#or some other obscure joke in the previous games who knows

[player-1]

And speaking of the Mandrass Incident, there is no end to the levels of comedy Nexomon Extinction fans don't know if they've only played the newest game for now. (The only playthrough I can find is w. commentary though, but it's still funny to see the reactions.)

Besides that, the Mandrass Incident goes as followed (with relevant context and spoilers below):

The Nexomon 1 protag defeats Omnicron and his kids in the main game, but post-game story makes our plucky hero travel to the literal afterlife (ie. the Netherworld) to destroy Omnicron's soul and ensure he never returns for vengeance in another doomsday plot. However, the door to Omnicron is guarded by Ziegler's Wardens; confidants of the Netherworld King that will do everything and more to stop anyone that threatens their job of keeping the dead safe and secure in their realm, since the Wardens' lives are tied to their prisoners while said prisoners live in a Inception-like dreamscape that keeps them unaware of their previous demise (and yes, the game references Inception too). Also Ulzar is there cause finishing overdue ghost business (and previously building each Nightmare prison), Deena out of obligation of being the guard between the border of Life and Death, and your usual partner-in-crime Atlas.

Because of this roadblock, Protag is forced to deal with the Omnicron fam all over again and send their souls to the Vortex (possibly the portal/birthplace/permadeath of all Nexomon) in order to get rid of the Warden they're attached to. Even the linked episode (at 8:47) mentions Ulzar previously making a prison for Nara before he realized she's on the side of humans (ouch), the one time Metta/Nexolord is mentioned by name; and how yes, he went MIA after Ulzar's previous fight against Omnicron and even his temporary Nightmare is still empty in the current age...so the N3 Metta theory is still valid >:).

At this point, the gang went through the gauntlet with Arqua (the "weakest") -> Fona (too angy to forget why he's angy at everyone that wronged him) -> Grunda (now Ulrich w. his jacked village chief vibe) -> Zetta (trigger-happy goober that treats humans (aka. Spencer) like a dog) and getting into Ventra's Nightmare for the second-to-last Nightmare (and Atlas is not at all thrilled about facing the bird-woman again).

But their path is blocked by a noticeably large Mandrass, a talking one at that, that refuses to move unless they find his 4 friends that were swept about the place from Nadine/Ventra's powerful winds. After a somewhat lengthy search through the area, they finally procure the missing Mandrasses and bring them back to the main 'mon. The Mandrass is overjoyed and grateful, and then the group (and player) realize far too late why it seems larger than the other four they've met...

He eats them. He eats the other Mandrasses...And absolutely everyone is shocked at the spectacle, stunning Ulzar so bad he legit forgets they were supposed to fight Nadine's Warden and obviously driving Deena to tears. But they still have a job to do, and they push through the troubling memory regardless...

Now after all of their loose ends with Omnicron's Children are dealt with, the Protag opens the massive door holding the King of Beasts inside...and finds nothing. Yet the confusion fades for now as a wall is broken away to find a trio of familiar faces; Atlas, Deena, and Ulzar... Wait a minute-

After a bit of back and forth (before Ziegler appears to rain on the parade), its revealed that the entire story of the Netherworld (minus the Omnicron kids' Nightmares) was a Nightmare all along; keeping the Protag oblivious of the mortal sin of travelling to the Netherworld without actually dying, failing the task of destroying Omnicron and letting him escape to the real world, and getting trapped in his stead with Ziegler himself being the Warden in charge as he crafted a world of dreamlike sights and fabricated allies to aid them in their journey...-Oh yeah, and all that happened two weeks before the story even began, so the real team were scrambling to find Protag while battling Omnicron by tooth and nail.

Yet the Protag perseveres despite it all, fighting off the fake Deena that's been with them since the beginning, the king of Death and the revived Wardens, and finally Omnicron himself as his soul is snuffed out for good...Yet all good things come with a cost, and with the Beast King's death comes the death of his monstrous subjects, starting a slow and painful extinction of all Nexomon that were bound to his command. Minus Nara for being the embodiment of Nature and Life, Metta out of spite, and the rest of his kids in undead limbo cause of mystical Netherworld magic, it's not a great time for everyone involved here.

Now after all of that, as the Protag is forced to process this monumental burden that's placed on their shoulders, they eventually go to talk to the real Deena/Nara for advice and emotional support. At some point, Protag would've mentioned the Mandrass Incident since 1. It's the first time they met another Nexomon that had human-like intelligence besides Omnicron's kids, 2. Questions how/why Ventra's Nightmare was built around a dog-eat-dog world unlike everything Nexomon was before, and 3. Most likely a "you'll never believe what I went through" story to laugh about in the future and mention how surprisingly accurate the fake/Nightmare Deena reacted.

And despite it all, even if the real Deena only got a second-hand account of the event, was just as horrified about the story as well. And after all of that, after a literal millennia until Nexomon Extinction takes place, she's still salty about the whole thing. Whether it's from the Protag not realizing anything is wrong about the world until the final stretch (which was the whole point of a Nightmare) or being dumb/complacent in leading those poor Mandrasses to their death (even if they were already in the afterlife?), she still held onto that horror/betrayal of her new human friend the entire time. Even after she started her own plot of getting her kid to become Omnicron's heir through extreme mental gymnastics and a whole lot of dumb luck...

And that's what I love about the series so far. If you know the joke they were winding up in a previous game, you'll understand the punchline in another.

#nexomon #nexomon spoilers #nexomon extinction #nexomon extinction spoilers #ah yes the mandrass incident #If anyone played/watched Nexomon 1 they would know #still it's just as important to watch/play Micromon onward to know what N3 is planning in the future #it wouldn't hurt to try unless you want to go in blind without spoiling the plot twists #But going back on the Netherworld story gives me fuel for Metta/Nexolord returning in N3 #or some other obscure joke in the previous games who knows

[obscurecharactershowdown]

Obscure Character Showdown FINALE

[image ID: the first image is of image is of No Significant Harassment, a shadowy figure standing behind a sleeping pink-red, fox-like creature. their green hands seem to be holding up the floating creature. the second image is of Granger, a girl with green eyes and short, wavy or curly black hair. in her hair is a red hat or ribbon. she's wearing a black turtleneck sweater, blue overalls, and a green coat. end ID]

No Significant Harassment

[NSH has beaten Akama (The Idiot (1951)), Libby Day (Dark Places), Sally Swing (Betty Boop), Shrimp (The Upturned), Oopsy Bear (Care Bears (2007 series)), Hikaru (Hikaru ga Shinda Natsu), and Diggory Graves (Hello from the Hallowoods)] They're just a silly little guy. A jokester. Significant harassment if you will. Anyway, a more in depth run down: They're a city sized supercomputer built by a Buddhist adjacent society to figure out how to transcend the 'Great Cycle' (semi-metaphorical cycle of death and rebirth) in a safer way than the previous method (submerging oneself in the 'void sea' which is a mysterious golden liquid that dissolves whatever it touches). Despite being built for this express purpose NSH never really shows a pressing interest in ascension, even cracking jokes about those who are still looking for a solution. Whether this is due to indifference, dislike of, or humor to cope with being unable to ascend is not clear and really up to interpretation. Example: NSH: I wish them super good luck in that endeavor. How is it going to happen? Have the overseers gnaw through bedrock until their entire can crashes down in the void sea? BSM: Please be respectful when speaking of the Void Sea. Grey Wind, where did you hear this? CW: I really shouldn't say. He's going to attempt some sort of breeding program. Thought you might want to know. NSH: Haha with the slimers, lizards and etceteras? Surely the answer was in a lizard skull all along! He's very flippant, but does care very intensely for those close to him. NSH: Moon? It's me again. NSH: I do not know if you are receiving these. Please signal in any way you can. NSH: I need to talk to you. I need to know you're okay. NSH: … NSH: Its difficult for us to assist you over this distance. NSH: Even more difficult for us to do anything in the midst of these tantrums. NSH: Were going to try everything that we can. NSH: Just hold on a little longer. (Context for previous convo: They genetically engineered a super organism of a slugcat (the species you play as in Rain World) to help reset his coworker/sibling after her collapse and restart her systems. He was so desperate to fix her that he accidentally messed up the slugcat's (Hunter) genetic code and as a result it became riddle with the Rot (relatively similar to aggressive cancer) :( which parallels his other coworker/siblings condition who also has the rot. ) He canonically uses he/they pronouns too! Nonbinary swag! NSH has major internet troll vibes. He has sent a data pearl of "something distasteful" to his neighbors on several(?) occasions and causes chaos. If he had access to the wider internet he'd probably be an influencer So…yeah! Vote NSH this website likes the allure of heavy machinery and stuff like that so… there you go. Kind of a blorbo. End post.

Granger

[Granger has beaten Chopfyt (Oz), Wolfman (Darkwood), Gaap Goemon (Mairimashita! Iruma-kun), Forest Friend (Gris), Turnip (Chicory: A Colorful Tale), Gary (Faith the Unholy Trinity), and Stag Malinay (Krystar First Fragment)] so granger is the main character of the indie game "NeverHome" Chapter one, which is only $1 on Steam, is called NeverHome: Hall of Apathy. if ur a fan of young protags being put in RPG maker horror games, then this is the game for you!! so granger is just that… she wakes up to find herself in a strange, hostile world. she, along with the friends she makes, must solve the various puzzles before them while creatures are out to kill them… and along the way they can uncover the secrets of these never ending halls… her dynamics with the cast is also super fun… each character gets their moment or moments with granger. and what's so cute is that there's unique art for each pair that highlights the fact you cant get through these halls alone!! she also has her own theme song!! here!! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d_vwtmIj5cw it's called cyclical tragedy AND HERE IS AN ANALYSIS OF THE THEME!! MUSIC THEORY!!! written by my good friend @HIEMIOLA "cyclical tragedy" embodies the protagonist, granger, through the music theory behind the track and ties itself back into the main track as well. to begin with an overview of the track, the key is D minor and hte time signature is 3/4. the piece begins with a broken minor third starting from the tonic. that is, it begins on the main note and moves along the main chord, D to F. the next set of notes are C to E, which is shifted down a step. the phrase repeats again, this time D to F, then G to E, which is an inverse movement from the original sequence. even in this first part, we could tell that the protagonist begins from square 1 with a simple pattern, then tries it again when it works. however, the inverse breaks that expectation of repetition, thus showing the diverse variations of solutions she comes up with using just the tools she has (the two notes moving in thirds). just like the game, she is given a handful of objects as well as a knife to defend herself and solve the mysteries of the world she exists in. with her creative uses of the items given to her, she continues on her way through the plot. we will keep moving. the melody begins. true to the title of the track, the melody cycles around the same beginning note, D, that she always returns to at her square 1. this is a nod to the save states she is allowed to keep to make sure that we the players don't lose the game, but it also references the health bar that appears as a circle around her avatar. the melody, mapped out, is also moving in an up-down wave movement across the sheet music. granger is creative with the knife she has and the quest items she obtains throughout the story, but she is not entirely reckless. rather, she knows when it is time to return to the safe rooms to rest. to time her returns requires skill because she must run to cover without being caught by varying her path so the enemies don't corner her as she tries to return to the room. most of the time, she is successful, shown through the consistent return to the beginning note. let's keep going. i would like to turn your attention to the main theme briefly. in the bass notes, you can hear arpeggios and outlined chords. this makes up the bulk of the accompaniment in the main game theme. [mod note: the rest of the essay, and some more propaganda, is continued under a cut because tumblr will not process more text than this in an indent. sorry to split it up, please continue below for the rest of the essay and additional propaganda (including art) !]

the third variation of granger's theme also has arpeggiated chords in the accompaniment while the melody features broken chords. at this stage, the pattern switches to eigth notes instead of the quarter notes at first. with greater movement and heightened senses, she runs throughout world and befriends other people, thus interacting further with the environment. while she isn't exactly someone we would call open, she is respectful to the people she first meets and has no problems with asking them for help when she needs it. because of her openness to working together, she speeds up her progress by asking for aid at obstacles that would be too difficult for her to overcome on her own, such as asking a teammate to break things, move things, or reach into smaller holes. fusing the main theme elements with her own theme marks this step as the inciting incident that sets her on the path to escape from this world. we'll continue.

continuing the same part, we hear some secondary fifths. i'm not entirely sure if this is what you call it, but it is a nod to the parallel key, D major. depending on what theory class you take, this could also be considered the other half of the key. i dont know how else to describe it, but i digress. these are glimpses to different dialogue options she could take, glimpses to a different key or a different ending. because this game only has one chapter ending so far, we are unsure of what other paths granger will end up in; we only know that there are certainly other endings she will experience, only to begin the cycle again when the save state is loaded for players to reach another ending. both A major and G major are chords that signify different choices that may lead her elsewhere only for her to return back to the tonic or main note, D. despite this, she keeps going, as will we.

at the midpoint of the track, we see a quick shift in patterns. instead of upward leaps in the notes, the melody falls in stepwise motion. true to the plot, this is another turning point of the game when she is forced to make a choice: continue or stop. after facing the spoiler event, her once determined personality is challenged as she struggles to keep herself and her team together. despite being the headstrong protagonist who spearheaded solutions, even now she finds herself doubting and taking smaller steps, smaller risks.

even after all of this, she rises to the challenge as the melody returns to its beginning sequence. true to a protagonist she gets up again despite the events that transpired and keeps her team moving in their lowest points. the thirds return as she finds more objects to solve more puzzles to open more rooms to save more friends. this repeating part of the track only solidifies her resolve as the piece ends with a broken chord in the main key, her key, of D minor. despite everything that transpired, she stayed true to herself."

the game is also so, so charming with the art, music, and story made by the same person… its so clearly loved and full of passion!! i love listening to the game's ost on occassion!! since it's all on youtube!

ok one last thing thing!! on may 8th, the game hit 100 downloads (on both steam and itch.io). you can see the creator of the game celebrate that with this lovely drawing of granger: https://twitter.com/NeverHome_Game/status/1655761270694633472

so at most, only a bit over 100 people have played the game… id like to say that makes it obscure!!

anyways granger and neverhome!! we love to see our protagonists put in horrific situations and isn't she super cute with a lil bow on her head? she is my daughter…

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#obscurecharactershowdown #obscure poll #finale #no significant harassment #rain world #granger neverhome #neverhome #long post

[obscure-horror-game-protagonist]

BEST OBSCURE(??) HORROR(???) GUY, ROUND 1

SUMMARIES:

David Hoover (The Crooked Man) - Regarding the events of The Crooked Man specifically (not any of the others, sorry idk what happens in them), at the beginning of the game David moves into a new apartment, which turns out to be very haunted. In hopes of finding the previous tenant to ask him about this, David ends up going to various abandoned locations, where he runs into the game's titular scary guy, as well as a different more normal person in each location. Then there's this whole thematic parallels situation where these people he meets have problems reminiscent of his own, and then it turns out that actually the scary guy and the people are all parts of the same guy's ghost (the previous tenant of the apartment) who, due to their similar problems, was haunting David in some sort of attempt to either kill him or to make him get things together and improve his life, which does work out somehow in the game's good ending. I'm skipping a lot of details I know but that's because when I got anymore specific this paragraph ended up extremely long? I can't even mention the other games here or this description for clarity will turn into a damn essay on the guy I'm sorry Most notable trait: When we actually remembered to look him up to make sure he was "obscure" enough for the bracket, it turned out there were actually a lot of posts about him, but we were too far in to replace him so we'll just hope he's niche enough to qualify. If you are a part of his unexpected Tumblr following then do consider this factor when voting.

Arthur Hastings (We Happy Few) - Ok please remember we have to finish writing this description before the 1st so that we can start queuing the posts. We have to. We can't leave it as a note to ourselves to write it later anymore we shouldn't have announced a date before we were actually finished writing these. Barry please don't forget we have to write this. We decided on this format we have to commit to it we can't make one of them just be a joke it wouldn't be fair to the voting process and wouldn't be funny to anyone except us. We already must be on thin ice with the public because of how it turned out we picked a bunch of guys people actually knew just because we didn't want to get 0 votes so they're mostly not even that obscure. Barry I don't even think this one is a horror game it doesn't say it is on wikipedia. Barry where are you. Barry I'm going to unionize Most notable trait: british

#poll tournament #Barry im suing you for damages of 15 dollars. No particular reason its that amount i just want 15 bucks #horror #gaming #david hoover #the crooked man #we happy few #arthur hastings #round one

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

More things I like about No More Jockeys, now that I’m on episode seven of the second set (really a continuation of this post, but I can’t just keep adding to that one forever so I’m starting a new one):

- Alex getting genuinely exasperated with Tim for forgetting the order of turns. Alex expressing this exasperation through passive-aggressive sarcastic comments, making it sounds like he wants to just call him a fucking moron but is trying to not be too much of a dick about it.

- The previous point aside, the rise of Tim Key in set 2. Deciding to start occasionally thinking about words before he says them and things like that. Tripping people up on categories that sound obscure but have a surprising numbers of ways to fall into them, or names that are bait for failed challenges. Making up for not seeming to have the memorization or focus skills of the other two by bringing more creativity.

- I think one of my favourite parts of the whole game is when someone says something wrong and you can see one or both of the other two notice, but try to pretend they haven’t until the turn is complete, so they won’t change their answer before anyone has a chance to challenge it. And sometimes when both people notice, you can see them try to communicate with each other about it without letting on. It’s really funny, and just interesting to watch.

Alex is weirdly much better at this when it was Mark’s mistake than when it was Tim’s mistake – it seems that he’s just not very good at hiding his natural exasperation with Tim Key when he does things wrong. When Mark fucks up, there’s a sort of subtle change in Alex’s facial expression. When Tim fucks up, there’s an incredulous “What the fuck is wrong with you?” look on Alex’s face. Mark, unlike every other aspect of the game (and just contrary to how life works generally), appears to be better at this when drunk than when sober. When he’s drunk he’s always a bit giggly so you don’t notice a big difference when he reacts to something, but when he sober he’s focused most of the time, and it really stands out when he catches a mistake and reacts to it at first before covering his mouth and trying to stop. After the initial reaction his strategy for not giving anything further away is normally to just not look anywhere near the camera, which is actually a more obvious tell than if he just looked straight on and raised his eyebrows. Tim doesn’t challenge much, and when he does see a reason for challenging he’ll usually just mention it immediately, but a few times I have seen him wait for a turn to end and then challenge after giving away no signs that he was planning it, so when he wants to I think he has the best poker face of the three of them.

- Love the quirk of saying, “I don’t mind that,” instead of something stronger, whenever there’s a reasonably good joke or point. I don’t try to steal all my speech patterns from comedians off the computer, but I know that picking up language quirks when I hear them a lot is something I do subconsciously. I mean, it’s something everyone does a fair bit, but I’ve been told I do it a lot (probably for reasons that are vaguely related to autism in some way), and while the process itself isn’t conscious, sometimes I can see when it’s going to happen. I feel like that one is going to start cropping up in my own speech; I’m just getting so used to hearing it and it sounds so natural.

- I’ve started reading the comments more and people are still accusing Mark of cheating. Aside from that one time, I don’t think he is. He’s just very, to use a Watsonian word, fiddly. I also feel the need to clarify what I said earlier about respecting him for it, and say obviously I wouldn’t respect someone who cheated at anything that was in any way real. And if he were doing it all the time, which he definitely isn’t, then even then I’d say it’s taking the fun out of this game. What I respect is someone who, in one particular high-stakes moment (high stakes in the sense that Alex would have won the whole set on that turn if they’d lost the challenge, but not really high stakes in that none of this is a real thing), I’m pretty sure got so into a Zoom parlour game that he was Googling on his phone just off camera.

Also, any advantage he may have ever gained by Googling once or twice is undercut by the fact that I think he’s the most lenient of the three in backing down on challenges even when he’s right. He’s fairly aggressive at issuing challenges, but then he’ll let the others override him.

- I genuinely enjoy, not even for the comedy but just because it’s interesting to watch, the mind games of issuing challenges they know they’re likely to lose just to mess with the others and throw them off. Strategizing like that is something I and most people I know have done in actual sports competitions, challenging a referee’s call even if you’re not sure you’ll turn out to be right, just because it interrupts the match and can stop the other side’s momentum and make them worry for a bit. I love watching it apply to this.

- Alex dropped the suits fast after the first set, which I find funny. Trying at first to maintain his schtick as the guy who wears suits all the time, but then pandemic life kept going on and he stopped bothering.

- In the episode I’m watching now, Tim Key just suggested they should do an episode of this while they’re all on drugs. He said that like it was a joke or would be some sort of novelty, which is funny because alcohol is a drug and they are all on it in just about every episode. As far as I can tell, on the tipsy-drunk-hammered scale, Tim and Alex are normally at least tipsy, and Tim has had a few where he’s been properly drunk by the end of it. I think I’ve only seen Alex play while properly drunk a couple of times, though you can tell when he’s approaching the border between “tipsy” and “drunk” because his exasperation with Tim gets more pronounced. Mark has shown up to a few episodes absolutely hammered before the game even started, and while that’s clearly a bad thing for his mental and physical health, it is impressive that he can play a memory game fairly well even at that level of impairment. Obviously he’s better when sober, but he’s not as bad as he should be when hammered. It’s a testament to his intelligence that he can be slurring his words and still pick someone up on a category that was mentioned ages ago in real time. For the rest of the episodes, Mark goes back and forth between getting drunk throughout the game, and trying to take it seriously and do the whole thing sober. Anyway, the point is that I’m not sure in what world we haven’t seen them play this game while all on drugs.

- I realize this isn’t the prevailing view of the dynamic, but I overall see Alex Horne as the one of the three of them who can keep it together the best. A somewhat reasonable middle ground between Tim Key being very aggressive while not remembering what’s going on, and Mark working really hard to remember everything but getting very concerned about every aspect of it. Alex seems to be able to just… think about the words and the people he knows exist and say them in an order that makes some kind of sense. Like a normal person. Unless Tim starts fucking with him and he has a breakdown.

[reidyoulikeabook]

B is for Blindfolds

Summary: The BAU Christmas party is held at the office. Penelope is full of terrible ideas, but somehow Emily’s are worse.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol and drunkenness, use of a blindfold (for a fun game, not anything sexy here), pining, idiots who don’t realise their love is reciprocated as HELL (they will, but not quite yet).

Word count: 3k

A/N: okay so i really had fun writing this one!!! i have a solid solid direction of where this is headed now and i’m EXCITED about it! as always, please let me know what you think :) this is technically Wednesday’s update, and there’ll be another on Friday!

This is the second chapter of the A-Z of Spencer Reid series, but can be read as a stand alone.

The team, yourself included, are more than ready to let off a little steam. There was no point trying to book anywhere in advance, not with the sporadic nature of festive serial killers, so you’d taken over the office. Penelope had, in eager anticipation of your return, decked it out like a winter wonderland.

“Seriously, it looks like someone robbed a grotto,” Emily had joked.

She wasn’t wrong. A seven-foot Christmas tree, God knows how she’d smuggled that into the building, obscured the hallway outside Hotch’s office. It was dripping in tinsel, baubles, you name it. It even had a nutcrucker man. Mistletoe was hung, obviously in a way she believed to be covert, and maybe it would have been if you weren’t all deeply familiar with the antics of Penelope I-Love-The-Holidays Garcia. You’re all careful to sidestep it as you walk in, knowing she’s a stickler for the rules. All equally reluctant to invoke her wrath before a glass of eggnog or two.

On the table, there’s a selection of alcohol laid out. Alongside a bunch of pink glittery cups.

“I got everything!” Penelope chirps.

“I can see that baby girl,” Morgan chimes in, greeting her with a hug.

She really has: there’s juice, fruit, almost every liquor you can think of (including the fancy whiskey that Rossi and Hotch like to get out at dinner), wine of varying colours, and what looks to be some fancy fruit cider. From the spread, and the mischevious twinkle in her eye, you’re sure she won’t be letting you escape unscathed.

At that thought, you can’t help but steal a glance to your right.

Spencer. The man is stood next to you with folded arms, surveying the options in a way that almost looks pensive.

Got to behave myself

I will behave myself

Will he be drinking?

That question is answered when he takes a step towards the table, stepping behind it. He picks up a plastic cup and, playing bartender, asks.

“So, what can I get you?”

***

“Mixology is pretty much the same as any other kind of chemistry,” Spencer explains, gesturing with the hand that’s holding his cup and swilling the liquid, “It’s about balancing the right components to get the combination you want. A lot of the recipes call for more alcohol than is strictly necessary for the flavour they provide. Usually the other elements of the drink are designed to bring out the flavour or mask it, depending on what alcohol you’re using. Almost always you want to mask the taste of vodka, but tequila you try to balance it out.”

Spencer is leant on the desk next to you, rambling, having been allowed to be in charge of making everybody’s drinks over the past couple of hours.

Sipping the concoction he’s made you, you have to admit he’s done a pretty good job.

He clearly agrees, since he’s consumed more than a couple himself. He’s just tipsy enough to push at the boundaries of affection, his shoulder pressing against yours, his happy eyes a little glassy. You listen, hanging on every word he says, watching him lick his lips before he continues speaking again.

“That’s why they serve tequila shots with lime and salt.”

“And here I was thinking they were just making it fun for body shots,” Emily cuts in, making Morgan and Penelope laugh.

You see the look on Penelope’s face and intercept her before she can start, “Don’t even think about it.”

“But!”

“No!” You shake your head, “You really think Hotch is going to go for body shots?”

Hotch laughs dryly, taking a sip of the whiskey he’s been nursing, “That’s one I think I’ll refrain from participating in.”

“Fine,” Penelope pouts, “But everybody’s doing pin the tail on the donkey!”

“Pin the tail on the donkey? What are we, 5 years old?” Emily laughs.

You lean in against Spencer, who has been quietly surveying the last few moments. Your fingers slip slightly beneath his buttoned sleeves, coming to rest on his forearm.

“Balance,” You whisper quietly.

He nods, shifting to allow you to lean more closely into him on the desk.

It’s hard not to get distracted by your proximity to him.

It’s only because you’re drunk.

Maybe. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel good. If you squinted, you might just look like a couple. That’s certainly what it looks like to Dave, who gives you a cursory once over before training his gaze elsewhere. Your heads are almost touching, Spencer is slouching but keeps his neck just stiff enough to avoid resting atop of yours. You’re casually against his body, the two of you strewn across the desk. It looks comfortable, familiar.

It feels comfortable, familiar.

It’s only because you’re drunk.

***

After a singular round of pin the tail on the donkey, during which a blindfolded Emily decided to go rogue and try to pin the tail on the moving-very-quickly-out-of-dodge Hotch, it’s decided the blindfolds will be used for a different purpose.

Trust falls.

Well, not so much trust falls, as you’re each blindfolded and tasked with the challenge of walking across the bullpen without falling. 

“We’ll pair up!” Penelope announces, rubbing her hands together with glee, “Hotch you’re with Rossi, Emily you’re with me, Derek you’re with ____, and Spencer you’re with J.J!”

Oh

You will away the tinge of disappointment that flares in your chest at not having been paired with Spencer. Although, when you look up at him, you swear you can see a similar feeling sitting behind his eyes.

Probably reading too much into it

“Reid has an unfair advantage,” J.J argues, interrupting your thoughts.

“How do I have an unfair advantage?” Spencer asks.

“Eidetic memory,” She replies.

There are murmers of dissent, then Rossi pipes up.

“If you can’t make it across the bullpen you walk everyday without falling, I think you seriously need to consider whether you should be out in the field with a gun.”

Everybody laughs. They laugh more, though, when Rossi falls on his first attempt, crashing into Hotch. The two decide to resign from the game after that. Hotch plays the health and safety card, but privately you think it’s the double whiskeys that have betrayed him.

“You think you can do it?” You ask Spencer.

He smirks, “I could do it in my sleep.”

You shake your head, “Your legs are too long. You’re like Bambi at the best of times, let alone three mai tais in.”

“Two,” He objects, you quirk a brow and he relents, “Fine, three. And a whiskey Rossi gave me which was awful. I drank it fast and then he told me that one glass I’d had would cost $40. Who would pay $40 to drink that voluntarily?”

“Rossi, Hotch, Emily,” You smile, nudging him with your elbow, “And don’t think you’ve distracted me Spence, I’m still betting you fall.”

“You’re betting?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re that confident in my ability to mess up,” He teases.

“Something like that.”

He grins, “You’ll see.”

He takes the blindfold when it’s his turn, smirking at you as he adjusts it onto his face. It’s with a great degree of annoyance that you watch him clear the bullpen in five easy, and somehow very elegant, steps.

“Go Spence!” J.J cheers, her previous displeasure completely forgotten.

“Pretty boy!” Morgan cheers.

Without taking the blindfold off, Spencer tilts his head to exactly where you’re standing, smirking, “You wanna go next, ____?”

It’s hard not to visibly react to what his cockiness does to you.

You swallow, “Fine. Give it here.”

***

You move your feet confidently one in front of the other. After almost a year of walking the bullpen, you’re pretty certain you can get across it unscathed. You even remember to swing your hip to the right to miss the Santa gnome gone fishing currently hanging off Derek’s desk. In doing so, however, you manage to get yourself all caught up.

With a single step, you feel yourself slipping, arms flailing and managing to catch on to absolutely nothing. You panic.

"Spencer!"

"Spencer?!"

Spencer.

You recognise the feeling of his hands steadying you at your waist. He pulls you against his body, tucking your outstretched arm into him to steady you. You vaguely register Derek’s amused chuckle from behind you.

“I got you,” Spencer says, “Stay still, I’ll take the blindfold off.”

His hands gently slide up your cheeks, lifting it with care to avoid yanking on your hair. He pulls it up and away from your head smoothly.

The lights are dizzyingly bright. You blink rapidly, allowing your eyes to adjust on the face of the slightly concerned, slightly amused looking Spencer hovering above you. His left hand lingering against your cheek. You forget yourself entirely, lost in the intimacy of his touch, barely daring to blink in case it’s gone.

“Mistletoe!” Penelope cackles with glee, breaking your reverie.

“What?” You ask.

Spencer looks up. You follow his gaze, seeing the strategically placed mistletoe. In guiding you to safety, Spencer had walked right into Penelope’s trap.

Oh.

Derek teases something, underscored by a quip from Emily that has them both in hysterics. Neither you or Spencer are really listening.

He’s already so close to you. The pressure of his hand on your cheek starting to make you flush with warmth. His thumb strokes downwards, over your cheekbone. You tilt yourself a little towards him. Trying desperately to act casual, but ultimately failing miserably. His breath fans over your face, smelling faintly of rum and lime.

“Not like this,” He whispers, so quiet that only you can possibly hear him.

He presses a kiss to your cheek instead.

Fuck.

“Very exciting stuff guys,” Emily chirps.

Vaguely, you’re aware of J.J admonishing her, Rossi’s eyes studying you, Derek’s laughter, Penelope’s squeal of delight that someone had finally fallen into her trap.

Your heart thumps in your chest, and you wonder if it’s loud enough for Spencer to hear. From the way he swallows thickly, stepping back with a degree of caution and a look of a deer caught in the headlines, you think it probably was.

Fuck.

What did he mean not like this?

***

After the mistletoe debaccle, the party starts to die down a little. Hotch makes an excuse to leave, shortly followed by Rossi.

You stick around for a little while longer, devoting most of your time to the decidedly tipsy Penelope who’s hanging off Derek’s arm. The mood is nice, actually, a welcome change from the tense atmosphere that often clouds the bullpen, and its occupants wherever in the US they may be.

It’s a little after 1am when you decide to make your exit.

“Do you want to share an Uber?” You ask Spencer, gripping onto his elbow as he walks past.

“Yeah! I was planning on taking the metro but you’ll be safer in an Uber.”

“Are you...sharing it with me?” You ask, feeling a little awkward at having to repeat the request for clarification. The tipsiness you’d initially felt has started to wear off; it leaves both tiredness and an odd shyness in its place.

“Oh no! Of course!” He smiles, grabbing his satchel from where it’s slung over the back of his chair, “We’ll get them to drop you off first, then me.”

***

The wait for the Uber is silent, but not uncomfortable. You loll against Spencer, comfortable in the quiet. The only sounds to be heard of keys as various other agents leave the building. It’s easy to tell which are coming from the grind of the paperwork and which are coming from their own parties. You’d like to attribute it to a years worth of profiling experience but the tinsel around Jerry from White Collar Crimes’ neck is a tad on the nose.

You don’t speak until it arrives, climbing in and closing the door. Clicking your seatbelt into place.

“Sorry about embarassing us before,” You say, purposely being ambiguous.

He squints at you for a moment before opening his mouth, “You mean calling for me when you fell?”

“Yeah,” You say,

“You didn’t embarass me,” He says, quiet, “It was nice actually. Nobody’s ever called for me when they’ve been in trouble before.”

“What do you mean?”

“I uh, I guess I’m not the most athletic. People usually go to Morgan if they need some kind of physical help. It was nice. That you wanted me. Even if you are drunk.”

“I’d have asked for you sober,” You admit.

He squints in response, and you continue, “I trust you Spence. I trust you to always have my back in the field, to protect me. I’d trust you with my life. I mean, of course I’d trust any one of the others, the team wouldn’t work otherwise. But,” You trail off, a little embarassed.

“But it’s different.”

“Yeah. Like you’re the person I’m closest to I guess. In the almost year I’ve been here, we’ve worked together the most. I think I have the best working relationship with you. If ever there was a crisis, I’d want you. Even if the crisis is me tripping on my own shoelaces while blindfolded.”

You both laugh at that. It’d be easy to succumb to a comfortable silence again, let the moment fizzle out.

“I think the same about you,” He says, his voice cracks a little with the sincerity, “Whenever anything goes wrong. You’re the person I want to talk to.”

You move your hand forward to close the gap between you two, taking his hand in yours and squeezing it, “I’m really glad we have each other Spence.”

“Even when I beat you?” The playful glint in his eye is back.

“Even when you beat me.”

“If I remember correctly, and I usually do, you actually owe me for losing the bet.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, you said ‘I’m still betting you fail.’“

You smile, “We never agreed what we were betting.”

“We didn’t.”

"So what do you want as your prize then, Rudolph?”

“Rudolph?” He laughs a little, incredulously.

“Well I called you Bambi before and obviously you’ve proved you’re more talented, I needed to pick a respectably agile deer.”

“Rudolph was known for his nose, not his agility.”

“The song says he guided the sleigh Spence, he couldn’t have done that if he wasn’t agile.”

He shakes his head at you, “He was just in charge of the lights.”

“Did they or did they not get around the world safely?”

“The song never clarifies that.”

“It’d be a little dark for them to kill off Rudolph.”

“Probably why they didn’t include it in the song.”

You huff out a laugh, rolling your eyes, “Well anytime you decide to stop nitpicking my compliments and decide what you want as your prize is fine by me, honestly.”

He smiles, obviously having decided to answer you sincerely. You study him as he, presumably weighs up his options, his teeth momentarily catching his plush lower lip. You swear you see his eyes flicker to your mouth. But then you blink, and he’s studying you thoughtfully.

Just wishful thinking

"Caramel,” He settles on.

"Caramel?”

“Last year I went to this coffee shop and I got their festive caramel coffee. It was amazing. But they only did it that one year, they gave me the recipe for the syrup but...” He trails off, looking embarassed, and when he speaks again his voice is quieter, “I kept burning it. I had a thermometer but I couldn’t get the temperature quite right.”

"You want me to make you caramel syrup for coffee? Mixologist skills don’t extend quite that far?”

He doesn’t say anything, instead pressing his lips together in a thin line. Almost as if he’s worried for your reaction.

You're quick to follow yourself up, “Well I’d be happy to give it a try, but I think I’ll need somebody to taste test it. Make sure I’m getting it right.”

He grins, “I’m probably a better taste taster than maker.”

“Well, we’re off for a few days, assuming we don’t get any cases. You’re at Ethan’s for Christmas, right? When are you back?”

“The 27th. But I’m going to visit my mom over new years, so I’m leaving again on the 30th.”

You nod, “Well, how about the 28th?”

“The 28th sounds good.”

It’s impossibly good (bad) timing that the Uber pulls up outside your building.

“Well I’ll look forward to it,” You say, undoing your seatbelt.

“Me too.”

There’s a silence. Not uncomfortable, but definitely not like the one earlier.  Your eyes linger on one another, almost cautious. There’s a buzz in the air, one that can't quite be attributed to alcohol.

Ask him what he meant by not like this

No

Ask him

“This your place?” The Uber driver asks, clicking his tongue with a degree of impatience.

“Yeah,” You reply, nodding. Reluctantly, you push open the car door, turning your head over your shoulder to look at Spencer as you depart.

His mouth hangs open a little, words seeming to play across his lips. Not making them out of his mouth. The driver clears his throat, and you throw him an apologetic glance. Spencer’s Uber rating will be in the toilet after this.

Good job he takes the Metro.

"Have a good Christmas Spence,” You say, wondering if he can tell. Wondering if he can sense how badly you want to stay, to let this Uber drive you around the backstreets of Virginia. They’re not particularly pretty. But there isn’t much you wouldn’t do just to spend time with him. You’d even allow yourself to promise caramel syrup you know you’ll butcher.

If he knows, the wistful look in his eyes doesn’t betray it.

“Have a good Christmas, _____.”

---

Next part: C is for Caramel

Series tagslist: @altsvu @reidingmelodies @muffin-cup @reidscanehand @bvttercupbby @jessicarabbit09 @lukewearingbeanies @lady-anon-x @aperrywilliams @southsidemistress @a-broken-pact @jjongs-tae-and-biscuits @reidsnose

(message me/reply to this to be added or removed!)

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #reid x reader #imagine spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagines #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #imagine criminal minds #criminal minds x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #a-z of spencer reid #the a-z of spencer reid

[aquabuggy]

Knockoff Sony Vaio Laptop Water Game

Please don’t re-post my images/gifs/videos, thank you! 🧡

Oh boy. Where to start with this one. It looks so unassuming, doesn’t it? Well, let’s start with some basics and then I can move on to how this little toy vexes me in such a bizarre way.

The tank features 2 uncommon crane shaped pegs, which I love to see pop up. The assorted rings only come in 3 colors, but I find them to actually be quite fitting. The backdrop is fun to look at, being comprised of numerous assets of different qualities and styles, from real life photos to drawn clip art. It’s great! The case itself is actually nicely detailed as well, especially the likes of the keyboard! Every single key is a molded detail, and the keyboard appears to be complete! Of course on the back of the case it reminds you that this is in fact a toy, which is very kind of it to do so. More boldly under it is that of the Sony Vaio logo, or rather….Vav fC. I guess that’s one way to dodge the law! You’ll also notice a small black handle, this is actually used to hold up the game when it’s sat down, as due to the wide open shape, it will otherwise topple onto its other side if the handle isn’t folded out.

Alrighty, are all the basics out of the way? Great! Let’s move on to how this toy is vexing.

Ok. So. Listen, I mentioned getting this guy in a previous post, and in that post I also mentioned it having some strange qualities to speak of. Well, you may have noticed a blurred area on the space bar key, this was done by me. You see, the space bar actually has a short URL to a website printed onto it, and out of curiosity I had plugged it into my search bar to see if anything would come up from it. Well! Something sure did! A very adult website, let’s call it! I blurred the URL 1. out of respect for those who may not read my descriptions but would get curious enough to search the URL only to be blasted with Imagery and 2. to prevent those same people from possibly contracting a virus on their computer from this website as well.

As funny as how jarring such an included detail like that is, it’s also just a tad horrifying that this sort of thing was plastered onto a children’s toy. It’s a very unassuming URL as well, the name of the website doesn’t hint at its mature nature at ALL. I really really do have to wonder how such a detail got on there? The knockoff toy world is always full of strange and downright bizarre decisions for designs, and whoever designed the toy clearly was fooling around, but the fact that this raunchy joke made it through manufacturing amazes me just a bit. It could be an obscure site in its country of origin? I wouldn’t know for sure. But wowie, it’s pretty unacceptable, even by cheap knockoff toy standards.

#surprisingly the world of aqua does tend to include some items of…questionable nature #I likely will be documenting more items of such nature on this blog (with warnings of course) #if you’d rather skip out on that that’s quite alright! feel free to filter the following tag #risqué aqua #this will still be a SFW blog #I will not be featuring items that are extremely adult #so don’t worry about that LOL #bug’s collection #aqua #aquacore #toy aqua #aqua toys #faux tech #faux tech aqua #watercore #water toys #water ring toss #water ring game #water games #liquid aesthetic #liquidcore #toys #toycore #kidcore #knockoff #knockoffs #knockoff aqua #bootleg aqua

[fairestwriting]

May I rq hcs for Idia, Vil, Epel, Lilia and Floyd with a s/o who's a cosplayer and loves dressing up as mainstream characters

Idia Shroud

You know he loves it. Gets starry eyed everytime you show him a new cosplay, listens with the biggest smile on his face whenever you talk about what characters you want to go for next. If you post pictures of your work online, you bet he's your biggest hypeman.

Though... he does wish you'd branch out to some lesser known stuff too. Yeah, Idia's a bit of an elitist when it comes to media, and you don't really get the worst out of this side of his (Since he's so starstruck with your cosplay) but he'll be tugging at your sleeve, recommending you all sorts of obscure anime and games, because to him that stuff's just so much better.

Still your number one fan though. Whenever he has it in him to go to cons, he'll gladly come to them with you, looking so proud whenever anyone asks you for a picture as he steps away.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil doesn't get much about this sort of culture, so there isn't a huge interest overlap like in Idia's case, but he can appreciate good costuming, and just a well done job in general, so he's pretty involved and supportive, just in a less enthusiastic way.

Even though he doesn't know these characters at all, despite them being mainstream, you can totally have a conversation with him about the more general aspects of cosplaying, he has a lot to say when it comes to the proccess of putting the outfits together, due to his experience with costuming from his acting work.

Won't go to cons with you, that's way too many sweaty people for his taste, but he gives some good advice on how to avoid people who don't know what look but don't touch means.

Epel Felmier

Another one that doesn't get the media-focused aspect of cosplaying much. Epel can probably recognize a couple characters you dress up as, but he's just not that into the stuff. He does think it's cool, though, and when he can see the similarities between the characters and your cosplays, he gets pretty excited.

Is vaguely scared by the amount of effort that goes into it as he begins to understand it more. Things like makeup, styling and caring for wigs, contact lenses, having to DYI accessories... Epel feels lost when you talk about it, and he knows he definitely couldn't do something like that at all.

Goes to cons with you if you invite him, though he has no idea what's going on around him. Will have a fun time if he can see stuff on the two or three shounens he's a fan of, though.

Lilia Vanrouge

Really into it actually. Lilia has a bit of an otaku streak too, and with how he saw other people online having that much fun with cosplaying, he felt compelled to try. He never got too serious about it, but seeing how good your cosplays look makes him wish he did.

You going mostly for mainstream content doesn't really bother him. You get recognized more often that way, right? Lilia sees the work you put into your costumes, he knows it'd be a shame if you just did all of that and no one paid much mind to it since they didn't know what character it was.

Will not only attend cons but also cosplay with you too! He jokes about not being nearly as good as you and usually goes for simpler characters, but you two will definitely have a blast together.

Floyd Leech

He thinks you look so cool! Really loves it whenever you show him your new finished costumes, they always have so much detail put into them! Floyd will circle around you and point them out, sometimes compare with what he remembers from previous cosplays, but either way he's just really enjoying how his Shrimpy looks, and will brag about it to anyone willing to listen.

However, he... doesn't understand the stuff going on behind the scenes, really. Maybe he recognizes a character or two but he isn't very invested in any shows or games, being very much the type to drop media in a whim, and all the work you have to do to put the costumes together just... eludes him.

He'll go to cons with you if he feels like it, though! Which ends up being pretty often, since there's always a thing or two at them that grab his attention. Floyd is a surprisingly good con buddy, easy to find in the crowd and scary enough that no weirdos dare to mess with you, plus he's just fun to be around.

if you wanna support my work, you can buy me a ko-fi or commission me!

#twst #twisted wonderland #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst headcanons #twst imagines #idia shroud #vil schoenheit #epel felmier #lilia vanrouge #floyd leech #idia shroud x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #epel felmier x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #floyd leech x reader #lis writing

[atlastitfalls]

all my fics

Deus Infirma — dnf, 3.2k, explicit

In which George is a Faerie, and Dream is a God wrapped around his pinkie finger.

George is a forest Nymph living in his forest when a careless God disrupts the energy he's shared with the forest for so long, leading him to learn to share it.

Dancing Flames — dnf, 3.2k, explicit

“Before you kill me, which I’m assuming you’re here to do, unless I’ve made some grave misinterpretation of fucked-up foreplay, could I know your name? It’s only fair, seeing as you so clearly know mine.” George feels the rumbles of vibration against his back as the man huffs a laugh.

“You think there’s fairness involved here? I’m about to assassinate the king, I don’t think integrity is really of importance right now.”

Or, Dream is an assassin and George is the king, and a murder not followed through leads to bring the king to his knees.

Frigidly Heated — dnf, 1.6k, explicit

George and Dream, two gods in unapproved love, talk about aged memories in a place hidden away.

Or, they both have daddy issues and are in love with each other.

At The End Of Our Time — karlnap, 2.5k, general

The embrace of Sapnaps arms was so familiar but agonizingly foreign, so warm and comforting but fading to distantly obscure feelings. Was it really the feeling that was unfamiliar?

Or was it just him?

Trying ever so desperately; grasping at non-existent strings, fraudulent feelings of being at ease, trying to decide between fighting against the restless pull of letting go or giving in, leaving behind all he had known.

Did he even remember what he knew? What he knows now?

Does he even know anything anymore?

Football Jerseys and Mistaken Roses — dnf, 4.6k, teen (multichap, 2/5 chapters)

Every year, for the week leading up to Valentine's day their school has an event where students can send each other roses with an anonymous note, and the names are revealed to the recipients on the 14th.

In a mix-up, Dream's note intended as a joke for Sapnap gets sent to George, who sends one back. With neither knowing who they other they're flirting with are, and the feud being out of the way, they become unknowingly smitten for each other.

Use Your Words — dnf, 4.6k, explicit

“So, who’s this?” Karl piped up, gesturing to Dream vaguely.

“This is Dream, found him outside.”

“He told us you saved him,” Sapnap said, mocking him lightly and laughing when Dream’s face flushed bright red.

“Did he?” George turned to him and raised his eyebrow, chuckling when Dream’s blush only darkened, uselessly attempting to hide it by taking a sip from his drink.

Dream and George meet at a college party, joining a few friends and deciding to play some games. As the night goes on and they get progressively more intoxicated, they start to flirt more, leading to them separating from the group and continuing what the games started.

in the woods, somewhere — dnf, 8.4k, teen (multichap, 1/2 chapters)

Dream hums, tilting his head and leaning in ever-so slightly closer, the side of his mask right beside George’s face and his voice too close to his ear. George eyes the strap of the mask, catching sight of the notches and hoping they aren’t counting what he thinks they are.

Dream opens his mouth again, the hint of his breath skimming past George’s ear as he begins to speak.

“You wanna say goodbye to your little forest friends?”

In a world previously run by magical creatures—now dominated by the incessant human need for control—Dream, a hunter, meets George, one of the last elves living in Kinoko forest.

After deciding against completing his given assignment and letting George stay alive, Dream continues to return to the forest where George resides, the more time he spends with the other only increasing what he's so oblivious to; why he let George live.

Late Nights, Pretty Boys — dnf, 10.2k, explicit (multichap, 5/6 chapters)

The many, many, times Dream went to George's channel, and the one time he told George that he watched his streams.

Or, George is a camboy and Dream finds out, and gets off on his videos. A lot.

Collared — dnf, 5.8k, explicit

George had been busy working on editing for the past week, barely paying attention to Dream beyond ‘good morning’s and quick kisses when Dream brought him lunch.

Dream did not appreciate this.

To put it simply, he was horny. They hadn’t had sex since the previous week, and Dream wanted to get fucked already.

Or, Dream buys a collar and gives George the leash.

It’ll All Be Over When The Morning Comes — dnf, 5.3k, explicit

Love is a feeling George never wants to feel again.

So, he doesn’t let himself.

At least, he tried to.

All things considered, it’s harder than he thought’d it’d be.

George has been hooking up with Dream in a no-strings-attached relationship for a little while now. It's a great arrangement, he gets laid, and he doesn't have to worry about the complications of an actual relationship. At least, it's great until George has to start worrying about the fact that he's falling for Dream.

#dnf #dreamnotfound #nsft #fanfic #dnf ao3 #dnf fic #fic rec #fic masterpost

[embrassemoi]

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 31

Pairings: Sirius B, F!Reader, Remus L  Warnings: Language, smoking weed, shitty parenting, mentions of death A/N: more of a filler but it helps establish stuff. *unbeta'd

【 Masterlist | Previous Chapter | ao3 】

Chapter 31: Drowning on Dry Land

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

The week before her flight back, Matthew’s parents invited her over for dinner.

Waiting to greet them at the door was Mrs. and Mr. Gaplin. Matthew’s father, a Half-Maj, was a Potioneer while his mother, an Old-Maj, was a Court Scribe. They wore large, kind smiles as Mrs. Gaplin pulled her into a tight, crushing hug.

After pleasantries, she and Matthew kicked off their shoes while his parents ushered them to the dining room.

“How are you darling? '' Mrs. Gaplin asked, floating plates in their direction as everyone began helping themselves to food. “Matt wouldn’t stop talking about you since we knew y’were coming.”

She side-eyed Matthew who groaned loudly. “Did not!”

“Sure thing,” she added, which caused Matthew to slump in his chair as his parents laughed at him.

It was a nice, charming evening; filled with laughter and heartfelt conversations. His parents continued to gloat about Mathew’s achievements that he hadn’t told her. It caused him to almost get up and run out of the room from embarrassment before moving to boast about Y/N. Even Mr. Gaplin asked her regarding her OWLs which pleasantly surprised her.

A few times, Mr. Gaplin pressed a few cheeky kisses to his wife’s face as Matthew made loud retching noises.

“Disgusting!”

Mr. Gaplin laughed. “Ya sixteen. Suck it up.”

“But you’re still my baby!” Mrs. Gaplin cooed, getting up to collect the plates.

Matthew tried to look insulted but she could see the small smile that threatened his lips as jealousy nipped at her toes.

The next few days were spent staying at the Gaplin household. Matthew’s parents insisted constantly that she should stay over so they could utilize the little time they had left before leaving. At first, the idea made her feel intrusive. Although, her mother hadn’t returned to the brownstone house, preferring to sleep in the on-call rooms at the Brooklyn Memorial Hospital. It quickly got lonely and boring before Y/N finally agreed. Besides, Mrs. and Mr. Gaplin were only around for breakfast and dinner - working for the day but never failed to return; always wearing larger smiles than the previous night.

They made her feel welcomed and warm - even taking her and Matthew to the local pictures. They included her in everything, even their trivia and board games after dinner.

It was quite the change compared to her family life.

Then an identical routine ensued. She would wake up, get ready for the day; spend hours with Matthew; then twilight fell as they stayed awake into the early hours of the morning.

The day before she was due to leave, she and Matthew ran up to his room after dinner. He went to lean on top of the small coffee table, rolling up a joint as she collected her possessions scattered around his room; not wanting to leave it for the last minute.

“Fancy some grass?” He asked in a poor British accent.

“Nah,” she shook her head, “But thanks love.”

Mathew’s smile turned bashful as he stood, turning on the radio in the background. She moved to open his window which was just above the roof of his shed as she stepped out with steady feet. Perching herself down on the blankets and pillows they hauled outside the night prior, she stared at the glowing city splayed in front. From the window, The Velvet Underground flowed softly.

Matthew proceeded to hop out, sauntering over as he threw a flirtatious wink.

“Brough this,” he said, tossing the camera he’d taken from her bag. She caught it as he nestled beside her and lit the joint; placed in his mouth. Billows of smoke clouded around them while she snapped a few photos of the view.

“Ya sure you gotta leave?” Matthew whined, embers of the end of the joint sparking with another huff. “Maybe you can smuggle me. Shove me into that trunk.”

She pulled the camera away from her face, inhaling the earthy, pungent scent. Her head felt a bit lightheaded from it. “A hardcore criminal at sixteen?”

Matthew was mildly amused until a troublesome look passed through his features. “Um — name something ya miss most about home.”

Home. What a funny word — place — feeling. Home was supposed to be something that made your heart glow, feel warm and happy — by that definition, a year ago home would’ve been her little house back in Toronto with the beautiful maple trees swaying in the backyard. Or home would’ve been Ilvermorny and its tall ivory walls. But now, London, or maybe just Hogwarts, had become her home. The scrolls around the Herbology greenhouse, the library, sneaking around past curfew; the Black Lake, Hogsmeade — Lily, James, Marlene, Dorcas, Remus, Regulus…

Unsure of what to say, she opted for, “You?”

Matthew rolled his eyes, bringing the joint to his lips. “Real charmer.” Then, smoke surrounded them. “But really.”

“Why?”

“C’mon! I need an answer! — I don’t know… say somethin’ like… lobstah.”

She chuckled. “Lobster? Really?”

“Or coffee from ya regular cafe.”

Deliberating it for a second, lips tugged up. “Coffee Crisp.”

He snorted. “A candy bar? Really?”

“Or Ketchup chips. Haven’t seen them in London yet.”

“That’s fucking disgusting.”

And then the silence returns but it makes Matthew shuffle in his spot. He blurted out, “Go — more brit insight.”

Y/N felt a bit hazy from the secondhand smoke. “More? You’ll get bored.”

“I won’t,” Matthew replied quickly, sounding oddly sincere. “Please, just… go on. Tell me everything.”

“Um… a friend of mine says crikey a lot. I think it just means to be mildly surprised? — They don’t say bloody or blimey as much as you’d think… Oh! Tea — they really drink that much tea. Also —”

Continuing, Matthew shut off again, going completely silent — not once speaking up or adding funny commentary; only staring at her, simply watching.

“Okay,” she turned to take the joint from his hand, “You're freaking me out. Spill, what's up?”

“S’nuthing.”

Whack!

“Jeez! Would ya stop wiv that! Gonna kill me…”

“Spill.”

“Fine! It’s just that…'' Matthew shifted, obscuring his face. Maybe if she didn’t feel so fuzzy, or if there wasn’t the smoke coming from the blunt or her small headache forming, she would’ve picked up on all the little signs. “It’s just —” he sighed, “I wanna hear ya talk — commit it to memory.”

“Obsessed with me? Not new.”

But that seemed to trouble him more. “It’s just… I don’t know if or when I’ll hear it again…” He looks up to the city in front. “Ya my… best friend. Could never forget ‘bout ya, but s’hard — keepin’ in touch.”

She pats him, encouraging and smiling. Her voice was hopeful, so much so that it made Matthew’s lip quirk up. “We’ll find each other. Always.” She said simply. “You and me, we’re like… salt and pepper. Soap and water — Hansel and Gretel!”

“Fuckin’ Dr. Seuss,” he smiled, that worried look fading away.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

The warm summer breeze flowed around them, just as the sun peeked above the airport. Expanse, clear skies with blue mingled with deep purples and pinks shimmered against the metal from the building.

“Gonna miss ya,” Matthew muttered into the crown of her head. Her mother didn’t want him to come, but Y/N simply ignored that request as he came to send her off.

“Don’t get mushy on me now,” she joked but felt her throat become tight.

“Betta get goin’ — Doc’s lookin’ like she’s ‘bout to butcher me if ya don’t.”

She snickered, pushing Matthew’s shoulder as she picked up her bags, walking backwards while waving. “Write me!”

“Course I will! Until next time!”

“Till next time!”

Once the plane took off, awkwardness swelled among the two women. Not once had her mother said anything to her — not to apologize or see how she was doing — although they never really did talk much. Honestly, she half-expected her to leave her in New York with the Gaplins. Easy to dispose of her.

The next few days Y/N, poorly, attempted to fix her sleeping schedule. It was a miracle that she managed to get up before dinner as her head poked into the master bedroom.

She cleared her throat, feeling herself swaying in place. “Um — hi. I’m making dinner tonight.”

Her mother was dressed in a simple, yet sleek dress. She was bent over, putting on high heels as she looked up.

“The hospital is throwing a party for me — the surgery was a success.”

“That’s amazing! Er — will you be back for dinner though? It’s just that I leave soon and... two parties are better than one.”

She considered her for a long time, eyes mostly distracted by her hair slowly changing to a different colour.

“Sure. But I have to go now.”

“Right, sorry, have fun.”

Thudding down the stairs and the door clicking shut, she followed not too long after. Making her way to the kitchen, she picked up a dusty cooking book, blowing off the dust and cracked it open; flicking through the pages.

Deciding on the seemingly easy noodle dish, she rushed out of the house to the local grocery shop for ingredients. It would be the first time they would be spending any time together. It had to be perfect. But she overestimated that no matter how closely she stuck with the dishes’ instructions, the outcome was a disaster.

The noodles somehow were rock hard. The sauce she made looked grey and was chunky, similar to badly mixed concrete and it tasted horrid. At one point, even the stove exploded into flames as she had to grab her wand and use magic to extinguish the fire.

Potions... She could use a cauldron, use multiple ingredients, make some of the most complicated spells and even had tricks of her own to make the process easier but she couldn’t make a simple dish…

Her face screwed together as she glanced up to the clock; she was going to come home soon as the dinner she made was disastrous. She panicked, cleaning up everything in a rush and decided to order food.

Waiting patiently at the dinner table, her eyes fluttered up to the clock in anticipation. She felt giddy, a surge of excitement rattling throughout her bones at the prospect. Her mother wanted to spend time with her! And she should be home any minute.

But then a minute turned to two, then five, ten, twenty, thirty — then an hour ticked by.

And then another.

Y/N got up, her chair squeaking loudly. Losing all her appetite, she went to her room, sleeping in early.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

August 20th, 1976

Going through the potential NEWT courses she could take was the highlight of her day. The possibilities were endless.

Wanting to take Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfigurations and most of all, Potions, left her excited for the school year.

But the more she thought about the upcoming school year or potential courses, she was left to contemplate what ther5 future entailed.

Was she ready to give up magic? Something that fundamentally altered her life and moulded her into what she was? Magic was her essence, something she developed and nurtured — but to put her life in danger…

Rethinking that word again: home… Was London her home? Was she willing to leave, move again to be safer? But practicing magic around the world these days for New-Majs was dangerous. Or the potential danger she would put her mother in if she continued with it?

But magic… Maybe home wasn’t necessarily a place — but rather something she carried. In all sense, magic made her heart glow, feel warm, safe and happy — it felt like what home was supposed to feel like. And the idea of being ripped away from it, forcing herself to live a normal, Muggle life…

Magic was home.

So die, but have what she cared and loved most was by her side or live a dull life without magic — ensuring her life would be miserable.

There was a clicking of shoes in the hallway that snapped her out of her thoughts. Her mother came walking by.

Lips smushed shut into a tight line, still annoyed from the other night but was determined to spend some time with one another.

“I was planning to go to Diagon Alley for the first time — to get my textbooks... '' She stood awkwardly. “Do you want to come with me?”

“I can’t,” she replied, so quickly that it had Y/N almost scoff in disbelief. “Work. But have fun.”

She sighed but still waved her off and said a small, ‘I love you, stay safe.’ Her mother only gave her a look, something unreadable and left without a word. With a heavy heart, she grabbed her purse filled with gold and left for Diagon Alley.

Passing through the Leaky Cauldron was an adventure in itself. The shabby, tiny pub was jammed with wizards and witches zipping by.

Diagon Alley was bustling with so much magic she could feel it pumping through her blood. Students were hypnotized by the shiny new Firebolt on display; others were giggling, running around with shopping bags while older witches and wizards took a scroll. Her head turned in every direction; walking into the Apothecary, a potions ingredients and book shop.

Emmeline was there. She gave a tight-lipped smile which she returned.

Emmeline by every definition was nice, extremely kind and neither girl ever had a problem with the other. James was the problem and Y/N would gladly stay out of their feud.

Passing clamouring students, she managed to get all her supplies but stopped in front of the potion ingredients. She took a few minutes, flicking through the Advance Potions textbook and grabbed everything listed needed for most of the potions.

She made her way around Diagon Alley, going through many shops. The shelves were stacked high to the ceiling with books and materials. She spent more time than necessary there but it was beautiful.

As she was paying for her Herbology textbook, a large boom! rumbled the ground. Y/N took her bags, ready to sprint to the Leaky Cauldron but the shouts caught everyone’s attention.

“WE WILL NOT BURN WITH THEM!” A crowd of witches and wizards shouted. Their wands were transformed into microphones as a few shot fireballs up in the air.

“What’s happening?” A woman asked an old wizard. He only shook his head, grabbing a copy of the Daily Prophet, handing it to the witch.

On the front page, there were moving photos of people protesting, similar to the wizards and witches currently shouting.

‘Protests Break out in Light of Muggleborns and Halfbloods Burned Alive

Voldemort and his followers have been attacking Muggleborn and ‘blood traitor' families with the usage of fire. By burning them alive, or their houses. They bonded the witch or wizard with magic, making it impossible to apparate or leave their houses. Their broken wands were found at the scene.

Since then, protests all around Britain and Scotland have broken out. The Ministry of Magic —’

“WE WILL NOT BURN WITH THEM!” The crowd chanted.

Rage filled every inch of her body as she stomped out of Diagon Alley.

If she wanted to stay in the magical world, she had to be the greatest at whatever she did, because if she wasn’t, someone of her status was never going to get anywhere.

Magic was home, and she wasn’t going to let them take it from her. She didn’t want to surrender. They weren’t going to take that away from her.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

Immediately after Diagonal Alley, she began working; taking in her thoughts from earlier to heart.

Making sure to cover any windows from prying eyes, Y/N fiddle with first with new charms. Still unassured by her abilities in Charms, she considered taking another class before realizing all the different routes it led to. To become a Healer, Auror or Potioneer, she needed Charms.

Multiple charms backfired, causing them to ricochet off the walls, leaving a dent or chipping the wallpaper.

After trying out more than half the Charms in the book, there was one spell in particular that she attempted to cast many times, but without fail, was never able to properly cast it. Frustrated, her hand made a sharp flick and the spell spurted out instantly.

She tried again with the same hand gesture. To her astonishment, the charm produced easily. Quickly, she jotted down the note in her book.

Next, she glossed over her Transfigurations and Defense Against the Dark Arts book until her eyes caught onto the word: werewolf.

She learned briefly about werewolves, but that was in third year. And now that she knew a werewolf, it would be good to rehash it.

A werewolf, also known as a Lycanthrope, is a non-magical or magical being who transforms under the rising of the full moon. However, non-magical beings have a greater risk of dying rather than turning.

As the name suggests, werewolves are closely related to the non-magical animal, wolves. However, they have distinct characteristics that make them easily identifiable from wolves.

She flipped the page.

Wolfsbane flowers are poisonous to the non-magical world but it has been proven to have no effects on werewolves like they do on wolves. Werewolves are immune from the poison they emit and there are reports that Wolfsbane flowers help alleviate symptoms.

She underlined that section.

It’s a uniquely magical illness known to spread by saliva and blood. Werewolves are dangerous, blood-thirsty beasts — she flipped the page.

They cannot choose to transform and will no longer retain their human mind. Given the opportunity, they would slaughter their loved ones — flipped the page.

A mixture of powdered silver and dittany applied to bites help seal bite wounds. It’s also commonly put in liquid and digested in anticipation of full moons to help with the symptoms of transforming.

Y/N’s face scrunched as she continued to read.

There is no known cure Potion used to help treat lycanthropy.

She felt oddly intrusive knowing parts about Remus’ condition. But then questions arose. How were there no Potions of any kind there to help werewolves during their transformation?

Pushing the thought away, she turned to the cauldron, picking a potion to brew. They all were fairly easy, some she’d even done before just by playing around. But one potion that grabbed her attention was Draught of Living Death. Even at Ilvermorny, that potion was notoriously difficult.

Starting up the cauldron, she grabbed hold of the sopophorous bean. However, it kept jumping when she tried to cut it. She quickly resorted to another method, running down to her kitchen and grabbing the handheld garlic press, placing the bean inside, squishing it down as so much juice spurted out, even going all over her clothing.

The potion turned into the light lilac like suggested. But then as she stirred, her potion quickly became ruined as she restarted immediately.

Hours ticked by; several items in her room were Transfigured into cauldrons, as she poured the existing solution into the nine other cauldrons as she conducted her experiment.

Stirring counterclockwise was a sham, so she stirred clockwise. Nothing, the potion went bad. The next cauldron, she stirred counterclockwise and then clockwise, alternating between every stir. It showed promising progress before it turned a bright red after the seventh stir, bubbling over.

The next cauldron, she stirred counterclockwise, then clockwise after the seventh stir as the potion turned a pink pale. That’s what the book said would happen. She quickly cleared the rest of the cauldrons, pouring in the pink liquid just in case.

She continued to stir until it became a clear liquid. Surely, that was good enough but she could never be sure. After all, she didn’t know if this was what it was supposed to look like.

Deeply immersed, she hadn’t realized how late it got.

She laid on her bed, her light on as she read the scribbles on the margins of the books she'd penned. The textbook was outdated and everything she’s written down, there were easier ways to perform spells, create Potions and more. The other books must’ve been outdated too.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

August 22nd, 1976

Today, her attention was drawn to her Herbology textbook as she flipped right to the medicine section. Y/N had sneakily stolen a few of her mother’s medical journals as she scribbled down notes.

She flicked through the diagrams. Wizards and No-Majs were different when it came to their bodies and sickness, she knew that, but their anatomy was still the same.

An opera played in the background as she sat in front of the television. It filled the silence as her mother came from behind her, creeping her way closer to the door.

Y/N called out from where she sat. “Care to join me?”

“Can't, work.” She grunted out.

She placed the pen down, full attention drawn to her. “I only have a few days until school starts… you can’t spend some time?”

Her mom wasn’t looking at her, ostensibly staring at the floor, anywhere other than her face.

“It’s not that interesting, but um - I need help with medical terms and illnesses. You’re the best at that!”

“I can’t,” she said roughly. “Can't you see? You have to stop bothering me when I’m busy.” And then she left again, leaving her alone. Y/N would’ve been more bothered had she not been so focused on her studies.

There was a pattern.

In the Herbology textbook, in the werewolf section, there were a few ingredients used to help alleviate symptoms of Lycanthropy.

Dittany, Powered silver, Powdered Moonstone, Aconite…

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

August 26th, 1976

“Do you want to —” “Work.”

“But you always have work… can’t you take some time off?”

“You know it’s important to me. Why do you keep trying to limit that?”

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

August 29th, 1976

She was partially through her Potions and Charms textbook. It was all she could fixate on.

Deciding to take a break, Y/N went to stretch, getting up to talk to her mom who again, was getting ready to leave. She opened the honey-coloured wood draw close to the door. She pulled out a set of keys, fixing her appearance in a nearby mirror.

She had already opened the door.

“Hey mom, I was thinking of getting lunch… Will you be back soon?”

But, there was faint muffling outside the door.

“Ready for our date?”

Y/N, desperate, seized hold of her wrist, pleading. “Please, I leave in a day.”

“I'll make it up to you,” mom replied, “I promise.” And then, the door clicked shut.

Again.

She stared at the door, trying to regulate what she was thinking.

What made them worthy of her time when their’s were limited.

Robotically, Y/N turned to walk to her room, her hip bumped into the drawer which hadn’t been fully closed. Her eyes flew to it, about to push it in as she caught a flash of white.

Yanking it open, she swore her heart could’ve shattered. White envelopes filled the draw; her familiar handwriting scribbled on top of each letter. She picked one up, twisting it over to the flap.

It was unopened.

She picked up another. Unopened.

Then another. Unopened.

Unopened.

All of them were unopened, sealed. Hardly tampered with and there was hardly a wrinkle.

Was there something wrong with her? Something so disgraceful that made her so disgusting that people kept forgetting - pushing her away? Like an insidious disease.

Was she truly that unloveable? That much of a nuisance? What made someone else so much more important than her?

It was too much to process but if she had to describe the feeling, it was like drowning on dry land.

Whatever home was, it shouldn’t feel like this: cold, lonely, sad.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

【 Next Chapter 】

Slang dictionary (+ a bit of history bc i didn’t realize how many ppl didn’t actually understand what I was talking about in other chaps):

Coffee Crisp = a very popular chocolate bar sold in Canada. It was a variation of a treat made by a company from the UK. It was briefly introduced to the UK in the 60s but was pulled back because people thought it was too similar to Kit Kat. From what I know, Coffee Crisp is not commonly found in England (I've never seen it in stores) but it’s sold in Scotland.

Candy bar = US term for chocolate bar / chocolate

Grass = during the 60s - 70s, the term 'grass' was very popular slang for weed in New York bc it featured in vogue.

And yes, the British do drink that much tea.

© gotkindabored 2021. Do not repost or modify

#remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin x you #Remus Lupin #remus lupin x y/n #Remus lupin x reader #sirius black x y/n #sirius black #sirius black x you #sirius black x reader #hp series #harry potter self insert #the marauders #harry potter marauders #harry potter fanfiction #hp #fanfiction #harry potter x reader #hp marauders #marauders fanfiction #sbtmas #hp angst #remus and sirius #young!remus lupin #young!remus lupin x reader #young!sirius black x reader #young!sirius black #young marauders #harry potter #marauders era #marauders x reader

[mymarifae]

*holds berdly in one hand and holds asriel in the other* one nakes games n the other plays games, they r friends/big n lil brother

i think they get along :) but like. really awkwardly. whenever they have a conversation anyone else who happens to be within earshot is like "oh god when will it end *shrivels up into a raisin from secondhand embarrassment*" but meanwhile both berdly and asriel walk away thinking "fuck yeah. totally nailed that social interaction. go me!"

i don't think asriel really gets to know berdly until like.. post-deltarune. but he Knows Of berdly and his feelings are mixed, to say the least. he first met berdly shortly after the spelling bee, when berdly was still on the quieter side. he didn't really see much of him during that time period, because he was mostly noelle's friend, and the spelling bee was after dess's disappearance, and dess's disappearance caused a rift between the holidays and the dreemurrs, meaning asriel didn't see noelle as much as he used to.

and then come the early days of kris and berdly's "rivalry" - berdly is now an uppity, snobbish kid who won't stop bragging about his grades. rude and startlingly condescending for someone his age. for some reason he still keeps coming over to play video games with kris? this results in lots of yelling and name-calling from both sides and fighting over a controller. (on multiple occasions asriel wraps his arm around kris's shoulder after berdly leaves and is like, "do you want me to give that kid a talking to?" and kris just smiles and shakes their head.)

and then during kris's senior year asriel comes to visit during a holiday break, and now berdly has mellowed out just a touch. he's still loud and overdramatic, but the arrogance has been replaced with a conscientiousness. he has learned to listen and be a better friend. and also he and kris are dating now. to say that asriel is baffled would be an understatement. (no kris did not just neglect to tell asriel about this until he's back home for break. they DID tell him but he didn't believe them because [see previous descriptions of berdly's behavior] and he was like "funny joke kris 😂😂😂😂" and it's not until he's in hometown and the reality of it is undeniably shoved into his face that he's like oh they weren't joking.)

to put it succinctly they aren't 100% sure how to act around each other. berdly would like asriel to think well of him. he's already passed the Toriel Test, the Asgore Test, and the Rudy Test (kris's second not so secret dad), so he would really like for asriel to like him too..!! and while there's no longer (...much) animosity on asriel's part because the changes in berdly are Palpable, he's still kinda left reeling by how much things keep CHANGING while he's away at college. (he has yet to fully recover from the shock of coming home last fall [after the events of the game] and discovering that he has a new sister and her name is susie and she is very purple and big)

they find a common ground over obscure video game knowledge and like. glitches and speedruns and stuff. once they both start going on that topic it just. never ends. and even kris, who is a nerd themself and has a high above average tolerance for excessively nerdy rants that last for hours, is like "...christ." after a few of those back and forth overexcited rants tho they're good friends <3

also if we go with the idea that asriel is majoring in like. art and game design and is going to fulfill his dream of making a game that's fun because. i think berdly goes into video game writing, plot development and stuff. so one of berdly's first like, jobs in that field is actually writing for asriel's game! :)

#ya :) *wanders off* #mailbox

[thnxforknowingme]

Jenna my beloved ✨

what's your ranking of the glee christmas episodes? and if you were to write a S1 christmas episodes how would it go?

hope you're having a wonderful month 💗💗 love you <3

Myle <3 Happy December and thank you for this ask!

My ranking of the Glee Christmas episodes:

1. Extraordinary Merry Christmas

I love the Christmas TV special, it's such a delightful mix of dumb but fun things. I also really like the music in this one (I ranked Glee Christmas songs here, and with the exception of Do They Know It's Christmas? the songs from this ep were all pretty highly rated). Plus, it built the Sam/Rory friendship that I loved and then was never returned to (which I also wrote a fic about for Glee Advent).

2. A Very Glee Christmas

The music in this episode was also all good, and both of the plotlines were decently enjoyable. There are funny moments and the sort of classic Sue-vs-Glee conflict, and the episode works well by taking advantage of Christmas themes about Sue being greedy/hating joy, and the Glee club being the misfits who believe in the magic of the holidays.

3. Glee Actually

I do appreciate the break from format here - Christmas episodes can be an opportunity to do something unusual, so I like that they took advantage of that and did the little vignettes with short plotlines. The plotlines themselves were hit-or-miss, though - I really like Artie's It's A Wonderful Life dream sequence, and the Kurt/Burt/Blaine scenes. The Puck/Jake plotline had some nice moments of their families connecting, and some good humor in Puck pretending he was way more successful than he is. I didn't really care about the other plotlines. The music overall was...fine. But like, why Feliz Navidad, Artie? Why?

4. Previously Unaired Christmas

This episode has a few funny moments, I'll give it that, but beyond that is mostly just intentionally-cringey in the way that much of S5a was. The music ranged from "fine" to "criminal." I don't hate the framing device - again, Christmas episodes can break format, and if they really wanted to include one this season, having it be a sort of alternate-universe of the previous year isn't a bad idea. They could have played with that concept in some really fun ways. But instead they were like "we're gonna make Grilled Cheesus look like a child's game with regards to crossing church and state, and try to take Turkey Lurkey Time's title of Worst Song Performed in the Bushwick Loft"

🎄

My S1 Glee Christmas Episode:

Okay, I'm coming back to this drafted post on Christmas Eve, a little tipsy after festivities, so my apologies for whatever mess this ends up being.

First of all, Will would be trying really hard to be very inclusive and not using Christian-specific terminology when talking about the holidays (maybe we see a scene of Figgins reminding the teachers about this rule, Sue can make some ‘war on Christmas’/Starbucks cup controversy joke), but also he’s bad at it so he keeps catching himself at the last second. Whenever someone messes up and says “Christmas” or a Christmas-specific term, Puck and Kurt immediately correct them. Brittany also mentions that she appreciates the more general approach to holiday well-wishing, because instead of Christmas she celebrates some obscure pagan ritual to mark the darkest portion of the year (this is maybe OOC for S1 Brittany but OH WELL).

I think chronologically this ep would be coming right after Sectionals, so it would be kind of a laid-back episode after all the drama, and the glee kids would just be assigned with singing songs to express their feelings of warmth/family/gratitude related to the holidays. Probably there would be some freaking out about what presents to get other people. Puck and Quinn would argue about what religion to raise their unborn daughter as. Rachel would be constantly trying to trap an extremely emotionally fragile Finn under mistletoe (so basically the same thing she did in S2 Christmas lmao).

#awkwardcaterpillar #ranking #christmas #my headcanons

[silhouetteofacedar]

Impersonal, Ch. 7

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, Rated E

The game had ended and he wasn’t surprised.

He expected this. He prepared himself all day Saturday by running six miles, jacking off twice, and mopping his entire apartment. He didn’t even own a mop; he actually went out and bought one. By the time Sunday morning rolled around he was ready for the inevitable collapse of their precarious sexual arrangement and greeted Scully with aplomb.

And then she paid for breakfast.

That was unexpected. When the FBI wasn’t footing the bill, they usually split the tab, or threw a “you can get the next one” down on the table alongside crumpled bills.

He had been joking about it being a date, but then she paid. And it meant something. Her big blue eyes pinned him to the booth, had him trapped and squirming like an insect on a card as she laid a hand over the check. “I’ve got it,” she said, and his senses were suddenly ignited. He could feel thick sunshine pouring over them, lighting up Scully’s hair like a smudge of cinnamon. Her lips looked so sweet and soft, and the very idea that he might never feel them again stole his breath. He felt dry and empty, a desiccated housefly body lying on a windowsill.

He thanked her for breakfast, and his throat was lined with dust.

Their parting was weird. Hinting that he was still available to her was an insane risk, and she turned it into a joke about Frohike. Unless she actually thought he was the one joking about Frohike, which he has to admit wouldn’t be out of character for him.

He’s tired of joking, tired of hiding, tired of dancing around his intentions. Tired of wanting and not asking, tired of being in his own damn way.

Scully has given him a graceful exit, a neatly drawn map back to their pre-sex starting point. And not for the first time, Mulder wads up the map and tosses it aside. Scully made her move; it was time for him do the same.

What that move would be, he has no idea.

It takes him eleven days. No wonder Scully took matters into her own hands the first time around. Inspiration strikes him during his drive from Alexandria to D.C. the next Thursday morning, when he crosses the Potomac and gets a glimpse of faraway blossoms.

He waits until 4:47 that afternoon to say anything.

“Hey Scully, you doing anything tonight?” he asks, rifling through a stack of papers as though he’s attending to FBI business and not trying to work up courage like a schoolboy.

Her glossy red head is bent over a file, pen at her lip. “Besides folding an obscenely large pile of laundry, my schedule seems fairly empty,” she replies. She looks up at him suspiciously. “Why, Mulder?”

“No reason, really. There’s just something I wanted to show you, get your opinion on.”

“Is it related to a case?”

He opens a desk drawer, pretending to look for something. “Well it could be a totally natural phenomenon, but who can say for certain without proper investigation?”

Scully sighs. “Fine, I’ll bite. And speaking of bites, I’m starving. If we’re going to work off the clock, can we at least eat?”

“Wanna stop for Chinese? We can take it with us. We’re not going far, the food should still be hot when we get to our secondary location.”

They take Mulder’s car, picking up several cartons of food from a restaurant in Chinatown a few blocks up from the Hoover building before making their way towards the National Mall. Mulder parks in the lot near the Washington Monument.

“You weren’t kidding when you said we weren’t going far,” Scully says, gathering up the bag of takeout. “What exactly are we looking for?”

“That,” he replies, pointing ahead.

Hundreds of cherry trees line the Tidal Basin, their leaves almost entirely obscured by tufts of blossoms. Scully steps onto the path, open-mouthed.

“Oh my god,” she murmurs.

Mulder shoves his hands in his pockets. “Pretty fantastic, huh?”

“Mulder,” she says in awe, looking sideways at him, “What are we doing here?”

He shrugs. “I just wanted to see them.”

“At night?”

“Daylight’s for tourists, Scully.”

———

They’re sitting on the damp grass, endeavoring to split the last egg roll using only their dueling pairs of chopsticks.

“This is impossible, Scully. I’m going to use my hands.”

“Then I definitely don’t want the other half,” she says.

“Are you implying something about my hygiene?”

“I’ve seen some of the places your hands have been, Mulder.”

He wiggles his eyebrows at her, and she rolls her eyes.

“Not what I meant,” she says softly. “But the point still stands.”

Mulder lays back on the lawn, his long coat fanning wide. Scully pulls an edge of it towards her, scoots closer so she can rest her pantyhose-clad calves on it instead of the grass.

“I’ve always preferred the blossoms at night,” he says. “There’s something ghostly about them, all pink and white against the dark sky. Not an ominous kind of ghostly, however; if good spirits exist, I think they’d look like these trees. You know most early European religions feature some sort of reverence for trees or forests, whether as spiritual gathering places or deities themselves-“

“Mulder.”

“Hm?”

“Are you going to eat that egg roll, or can I have it?”

He passes her the carton. “And-”

“Why did you bring me here, Mulder?”

He glances at her and is surprised to see a tenderness in her eyes. His gaze returns to the branches above.

“I just figured I owe you a nice trip to a forest, and this one won’t require any paperwork.”

Scully smiles. “That’s a very considerate choice, Mulder, especially since I’m always the one doing said paperwork.”

“You’re more succinct and readable than I am, apparently. And Skinner clearly likes you better.”

“Didn’t you punch him in the face once?”

“That’s beside the point. I think he has a bit of a crush on you, Scully.”

She rolls her eyes. “What?” Mulder asks.

“I just… it’s nothing, It’s been a long day. And it’s cold out here.”

Mulder sits up and withdraws his arms from the sleeves of his overcoat.

“No- Mulder, don’t, I’m fine.”

“Move your legs,” he instructs, pulling the edge of the coat out from under her. He stands and drapes it around her shoulders before plopping back down on the grass next to her.

“Thanks,” she says. “Still, it’s getting late.”

He glances at his watch. “It’s seven-thirty on a Thursday. You got somewhere to be?” His arm bumps her shoulder companionably. “Come on, just a little longer. Maybe we’ll see something unidentified in the sky.”

He grins at her and the corner of her mouth twitches in reply. “Well, I guess I don’t have a choice,” she sighs. “You drove us here.”

He feels a slight increase of pressure against his arm and realizes that Scully is ever so slightly leaning into him. A gentle warmth glows in his belly, and he glances sidelong at her.

I’m a lucky son of a bitch, he thinks.

“How so?” Scully asks.

Oh. He said it out loud. He clears his throat, tries to steer his thoughts back into safer waters.

“Well, for one thing, I’m not dead,” he says. “Not for lack of trying.”

Scully nods solemnly.

“I’ve seen incredible things, things people spend their whole lives looking for, hoping for, believing in. I’ve tasted proof, held the truth in my hands. And in spite of everything, I’m still here. We’re still here. That’s pretty goddamn lucky.”

“I don’t feel very lucky,” Scully says softly. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve fucked up every good thing I’ve ever had a chance at. My father certainly thought so, at least for a long time.”

They sit silently for a moment. “Without you, I’d be long dead,” Mulder admits.

“I know,” Scully replies. “I’m always awed by your resilience, actually. I can’t take all the credit for your continued survival.”

“Yeah, you can,” he says, getting to his feet and dusting stray blades of grass off his slacks. He holds out a hand and helps her to her feet. Her fingers are cool against his palm, and he wonders if she’d notice if he didn’t let go. Probably.

He wants to pull her in by the lapels of his coat, gather her to his chest, hold her for no reason other than he can. Kiss her brow, smell her hair, feel her small hands sliding under his suit jacket. He wants her just as she is, for exactly who she is.

But he’s a chickenshit, so instead he just walks beside her along the Tidal Basin, under the cherry blossoms, and doesn’t hold her hand.

They spend the five minute drive back to the Bureau in comfortable silence. Scully leans her head against the car window, and Mulder briefly wonders if she’ll fall asleep. He loves when she nods off while he’s driving; it makes him feel safe. She makes him feel safe.

He parks a few spots away from her car in the Bureau parking garage, turns off the engine. Scully gathers up her briefcase, leaving Mulder’s coat draped open on the passenger seat.

“Why are you getting out?” she asks, seeing Mulder unbuckling his seatbelt.

“I need a file from the office,” he lies. He exits the car and goes around to her side. “I’ll walk you to your door, it’s on my way.”

It’s twenty feet from her car to his. “Thank you, Mulder,” Scully says sardonically, fishing her keys out of her coat pocket. “If I weren’t armed, that would have been very thoughtful of you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he replies. He takes a step forward.

“What are you doing?” Scully asks, one hand on her car door, keys in the other.

“Nothing,” he replies quickly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” God, she’s so small, this could so easily go wrong-

He pitches forward, bending down, and presses his lips to the fullness of her cheek. His nose brushes the soft skin under her eye and he inhales sharply, drawing back.

They blink at each other. “Bye,” Mulder offers.

Scully nods. “Yes. Goodnight.” She glances to the elevators. “Was there actually a file you needed?”

He just looks at her, and she presses her lips together in understanding. “Right. Well, I’m leaving, so… see you tomorrow then.”

Right. Despite recent events, the earth was still spinning.

Later, when he hangs his overcoat, he notices the faintest scent of her shampoo on the collar.

#awwwwwwwww they're so awkward and dumb #impersonal #my fic #txf fic #xfiles #msr #slow burn #also pls listen to 'Agape' by Nicolas Britell while reading this chapter it's the Vibe

[speedypandaweasel]

Change of Plans - A Yancy x Neutral! Reader

❤ REBLOGS WOULD BE APPRECIATED ❤

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 MASTERLIST

Where we left off:

So much for a lie in. You slowly rose from the cocoon of warmth you had made for yourself and you felt your toes wriggle up the bed and hiss at the exposed coldness of the room. Dragging yourself out of subconsciousness, your eyes finally decided to greet the grey interior and the black-barred window that perched just out of your arms reach. Why would they put such a tiny window if they didn’t want anyone to look out of it? Pretty pathetic actually. The Penitentiary really needed to repaint the bars, some of the black paint had flaked onto your pillow whilst you were sleeping.

You sat up, a little too quickly, and a cold, hard sensation hit the top of your body. Well good morning to you too World.

The unbearable ringing continued as you brought your arm down onto the squawking alarm clock. The room fell into a comfortable silence once more. 7:30am, not too bad, yet it could have been a little longer. Yet it was as if someone decided to balance a massive book on “how to not have a headache” on your already sore head. You’d ask Boggs for some paracetamol, or maybe some Ibuprofen as you tried to ponder on what did you do to deserve this...

~ Chapter 5 ~

MatchBox Analysis - 2.3K Words

"I'm here to speak to Officer Boggs." You timidly spoke, playing with the hem of your shirt. The man that towered in the small door frame in front of you was the most intimidating of all: Officer Rexx.

There were rumours about him that were too obscure and dangerous to mention twice, You only happen to hear about them when you overheard a couple of prisoners talking about "the anniversary" of how he lost his previous job, whatever that meant. To be frank, you didn't want to know about whatever hell hole he wriggled out of and treaded on eggshells around him, even if you weren't speaking to him. Something about that man caused you to feel insecure about something that you couldn't point your finger at, but there was no doubt that it was there.

"Yeah, he's in here." He paused for a moment. "You're one of the newer ones around here, aren't you? I've seen you around but never had the pleasure to meet."

He stuck out his grubby hand, his sausage fingers extended shortly at you, waiting for you to touch them. You grimaced before wiping that expression off your face. Rule 1: Never acknowledge the fingers.

You stuck out your hand bravely and shook his greasy one. His strong grip tightened around your knuckles as he shook hard, almost breaking your frail fingers.

"Well, I'll just go get him. Stay there." He spat. The door firmly closed behind him, the staff room's view blocked once again. You peeped through the mesh windows and managed to decipher the blurred silhouette of the sofa and coffee counter. You backed away as the door swung open again to the familiar face of Officer Boggs, his much shorter height made you relax second by the second.

"Oh hi Y/N, shouldn't you be outside?" He asked before shutting the door behind him, leaving the both of you outside in the wide hallway.

"Well I am, but I forgot to give you this from last night." You replied, planting your hand into your pocket before pulling out the owners key. Boggs let out a chuckle as his rosy cheeks grew even merrier.

"I forgot I gave you this! I'm glad that at least someone doesn't take my naivety for granted" He continued. "I respect that about you."

He unhooked the jingling keys from his beltline and clipped the Cafertiera key on the chain. He had a proud collection of keys to his name - being a veteran member of the Prison, it did have its perks.

"Well thank you, I really appreciate that Boggs. You know, sometimes I don't feel like I fit in here myself." Sounded cliche, you internally facepalmed yourself. Normally you wouldn't be telling this to anyone, but Boggs had been there since forever so it was nice to tell at least someone your true thoughts about staying here.

"Oh now don't think like that, every prisoner when they first come in her feels like that, but don't worry, I'm sure that the others will welcome you soon. Have you tried talking to them? I know you're not the socially inclined person but give it a shot. Who knows? You might actually enjoy their company" He concluded.

When Boggs gave advice, it could go two ways: either it was incredibly awful which ended in bad decisions being drawn from it, or it could be genuinely heartwarming and sincere words of wisdom. Thankfully, this was one of those pieces.

You allowed yourself to run over the speech the superior had just given and smiled. You could spark up a conversation with Yancy, you could ask him about what that poem meant! Maybe that could be the starting point of breaking out of your introverted shell.

"Thanks Boggs, I really do appreciate you." You said, before heading off outside.

"Have fun! But not too much fun, I don't want for you to get hurt!" His yells sounded down the empty corridor.

The mid-day sun blazed down on the steaming concrete, the prisoners having that work-out glow. Yancy had rolled his short sleeves even shorter, exposing his lesser-known tattoos, and his private box was stuffed in his trouser leg conveniently, away from the guard's view. If anyone found out what was in this box..well, it would ruin him.

Racing became tiresome after a couple of hours so the prisoners resorted to lazily running laps around the small quarter, this included the songbird himself.

"I tell's ya T, you wanna stop off for a few minutes? this box is gettin' uncomfortable." He protested, shifting his weight from one foot to another, finding a comfortable spot in his trouser leg.

"Why, you chickening out? Scared that someone will beat your record?" T retorted.

The prisoners slowed to a stop. Yancy regrettably paused his track game and attempted to get his ragged breath back.

"No ya dingus, it's 'cause dis box is scratchin' my skin off! I swear I's bleedin' down my shin by now."

Tiny's retort turned into concern as they pulled over to the side of the quarter. Once out of sight, Yancy slowly rolled his trouser leg up to his shin and took out the small, worn-out box from the bottom of his leg.

"Your leg hasn't been sawed off Yance, but you sure you need to keep it there? You could hurt yourself."

Yancy chortled shortly, not willing to admit that his friend was right. After what happened last time, he was going to learn from his mistakes. He rubbed his fading ankle bruise as he remembered the time he stayed in the medical ward. But the question was: where was he going put the little thing?

His eyes scanned the usual nooks and crannies that he had hid stuff in before, but word somehow got out and now everyone was using them for their secret stashes. Great - so much for having the upper hand.

His eyes continued to look for somewhere to stuff the thing until his ears pricked up on the outside door swinging open. His frustrated face broke into a smile as he saw you walk out timidly, and perching on a weight bench.

"Here, can youse hang on to it for a hot minute, just don't open it alight," He said, his curious eyes never leaving your sight.

Tiny was startled. The Boss never let them hold anything of his, let alone the one thing he persistently never left out of his sight. Tiny slipped the matchbox into their shoe before taking a squat down the brick wall as they watched their mate stride over to the newbie, but chose not to follow suit.

You picked at the seat cushion like it was the most interesting thing ever to you, whilst plucking up the courage to go and talk to the most confident person out here. Your eyes managed to look up. partially blinded from the sun but saw the small huddles of prisoners near the water pitches, walking around, or down by the blind spot. Guards stood at every entrance broadly, letting people in and out of the area, their moist uniforms made you wonder how the hell they managed to keep composure in this heat.

Your moment abruptly came as you saw the man of the hour coming towards you, his wide shoulders fully exposed to the heats rays. You knew he worked but w-w-wow.

"Finally decided to join in the fun eh?" He sprung up the conversation.

Chuckling, you look down, embarrassed and in amusement "And I'm guessing that this is the newest trouser look. Is this asymmetric chic? or is this just you trying to use illusion to become taller?" You threw a double whammy at him.

Yancy's shocked eyes bored into your own mischievous ones for a brisk moment. Suddenly, he exaggeratedly placed a hand on his chest before crumbling to the grass floor. "Oh de pain! I can't bear it anymore! Not another short joke!"

Other people around the quarter edge were starting to laugh along with his flailing and happily applauded when he finished his piece. The cheering and jeering died down as the conversation drifted back to normal, as Yancy dragged his trouser leg down and sidled up next to you and he bumped his hard shoulder next to yours.

"What a Drama Queen." You continued, letting out a small smile.

"What can I's say, I got's to get ma training in somewhere." He replied "So how's it been with you? Finish dat book yet?"

It was as if he read your mind! The topic of the poetry book caught your attention as you chipped away at your social shell. "Uh, not yet, but I did want to ask you a couple of questions about poem 19. You know, the one you recommended I read?"

The prisoner stretched his arms and placed them behind himself. "Oh yeah! It's one of ma favourites! I personally thinks its about de good and bad sides to love and once you've actually caught feelings for someone, it pains you to do things dat even surprise yaself. Youse got me?"

You would have never known that Yancy had a passion for literature, just listening to him made you even more dedicated to spending time with him. Boggs was right with his advice, it didn't bruise your ego that bad to socialise with new people, as it made you question what other things the man had up it sleeve - or trouser leg.

You rephrased yourself, "Ok then Yance, do you read poems often then?" your feet started to dance around the grassy floor, flattening pieces of green.

"So do you analyse poems often then Yancy?"

The man interrupted you "Oh please, call me Yance, only the big dog calls me Yancy."

"I used to when I was a youngin', my family hads a nice library ya see. Dey's had Shakespeare, Jane Austen, and some oder authors I can't remember but when youse a fabulous actor like myself, you gotta keep up ya noggin' in check." He smiled and looked out onto the busy area, almost reminiscing about his past life.

He never liked to bring up the subject of his past but when Yacny was with you, it felt- right. To finally talk about childhood memories and just laugh about them, instead of it always being dragged back to the soul reason why he was locked up at Happy Trails in the first place.

His strong arm planted on the side of your small shoulder as he gave you a tight squeeze. "How about youse? Do you read?"

"I-Uh... I"

Words formed in your mouth, yet your tongue was on holiday, not responding to any sentence your brain was throwing at you. Butterflies were born in your stomach as your face started to feel warm, too warm for your liking. What was happening? Were you having sunstroke!?

"Youse ok? Ya looking a little warm d'ere" Yancy said, dropping his arm from your side. "Youse want me to go grab you some water?"

This signalled your tongue to finally come back to work. "Oh. No, I'm fine thanks and yeah, I read, that's what I was going to ask about you actually." You said, forcing confidence.

"No way! Heh, I guess great minds think alike huh?" He replied, grinning his addicting smile. He looked over to where he left Tiny and an idea sprung in his scheming mind. "Hey, youse wanna come over to the wall, I got's a friend who you could meet. I mean, only if you wanna?" Yancy laughed, trying to sweetly coax you deeper into socialisation.

You hesitated. This man sure was alluring, but risking another episode like that caused you to reconsider. You bit your bottom lip, slightly, your eyebrows became sewn together as you weighted up your options. Either go over and run your social battery out completely, or decline and recover from this moment.

"Thanks Yance, but I think I'm done for the day." You responded. "All this talking and warm heat" and maybe some other things "has made my head spin a little."

"Ok, well if youse's sure." Yancy stood up once more and punched your shoulder "See you around Keys!"

You saw him walk back to his mate and sit down together under the shade of the building. You blissfully made your way back inside of Happy Trails, back with you and your own thoughts.

Its blasting air conditioner made your arms tingle as you pulled out a chair in the Cafeteria and went to reach for the poetry book. The silence hung much thicker in the air as you sat uncomfortably. Is this what withdrawal felt like? To be isolated not a minute after being surrounded by people. You kind of missed the feeling of having someone to talk to, but everyone had their boundaries - even you. You tried not to linger on the thought of feeling like you let Yancy down. He gave you the opportunity to help you overcome your fears but you didn't take it. Maybe next time you would take it, but for now, you did something new today: You should be proud of yourself.

You scanned around at the empty chairs and tables, the occasional guard whistling by the Cafeteria's door frame before you brought your head to the window. Your eyes soon spotted Yancy sashaying around with his friend. They must have said something funny because he soon showed his pearly whites, his chest rising and falling as his strong hand clutched his chest. Your eyes couldn't tear themselves away from this scene. The jailbird was the only person who actually tried with you. Smiling to yourself, you looked back up and your breath hitched. He was looking directly back at you and giving you a small wave. His smaller companion followed suit, shooting their hand straight up, frantically joining in. You sheepishly waved back before opening the book from you left off.

"Missed me Y/N?"

#yancy x reader #yancy #ahwm #a heist with markiplier #markiplier #markiplier egos #ahwm yancy #x reader #yancy the prisoner

[ddarker-dreams]

ladybug. yandere!giorno x reader

tw: emotional manipulation, humiliation

giorno is patient with you, but everything has limits. 

click here to check out my commissions! 

Sunlight has always felt nice on your skin.

Even when it’s obscured by glass windows, it brings a sense of comfort that’s unmatched by anything else. Compliment it by drinking any assortment of hot drinks, such as cappuccinos or espressos, and it makes your world feel whole. For hours at a time you could bask in it, eyes fluttering shut and soaking in blissful warmth. 

The breakfast room you sit in most mornings is surrounded by circle topped windows, deliberately placed on the east wing of Giorno’s villa to capture the morning sun. In the middle of the room sits a petite glass table, large enough to be accompanied by four birch wood seats. 

Every morning you come here, an assortment of pastries and berries are laid out to your liking. A rotating set of china accompanies them, differing in color depending on the seasons. As it’s currently winter, a pearly white set with sapphire designs are in use. With spring budding around the season, you’ll soon be met with your favorite set; one with sakura designs from Japan. 

All of these small details are pressed into your mind. Having sat in this room for breakfast too many times to count, you’ve come to know everything about it. From the seasonal fine china, to which chair allows the sun to kiss your skin the longest, to how the windows are kept under lock and key. 

You’ve tried that method already. 

Funny thing, that is. How an oceanic view gives the illusion of freedom, when looked at through monumental windows. By how the butler’s breath hitches when you run your fingers over the glass longingly, you can only imagine the strict regulations Giorno holds them to. It’s not like it’ll crumble underneath your delicate touch, even if you silently wish it would. 

The sight of waves crashing causes a sigh to leave your lips, knowing that you’ll have to be content to watch it from here for the time being. In your myriad of thoughts, you fail to notice a small ladybug settling itself onto your outstretched hand. Looking at it with a frown, you watch as it crawls from the back of your hand to your fingertips. 

It’s why you don’t flinch when soft footsteps approach you from behind, already knowing the omen the ladybug brought with it. Retracting your hand away from the window, you feel no desire to look back when you already know who’s there.

“I take it you like the view?” Even early in the morning, Giorno’s voice is composed and smooth. It demands to be listened to and respected, even if you have to admit that begrudgingly. He cherry picks his words with intention, a facade of domesticity mixed within them. 

“Why do you use,” you pause for a moment, ignoring Giorno’s rhetorical question to find the best term for his ability. “This… method, when I always come here in the morning. I’m sure you’re well aware of that.” 

At this, you finally decide to turn around and face him. Giorno stands in front of you with a relaxed disposition, having already waved off any staff that were nearby. It makes you grit your teeth, knowing the reason why. He’s here to keep an eye on you now, so there’s no need for them to. 

Not responding to the clear hostility in your voice, Giorno takes a seat close to where you’re standing. Each movement carries with it a sense of grace and control, not unusual to him. The sun just began to rise, and his normal purple suit is worn without a single wrinkle in sight. His golden hair set in place perfectly, deep eyes never weary from lack of sleep; even after long nights. 

Giorno reaches out for a chocolate filled pastry, taking a bite before offering a response. “You woke up earlier than usual.” 

The way he says it without returning your clear irritation only serves to disturb you more. No matter how much you try and upset him, Giorno never gives in. Each movement and word is calculated before your eyes, giving the illusion of a perfect, divine man. 

Frowning, your eyes flicker between the ladybug on your hand, and then back to Giorno. He continues to eat in silence, most likely not wanting to provoke you more than his presence already does. Continuing your quiet seething, you purse your lips. 

“I didn’t take you for my caretaker.” you bite back, eyes narrowing as he doesn’t so much as flinch at your venomous words. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he lightly dusts away any crumbs the pastry left on his lips. 

“I never said I was,” Giorno flashes you a sweet smile, one that promises more. “But I am your husband. The two are almost interchangeable in some regards, aren’t they?” 

The swift reminder only serves to further sour your mood. Typically he’s not the type to rub things in your face, but you know the reason why he mentioned his relation to you this time. Looking down at your bare ring finger, you find the red ladybug finished its previous scurrying. It now stays circling your lower ring finger, as if it had found its original goal. 

Before your very eyes it transforms into a familiar gold band, with a round brilliant diamond in the middle. Various other smaller diamonds line the areas next to it, always making you wonder the original price of such a ring. 

“So you noticed,” you respond dryly, eyeing the ring with faint disdain. “Why am I not surprised...” 

There isn’t much you can do to practically spite Giorno, but little things make you feel better. Even if it’s something small, like taking off your wedding ring, it brings a temporary solace. But every time you hide it somewhere, it always manages to return to you due to Giorno’s Stand. 

Placing the handkerchief back into his pocket, Giorno’s eyes flicker to the food you’ve left untouched on the table. He frowns for a brief second, before looking back to you.

“Come, sit and eat,” Giorno asks of you, motioning to the empty chair next to him. “You haven’t touched your food.” 

Considering your options, you look at the admittedly delicious assortment on the table. It pains you to give into anything Giorno tells you to do, but testing his patience is a tricky battle.

He’ll allow you to verbally retaliate against him most times, as long as you’re picky with your insults. Mentioning your adamant abhorrence towards him or your past life will earn varying degrees of punishments, ranging from solitude to threats towards your family. All said with a loving smile. 

Begrudgingly, you take your seat next to him and attempt to decide what to eat. This early in the morning your appetite isn’t fully there, and the uneasy feeling Giorno brings you doesn’t help. Upon noticing your hesitation, Giorno reaches for a blueberry scone. 

Delicately, he picks up a knife and spreads a generous amount of butter across the flaky top. The butter slowly begins to melt, Giorno seemingly content with the amount. You’re familiar with this little game, knowing that Giorno takes pleasure in preparing food for you that meets his standards. Once he’s done, you gingerly reach to take it from his hands.

Only to be met with a chastising noise, and teasing smile that makes your skin crawl with indignation. 

“If I can’t trust you to eat,” Giorno begins with a soft hum, causing you to knit your eyebrows. “I’ll take it upon myself to feed you.” 

Cheeks flushing, you take a moment to see if he’s joking with you. But as he holds the scone up a few inches from your lips, you realize he’s being dead serious. If anything, he seems to be amusing himself with your embarrassed expression. 

Would it be possible to smack the scone out of his hand? Something tells you that his reflexes might be better than yours, but a small part of you still wants to try your luck. Giorno subtly nudges the scone forth, prompting you to open your mouth for him. 

Humiliation settles in, as you slowly part your lips. Giorno’s eyes soften at your submission, placing the tip of the scone into your mouth. Taking a tentative bite, you’re met with an abundance of flavor. The bread almost melts in your mouth, hints of butter dancing on your taste buds before the tart blueberry follows suit. 

The two of you fall into a steady rhythm, and before you know it, you’ve finished eating the scone. You expect Giorno to pull his hand back, but he keeps it in front of your lips. Tilting your head at the inaction on his part, Giorno takes it as an opportunity to explain.

“I don’t wish to speak too highly of myself, however,” Giorno starts, his thumb reaching to rub circles on your soft lips. “I’ve been considerate of you, signora. Don’t I always meet your needs? Everything I do, I do it for you, my beloved.” 

He ceases his movements momentarily, making sure to hold eye contact with you. You hadn’t noticed it before, but Giorno had moved forward and is now closer to you. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, dizziness starting to settle in by his newfound closeness. 

The way his eyes are glazing over with an emotion unidentifiable makes you uncomfortable. But he continues his little speech, continuing to toy with your lips at his leisure. 

“And still you remain so adversarial towards me. It hurts me, it truly does. Even so, I’ve never been the type to quit when I have a hard goal in mind. I’ll have you love me, even if I have to pry it out from you.” 

“What are you--” 

Giorno takes the opportunity to place his middle and index finger into your mouth, making you let out a squeak in shock. He remains level with you, unblinking as a familiar cruelness is found in his tone.

“Would you be a dear and clean my fingers for me? I fear I got them dirty.” 

It takes every ounce of self control you have. Holding back every primal instinct to inflict pain on him by biting down, giving him a taste of your own suffering. But even with the immense temptation, you’re unable to bring yourself to do it. The consequences of such an action would undoubtedly outweigh any momentary satisfaction. 

Fluttering your eyelids shut to avoid his penetrating gaze, you lazily roll your tongue around his fingers. Tilting your head away from his general direction, you’re once again met with a dissatisfied response. 

“Look at me.” 

His tone leaves little room for argument. Opening your eyes once more, you shiver at the sheer intensity on Giorno’s face. It reminds you of how he looks when speaking to his Capos, how he adopts a persona unlike his normal polite self. Rarely does he ever inflict it on you, wanting to always charm you. 

At what feels like a humiliating eternity, Giorno removes his digits from your mouth. You bite your lip harshly to stop yourself from saying anything else you’ll regret, watching in feigned disinterest as he examines his cleaned fingers. 

Giorno drinks in your appearance, his eyes scanning over the different angles of your face. He always compliments your eyes the most, as unwanted as his advances are. You can’t deny that his own turquoise hues are uniquely beautiful, but never intend on letting him know that. From your staring you get the feeling he already knows.

“Obedience is becoming of you, cara.” 

The double edged compliment does little for you, only adding flames to the fire within. A sigh leaves Giorno’s lips at your lack of reaction, reaching out to gingerly sip on a mocha cappuccino. For the Don of a mafia group that controls all of Italy to be so fond of chocolate has always felt ironic to you.

Giorno sees you looking at his cup, and tilts it towards you. Understanding the invitation that signals, you shake your head. Returning to your original goal of looking out the window towards the ocean waves, you’re immensely grateful at the few seconds of silence that he grants you. Any reprieve is to be taken advantage of. 

In between sips, he finally begins to speak once more. “After some deliberation, a five day long vacation would be acceptable. Things have been settling down lately, and I’d still be on call at all times, but…”

He leans in close to you, placing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll be able to spend more time with you. Do try and be good for me, will you?”

It’s phrased like a question, but is a command. He has a way of draining all the fight you have to offer from you, slowly and deliberately. In a complex web that he spins, trapping you even further when you struggle. Sighing while you accept your fate for now, all you can give is an uncomplicated answer. 

“--I’ll try.” 

#giorno #giorno giovanna #giorno giovanna x reader #giorno x reader #yandere giorno #yandere giorno giovanna #yandere giorno x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere reader insert #yandere imagine #JoJo's Bizzare Adventure #jojo's bizarre adventures #ougon no kaze #jjba #jjba x reader #yandere jjba #my stuff

[shinydelirium]

MLQC Season 2 Chapter 12 (Kiro) Part 8 [Lighthouse] & [Gaze of Time] Translation [CN]

***SPOILERS*** THIS POST CONTAINS HEAVY SPOILERS FOR CONTENT NOT YET RELEASED ON EN SERVER!!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!***

For previous translations of Season 2 Chapter 12: Part 1/ Part 2/ Part 3/ Part 4/ Part 5/ Part 6/ Part 7

I combined two parts for this post. Enjoy~

[Lighthouse]

As we stood on the last step, we were only able to see some faint pictures.

The run-down walls looked extremely gloomy and terrible in the endless darkness.

It seems to be much bigger than we thought.

MC: Did we uncover a tomb that hasn’t been dug up? Those tomb raider novels are written like this… ***I’m getting Indiana Jones and Tomb Raider vibes***

Helios: Stay here.

With those few words, Helios walked towards the visible wall in the distance.

MC: Be careful.

I looked around cautiously, walked down the steps carefully and stepped on the ground where Helios was before.

At the same time, a thin golden thread lit up between the floor tiles. It stretched outward like an electric current.

Helios: What are you doing?!

MC: …Taking a step forward?

Helios came back to me in an instant, dragging me onto the transparent steps and looking around with cold eyes.

As the lines of light gradually brighten the building like a pulse, the mysterious symbols on the walls appeared like the eyes of a giant beast slowly opening in the dark.

??: We have been waiting for you for a long time.

??: Welcome to the lighthouse.

Lighthouse? Hearing this unfamiliar word, I froze.

The long synthetic sound came from far away. All the lines began to converge into a certain pattern and rearranged themselves. At the same time, some of the text on the wall gradually disappeared.

In this space constructed entirely of golden light, all the shadows connected with the outline of the sliding lines, forming a peculiar shadow on the dark background—

As if—there is an invisible person standing there.

Helios: It’s a trick.

??: This is a misunderstanding.

The lines swayed slightly with the sound. It looked like…it was politely bowing and I couldn’t help leaning against Helios’ back.

MC: ….Is there someone over there?

Helios: Visual dislocation.

MC: What do you mean?

Helios: It’s just a projection made up of lines of electric currents and light.

Helios: Nothing is there.

He even took out the knife in his hand, approached the “shadow figure”, arrogantly positioned the knife where the neck would be, and swiped vigorously.

However, the blade didn’t touch anything and the “human figure” flickered and transported onto another wall.

??: Signal upload, information has been updated.

??: Enable smart trigger mechanism to ensure information synchronization.

??: Data is uploading….update complete.

The mechanical language doesn’t carry any emotion and there was a “didi” sound at the end of the conversation.

??: Human beings will be full of hostility towards the unknown. This is understandable.

??: Don’t worry, there is nothing in the lighthouse that can hurt you.

??: Of course we will not hurt you, special people. ***It knows about Evolvers but its not referring to them as that term. So were they called something else?***

The amiable electronic voice reverberated in the entire space. At the end of the sentence, there was a completely unintelligible language. ***Like the same unintelligible language that was heard in part 6 of Behind the Curtain?***

The light continues to flow and reorganize, making the “human figure” look like it’s stretching out its hands, signaling to us that there is no threat.

Its outline slowly became bright and thick and the entire “shadow” became clearer.

The accentuated light dispersed into light patterns and text around the area, illuminating the interior of the whole lighthouse.***Changed the wording***

??: It seems that you wandered into the lighthouse by accident but it does not matter.

??: Once again, I welcome you and your companion. I am the lighthouse’s legacy—

??: 19.

I cautiously ran to Helios’ side and pulled his shoulders slightly to reach his ears.

MC: ….Why do I find this scary…

Helios: If you know, don’t mess around.

Helios’ fixed his eyes on the figure. His whole body is tense as if he didn’t believe it.

Helios: There is no value in trusting things that are so cryptic.

??: It does not matter. I have a lot of patience to prove to you that we are not malicious.

??: After all, compared to the time of waiting, this kind of time is nothing.

The “figure” stayed in place quietly. The lines on its body trembling slightly. It gave off the impression of a kind, old man.

I poked my head out from behind Helios.

Helios: You just said this is a lighthouse?

??: Yes.

??: Actually, I want to chat with that girl. Your attitude does not look very good.

MC: ….Pfft.

Seeing the swaying lines, I couldn’t help laughing.

MC: How should I address you as? Is 19 all right?

19: You are so polite and cute, of course you can. Where we are from, you will surely be liked by many people.

Helios: Do people there like to talk so much nonsense?

19: That won’t do.

The originally tense air immediately became alive, wafting with the laughter I tried to restrain.

MC: 19, what is a lighthouse? And you just said that you are the legacy here. What....are you again?

19: I am the residual intelligence waiting to meet you.

MC: ?!

19: As for the lighthouse….

19 slowly raised its hand and the floating patterns of light began to surge, turning into indistinguishable graphics and textures.

On the huge wall behind us, a magnificent and unfamiliar picture formed.

19: These are our remnants.

The pattern of light is constantly changing and evolving with different characters and designs that are completely incomprehensible.

It seems to be showing something but it’s so obscure.

As the lines jumped around, huge and unfamiliar buildings were built high and collapsed into nothingness.

A crowd of people gathered and scattered about as if they were roaring and struggling. Finally the images on the wall disappeared one by one.

MC: ….What was that?

19: That was our world.

19: Before your world came, the last civilization.

My brain stopped working for a while and I was stunned. I pinched myself hard and thought that everything in front of me was just a dream.

Residual intelligence? The last civilization?

I turned my head to look Helios. He also seemed to frown deeply at 19’s words.

I thought the restart of time was absurd enough, but I didn’t expect that the world seemed to prefer the moment when people were caught by surprise.

MC: ….Are you also “human beings”?

As soon as I asked, the question sounded a bit absurd even to me.

19: If you use your language and judgment criteria, yes. ***What, so they’re not human beings? Extra-terrestrials? Space aliens??? Istg, if the game introduces aliens into the story, I will lose it...in a good way.***

Helios: Can you prove it?

19: Nothing can be proved.

As it spoke, the sound of gears turned again and the stone slabs on the wall made a loose sound.

Helios immediately held me in his arms, took a step back, and carefully looked in 19’s direction.

While the wall vibrated, the stone slab was slowly opened.

The undisturbed dust rises in the long-lost light, as if waiting has exhausted all their once glory and splendor.

Now, it can only use this last touch of floating dust to meet this world again after a long absence.

Then, it fell silently, mixing with the ash that was already covering it.

Its appearance was hardly recognizable.

19: Can you see anything?

Neither Helios nor I spoke, but looked at 19 quietly.

19: Nothing at all, right?

19: We also know.

19 gently stretched out its hand. The line was deformed as if its palm stopped in the air.

In fact, it touched nothing. At that moment, its hollow shadow looked tired and relieved.

The lines are constantly deforming and flowing, as if with incomparable nostalgia, touching the most cherished traces that have been here.

19: Nothing can escape the erosion of time. The lighthouse is something we can keep in this world….***Their technology must be quite advanced to be able to make this lighthouse and survive all this time for it to be discovered. Something like this is definitely right up Kiro’s expertise.***

19: The greatest miracle.

Helios: If that’s the case…

Helios: With your technical ability, why would it disappear?

A long laugh echoed in the lighthouse with a hint of weariness.

19: We are not the first civilization to disappear in this world.

19: Likewise, it will not be the last one.

[Gaze of Time]

My brain went blank.

I don’t know whether I should believe in such a strange and ridiculous voice and to believe that this world was as prosperous as it was hundreds of millions of years ago.

There may be people who are similar to us, have landscapes, and have the same or different world. They have existed in a real and vivid way.

And there was more than one such world.

Helios: What was the reason for your destruction?

19: It was because we lacked the necessary conditions. ***CORE, the QUEEN gene perhaps....?***

Helios: What do you mean?

19’s body leaned towards me and in that shadow, I seemed to feel a certain kind of gaze coming from the ancient years.

19: It is not up to “me” to answer your question. But other than that, I have a gift for you.

The lines flickered, skipped along the wall, and turned into a passageway.

I subconsciously stepped forward, trying to follow it, but Helios held me back.

Helios: What are you doing?

MC: It seems it wants us to follow.

Helios: Are you so easily fooled?

MC: ….

I met Helios’ mocking gaze, looked back at the flickering symbols on the wall, pursed my lips together, and kept my gaze firm.

MC: Although I don’t quite believe what it says, I think it is very sincere.

Helios: Insincere disguise is only a joke.

MC: Are you talking about yourself?

Helios: ….

He squinted his eyes and raised his head arrogantly, as if he wanted to conceal the emotions.

MC: And I would love to see what the gift is.

Helios: Be careful that you don’t get killed by ignorant curiosity.

His hands weren’t actually too stiff. I stared at him and stretched out my fingers toward the electric light that ran between the two of us.

MC: Helios, do you know what will happen if you cross this line?

He didn’t say a word. He only glanced at the ground and then his gaze returned to my face.

I smiled, and then gently pulled his hand with some force. Helios unexpectedly didn’t resist so I stepped towards the line with my strength.

MC: It seems that nothing happened.

Helios: It’s just a line.

MC: Maybe many things are just a line. Only to be crossed over. ***Changed some wording***

Helios: And if it can’t?

MC: Then think of a way. Two people will always have a way. ***Can’t help but get Light Pursuit date vibes from this scene***

There seemed to be a tremor in Helios’ eyes, holding my hand. His fingertips slowly turning white from his grip. 

At last, he laughed softly, with a bit of self-deprecation and helplessness.

Helios: (chuckles lightly) You really don’t know how to give up.

Helios: Then don’t let go.

Before I could reply, he took my hand and walked forward in front of me.

Turning around, we found that the figure had been waiting silently.

19: She is brave.

Helios: Just useless courage.

19: It is precisely because human beings are born with courage that we have to learn to avoid all unknowns and risks.

19 slowly moved along the wall. The mechanisms opened by the rotation of gears paved the way for us.

Looking at its figure, I felt like someone was walking beside me, telling me some age-old stories.

19: It allows you to greet the unknown even if you feel scared and to overcome all the pain for the sake of hope. ***Changed some wording***

19: It allows us to meet you at the end of departure. ***This line reminds me a lot of one of Kiro’s karma bylines from his karma “Stranger”: “I await you at the end of the opposite path.”***

As 19 talked, I found myself arriving in a wider space.

We seem to have come to a place closer to the ground, surrounded by ruins. It seems that someone has been here and there have been signs of explosions.

Unknowingly, it was nighttime. The faint moonlight came in, making me a little startled for a moment.

19’s hand “gracefully” raised, and the patterns of light crossed every fragment of the ruins along the ground and merged together.

Only this time, it’s better than the magnificent picture from before, more refined and more….real.

The entire ruins turned into a theater in a blink of an eye and it seemed to be identical to our current theater.

In the center of the empty stage, there are some small but peculiar instruments that looked like microphones.

19: People of the future, there are not many things in this world that have escaped time.

19: There are many more lighthouses like this one.

19: We try to keep all of civilization in the lighthouse, hoping to leave behind the stories, voices, predictions, and music we hear.

19: We want to fight against time and prove to the world….

19: We have existed.

19: However, only one in ten million can be left behind.

19 opened its hands gently, as if embracing something.

19: But even if one person believes it, we will be successful.

19: Thank you all.

A faint melody came from the empty stage, making me freeze for a moment.

MC: This is….

Helios: It’s a song.

Helios’ voice was soft, with some unnoticeable bewilderment and doubt in his words. His always-alert expression finally began to loosen.

I listened to this song quietly. I couldn’t tell what instruments were and the rhythm itself was very strange. The obscure language and timbre are so distant that I can’t figure out the pronunciation or the content.

I don’t know what is being sung, and I can’t even understand its sustenance or calling.

But I seem to be able to tell from this song that the remote and mysterious world is very real and alive at this moment.

This song is so desperate as if gathering all the hatred. Even if the world collapses, it will leave the last trace of unwilling cry.

But it is full of hope. Even if everything is dead, it still firmly believes that it can be done again.

It carries countless eyes, straddling the endless dark night, and breaking free from hundreds and millions of years.

Finally, reaching to us.

19: Thank you all.

The melody ended. Softly, 19 repeated the phrase again.

19: This is the last song we left in this world. Now it has completed its mission and it shall disappear with me.

Helios: Play it again.

Amidst the emotion of 19, on the empty ruins, Helios suddenly spoke up in a voice that seemed particularly indifferent.

19: I do not quite understand what you mean.

Helios: The song just now, play it again.

19 shook its head, not knowing what he was thinking.

After a period of silence, the same melody and singing was played again. I stared in confusion at Helios with his eyes closed, not knowing what he was going to do.

When the music ended, Helios slowly opened his eyes. He quietly looked at the empty stage like a frozen statue for a long time.

At last, he started walking towards the stage in the middle of the ruins, with some hesitation full of contradictions and some resoluteness that I didn’t understand.

When he stood on the stage, he glanced around, kneeling down reverently and touching the stage with his fingers gently.

Clearly, it was just a projection but at that moment, I suddenly felt as if he really touched the unreachable world.

Helios stood in front of the transparent microphone, his fingers trembling slightly. He lowered his head to watch the transparent phantom and gently covered his fingers.

The cold moonlight was shining down upon his head, as if the spotlight from this world was leaning on him without any cover.

The night sky was full of stars. The theater and stage reflected by the patterns of light flickered with specks of light, which merged into a sea of stars.

Helios closed his eyes and sang softly. The melody that had just circulated in the theater now became his sonata piece.

19: This is….

He almost perfectly restored all the pronunciation and inflection. The arcane and unfamiliar language seemed to be surging with fresh vitality.

All the hatred and love, hope and despair are deeply condensed in his singing.

Helios stands in the brightest place in the world.

His entire being is glowing.

At that moment, I knew that the person standing on the stage was Helios and even Kiro.

I’ve heard that when human beings create language, they make a voice of their own to the world.

As a result, human civilization emerged and it began to expand and pass on the basis of language.

This foreign language is so mysterious and difficult to understand that even now, it cannot be explained. It seems so fragile and meaningless.

But Kiro wrote it down completely. In endless silent times, the world once again heard the voice from that distant civilization.

He is in this world, using his voice to leave a song that only belongs to that era.

He used his method to let that far-off voice pass through the long and ancient night. For the first time, it reverberated.

Helios slowly opened his eyes and stood in front of 19.

Helios: All of you still exist.

The lines on 19’s body trembled and some rustling mechanical noises broke and rang, seeming to be on the verge of losing control.

It seemed to be shock beyond understanding and calculation. It seemed to be joy.

19: Th…thank, thank you. Thank you all.

In the distance, there seemed to be light patterns stretching out and spreading towards the darkness, slowly drawing the outline of a ship, as if it was setting sail.

19: We have always believed that there is one person who is the last piece of the puzzle to break the cycle. The future we cannot push towards, maybe you can reach it.

19: Go. Go to other lighthouses. There are countless people’s research, countless people’s attempts, and countless people’s hopes.

19: After you leave, everything will automatically be destroyed.

19: We…no, the civilization of generations will always bless you.

19: May our failure be a lighthouse to guide you to the future path.

19: Until the next lighthouse, farewell for now.

As the voice of 19 gradually faded into the air, there seemed to be some mechanical clicking sound echoing leisurely in the dark. 

-End of Part 8-

***The introduction of the lighthouse has to be the most fascinating and interesting thing that has happened in the entirety of the MLQC story. Actually, I think it’s the ONLY interesting thing that has happened yet. So much info dump and my mind spinning. It took a whole season and 12 chapters of season 2 to finally get to the nitty-gritty stuff. There was definitely some references to Kiro’s R&S: Lonely like the sound of gears turning, countless civilizations, destruction. Plus the “roaring/crying” was mentioned before, vaguely, in season 1 chapter 17. Also, that infinity symbol (8) with all the thorns on it must represent this endless cycle of fate where these previous civilizations always seem to meet their end/destruction after reaching a certain high point and a new one is created in its place and the old one is forgotten or never existed. Hence the existence of the lighthouse- to preserve the civilization in some way and pass on its legacy to the next one. It begs the question of “why”. If anything, the world of season 2 might just suffer the same fate just like season 1. Does that mean MC will have to go back in time to save it and the guys will have to lose their memories once again? How many times will the world restart in order to prevent destruction? I don’t think I can deal with another round of that. The cycle has to end but how exactly? I’m very excited and anxious to find out more about what happens next. When is the next lighthouse?***

#spoilers #mlqc #mlqc spoilers #mlqc season 2 #mlqc season 2 spoilers #translations #mlqc translations #mlqc season 2 translations #kiro #kiro spoilers #helios #helios spoilers #love and producer #koi to producer #mr love queen's choice #mr love game #mr love dream date #mldd

[scullydubois]

Only the Light Ch. 13

13/? | AU where Melissa moves in with Scully after Scully’s abduction | angst, msr slow-burn, occasional fluff | currently: Christmas Eve 1994 | T | 5k | previous chapters | read on ao3 | tagging: @today-in-fic <3

As Scully copes with her diagnosis, Mulder joins her for the Scully family Christmas dinner. Plus, Melissa's girlfriend meets the family.

TW for disordered eating, cigarette smoking, references to abduction/medical rape.

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

Self destruction is a natural impulse for Dana Scully, though she’ll try to deny it. Take one unexplained abduction, add a dash of premature menopause, and sift out time spent proving Mulder wrong, and you’ll get a struggling Scully.

She can tell she’s entering a bad mental state when food becomes a suggestion rather than a necessity. Every bite is either earned according to whatever trivial rules she’s set for herself in that particular moment, or is not deserved and therefore not eaten. It’s a game where she’s the coach, player, and referee, yet she still loses every time. Nourishment is both prize and punishment, feeding her hunger but vacating her control.

This habit started when she was a teenager and wracked with feelings her petite frame couldn’t contain. It felt much safer than the route her siblings had taken of sneaking out in the middle of the night or using fake IDs to buy alcohol or skipping church on the regular. As far as fifteen-year-old her was concerned, she wasn’t bothering anyone by foregoing some meals. Her mother disagreed and called her out every time, humiliating her into her second coping mechanism, smoking.

There were the times when Scully was really young and enticed by her sister’s cigarettes, but that was simple preteen rebellion. What developed when Dana was seventeen was something different entirely. A survival mechanism with poison inside, snuffing herself out while keeping her alive and sane. She would walk to the gas station and buy packs of Marlboros with coins from her piggy bank. The laws were lax in the 80s, the prices too. She would blow rings of smoke while walking home, then hide the pack in her bra and swish some mouthwash. She’d repeat the process to and from school, steadily acquiring a nasty nicotine habit. It continued until the summer before college, when she made herself go cold turkey so as not to take the habit with her. As far as she knows, neither her parents nor any of her siblings ever knew about it.

It resurfaces in times of stress, though normally for no more than a single pack. Lately she’s accustomed to keeping a pack and a lighter with her at all times. Her building is smoke free so she steps outside, but her car is off limits because she doesn’t want the smell to cling to her. It is a hassle, but then again, so are most things.

Missy knows about the poor eating habits--those are hard to hide from someone who shares the same space as you. Nevermind the fact that the scale shows six less pounds than before, and that adds up when the number’s not that large to begin with. Scully’s edges protrude now...that can’t be hidden.

Missy never says a word. She remembers Dana complaining about their mother’s condescending comments about her weight, and she knows the damage that does to a young psyche. Instead, she offers. Healthy meals, guilty pleasure meals, all her sister’s favorites. She cooks more than she ever has before, well aware that her sister will struggle to refuse her.

“I recognize what you’re doing,” Missy told her sister when she tried to turn away a caesar salad, of all things. “I’ve been known to do that too,” Missy admitted. “Eat. You’re hungry, you just think not eating will give you some form of control over your body, or your life...but wasting yourself away is letting the bastards win.”

And so she did, that time at least. Scully has enough shame regarding her habit to push it aside whenever confronted---that’s how she insists to herself that it’s not an eating disorder. She can stop on command. That makes it okay, right?

Getting back into the office helped her a lot---you can’t starve yourself and function as an FBI agent. Besides, she would dissolve into thin air if Mulder figured out what she was doing. He was the one who batted around the idea of Scully helping prep each case and supervising any tests he might need the crime lab to do while he’s in the field. He understood that in lieu of therapy, she needed something to take her out of her own mind.

It was as much for him as it was her; at this point, it’s almost incomprehensible to him that the X-Files had existed before her. Of course he was the laughingstock of the FBI! He had huddled in the basement by himself with UFOs and blurry Bigfoot sightings pinned on the wall like a shrine to his own delusion.

Her fall from grace was his absolution. He’ll make an angel of her, somehow. Even if it means he has to meet the devil.

Scully has no interest in becoming an angel, though she’d sure like to avoid hell, and that hasn’t worked out too well. Locker room jokes are one thing. Underestimation another. But assault? Rape? Trauma and torture because she is who she is doing what she does? She is not a quitter, and that is killing her.

Her barrenness haunts her because it was bestowed upon her as punishment, an implication that she only has worth as a walking womb. She wants to be seen as a person, not a pawn.

The arrival of the holiday season is another weight on her shoulders. It used to be Scully’s favorite time of year; now the sight of carolers makes her want to poke her eyes out. It’s the first Christmas without her father, and that is simply unimaginable. Her and Missy spent a quiet Thanksgiving with their mother---small portions and whispered thanks--in preparation for an elaborate family Christmas. Bill Jr. and Tara are flying in from California for the annual Christmas dinner and midnight mass. They will all try to move forward, pretend it’s just like any other year, but it’s not and it never will be again. Happy Christmases are over for the Scully family.

And yet, they will try to enjoy the moment. Missy told her mom that she’s bringing a friend, which is completely true. Trinity is her closest friend that she doesn’t share blood with. That said, she plans to use the occasion to introduce Trinity as her girlfriend, come what may.

Then there was the suggestion that their mother made, which caught her youngest daughter completely off guard. “Why don’t you bring Fox?” Margaret Scully proposed demurely during their weekly phone call. “I’m making a zoo’s worth of food, I could use another mouth to feed. I hate to see any of it go to waste.”

“Mulder’s spending Christmas with his family, I’m sure,” Scully had replied. “But I’ll pass along the offer.”

That was how Scully learned that Mulder’s family isn’t much for celebration, that he usually spends the holiday flipping between It’s A Wonderful Life and the 24 hour marathon of A Christmas Story, and that he has a particular fascination with the idea of midnight mass.

“I just don’t get it,” Mulder mused. “You believe that a jolly old man with flying reindeer leaves presents in your house, but you think he waits until after you’ve gotten home from celebrating Baby Jesus’ birthday? Didn’t you ever look for his sleigh in the sky on the drive home?”

“No, Mulder,” Scully sighed. “I just believed that he knew when we were tucked in bed. Santa’s all-seeing, you know,” she teased.

Mulder chuckled. “Kind of presumptuous to assume he functions on your schedule, huh?”

Ultimately, Mulder said yes. He figured attending the Catholic equivalent of Jesus’ birthday party would be another check off his supernatural bucket list, though he did not say this part out loud for fear of Dana Scully’s wrath. Besides, what else was he gonna do on Christmas Eve? Shake the shoebox of junk he stuck under his mini-basketball hoop so he felt like he was getting a gift?

And so the fateful day arrives. Mulder flips his Garfield page-a-day calendar to December 24th, chuckles at the comic strip of the orange cat eating all his owner’s Christmas cookies, and makes his way to his partner’s increasingly familiar doorstep. The sun has already slipped behind the trees by the time he arrives. It gives up easily in the winter.

He rings the bell and hears Scully’s dainty footsteps on the other side. She’s snuck up on him enough times for him to have developed a keen sense of her light footing--no more jump scares for him.

“Hey Scully,” he stammers as she opens the door. She had told him to look “festive,” so he donned his nicest green sweater (a gift from his mom from J. Crew...he had never worn it) and slacks. Scully rounds out their show of holiday spirit with a velvet red blouse and black trousers.

“You look lovely,” Mulder says reflexively, unsure when he started using such a word. Scully pulls at her shirt, obscuring the bit of cleavage that has revealed itself. “Thanks Mulder,” she mutters, ushering him inside.

He holds up the shiny silver gift bag he hastily stuffed with tissue paper. “Some candy canes I picked up at the gas station. I figured the whole family could enjoy them.”

Scully nods, amused by his feeble attempt at gifting. “I’m sure they won’t go to waste.”

A fire crackles in the fireplace. It’s so hot in the apartment that Mulder is surprised it hasn’t melted the snow outside on the sidewalk.

“Where’s Melissa?” he asks, hoping they will hit the road sooner than later.

“She’s picking up her girlfriend from the airport. She couldn’t get an earlier flight.”

“Dulles?” He sure hopes not. It’s all the way across town.

“No, Reagan.”

Whew. Much closer.

“She should be back any minute now,” Scully continues. “Trinity’s flight got in at 3:30.”

Mulder rolls his sleeves up. “So your family doesn’t know about Trinity?”

Scully shakes her head.

“Do they know that Melissa’s…” He gestures, unsure which word to fill the space with.

“Bi? No.”

“So she shows up with Trinity, and then what?”

Scully shrugs. “She introduces her as her girlfriend. Mom already knows Missy is bringing a guest so she’ll have a plate for her.”

“You’re not worried about how the family’s gonna react?”

“Well, I’m sure Bill is gonna be a dick about it, but that’s normal. We only see him once a year, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“Bill’s your brother?”

“Uh-huh. And Tara is his wife. They got married about a year and a half ago.”

Even as he pushes into his thirties, it still surprises Mulder that anyone close to his age could be married. He doesn’t even sleep in a bed.

“You think your mom’s gonna be cool with Trinity?” he asks.

“I think she loves her daughter enough to be.”

“Mmm.” Mulder sticks his hands in his pockets. If only he had dilemmas like this. He imagines him and Samantha speculating about their mother’s reaction to Sam’s nose piercing or dyed hair or...anything really. He would give so much to have someone to laugh about his uncle’s sideburns with.

His emotional deep-dive is promptly cut off by the entrance of Melissa and a brunette woman whose bangs graze her eyebrows, her hair falling just below her shoulder. “Hi!” she chirps, taking in the magnificence of Dana Scully. “Dana, I presume?”

Scully nods.

“May I hug you?” Trinity asks, hazel eyes shining.

“Sure,” Scully says, feeling the brisk air against Trinity’s coat as she’s pulled in.

Scully lets go first, and Trinity takes that as a cue to pull away. “You look just like Mel, wow,” she remarks, fighting the urge to run her fingers through Scully’s hair.

Scully smiles softly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Oh, it is,” Trinity assures, exchanging a gooey gaze with Missy. Next, her attention falls upon Mulder, who does an awkward half-wave. “Hello!” She points between Mulder and Scully. “Boyfriend?”

Mulder chokes. Scully picks up his slack--”Oh, no. This is Fox Mulder, my partner at the FBI.”

“Ahh,” Trinity smiles knowingly. “Yes, I’ve heard about you. I didn’t know you would be joining us for Christmas.”

“Christmas is not exactly my family’s cup of tea, so I figured I’d get an authentic experience with the Scullys.”

“Same! I’m looking forward to Mama Scully’s ginger snaps. I’ve heard fantastic things about them.”

Mulder elbows his partner playfully. “Damn, Scully! How could you leave me in the dark about ginger snaps?”

Scully rolls her eyes but smiles. “I apologize, Mulder. Though for the record, the fruitcake is better.”

“Says no one, ever,” Mulder teases.

She grins. Now this is Christmas.

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

Taking a seat at Margaret Scully’s dinner table feels like existing inside a Christmas movie, in Mulder’s mind. Fancy china, green and red serving platters, paper mache snowflakes hanging from the ceiling, and a porcelain nativity scene; the dining room has it all. Not to mention the heaping piles of food there for the taking...if this is Christmas, Mulder wants in every year.

Scully does not share his cinematic fantasy. She knows better, having actually attended one of her family’s dinners before. Bill will get too drunk and start saying whatever comes to mind, their mother will laugh along like he’s still a five year old babbling about nothing (as opposed to the thirty-something spewing bullshit that he actually is), Missy will attempt to debate him to get him to shut up (which never works), and she will sit there and wish to be somewhere, anywhere else. And all without their father to hold the reins and keep a fight from breaking out.

The night has gone smoothly enough, Scully supposes. Missy introduced Trinity as her girlfriend in a very non-ceremonial way, forcing Bill and their mother to nod and accept it, in the moment at least. Mulder received a hug from Margaret and a pat on the shoulder from Bill, so pretty much the highest token of approval. Mulder’s candy canes earned a place in the center of the dessert table, which gave him way more satisfaction than it should have, and he couldn’t help but feel that if they were to vote on favorite man at the party, he would win. A room with Bill Jr. in it is probably the only place he would ever earn this honor, and he’ll take that.

Yet everything unwinds as Scully suspected. Bill waits until everyone has packed plates and full mouths to unleash his particular hyperfixation for the night.

“Trinity?” he questions, raising his fork diagonal across the table toward her. “Is that your name?”

Trinity smiles and nods, oblivious to what she’s in for.

“And you know Melissa how…?”

She pats a napkin to her mouth. “We worked at the same restaurant in Oregon.”

He chuckles gruffly. “What was it, one of those gay bar things?”

“No, an Italian bistro,” Trinity continues calmly.

Missy, however, is not so calm. “Gay people can go places other than gay bars,” she retorts. “We’re not segregated. Though I’m sure you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Bill sets a fist on the table, clanging his silverware. “Yeah, that’s what I said. Why the hell do you insist on being so politically correct all the time? I’d shoot myself.”

“Gee, maybe you should try it sometime.”

“Now Melissa…” Margaret Scully’s voice rises above the clamor.

“I have the right to defend my girlfriend and I against Bill’s thinly disguised homophobia,” Missy responds.

“You act like I give a damn what you and your friend do,” Bill sneers. “That’s not my business.”

“Then stop pretending like it is.”

“Oh boo-hoo, little Missy thinks the world revolves around her.”

“Bill, honey, I think that’s enough,” Tara says, laying a protective hand on his arm.

“You’re right.” He raises his can of beer toward Mulder. “Whaddya doin here, hot shot? Trying to seduce my sister?”

Scully frowns, but doesn’t say anything, pushing food around on her plate.

Mulder seems rather unbothered by Bill’s advances. He chuckles. “Actually, I think it’s the other way around.”

Bill snorts. “That’s a likely story.”

“You don’t think I’m worth your sister’s time?”

“I don’t think Dana thinks you're worth her time. You’re not her type.”

“I am sitting right here, you know,” Scully says, staring daggers at her brother.

“Then tell us Dana! Is hot shot here your type?”

Her eyes brush Mulder’s face. His cheeks flush, reddening like a stormy sunset. She wishes she could read his mind. The safe answer and the true answer are not often the same. “I think Mulder is a wonderful man. I’m very lucky to know him,” she answers stiffly, her annoyance aimed at Bill.

“Oh, the old run-around!” Bill scraps his fork against his plate. ”Typical.”

Scully grabs her now empty canned cocktail and sulks into the kitchen, leaving her chair pushed away from the table. Everyone watches her go, but Bill gives off the only visible reaction. He laughs. “Scared her away. Thought it would take more.”

Mulder and Melissa exchange a glance. She nods, granting him permission to play knight-in-shining-armor. Quietly, Mulder slips out of his chair and pushes it back into place. He catches the kitchen door as it swings closed behind his partner.

Her anger concealed from the rest of the family, Scully drops her can in the recycling bin with a bang. She ignores Mulder, instead opening the refrigerator and pulling out another cocktail, saying nothing.

“What is this, your fifth drink?” Mulder brushes his hand over her shoulder, and she recoils. “Leave me alone, Mulder.” She slams the fridge and tries to turn around, but he’s cornered her.

“C’mon Scully, Bill’s harmless. He doesn’t bother me.”

“It’s not fucking about Bill,” she fumes, alcohol fizzing through her bloodstream. She inhales, trying to keep it together in front of the man who has done nothing wrong to her. “Please get out of my way.”

“What’s wrong?” He frames her shoulders with his hands, creating their own little bubble.

“Don’t touch me!” she growls. Mulder knows as soon as hears it: he will never forget the pure anguish in her voice. As she retreats to the corner, he looks down at his palms, the stovetop that burned her...he would cut them off if he could.

Unfortunately, the commotion attracts the Scully’s like a dog whistle. Bill leads the charge into the kitchen, getting a full view of his sister hunched over by the back door while her partner stands by the fridge like an idiot. “Ooo, a lover’s spat!” he exclaims, only nominally concerned about Dana’s well-being.

“Shut up, Bill,” Missy hisses. To everyone’s relief, he does.

Mrs. Scully comes forward, maneuvering around Mulder to get to her daughter. “Are you alright, Dana?”

Scully keeps her back to the crowd. “I just need a minute.” She taps her pocket, confirms that she slipped her pack of cigarettes in. “I’ll be outside. Everyone can go back to dinner, please.”

She twists the doorknob and steps onto the back deck without waiting for any response. Mulder feels the tug of tears in his throat, like a dormant animal waking up in him. He is used to being hurt (though not by Scully, never her), but inflicting the hurt is a whole other beast. He doesn’t know what he’s done, but he doesn’t need to. The look in her eyes, put there by what he thought was a harmless touch, made his heart tremble. He is frozen in place, grateful when Melissa appears at his side as the rest of the party returns to the dining room.

“I didn’t mean to upset her, I was trying to make her feel better about Bill…” he laments.

“I’m sure, I’m sure. It’s not you specifically, she’s going through a lot right now--you know.”

Mulder rubs his neck. “I don’t know if I do.”

“She hasn’t shared her diagnosis?”

His eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. “Diagnosis?! Is she okay?”

Missy sighs. “I think you two need to talk. If she gets pissed, tell her I sent you.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Tell me if she’s okay.”

“She’s okay. It’s not fatal or anything.”

“She would tell me, if it was...wouldn’t she?”

Missy bites her lip. “I don’t know, Fox---Mulder. I would hope so, but I was under the impression you already knew about this, and you see how that’s gone.”

Mulder turns toward the back door, desperation living in his voice. “I’ve gotta go. I’ve gotta check on her.”

Missy nods. “Don’t let her weasel her way out of this one. I’m expecting a heart-to-heart, mushiness and all.”

“Aye aye, captain.”

He turns the back doorknob and slips through the door, trying to imitate his partner’s ninja skills. The old wood on the door frame shakes as he shuts it. He winces--so much for the sneak attack.

Mulder follows the arc of the deck, winter’s bite colliding with him. He didn’t have a chance to grab his jacket, and now that he’s thinking about it, Scully didn’t either. He can grin and bear it but she is all skin and bones, now more than ever. It scares him to see her like that, but it’s none of his business, he feels, to comment on her body. He can break her fall, but he must not provide an extra push.

The wind has no friends to protect nor foes to defeat, so it will give away anyone. It carries the unmistakable tarnish of smoke to Mulder’s nose, an ashy haze that has come to remind him of Skinner’s office and the shadow lingering in the corner. He almost expects to find him there with his Morleys and his sadistic laugh. Instead, he finds a redhead and her Marlboros shrinking against the December cold snap.

“Bum a cig, ma’am?” He scoots up to her, ready to retrieve his own smoke from her long, slender fingers.

“Mulder!” She pulls the cigarette away from her, holding her last puff captive in her lungs.

He wiggles his fingers like an impatient child. “We’re all gonna die someday, right?”

Her jig up, she rolls her shoulders back and releases the smoke with a great rise and fall of her chest. It mingles in the air with the chill of her breath, becoming one and the same as they leave the contours of her body. Head tilted back and lips parted, she is alive with nicotine’s ease and intoxication’s freedom.

It is better than porn, according to one Fox William Mulder. He’ll keep this observation to himself for now.

“Did your parents never teach you that sharing is caring?” he rambles. “C’mon, give me a light!”

“It’s a nasty habit, Mulder.”

“I’m a connoisseur of those,” he replies loosely. “Now, you’re not gonna make me put you in a headlock are ya?”

Scully rolls her eyes. She’s never felt less threatened in her life. “You’re exhausting, do you know that?”

“I’ve heard it a time or two.”

She pulls a cigarette from her carton and slips it into his fingers. They are warm; hers are ice-cold. “I wanted to be alone.” She hands him the lighter, watches as he generates heat from thin air.

He lights his cig and sticks the lighter in his pocket rather than handing it back to her. “According to my calculations, you should be very drunk right now. Other than your Oscar bait performance back there, you’ve got things pretty under control I’d say.”

Scully gestures at her cigarette smoking, teeth chattering self. “Yeah, I’m the picture of health.”

“Do you have some exceptional alcohol tolerance I should know about, because that’d make you very valuable in undercover work.”

Scully gazes out into the distance. She’d smile if she were to look at him right now, and that doesn’t feel right for the situation. “Those drinks have low alcohol content, Mulder. You can buy them at Dollar General.”

“You ever looked at their hand sanitizer? It’s like 95% alcohol.”

“Well, now I know where you go to get your fix.”

He chuckles. “You got me.”

She stuffs her hands in her pockets and he wishes, god he wishes, that he had grabbed his jacket. He’d take off his sweater if she wanted him to--stand there with his bare chest to the cold--but he has a feeling that would only exacerbate the situation.

He tries a more gentlemanly route. “Do you want me to grab your jacket? I won’t give away your trade secrets.”

She folds herself together. “No, it’s okay. It’ll make me get a move on at some point.”

They stand united in their rebellion, blowing smoke and freezing their asses off. Who needs Christmas cheer when you’ve got Christmas resentment?

Mulder sways a bit to keep his blood circulating. He is careful not to bump her. “You wanna tell me why you’re out-Scrooging Scrooge this year?” he prompts as gently as he can.

“In case you haven’t noticed, it hasn’t exactly been the best year of my life.”

“I gathered that, yeah.”

“And it’s the first Christmas without my father…” her voice warbles.

“Shit, right. I’m sorry,” Mulder murmurs.

“...So it just doesn’t feel very celebratory.” She takes a long drag. Mulder can tell that this secret smoking habit is not new to her, and he wonders when she picked it up, how long she has kept it from him.

He takes a deep breath, watches as it is written in the air. “Melissa told me you received a diagnosis, and I think we’ve already established that sharing is caring…”

Scully looks him in the eyes for the first time since he joined her. It has the sudden intensity of a black-and-white film, Scully the 1940s scarlet and he the leading man who pales in comparison to her. There is no one he’d rather be overshadowed by.

“It’s humiliating,” she croaks. “Missy and my mom are the only ones who know.”

“I’ve got the monopoly on humiliation in this partnership, so I wouldn’t worry about that,” he says, flicking some ashes to the ground.

“This is a particular form of humiliation you can’t experience, I’m afraid. Or at least, it wouldn’t impact you the same way.”

“Let’s hear it.”

She sighs. “My abductors removed all of my eggs, causing my menstrual cycle to shut down and me to enter perimenopause.”

His breath catches in his throat. “Jesus christ.”

“Uh-huh.”

He throws his cigarette on the ground and stamps it out, though it could have burned longer. “That’s fucking horrifying, Scully. You’ve got to inform the Bureau. We’ve got to catch these--whatever they are. We’ve got to make them pay.”

“No, Mulder. It’s too much. I don’t want to keep reliving it, I want to be able to move on with my life.”

“How can you move on when they’re still out there, probably doing it to more women?”

She shakes her head, feeling the snag of tears and holding them back for fear they might freeze on her face. “I don’t know, but I can’t think about it like that. It sort of...shatters everything, the idea that this could be a phenomenon happening to other women in secret. I wouldn’t believe it if it didn’t happen to me. I still don’t believe it.”

Mulder shudders. He can’t discern whether it’s from the cold or their conversation. “Do you think it was men who took you? Or do you believe Duane Barry?”

“It seems like a level of monstrosity that only man could achieve. It requires a certain understanding of society, gender roles...dehumanization that only humans could perpetuate.”

Mulder nods. Her reasoning tracks, but the thought of him failing to outsmart humans who stole away his partner is something he cannot fully process. It makes sense that he couldn’t find her if she was in space, but if she was on the face of the Earth, he had no damn excuse.

“You were just gone, Scully...you were just gone.” His aching is so palpable, his voice a cliff’s edge they could both tumble down.

“I know I was.” She takes one last puff, then lets her cigarette fall to the ground. She crushes it with her heel, her force premeditated and brutal. That pain is for the ones who took her, the ones who have obviously never loved a thing at all.

Head bowed, she moves toward the door, but not without grasping for Mulder’s elbow, assuring that he is following behind. He is and he will be, for as long as she lets him.

Inside, the home’s manufactured warmth hits them, unreal in comparison to the cold they have known. The kitchen is as quiet as it was before their ordeal, the dining room empty aside from Mrs. Scully clearing serving platters.

“Where did everyone go?” Scully asks, momentarily alarmed that she may have ruined the entire gathering.

“We’re going to drive around and look at lights before mass. Everyone’s getting ready.”

“Oh.” She looks to Mulder, as if to check that he hasn’t left her stranded. “I think I’ll stay here,” she tells her mother. “Make a cup of hot chocolate and relax for a bit.”

“Well, you’ll be missed. Fox, would you like to join us?”

He takes a leap, hopes he’s got the right idea. “I’ll stay here, but thank you.”

“As you wish,” Mrs. Scully says with a slight smile. Mulder had never noticed her resemblance to her daughter until that moment. It was like looking at a sketch of a famous painting; the lines are there but the colors missing.

Soon enough the crowd leaves and Scully and Mulder settle on the couch with mugs of hot cocoa. Margaret Scully’s tree forms the centerpiece of the living room, and it’s hard not to admire its gold and red decorations and the shiny angel on top.

“That’s gorgeous. Does she do it every year?” Mulder asks, ignoring the steam rising out of his mug and going right in for the kill.

Scully nods. “Every year since we were kids. There used to be a lot more homemade ornaments, but I guess she swapped those for a more elegant look now that we’re grown.”

“Well, it’s beautiful.” He looks at her, curled up with the glow of the fireplace falling upon her, and he feels warmth and safety like never before. It would be so easy to slip in “and so are you,” it is practically begging to be said. But she wouldn’t believe him if he said it now; she would think it was a pity compliment. Instead, he mouths the words, and she is not looking, and that is okay.

She snuggles deeper into the cushions, closing her eyes and letting her mind wander. She is the most at ease she has been in months--here in the house she lived in during high school with the fireplace crackling and her partner by her side--and that’s not what she expected from Christmas Eve. Heaven strokes her skin, and she blinks her eyes open to find Mulder tucking her in with her mother’s microfiber blanket. She smiles her soft Scully smile. “Thank you,” she coos, burrowing herself deeper into the blanket’s embrace.

“You’re welcome,” Mulder whispers into her ear. His fingers tangle in her hair as he pulls her toward him, his lips meeting her temple. She catalogues the feeling for her memory bank: chapped but carrying the hot chocolate’s warmth. She will spend the next while convinced that it was a dream, a fleeting image in the moments before sleep, but she will carry the feeling until she feels it again.

#in true x files fashion it's an angsty christmas with some fluff at the end #just pretend that christmas hasnt passed haha #guest starring: bill jr being a dick #and missy's gf <3 #if you continue to follow this I'm literally in love with you thank you #the x-files #only the light fic #txf #txf fic #missy and scully fic #fox mulder #dana scully #melissa scully #mine