…”

“No. No, there isn’t.” As they continued to eat their pizza in silence and both felt the tension from the previous evening return. “I was thinking, Scully about last night.”

“What about last night?”

She watched him wearily and was clearly caught off guard. She had not expected anything to happen or any other discussion to occur. “Maybe we should spend the night together,” he started. He averted his eyes as he picked to bring up the awkward topic. “After what happened today. I don’t have an explanation for the mailbox or the flamingo or the basketball hoop. I know I saw something out there tonight I can’t explain and I just have a bad feeling about the trash monster.”

“Back each other up?” Scully asked as she kept her eyes focused on the pizza in front of her. “Have a defensible position?”

“Yeah. A defensible position. I was thinking that the bedroom would be better. You know, better than the living room.”

“Basic military defense 101 right, Scully?” He flashed her a warm smile which did nothing to alleviate her uneasiness. “You still wearing those earrings, huh?”

“What?”

He motioned at towards her ear lobe. “The earrings I got you for your birthday,”

“Oh yeah. I love them,” she told him. “That was incredibly thoughtful of you, Mulder.”

“I’m glad.”

“Why did you pull away last night, Mulder?”

Scully decided to lay it on the line. She was tired of them running around in circles, talking in code, and pretending. The Petries were overly sweet and adorable and so, so fake. Like Mulder and Scully, there was confusion and deception and broken trust. “What are you talking about?” Mulder deflected.

He started to gather the paper plate and the rest of the pizza to put it away in the fridge. “What am I talking about? Mulder, last night was just something or a spat. Who are you trying to protect? You or her?

“This isn’t about her, Scully. Can you please just drop it?”

“Then who is this about, Mulder? If you expect this to work between us again, us having the x-files back...I don’t want to go through it again.”  

“What?”

She recalled three years ago when they had been on a case in Maryland with mind control and televisions. She remembered the hallucination of seeing Mulder in the car with the Smoking Man and the shattering heartbreak in their still young partnership. Her worst fears coming true except this time it was real. “Mulder, tell what it is that I did! Do you not trust me? Would you rather have her?”

“Scully,” he groaned, setting everything on the counter. “Why are you doing this? Why now? We have more important things to focus on.”

“If not now, when, Mulder?”

“This isn’t about our partnership.”

“I am tired of dancing around this subject. This is about us, Mulder, you and me. You can’t keep running.”

“I’m not running.”

“Then what was last night, Mulder?”

“I overstepped the line,” he answered.

“Overstepped,” she repeated.

“I tried last night thinking we’d be able to recapture what we had but obviously I was wrong,” he told her.

Where is this coming from?

“What are you talking about, Mulder?”

“Last night,” he continued, ignoring the incredulous looks she was giving him. “Obviously there is nothing between us like that.”

Nothing between them? “What the hell are you talking about?” Was what happened in the hallway last summer nothing too? “Maybe I shouldn't have gone to your apartment that night. Maybe I shouldn't have agreed to come back onto the x-files, Mulder. You and your ex-wife would have the rule of the roost again without me.”

“What did you say?” he hissed angrily.

“What?”

“About my ex-wife,” he pressed. There was a fire in his eyes that had only seen a handful of times.

“Diana,” she said. Scully drew herself up to her full five foot two stature when she suddenly wished she had her heeled boots on. “The Gunmen told me.”

“They shouldn’t have,” he said. “And you shouldn’t go sticking your nose in business where it doesn’t belong.”

“Is that something you didn’t think to tell me last night after you admitted your nine-month relationship? How long were you all married?”

“What does that have to do with anything, Scully and you know it!”

“Why didn’t you think it was important enough to tell me? And why are you still bringing it up?” 7For that, he could not formulate an answer. He looked down at the kitchen countertop. Scully sighed and shook her head. As much as she wanted to say something else, she knew no words to fix the wounds they had opened tonight. “We’re never going to get better are we, Mulder? Maybe we were okay at one point but I feel like now, why are we even trying, Mulder?” She hunched her shoulders in defeat. “I’m going to take a shower, Mulder. I still think we should not be alone, just in case something does happen. But I understand if you don’t…”

She left in silence and climbed the stairs. She unbuttoned her blouse and threw it onto the chair in the corner of the bedroom, not caring anymore. Scully couldn't place the emotions that she was feeling...hurt and disappointment, surely. She did not want to hurt anymore. She shut and locked the bathroom door behind her and turned on the hot water. She stepped in and tried to forget everything else.

Downstairs in the kitchen, Mulder continued to clean up the kitchen and put the remains of the pizza into the fridge next to their forgotten burritos from their first night. He did not want to go back upstairs and face Scully. He did not know what bothered him more, the fact the truth was out or Scully’s reaction. What was she reacting to, he thought.

After the rest of the kitchen was cleaned and the living room was picked up, Mulder stood at the foot of the stairs as an emotional war raged within him as that god awful song by The Clash played in his head. “Should I stay or should I go now?” he murmured to himself.

The words were mocking him and he suddenly found himself time traveling back to years ago to the moment when Diana had returned the wedding ring and the note to him. He stood transfixed at his desk in the basement, frozen in time unable to do anything. What had resulted was years worth of loneliness and self-loathing. Was he willing to let that happen all over again? They had the x-files again together but what were the odds she would still end up leaving him just like Diana did? Did he mess up again that much?

Taking a deep breath, there was only one way to find out. Mulder climbed the stairs trying not to make too much noise. He heard her in the shower and he shivered at the thought. Holding her as she slept the first night on the couch was a memory that he would hold onto the rest of his days. She emerged from the shower dressed in the same cotton pajamas she had been wearing the past few nights. She was not surprised to see him in the bedroom.

“Come to berate me some more?” She arched her eyebrow in challenge. “Or did you have something else in mind.”

“No,” he answered. He swallowed the lump in his throat. Mulder couldn’t endure their small, painful spats anymore. “I came to apologize.” She looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “I mean it, Scully. Do you want to know what happened? She left me, that much is the truth. She left that note, the wedding band, and my heart smashed in pieces. You know what I did. I fell off the face of the Earth. I threw those rings into the Potomac to never be seen again and thereby proceeded onto a three-day drinking binge where I probably should have died of alcohol poisoning. Frohike found me literally laying in the gutter where a three-day suit with throw up all over it. So yeah, I took it kind of hard.”

Scully’s face remained impassive but he could see the emotional turmoil in her blue eyes. “I still deserved to know.”

“Why? For your pity? Your spite?” He bit his lip to curb his sharp tongue. “Sorry, Scully.”

She watched him patiently. “Mulder, I’m your partner but over the past month or so, it doesn’t always feel like it. I don’t like her because I don’t trust her but it also feels like you don’t trust me either. You’d rather run off chasing monsters with her than me.”

“I don’t want to see anything happen to you! You mean so much more to me than she ever did. She’s expendable. You aren’t!”

Scully was stunned by his admissions. “What is that supposed to mean, Mulder? You aren’t responsible for me.” Her voice softened. “I told you that long ago, remember? I am here because I want to be. I’m not running, Mulder.”

Another long moment passed and ticking of a clock could be heard somewhere. “Well, this is awkward.”

They both chuckled slightly and the tension eased. “I don’t want you to lie to me, Mulder. Not anymore. Not because you are trying to protect me from some hurt feelings. We’re partners, agreed?”

“Of course.” Why would she ask such a question? “Scully, I know I screwed up last month. But I am tired of fighting and I suspect you are as well.”

“What gave it away?” Mulder could not tell if she was being sarcastic or not. She gave him a small smile. “I’m tired to walking around in circles with this, Mulder. Let’s just move on for the sake of moving on, huh?”

Mulder recognized the olive branch when he saw it but something stirred deeper within him. “Yeah.”

After a moment, she nodded and licked her lips. “Mulder, stay here tonight. I want to try anything if that is not you are worried about…”

It’s not, he thought miserably.

“I just rather be safe than sorry.”

“Of course.”

“Bathroom’s free.”

Mulder nodded and proceeded to get ready for bed as his heart pounded in his chest. Everything screamed in his chest that this wrong or a trap, but he finished getting ready for bed to find Scully already underneath the covers reviewing the file from earlier. “Put that way, Scully. We both need to sleep.”

“I will.”

Mulder sighed and crawled into the opposite side of the bed and leaned against the headboard. He tugged at the file and took it out of her hands. “Scully.”

“Fine, fine.”

The file was cast aside and they turned out the lights. Mulder heard Scully trying to get comfortable in the bed next to him. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

She flopped onto her stomach and Mulder rolled to his side. Still unable to get comfortable, Scully grabbed the pillow to change it up. Without think, Mulder traced his hand down her spine and felt her freeze. “Trust me.”

Mulder only wanted to comfort Scully. That is all he wanted to do. She had already suffered so much for the sake of his quest and he owed her a lot. Scully relaxed as she felt the pressure from his fingertips start at the base of her neck, linger around where the chip was before slightly massaging the neck around the collar of her pajamas. He felt her shudder and relax. “Okay?”

Scully nodded into the pillow. “It’s just...no ones…” She bit her lip and silenced herself.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Mulder let it go for the time being as he moved into much more dangerous waters. “You don’t have to hide from me, Scully. My secrets out and yet you’re still here; you didn’t run.”

“I told you it takes a lot to scare me,” she whispered into the pillow. “If anything, I feel like the air has cleared.”

“Has it, Scully?”

“Let’s say it has,” she answered hypothetically. Her breath hitched as she felt his touch dip lower down his back. “Maybe things can change between us.”

“How so?”

“We see where things take us? We don’t rush. We don’t do anything to hurt each other.”

She turned her head to face him and he bent his head forward closer. “What does that leave us?”

“The unknown variable.” She studied his face trying to discern any clue to what he was thinking. “We don’t have to do anything. I just miss the trust that we had, Mulder.”

“Have,” he corrected. “We have trust, Scully.”

“Do we?”

He inched closer to her and she held her breath as he brushed his lips against hers. He felt her exhale reverently. “We do.”

“We can’t do anything, Mulder. Not while we’re on a case.” Her blood was screaming for more. “As much as I…we need to remain professional.”

“I know.”

He took her hand gently and kissed her open palm. “You want to talk, we can talk.”

Then there was another kiss on the inside of her neck. “You’re being distracting.”

“I’m proving a point, Scully.” He voice lowered and he grasped her hand. “Aside from teasing you, it’s you...it’s always been you. I may be a little lost…”

“Easily distracted.”

“Easily distracted but I’m back. We’re back, Scully and I know what’s important.” She knew better than to push her luck and what was happening was world’s away from where they had been. She nodded. “We still need to watch each other’s back. You ready for bed?”

Scully took his hand and lead him upstairs to the bedroom and Mulder, feeling emboldened wrapped an arm around her waist from behind and pulled her against him. “Not helping, Mulder.” She did not try to pull away either. He chuckled softly and kissed her shoulder. “Mulder.”

“I know, I know. You aren’t exactly saying no though,” he noted. “I’m going to get ready for bed. Do you want the bathroom?”

Reluctantly, she pulled away. “I’ll only be a minute.”

Scully went to the bathroom to prepare for bed while Mulder changed into a tee shirt and sleeping pants. It only took minutes before Scully emerged from the bathroom dressed in her cotton pajamas. Without even asking he pulled down the blankets and went to the left side of the bed. “I won’t do anything to ruin your chastity.”

“I’m hardly a virgin, Mulder.”

“You know what I mean, Scully.”

They both slid beneath the covers and Scully checked the nightstand for her service weapon before shutting it soundly. He watched her amused. “Do you need anything else?”

“I’m fine, Mulder.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.” Darkness once again welcomed them as the lights were turned out on either side of the bed. Scully turned onto her side with her back to him. “Do you think the trash monster will come,” she teased in the darkness.

“I don’t know,” he said, “but I think we’ll be okay.” She felt a hesitant hand rest on the curve of her hip and she tensed slightly. “I’m not going to try anything crazy. Just give me a chance, Scully.”

Mulder continued to test the waters between them. “What are you doing?”

“You let me kiss you earlier. I want to see what else you will let me try.”

“Mulder…”

“I’m still going to behave, Scully.” Mulder grew bolder and wrapped an arm around her waist. She felt him press himself against her back and she shivered at the sensation of being held by him. “Relax, relax...I’m not going to bite or turn into a trash monster.” She gave a light chuckle. “Is this okay?”

“I’m not a china doll,” she admonished.

Scully weaved her fingers with his and pulled his arm tighter. Mulder kissed the nape of her neck and was astonished how small she was and how well they fit together. Feeling Mulder’s ghostly touch through her clothes sparked fantasies that she had long suppressed. The impulse to do more than this also resurfaced. “Mulder, do you consider us to be just partners?”

She picked the vaguest and purposely professional word she could think of trying to test him. His hand disengaged from hers and for another odd second, her heart stopped due to her presumptive boldness. His hand dipped lower into the valley of her thigh and she clenched. “Was that kiss nothing? Yes were partners, but you are also my best friend who gets away with shooting me from time to time and saving my ass.” He kissed her again as his hand explored. “But I want us, like you said, to go about this later. We still need to talk and I don’t want to screw this up again. But like you said, we still have a job to do an there can be time for that later.”

“I can’t believe you’re being the voice of reason.” She reclaimed his hand and brought it to her chest.  “We’re okay, right, Mulder?”

Their closeness was welcoming and she could already feel a change between them. He nodded into her shoulder. “We’re good. Let’s try and get some sleep,  Scully. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

. . . . . .

Chasing monsters, reflection pools, false scares, trash monsters, and a ruined suburban paradise. Mulder surveyed Gogolak’s dead body handcuffed in front of the mailbox and then looked back to the doorway to see Scully standing there as if in a daze. “Big Mike’s body is upstairs,” she said softly.

He looked down at his ruined jeans and then back to his partner. She looked worse for her with her hair askew. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she answered. She walked down the porch steps and took his hands momentarily and began to examine him for injury. “Are you okay, Mulder? No scrapes, bruises, or cuts?”

“I have trash in my shoes, but I’m okay other than that.” He watched the blinds snap shut over at the Schroder house. “I’ll call it in, Scully.”

. . . . . . . .

After almost a week, the case was finally closed. Scully found herself back in the same hotel where they had been at the beginning of the week. In her hotel, she eyed the adjoining door as Mulder strolled through without knocking carrying a bag of Chinese takeout and official looking FBI folders. She sat on her bed wearing jeans and a sweatshirt finally free from the vestiges of Laura Petrie. “Mulder, I told you no reports over dinner.”

“I just thought you would want to see what the lab boys found.”

“No reports. You promised, remember?”

“Fine, fine.” He cast the files on the hotel desk before joining her on the bed. “So, one order of beef and broccoli with fried rice for you, General Tso’s chicken for me, and two diet cokes.”

“Wonderful.” Scully helped spread the small feast across the bedspread. “And for the movie, The Exorcist.”

“A classic, Scully. We’ve only dealt with what, one possession?”

“Something like that. The first time I watched it was with Missy. We sneaked into the theatre together. I was nine. It scared me for months before I was able to sleep without my nightlight again.”

“Oh poor little Dana was scared of the dark,” Mulder teased.

“I was a good little Catholic, Mulder and it was the worst fears. Come on. Are you going to tease me for the rest of the night or are we watching the movie?”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Well let's get this movie started.”

Something must have changed over the past few days. There was less bickering and tension. The Chinese takeout was forgotten and put away into the mini fridge within the first 30 minutes. Mulder quickly reclaimed his spot to her on the hotel bed. Scully had scooted backward towards the pillows. He had somehow missed that she had taken the pillows from the extra queen bed and piled it onto the bed that they had been sitting on.

“Pillow fort, Scully?”

“It's turning into a sleepover, Mulder. Come back here.”

Mulder did not need to be told twice. He grabbed an extra blanket off the bed and pulled to where they were sitting. “Blanket fort helps too, Scully. A pillow can’t be structurally sound without a blanket fort.”

Scully watched him mirthfully and formed her lips into a silent Oh. Doing something he was forbidden to do a week ago, he lounged back into the mountain of pillows and Scully watched him amused. “Is this the new norm?”

“It could be.”

Mulder patted the right side of the bed invitingly as she chuckled. “Pillow and bed forts. Whoever thought the golden boy of the FBI was ever capable.”

“I am an agent of many talents which you’ll soon discover.” Scully joined him on the bed. “So I heard a medical doctor order a sleepover for the night.”

“You heard correctly.”

This was nice, this new thing between them. She settled back against the pillows with his arms framed around her. The hotel quilt was pulled up around them and she snuggled closer. “Maybe marriage did us good.”

“However brief but I always preferred being the good old boy.”

“You’re anything but good.”

Mulder pressed a heated kiss into the curve her shoulder and she shivered. “You have no idea.” His hand dipped lower. “Not during the movie?”

“You can soothe the nightmares away later, and the trash monsters.” She snuggled up next to him. “I want to watch this and be properly afraid.”

“What’s that mean, Scully?”

“I didn’t have anyone to hide with during the scary scenes.” She kissed him. “When we’re back home...maybe a few dates, maybe some other stuff.”

“The Yankees’ spring training is coming up…”

“Looks like you better plan a vacation or a conveniently placed case.”

He chuckled and hugged her closer. “I’ll settle for movie nights to begin with.”

#xfiles #xf fic #txf #txf fic #msr #mulder #scully #mulder and scully #msr fic #arcadia #angst #fluff #ust

[amnesiacgrian]

Bound To Darkness: Chapter 1 Awakened

Prologue

~

I shot awake, panting heavily. My body was trembling uncontrollably as I vainly tried to remember moments before, the weird dream that I had. But nothing came up. Absolutely nothing.

“Uh… hello?” A soft voice came from my right, making me jump. I turned, arms raised to protect myself from the man with a big bushy mustache. He held his hands up innocently, backing away a step.

“I…” I lowered my arms, unable to stop the tremble in my shoulders. “S-sorry… habit?”

“Do you get… attacked often?” The man walked forward, shoving his hands into his black dress pants pockets. He looked ragged, white button-up shirt untucked and jacket shoved back.

I shrugged helplessly, not… not actually sure. No memories of mine were coming to mind, it was blank. I knew nothing about myself, or this person, or… anything.

The man took my silence as an invitation to step forward, lowering his hands slowly. I noted he had an iron sword tucked in his belt, and a helmet that sat crooked on his head. I felt suffocated by the red sweater that I had on, especially since I had no idea where it came from.

I got a glance around the room I had woken up in to see it was a simple wood house. It looked like planks mingled with leaves to make a treehouse, wherein chests were littered about and disorganized to the extreme.

“My name’s Mumbo,” The man redrew my attention, his hand held out to me. “Myself and my friend Stress found you nearly a week ago. We thought - well, she did - that you had glitched out.”

“Glitched… glitched out?”

“Yeah. Y’know… the code messes with your body?” Mumbo seemed to be trying to get some kind of information out of me. Information I didn’t have. His hand dropped as his smile did.

Yet the term Glitched Out sounded familiar. Like a forbidden term, or… something. Truly, I had no idea what this man was talking about.

“Well… basically, we’re made of something called Code. Everyone is. But sometimes, when entering doorways to various worlds called Servers, our Code can… glitch. It’s a deadly curse that is rare, but not rare enough.”

I nodded, following along the best I could. It was all extremely confusing, but also like something I had already known.

“What I wanna know… how did you get here?” He looked at me for a long moment before it clicked. I was supposed to answer him.

“Well if I knew that, I would be glad to know something.” I felt like… like I could trust this person. Something in me resonated with this guy, bonding us in a weird sense. “I don’t really know… anything. No memories, thoughts, nothing. I don’t even know my name.”

“Oh… oh, that is strange.” Mumbo turned away, pacing the length of the small treehouse. He pulled up a holographic screen from some kind of watch on his wrist, pressing various buttons. “I’m gonna ask X and Iskall to see if they would know anything about memory loss…”

“So you don’t know me either?”

He glanced back, hesitating a moment. His face scrunched up in concentration for only a second. “No… no, I don’t think so. Your tag on this server says Grian, if that helps any.”

I shook my head, jumping at the sound of loud cracks from outside. A window behind the bed showed a person gliding down on some kind of silvery metallic wings, armor crafted from blue gems covering their head and lower half. They pulled of their helmet, showing another man. Except, unlike Mumbo… this man looked to be half robot.

“Iskall got here fast,” Mumbo smiled, vanishing into a hole in the floor. I glanced back out the window to see him running to the man he called Iskall, talking to him about me judging by the way he glanced to my face in the window. I pulled, back, sitting on the bed anxiously.

Within a few minutes, the ladder leading up to the small treehouse creaked and groaned, and Mumbo had returned with his… friend? Iskall studied me for a long moment, only poking half of his body through the entrance.

“Why hello there!” Okay, that accent was definitely foreign… but I couldn’t even tell where it was from. Just that it was different from Mumbo, and different from me. “My name is Iskall! And you are?”

I shrugged a bit, letting Mumbo answer for me. “Their tag just says Grian, and they don’t seem to know either.”

“I see. This is why you called me in.” Iskall pulled himself the rest of the way into the room, silver wings neatly tucked behind his back. I found myself studying the intricacies of the foreign metal, how it interlinked and seemed to connect to various parts of Iskall’s torso.

He caught me staring, and laughed a bit. “I’ll hook you up with an elytra sometime. If you’re stuck here with us-”

“-So the portals are still blocked?” Mumbo sounded concerned, but I was just confused.

“Portals?”

“The entrances and exits to this Server.,” Iskall jumped in to explain, frowning slightly, “They’re supposed to be open at all times, but for some reason they’re blocked from the outside, preventing us from leaving.”

“Joe is probably still panicking then,” Mumbo was mostly talking to himself, but the small room allowed me to hear everything, “I know I am.”

“We’re all worried, but hopefully someone will get us out soon.”

“Now for the real issue…” Iskall moved towards me, reaching out and grabbing my wrist faster than I could blink. I shifted a bit, weakly trying to pull away as he pressed his fingers against where my pulse would be.

“He doesn’t remember anything,” Mumbo glanced out the window, “and I asked for X to join us as well, but he hasn’t responded.”

“He… doesn’t seem glitched.” Iskall ran his hand up my arm, checking for… something. “But there is something else…”

“Like?”

Iskall glanced up at Mumbo, shrugging. “I don’t know. Suma might, but if he hasn’t responded to you he’s probably busy.”

I inferred that this X and Suma were the same person, just different parts of a name?

“I’ll ask Tango as well to come over. Stress will be here soon enough, probably, and Jevin was going to pop by if Grian didn’t wake up.”

All these names Mumbo said were foreign to me, making me wonder how many people were trapped here. These two, this XSuma and Joe, plus the three Mumbo had just mentioned… it felt bad knowing that so many people were here. And none of them knew me, most likely.

“Did I miss something?” A man poked his head up into the treehouse, and I froze. Something in me screamed that the blonde hair and red eyes were familiar, something I knew! I shot to my feet, staring at the man.

“You…” I knew the others were looking at me like I was crazy, the tremble had restarted through my body, but I didn’t care. “You were in my dream!”

“Huh?” The man pulled himself up, the bright red jacket hanging off his shoulders served to cement my memory of him, the void, but… not everything he said stuck. A lot of it was jumbled, but it was the one memory I had.

“You were… we were in this void.” More thoughts of the vision arose, and I looked over at Mumbo. “A girl called you something starting with an O, I heard her. You called her Nat, I think. You were talking about me, but… but he…”

I looked back to the blonde. “You said something… dark was coming. Or was here, in this Server. You… did something, I think?”

The man walked over, looking me in the eyes. “I honestly don’t remember any of this. Mumbo, is what he saying true?”

Mumbo nodded, looking honestly shocked. “Yeah, Stress and I were talking just yesterday about him. Used our real names, and…”

“Okay, okay.” Iskall walked over, holding his arms out to break up the conversation. “This sounds like a lot to think about. Grian-”

I straightened up, somewhat instinctively.

“-whatever you can remember is probably important. For now, I think it’s best you stay with Mumbo for now and get introduced to the Server one by one. There’s a lot of people here, and any one of them could help you remember something.”

“I’m okay with that.” Mumbo smiled at me a bit. “Tango, Iskall, if you guys think of anything that could be important, please let us know.”

“Will do!” Tango smiled, waving goodbye before jumping out of the treehouse. I watched as his elytra, this one a blood red shade, opened and launched him into the air. A few pops later and he had vanished into the sky.

“I’ll head out as well.” Iskall followed Tango with a quick goodbye, leaving Mumbo and I alone in the treehouse once more.

“I think I wanna try flying,” I found myself speaking aloud, but didn’t try to hold myself back, “it looks like fun.”

“Well, I’ll introduce you to Suma, who can hook you up with an elytra.” He glanced outside at the darkening sky, sighing to himself. “For now, we should get some sleep. You can take the bed.”

“It’s your place, Mumbo.” I backed away, gesturing to the bed. “You take it.”

“Grian-”

“I’ve already intruded a lot on you guys,” I shrugged, shoving my hands into the large hoodie pocket. Something brushed against my hands, and I grabbed a piece of paper. I wanted to bring it out right now, read it right away… but I kept it there instead. “I don’t want to steal your bed as well.”

My determined look must have gotten through to the mustachioed man, who sighed and walked over. He landed on his bed, seeming to fall asleep instantly. I grabbed an extra pillow and blanket and took up residence in a corner of the room.

Once I was sure he was sleeping, I pulled out the paper in my pocket. The single sentence written on the white parchment sent chills down my spine.

Trust no one

#bound to darkness au #hermitcraft #hermitcraft au #tango #mumbo #iskall #grian #parks writing #chapter 1

[fanfics-for-the-hockey-fan]

Reunion - William Nylander

My flight landed back in Toronto earlier today and I did what I needed to do with the team before heading to the apartment I wanted to go to since I signed the contract. I stopped outside of the familiar apartment door, taking a deep breath before knocking on the door. I couldn’t get the smile off of my face as I thought of how this reunion would go. After a few minutes I knocked again because I knew she was here, I had parked right next to her car. I finally heard feet move closer to her door and open it, only to slam it in my face as I went to say hello.

“Blake? Can you open up?” There was no answer and I realized she had walked away from the door so I left, confused as to why she wouldn’t let me in. I texted the guys as I got in my car, deciding to meet them at Mitch’s place so we could catch up. As I drove there I was questioning in my mind why Blake wouldn’t open the door. At the end of last season we had started dating, she wasn’t able to come with me to Sweden since she had work. Blake was a college student at the University of Toronto but she worked at a tutoring center all year and picked up more hours during the summer. So when I was in town during the summer we went on more dates and we would always make time to video chat with each other. Once things got a little crazier with the contract negotiations I wasn’t able to talk to her as much but I didn’t think it was bad enough to have her ignore me once I got here.

Mitch was waiting for me at the front door when I got to his apartment, smiling at me. “We’ve missed you man.”

“It’s good to be home.” Heading inside I saw most of my teammates hanging out and we just chatted for a while before I asked about Blake. “What’s going on with Blake? I stopped by her place and she slammed the door in my face.” Mitch and Auston gave each other a look. “What? What’s going on?”

“She told us that she hasn’t heard from you in over a month.” Auston tells me as he sits back.

“That’s not true, I have been texting her all the time.” I pull out my phone to prove my point only to freeze when I saw that she had texted me, but I hadn’t responded in a long time. I checked my call history and that had been even longer since we actually talked on the phone. “Fuck. I didn’t realize I did this.” I ran my hands through my hair, frustrated at my stupid self. “How do I fix this? I should go back to her apartment and talk to her.”

“She probably isn’t there.”

“What do you mean? She loves just hanging out at her apartment.” Blake is very much a stay at home kind of person, content to just curl up with a book or watch tv.

“She got a job at a club downtown.” That did not sound like Blake, she hated to go to our to places like that so her working at one didn’t sound right.

“We tried to get her to come to dinner with us a while ago but was working there. She didn’t tell us why but I feel like she is there every night working.”

“What’s the name of the club?” As soon as Mitch told me the name of the place I was leaving.

“Maybe you shouldn’t rush there, she is working if she is there.” Auston stopped me at the door, hands on both of my shoulders.

“I have to do something.”

“Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t, but I need to talk to her and get her to forgive me. I don’t want to lose her.” Auston nods, before patting my back.

“Go get her.” Leaving the apartment I rushed back to my apartment, just to change so I wouldn’t stick out so much at the club. Luckily I was able to skip the line at club and moved inside, starting my search for Blake. I finally found her behind the bar in a slightly quieter part of club. I found a seat at the bar and waited for her to come down to me.

“What can I get-” She paused

“Hi Blake.”

“What can I get for you?”

“Can we talk?”

“I'll grab you that beer, sir. I'll be back in a minute.” She walked away without acknowledging that she knew me, or that I asked to talk. I knew that in this would be tough but she was making it an all out challenge. When she came back with a beer, I smiled because it was one of my favorite types. As she went to pick up the money I laid my hand on top of hers. Her eyes finally locked with mine and I gave her a goofy smile, she always had this effect on me.

“Can we please talk?”

“I'm working until close, that is 2 and I have a tutoring client at 8 in the morning.”

“Please… don’t you have a break or something?” Blake seemed to stiffen at something I turned to see what it was. A tall man with jet black hair was walking towards us and he didn’t look happy.

“Blake, get back to work. You can flirt when you aren’t working.”

“I was just asking her a question.”

“She is here to serve drinks and look good, not answer questions. You have your beer, now you can just look at her.”

“Really?” I stood up and turned to confront the guy. “Are you an ass to all of your employees? Or is just special to Blake?”

“William, please just stop. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“So you know this guy? You expect me to pay you while you are busy chatting with a friend? Blake, you’re fired.”

“Hunter, please. I need this job.” I felt horrible, she was losing her job because of me.

“Go clock out and leave your name tag. You’ll be mailed your last paycheck.”

“Come on man, this is my fault. I’ll just leave.”

“She wasn’t hot enough to work here for long anyway, might as well look for a replacement now before we get busy for the holidays.” He walked away before I could punch him. Turning back to look at Blake, she didn’t look mad as she talked to someone else behind the bar. As she approached me I was expecting to be yelled at or slapped but instead she just nodded for me to follow her. Once we stepped out onto the quiet street I saw her shiver since she was just in jeans and a tight fitting black tee shirt so I pulled off my jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for any of that to happen. I just wanted to talk about how much of an idiot I am.”

“Let’s go back to my apartment and we can talk.” I nodded and got us an Uber, since she was so cold I didn’t want to make her walk the several blocks to her apartment. We waited in silence until we stepped into her apartment.

“I really am sorry, I didn’t mean to get you fired.”

“I hated that job.”

“Why did you even have it? You hate nightclubs and you hate going out at night.”

“My brother is an idiot and his friends are idiots. They all go drunk and my brother decided to drive them home. He was so drunk that he crashed into a restaurant. He was arrested for drunk driving but the restaurant owner said they wouldn’t press charges for property damage if he paid to have it repaired.” Her brother was a couple of years younger than us and didn’t have a lot of ambition to do anything. I shook my head because I knew where this was going.

“You didn’t...”

“I used everything in my savings to pay for the damages, my job at the tutoring center pays enough for my rent and some food to get by on. Everything in my savings was just enough to cover all the damage so I’m not going to school next semester, that way I can build back up my savings and hopefully by next fall semester I have enough saved up from having a couple of job to not need a loan.”

“That isn’t fair Blake, you deserve to finish school on time.”

“It will be fine, I need to tell my advisor on Monday but I think she will understand. But enough about me, you were the one that wanted to talk. What happened William? Did you decide that you didn’t want to date anymore? I can take that but I went for a month with you just ignoring me and that hurt so much.”

“I honestly didn’t even realize what I was doing, I just had people pulling me in a million different directions. So many people wanted something from me; my agent, my parents, teammates, the team, and reporters. They all wanted me for something or to know what was going on, it was too much.”

“I didn’t want any of that from you. I wanted to talk to you about your day and wanted you to tell me that everything is going to be okay. I didn’t want anything from the hockey player William Nylander, I wanted William my boyfriend. The guy who did silly dance moves to make me laugh after I had a terrible day and who showed up at my apartment at midnight with a waffle ice cream cone because I mention I had been wanting one. I honestly don’t care about your contract or any of that stuff, I just wanted you back here.”

“I’m sorry, I really screwed up a lot. Can you ever forgive me?”

“Yeah, just use your brain from now on. Okay?”

“I can do that, but I need you to do something for me.” Blake gave me a questioning look but let me continue to speak. “Let me pay for your last semester of college.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“Think of it as a no interest loan, you can pay me back once you have a teaching job. Please, let me do this for you. You have been talking about how excited you are for the last semester student teaching assignment since I met you last year. I can’t let you give that up because your brother is an idiot.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely, this is important to you so it is important to me.”

“Okay, but I am going to pay you every penny back.” I nod before leaning in to kiss her cheek, only for her to turn at the last minute. Kissing her I was glad to have worked everything out; with my contract and with her. Toronto was my home, so was Blake.

Request are open!

#hockey fanfiction #hockey fan fic #hockey fan fiction #hockey fanfic #hockey fic #hockey one shots #hockey one shot #hockey oneshot #hockey oneshots #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl oneshots #nhl fanfic #nhl fan fiction #nhl fan fic #nhl one shots #nhl one shot #nhl oneshot #wnylander #mine

[notbecauseofvictories]

Re: your tags - Any tips on planning a good dinner party?

The first step is to decide what kind of dinner party you want to have. A dinner party where everybody brings something, potluck-style, and you sit on the floor eating off paper plates is still a dinner party! So too is inviting everybody over to an apartment-warming party so you can show off the fact that you have actual glassware now, like a real adult, or even putting in the table leaf and planning an elaborate menu so your mother will stop talking about your cousin’s dinners.

Deciding the kind of dinner party you’re up for requires stepping back and looking at how much time you have to plan it, how much money you’re willing to spend, and what your space can accommodate.

Time. Planning and executing a dinner party takes a truly ungodly amount of time. It takes time to pull together a guest list, time to collect RSVPs (whether that’s via text, fb group, invitation, etc.), time to plan and then shop for the menu, clean your space (not just the dining room, but also where your guests will sit, and the bathroom they’ll use), prepare your space for guests (set the table, clear away any clutter), and then actually cook the dinner you’ve decided on.

And that’s all before your guests show up. 

The more elaborate the plans (and the more people you’re inviting) the more time you’ll need to prepare. For a casual sit-down dinner party I’d want at least 5 days lead-in time to prep; probably more to give people a chance to block off that night in their schedule. For something more formal, I’d want two or three weeks. 

Money. Another major factor in deciding what kind of dinner party you’ll have is budget. An elaborate home-cooked meal for any size group of people is expensive—an American-style sit-down dinner is typically a salad, a main dish (usually a meat of some kind), and 2-3 side dishes. Ingredients for just that can cost around $200, easy, and without taking into account appetizers, dessert, or drinks.

If you’re working on a budget, hosting a potluck is the easiest way to share out the cost among you and your guests. I’ve also hosted appetizer parties to great success—people love bite-sized stuff, and you can use the same ingredients in several different dishes, mixing in impressive, costly recipes with easy, less expensive ones.

Finally, consider your space. If your table only sits two, or live in a cramped studio apartment, you should take into account those limitations. If people will be sitting on couches you need to consider your capacity and what kind of food that means serving; even if people will be sitting on the floor, you need to consider how you’re going to make that happen. People in any space want to crowd around each other in a vague circle shape, and I’ve definitely lived in apartments where you couldn’t make that circle comfortably.

Additionally, your space also means the stuff in it. If you only have two wine glasses for four people, serving wine is probably not a great idea. (Though, tip from someone who has been refurbishing their apartment, Salvation Army/St. Vincent de Paul/Habitat for Humanity resale stores have crazy amounts of very attractive glassware for extremely cheap.) 

Once you decide what the party will look like, then you can get onto the real business:

PLANNING THE MENU

The best part of a dinner party is, of course, the dinner. Whether you opt to go for something simple, lavish, or quirky, the menu is something of a centerpiece. 

The most important part is to take into account your guests’ needs. The best pasta primavera in the universe is still the wrong meal to serve to a gluten-free crowd. I have a steak marinade that’ll blow your socks off, but the vegetarians and the no-red-meat-thanks people will leave hungry and dissatisfied if that’s all that’s served. 

Still, the typical American formal dinner party menu does allow you to extend in several different directions, and hopefully please as many different palates as you can. For example:

Appetizers—Appetizers are by no means required, and it’s totally normal to have guests over for dinner without offering appetizers beforehand. However, I think this is a fool’s errand, because appetizers are super easy to make (e.g., baby carrots and veggie tip, olives, cheese and crackers) and if people eat them, they’re less hungry for the dinner. Which, depending on how you feel about your main course, might be a pro or a con.

Salad—First course, nowhere near as many people will eat it as you think, but vegetarians and the healthy people will. If you just want something to throw together, most grocery stores now sell bagged salads, complete with toppings and dressing. If you want to prepare something unique, more power to you.

Can also be substituted for soup, though people have stronger feelings about soup and you’re less likely to please everybody. Whereas salads are basically the same dead leaves, with different kinds of sauce.

Main Course—A typical midwestern main course involves chicken or beef of some kind. However, the main course can also be seafood, pasta, or really any kind of food “substantial” enough to be the main fixture of the meal. 

Depending on the size of the party, it may be worth it to make several options; barbecue for one half and grilled chicken for the other. People are always happier with a choice, even if they choose the one that would be have available anyway.

Side dishes—I think sides are the best part of a meal, and really the opportunity to expand the palate of the dinner. If you’re serving steak with a traditional marinade, then the sides are an opportunity to expand into vegetarian or vegan territory; if you’re serving a cayenne-rubbed whitefish, then serving it with mild roasted cauliflower will let people catch their breath.

It’s also an opportunity to make dishes that you know people will like. For example, I made waldorf salad for my mother’s birthday, and she loved that more than the steak—but it was because I knew she liked waldorf salad. Sides are a kind of deliberate gesture to the people you know will enjoy them. And also, pair well with whatever the main is.

Dessert—Much like appetizers, dessert is optional. It is especially optional given the fact that by the time you get to it, people have been eating for at least an hour, and are generally not hungry. Something light, even just ice cream, will usually work work well. And if your showstopper is a dessert, make sure you plan a lighter dinner, so people still have room for the “main event.”

……none of these needs to be homemade, mind you. I actually think that you’ll have the most success if you combine complicated recipes with simple ones; a frozen appetizer and homemade sides, or a pre-made dessert with chicken you baked yourself. That kind of combo allows you to balance your time better, and effectively carry out your dinner plan.

OTHER TIPS

Think about your guest list before sending out the invitations. A dinner party is an opportunity for your guests to talk and get to know each other, but that’s hard if you invite people who can’t, don’t, or won’t get along. When you’re planning your guest list, think about whether this group will gel, who knows who already, and whether you’ve invited talkative people to balance out the quieter ones. (A dinner party of introverts who don’t know each other is going to be awkward.)

Prep your space as much as you can ahead of time. If you do a really thorough cleaning of your space on Thursday for a dinner on Saturday, then Saturday afternoon you’ll just have to do some spot-cleaning and set the table. Buy groceries before the day-of, unless you’re cooking with something like fresh-that-day fish or just-baked bread. Do not just be planning a menu the day of the party, that way lies ruin and madness.

Prep as much of the food as you can ahead of time! Chop all vegetables the night before, make your marinades and casseroles, shred your cheeses, etc. and then store them covered in the fridge. Some things will have to wait—salads shouldn’t be tossed until it’s almost time to serve them; freshly-cut fruit bruises and browns pretty quickly; anything with a lot of milk in it will separate and have to be re-mixed in the morning; unless you’re dealing with a very tough piece of steak, you shouldn’t marinate overnight. However, do as much as you can ahead of time. This also helps cut down on mess the night of, because my next piece of advice is to…

Clean as you cook. I know cooking generates a lot of dirty dishes and pans, especially as you get into more complicated recipes. However, at the ideal dinner party, your guests should arrive to a clean and empty sink, where the only dirty dishes are the ones in the oven. The only way to make this happen is to clean as you cook. I always add in a couple hours’ lead-time so that I can have everything in pans and ready to pop into the oven even as I clean up the chaos.

Something will go wrong, just roll with the punches. You will realize an hour before the party that you forgot to get napkins, or burn a side dish, or awkwardly offer a drink to a friend who doesn’t drink. People may butt heads at the party, and require intervention. (I once went to a dinner party where the table broke. The host was mortified, but I have very fond memories of trying to rescue food and dishes from the wreckage. We sat on the floor afterwards, laughing and eating off paper plates.)Something will go wrong, so roll with the punches and don’t let yourself spiral over some little thing. You can use paper towels as napkins and apologize for any faux pas. Pizza delivery was invented for a reason. At the end of the day, the important part is to give your guests a nice night, some food, and conversation---and those will exist even if you’re sitting on the floor, eating off paper plates because the table broke.

#long post for ts #sarah gives advice #most of this is predicated on a formal sort of dinner party with an entirely home-cooked meal and a guest list of 4-6 people #obviously there is a HUGE array of more informal arrangements that can also be lovely dinner parties #but this is the kind of party that my parents throw for their adult friends and I've inherited that