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captainsolare · 3 years

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Concert

Fluffvember Day 7: Concert - Leopold Vermillion (f! reader)

Summary: You're a classical violinist and tonight is your big debut at the Castle Town concert hall. Your long-time friend Leopold is in the audience, and he begins to see you in a whole new light after watching you achieve your biggest dream

Word Count: 1,825

A/N: I’m probably a little biased because I am a classical violinist, but this was by far my favorite one to write so far this month! I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. The Max Bruch Violin Concerto no. 1 partly inspired this so if you would like to, listen to the first movement.

masterlist

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You stood in the atrium of the concert hall, patrons, mostly upper crust and royalty, milling about and drinking before the event began. "Ugh Y/N, I don't know how you can stand going to these events. Everything is so stuffy, even the clothing." Your friend Leopold complained, pulling the collar of his dress shirt away from his neck. You rolled your eyes, at him lightly punching him in the arm, "Going to these events, is kind of my job you know. Plus, orchestra music isn't stuffy, you're just lame and have no taste."

Leo was about to object but before he could do so a bell was rung and you had to dash off. "Sorry! That's my cue to go change, I'll see you after the concert okay?" You said apologetically, planting a chaste goodbye kiss on his cheek before disappearing into the crowd. The kiss was meant as a friendly gesture, nothing more, the two of you had grown up quite close after all, but nonetheless Leo was left standing there dumbstruck, hand lightly touching the place your lips had been a moment before.

He gathered himself and entered the concert hall, heading for the Vermillion family box; he was a little nervous he had to admit, he was the sole Vermillion sibling here tonight and so a lot of eyes were on him. Fuegoleon was away on an important business matter and who knows where Mereoleona was, she usually couldn't be bothered to come to events like this, they were far too constricting for her wild nature.

Even though Leo found these events stuffy, like most of his royal duties, he came tonight without much complaint because tonight would be the first time he would get to see you perform a concerto with an orchestra as large as this one. You had picked up the violin at an early age, and had been traveling the country playing at concert halls all over, but tonight would be your big debut on the Castle Town stage and Leo was excited. Not because he particularly enjoyed orchestral music like this, but because it was something you enjoyed. Growing up, he had always admired the way your eyes sparkled as you talked about your dreams of someday playing on this stage, and here you were achieving the dream you had worked so hard for.

The first piece was a long drawn out number that had him nearly falling asleep, Mimosa, his cousin, had to elbow him several times to keep him from snoring. He supposed he should have felt a bit sheepish, but you weren't onstage so he couldn't bring himself to care all that much. During intermission Mimosa turned to him excitedly, "Y/N is on next, isn't that so exciting?" He nodded, "Yeah! This is her big dream!"

Intermission seemed to be over in a flash, the lights dimming and he waited with bated breath as the spotlight lit up the space you'd walk through shortly. When you appeared Leo felt his breath hitch, you were in a stunning turquoise dress, sparkling in the light that illuminated the stage. "Wow." Mimosa whispered, awestruck. He could only nod in agreement, the dress suited you perfectly, the perfect battle armor to conquer the stage tonight.

When you'd told him about this concert a few weeks ago, it had taken everything in him not to launch himself across the table and wrap you up in a bear hug. Well, almost everything, despite him trying not to, he did it anyway, leaving you both grinning ear to ear and laughing with excitement.

The audience clapped and you shook hands with the conductor and the concertmaster then took up your post near the front of the stage. Leo remembered you mentioning that you were nervous about playing from memory, so he silently cheered you on, hoping you could hear him in your heart.

As the timpani began playing, your eyes searched the audience, your hands were sweaty and your heart was pounding, you couldn't see the audience very well because of the spotlights but you knew there was a familiar head of red hair out in the crowd and that gave you comfort. The flutes and woodwinds came in next and you prepared to come in with your cadenza.

From the second your first note reached his ears, to the second your last chord echoed through the hall Leo simply found himself unable to take his eyes off of you. Your notes were spellbinding, taking his breath away and telling a story with just sound, it was a language unlike any he had heard before. He had always admired you, your strength of character, your sense of humor, your honesty, brutal at times but that's definitely when he needed to hear it the most; but tonight, something tugged at his heartstrings and was rooting in his brain, and suddenly he saw you in a whole new light.

When the concerto ended you were a panting mess, any trace of nervousness had evaporated as you reached the end, a beaming smile appeared on your face as you bowed, the roar of applause filling your ears. From somewhere in the crowd you heard a distinct whistle and you had to contain your laughter, that was definitely Leo. I guess he liked it then? That's fantastic! You probably wouldn't admit this to anyone, but when you got up on this stage tonight you didn't care about all the opinions of the various noble folk and royalty that had attended, if you were being honest the most important, and perhaps the only opinion that mattered to you was Leopold's.

You made your way to the atrium because you had to accept your congratulations from the audience members in person, it was simply good practice. Several people congratulated you, others noted that you played well even though you were not royalty, you took each comment with grace and a smile, praying that you'd be able to go home soon and celebrate as you wished to; perhaps with a long soak in the bath to ease your aching muscles.

Leo and Mimosa appeared in the atrium, eyes scanning the room for a sign of you; Mimosa couldn't help but be amused by the way you both perked up as you caught sight of one another. Ahh, young love. She mused, then giggled to herself, who am I kidding? I'm young too.

Leo made a beeline for you as soon as your current conversation ended and grabbed your hands with excitement. "Oh Y/N, that was so amazing, I could just kiss you right now!" He said, practically buzzing with energy. You deadpanned and he was about to pull away, but rather than pulling away as well you said, "Kiss me then." It was almost a challenge, and Leo backed down from it, suddenly hyper-aware of all the people watching you; he lost his nerve and decided to change the subject.

"Do you--- do you need someone to come with you? To help carry your things?" He asked, nervous about even this small interaction for some reason. Mentally he kicked himself, usually, conversation was so easy with you, but now he was just a bumbling mess. Your face fell into a smile, "That would be lovely Leo." You led the way to the green room and greeted the other performers, thanking them for a job well done. As you packed your things, Leo couldn't help but notice the slight frown that twisted your features. "Are you alright?" he asked quietly. When you nodded he dropped the subject, opting instead to carry your things as he had promised.

The atrium was empty when you emerged from the green room, and you found yourself in awkward silence with Leo. Secretly, you were disappointed that he hadn't taken you up on your challenge earlier and you didn't know how to feel about it. Do I really have feelings for him? Leo's thoughts seemed to be on the same track as yours as you exited the building into the night air.

"Did you mean it?" "Mean what?" You asked, turning to face him; in an attempt to not misconstrue things you weren't going to answer unless he asked you exactly what was on his mind. A blush graced Leo's features and his heart was pounding in his head, "Did you actually want me to kiss you back there?"

You tilted your head, trying to sort through your emotions so you could give him a straight answer. "I think so. I'm not really sure, I just, I said that without thinking and I'm not sure of what exactly I'm feeling right now." Leo gulped, trying to gather up the courage for his next question, "Do you… do you still want me to?"

Your heart pounded in your chest as you nodded, eyes not leaving your friend for a second as he carefully set your things on the ground next to him. He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants and awkwardly grabbed your arms as he leaned in, the kiss was short and sweet, but it left you with an unsatisfied feeling and solidified in your mind that you did, in fact, want to kiss him. In fact, you wanted to kiss his stupid face again and again.

Leo looked away awkwardly, wanting to kiss you again but not sure how to ask. Luckily he didn't have to, as you grabbed his shirt and pulled him in closer to you. "Do you want me to?" You asked breathlessly, you were so close you could feel each other's breaths on your lips. When he nodded you didn't hesitate, slamming your lips into his.

Mimosa appeared from out of the concert hall, a mixture of wanting to roll her eyes and cheer seeping into her expression. "Took you guys long enough." She said, hands on her hips and looking away; she was happy for you both but the last thing she wanted to watch was your makeout session.

The two of you jumped and pulled apart quickly at her sudden interjection. "What do you mean, took us long enough?" You asked, a little sheepish at the implication that she had known your feelings long before you had. "Don't worry about it. Want to go get some ice cream or something to go celebrate your big night?" You and Leo exchanged a glance, "Absolutely!" Mimosa led the way to the nearby ice cream shop, you and Leo trailing a little ways behind.

"Was tonight exactly how you dreamed it would be?" He asked as you walked hand in hand. You shook your head and smiled at him, glancing at your intertwined hands, "Nope, it was even better."

"Hurry up or I'll eat without you!" Mimosa yelled, interrupting your moment for a second time that night. You both chuckled and sped up to meet her at the door, filled with the feeling of a new chapter beginning.

#Fluffvember 2020 #f!reader #leopold vermillion fluff #leopold x reader #aurora borealis #planet fluffvember

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bluemoon-writer · 4 years

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Childhood Friends AU: MariKim

Part 2- in which the class discovers the MariKim friendship

You can find Part 1 here

Here is background head canons about their families

-it started in the wake of a disaster

-Francois DuPont is a magnet for crazy shit, to the point that many students are starting to become immune to some of the more mild occurrences

-a giant boulder crashes through the window one day and rolls across the room and out the door, crushing the front row of desks in the process and passing inches from Ms. Bustier

-students scream and jump, more in surprise than actual fear at this point, but back away from the windows (Marinette and Adrien both immediately dash out of the room)

-all except Chloe, who didn’t move a muscle when the boulder flew through the window, and Sabrina lays praise on her like usual

“Wow, Chloe, you’re so brave. You weren’t shocked or scared at all when that boulder flew right past you!”

“Pff, Sabrina, I’m Queen Bee, the only thing that could shock me is if Ladybug turned out to be some weakling like Dupain-Cheng”

-The class is used to ignoring Chloe at this point

-Except Kim is high on adrenaline and doesn’t want to listen to Chloe insult his friend when she isn’t even here to defend herself

-Tells Chloe to shove it

“Marinette is super brave! Remember that traffic akuma from two weeks ago? she ran straight at it so the class could get away. Last week, Marinette literally saved you from the lunch lady you akumatized by throwing a chair at her. And bravest of all, yesterday when I accidently broke one of my mom’s sculptures, Marinette took the blame for me!”

-Chloe is not impressed, “Of course you of all people would come to her defense. If she impresses you so much why don’t you go back to being best friends with her instead of glasses over there?”

-Kim is visibly confused “I…what are you talking about? I never stopped being best friends with Marinette?”

-Chloe is more focused on the dirt that’s on her sweater at this point. She rolls her eyes and drags Sabrina off to the bathroom to makeout clean her sweater

-Alya, who had been getting ready to jump into the argument, is looking more confused than Kim.

“What do you mean you’re best friends with Marinette? Everyone knows that Max is your best friend, and Marinette is mine.”

(Alya is just a bit jealous, because she’s still the ‘new kid’ and while she gets along with the other girls in the class, she’s not super close with them)

-Now Kim is really lost. “Uh, Max isn’t my best friend?”

- :0

“Kim! How could you say that, he’s right there! Max are you okay?”

-Max is also confused. “Yes? Why would I not be? It would be illogical of me to expect Kim to call me his best friend when he is not mine.”

-the classes current mental statues: ??*confusion*???

-Nino is the voice of reason, “Who’s you’re best friend then Max?”

“Markov of course! I spent years programming him, he knows everything about me, and I know everything about him.”

-Markov’s eyes turn into hearts for a moment. “I concur, Max is also my best friend!”

-The class is fucking exhausted, Kim is beaming at Alya

“Wait, but that doesn’t explain how Marinette is your best friend! You never even talk to each other.”

-Nino is subtly trying to get Alya to stop, but when Alya hears something that doesn’t add up she pushes until she learns the truth. It’s great for a journalist, but it lands her in some embarrassing situations sometimes.

-Kim is flabbergasted. The idea of him and Marinette not being bffs is so foreign to him that his brain physically can’t process it. He opens and closes his mouth like a fish trying to figure out where to begin explaining their history

-Alix rolls her eyes and comes to his rescue. “Those two dorks have been tight since before primary school. Be glad they don’t act like best friends, trust me, I went to primary school with them and they almost burned the building down.”

“Hey! That was…Marinette’s fault.”

“What was my fault?”

-Marinette is back, the class was so absorbed in the drama they didn’t even notice ladybug defeating the akuma right outside the window

-Kim is a smug bastard. “Burning down our primary school”

“WHAT! I PREVENTED you from burning the school down. You lit a match in the art FULL OF PAPER MACHE SCULPTURES!”

“Uh-huh, and when you blew the match out you dropped it in the trash, that was full of paper. Which then caught on fire.”

-This argument lasts for several minutes while Ms. Bustier recovers from the shock of almost being flattened by a giant rock

-She decides she needs to medicate with a bottle of vodka, so class is cancelled for the rest of the day

-No one tells Marinette about the argument that happened just before she walked in

-Alya watches as Marinette and Kim walk into the bakery together

-Rose swoons, “That’s so sweet. Do you think they’ll date? It would be so romantic!”

-Juleka nods in agreement, secretly hoping they do so that she can ask them for pointers on how to ask out your best friend

-Nino been knew, so he doesn’t say anything and just asks Alya if she wants to go to the movies

-Adrien got back after Marinette and has no idea what is happening

-Likewise, Ivan was listening to music and didn’t even realize an argument happened.

-Nathaniel is hit with sudden inspiration for his comic and rushes off to write it all down before he forgets

-Max and Alix…don’t care. They already knew and are more surprised by their classmate’s surprise than anything else

-Lila mentally makes Kim her new target

Why the class didn’t realize Mari and Kim are such good friends:

1. Most of them didn’t go to the same primary school as Mari and Kim. The only people who went to their primary school were Chloe, Nino, and Alix. But even then, Chloe didn’t arrive until the second year of primary school and Nino didn’t transfer until the fourth year.

Alix was there the first year, but was constantly switching schools when she was younger due to her father traveling for work.She doesn’t come to Francois Dupont until the second year when her father takes a permanent position at the louve so that she can stay at the same school for a while

2. For the first two years at their Lycee they were in different classes.No one saw them interact much at school. They ate lunch together, but most of the time they went to Marinette’s house for it since it was so close.

and sure Marinette went to Kim’s games consistently, but no one else did so they had no way of knowing just how often Mari went. And the few times other students went to the games they just assumed Marinette was there for the whole team. Because Mari’s just nice like that.

3. Even when they were in the same class again, they didn’t hang out. This is partly due to the classes’ own perceptions, they already don’t think Mari and Kim are tight, but both are friendly people so they don’t find it strange when they wave at each other or have small conversations before and after class.

Plus they have other friends. The two years in different classes did them some good. They learned that they don’t have to constantly be hanging out.They see each other enough outside of school that they figure they can use their in-class time to hang out with their other friends.

4. The Class is Oblivious. This is almost the same as the previous point, but slightly different. Whether or no Marinette and Kim are friends doesn’t really matter, it wouldn’t change anything in the eyes of their classmates, so no one is bother trying to figure out how close they are.

They don’t see them interact much so they assume they aren’t close

This is gonna be the last part, but I couldn’t resist that Lila bit, so there’s gonna be a Part 3 ig lol

Also, look out for my upcoming post about Max and Markov’s deep friendship lmfao

#miraculous ladybug #mlb #mlb kim #marinette dupain cheng #le chien kim #marikim #ml headcanon #fanfiction #childhood friends au #miraculous ladybug au #ladybug and chat noir

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slippinmickeys · 5 years

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Fools In The Rain

Inspired by the prompt set forth on Twitter by @IngridDaS1013: “Mulder and Scully get caught in the rain on the way to Mulders apartment so they go up and Scully has to wear something of Mulder’s while her clothes dry…”

XxXxXxXxX

It had been a bit of a shitshow from the start, Scully thought, as they ran down the wet cobbles of Prince Street, dodging puddles and doing their best not to slip and fall.

What had started as a weekend work session at Mulder’s apartment had turned to pell mell running through a deluge when lunchtime rolled around and Mulder had nothing in his fridge or pantry but a jar of pickles and 3 month old milk.

Scully supposed she was partly to blame as well, having turned down Mulder’s offer to have pizza or Chinese delivered, and they headed out into Old Town without checking the weather.

They’d landed at the Majestic, which had a salad Scully had been craving for weeks, and midway through lunch, the sky had opened up and the heavens wept. And wept. And wept.

Their waiter suggested they stay as long as they needed to for the weather to clear, and, feeling bad for taking up a table on a busy Saturday, they both ordered a drink. And that’s how they found themselves, 3 Yuenglings and 2 rather large Sauvignon Blancs later, dashing through Old Town, and the 15 minute break in the rain they thought they had ended up being only about 5.

It was pissing rain, they were soaked to the skin, and as uncomfortable (and tipsy) as she was, Scully wasn’t about to soak the back seat of some pour cabbie’s ride when Mulder’s apartment was only another 3 blocks away.

When they were one block away, Scully had almost fallen twice, and at that point, Mulder took her hand and didn’t let go.

Hegel Place loomed ahead, and of course Mulder fumbled with his key, dropping it twice before they practically fell inside, finally out of the weather.

Scully looked at Mulder as they ambled toward the elevator bank. She hadn’t seen him this soaked since the hurricane thing with Arthur Dales down in Florida, and his hair plastered to his head, with little rivulets running down both cheeks reminded her of an otter. She thought of Mulder holding a rock with two hands trying to open a clam shell and she laughed out loud, the sound of her guffaw echoing down the hallway. Mulder shot her a look askance.

This was the last time, she promised herself, she was ever drinking in the middle of the day again.

XxXxXxXxX

Mulder was glad Scully thought this was funny, because an hour ago, he was pretty sure she’d wanted to kill him.

Not just for the fact that he had no food in his house when he’d invited her over, but he’d also forgotten the envelope of receipts in the office that they needed for their last two expense reports, which is why they were working on a Saturday in the first place. He’d been as chivalrous as he could while they were out, hoping to make up for it – picking up the tab at lunch and helping her over giant puddles at several intersections too deep and wide for her to jump over.

He suspected her mood had more to do with the ¾ bottle of Marlborough’s best she’d had after lunch than his own quiet acts of heroism, but he let her lighthearted laugh take some weight off of the day’s general mood.

He grabbed another look at her as they stepped off the elevator on the 4th floor, and he forgot about his own discomfort at the sight of her.

She’d dressed down, it being a weekend, and had been wearing an apple green fitted sweater and a pair of lightweight black slacks. Both were now clinging to her almost lewdly, plastered to her body like they didn’t want to let go. Her hair she’d pushed back with both hands and it was slicked back away from her face. He was reminded of the old Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issues he’d hoarded in college, and his mouth went dry despite the humidity.

“Mulder?” Scully said, looking at him quizzically.

It took him a moment to realize they were standing in front of his door. He shook himself and unlocked it.

XxXxXxXxX

The second they were inside, Mulder disappeared into his bedroom and was back a moment later, shirtless, toweling off his hair with one hand, while he held out a towel to Scully with the other.

It took her a moment to take the proffered linen, momentarily distracted by the sight of his bare chest.

At various times in their partnership, Scully had had the opportunity to see Mulder shirtless – generally while he was injured and under duress – and she’d seen him both sprinkled lightly with chest hair, and shaved bare. He was currently the latter, his skin smooth and slightly tanned, the definition of his rectus abdominis pointing like an arrow to the area of his anatomy she shouldn’t be thinking about but definitely was.

“Here,” he said, as she took the towel. “You can have the bedroom to change. Grab anything in the dresser to wear – if you put your wet things outside the door, I’ll run them down to the laundry and throw them right in the dryer.”

She ran her eyes over him again as she nodded and walked slowly back toward his bedroom, closing the door behind her and giving the towel a dubious sniff for freshness.

It smelled like Tide and Mulder, a heady combination that brought her to flashes of his clasping embrace, of evidentiary conversations in rental cars, in interview rooms -- his low brushing voice three inches too close. It was fresh breeze and moschate, and she pushed her nose into it and let herself have the briefest of moments.

Moving herself off his rug and onto the hardwood, she peeled off her clinging clothes, leaving gooseflesh in their wake. She toweled off quickly and moved to his dresser, assessing her choices.

She dismissed dress shirts and slacks, passed by jeans that she’d practically swim in. Finally in the bottom drawer, she found what might work – a tatty pair of grey sweatpants with a drawstring and a faded Knicks T shirt.

She gave herself a quick look, realizing that all her clothes without exception were completely soaked through, and she’d have to sit in Mulder’s apartment for a good hour wearing his loungewear sans bra and panties.

She’d have driven home right then and there if she felt like she wouldn’t be driving slightly under the influence.

Gathering up her sopping clothes and holding them in front of her like a shield, she headed for the door.

XxXxXxXxX

Mulder was rifling through his desk drawers on a mission to find quarters when he heard the door to his bedroom snick open.

He turned toward her, and there she stood in an old pair of sweatpants and his Knicks shirt, dwarfed by their size, looking like a bird just emerged from an egg. She held her wet clothes out in front of her like a sacrifice proffered the gods.

“Never let it be said,” Mulder said, straightening, shoving the loose change he’d found into a pocket, “that no one looks good in sweatpants. You’ve proved the adage wrong.”

She gave him a small smile, and he leaned forward, taking the bundle of wet clothes from her.

The rain had stolen whatever makeup she’d been wearing and she was fresh-faced and nubile—her skin having the dewy collagen look of a Neutrogena commercial, and Mulder thought his best course of action was to get down to the building’s laundry room before he embarrassed himself.

He changed into jeans and a grey T shirt quickly and bounded out the door, careful not to look behind him.

Once in the laundry room he discovered that all it took was a rainy Saturday for the rest of his building to decide that it was laundry day -- all the dryers were currently being used. He threw the pile on top of one that had the least amount of time left on it and made his way back upstairs.

He opened the door to find Scully leaning over his desk almost suggestively, peering out the windows.

He cleared his throat and she straightened.

“There’s definitely going to be flooding by the river,” she said, looking at him over shoulder. “It’s still coming down out there.”

A few years ago there had been more precipitation than normal and the river-adjacent areas of Old Town had flooded – he and Scully had gotten close once and watched people with canoes and kayaks paddling down the street. He thought back on the memory fondly.

“The dryers are all in use down there,” he said to her as she turned and made her way to his couch. “It’ll probably be another—“

He cut himself off as she sat on his couch, tucking her feet under her. The loose T shirt pulled at her chest as she settled on the couch and her nipples were pert and erect, pushing against the fabric.

“It’ll be…?” Scully said, looking at him expectantly.

He cleared his throat and turned, looking for something he could busy himself with.

“Probably at least 30 minutes before I can get all the clothes in,” he said. “Would you like some coffee? I’m going to make some coffee.”

Scully declined and he beat a hasty retreat into his kitchen. How he was going to survive this day with his reputation and manhood intact, he didn’t know.

XxXxXxXxX

Scully pulled down the blanket that had been resting over the back of the couch the second he was gone and wrapped it around herself like a cocoon. As soon as she’d sat down she could feel her nipples pushing against the soft cool cotton of his T shirt, and while it felt divine – she couldn’t remember the last time she’d sat around in just loungewear (probably college) – she could feel her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

She was feeling a little drunk, and a little in love with her partner, and a little morose because there wasn’t a damn thing she could really do about it.

And Mulder was of course sashaying around in bare feet and jeans and a tight grey T shirt, with his damp hair and his delineate biceps and she wondered how many years past seven she would possibly be expected to not jump his bones.

It wasn’t fair.

He came into the room then carrying two steaming mugs. She lifted her eyebrows at him as he held one out to her.

“Tea,” he said, by way of explanation since she’d declined coffee.

She accepted with a small smile, but thunked her head into the back of the couch in defeat, still feeling petulant. He was even being thoughtful. Why the hell did he have to be thoughtful and sweet right now?

She took a small sip, careful not to burn her tongue and the heat of the brew sliding down her throat made her shiver.

Mulder noticed, his brows creasing in concern.

“You’re cold,” he said in a voice tinged with frustration, and Scully could tell just by looking at him that he thought he’d somehow let her down again.

“Here,” he said, moving toward her, opening up his arms and gesturing with one hand toward himself.

She was feeling buzzed and weak and sorry for herself, so she just stood and walked into his embrace, the blanket falling down behind her.

It’s so effortless, she thought, her arms tucking perfectly under his ribcage and around his waist, her head snuggling under his chin . It’s not fucking fair.

She breathed out a sigh and so did he, his warm breath wafting around her, smelling sweetly of the yeasty fug of beer and a warm, masculine scent of what was just indefinably him.

She wondered how long they could stay like this. How long until the phone would ring or the doorbell would chime or another monster would come to call.

She could feel her hair starting to soak a wet spot through his shirt, so she pulled her head back, turning up to him to apologize, and found him closer than she expected, his head bent down as if to tell her a secret.

Later, she would blame the wine (it wasn’t the wine), or her time of the month (it wasn’t that) or the lunar pull of Mercury in retrograde--anything to blame but her own weakness—but whatever it was, she found herself on tip toe, pushing her lips into the cushy softness of Mulder’s own, his breath sucked in in surprise.

There was a split second where he didn’t react, his body tense and unmoving and her belly dipped low, the rip of embarrassment of his not reciprocating about to tear through her, but then he did move, his lips suddenly pushing into hers urgently, his arms pulling her into him, locking like vices.

The tip of his tongue tentatively touching her lips was all it took for her to let go. She could feel something inside herself unclench and suddenly she was filled with an insouciant lightness and she smiled, she actually fucking smiled and let her own tongue dart out to meet his.

Fuck it, she thought.

XxXxXxXxXxX

It had to be her call. It always had to be hers, Mulder knew, and that she’d called it today of all days, in his cluttered, dusky apartment, her hair slicked back, pluvial and sleek, the tips of her breasts pushing toward him through his own worn T shirt was almost too much to take in. He felt like he was living out a good bad dream.

Scully hummed low in her throat when he plunged his tongue inside her mouth to taste her and the sound turned him animalistic. He reached down to grab her ass, grinding his hips into her and that move elicited a gnarl from her as well, so he continued on lifting, hoisting her up into the air. Her legs instinctively wrapped around him and he could not believe how perfectly she fit into his arms. It was like she was made for him. Strategically, specifically crafted for ultimate Fox Mulder compatibility. Breathless from the realization, he almost didn’t notice that she was yanking at the bottom of his shirt, and he leaned back, trying to catch her eye. Her eyes flicked to his and her tongue rested on her upper lip as she drew breath. He shuffled his feet a bit and backed her up against the wall outside his bedroom, her breath catching as he pressed her into it. “I like where your head’s at,” he said, gently nipping at the flesh of her neck, “but I don’t want to put you down.” “Shirt. Off.” Was all she managed to get out and he grinned into his ministrations. He pressed her further into the wall and brought up his knee, using it to hold her in place while he took his hands off of her and ripped his shirt up and over his head.

The next thing he knew, she was grinding herself into his leg, using the friction from the whole of her weight pressed into small square inches of his knee.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

XxXxXxXxXxX

She shared the sentiment. Their pull toward each other had always seemed elemental, gravitational—an undeniable force more than a fleeting biological imperative. Had she known touching him this way would feel like this, she would have done it ages ago. It was electric. Anywhere his skin touched hers, it sent a frisson of awareness through her, of lust. She remembered that gravity was the most powerful force in the universe. When she ground her hips into his knee again, he gave a strangled moan and hoisted her up, moving them through his bedroom doorway and into the room. He paused at the foot of the bed, his mouth on her neck and mumbled into her— “Do you… do you want this?” She almost laughed. His concern about her consent was touching –she also felt a nudging in the back of her mind – a pinging worry that they both might regret this later and she knew he was feeling the same—but the fact that he was asking while she was dry-humping his hips was a comedy unto itself. “Yes, Mulder, Jesus,” she answered, just as he sunk his teeth into the skin where her neck met her shoulder. He laved his tongue over the bite, an apology, and tipped her back onto the bed then, needing no further encouragement. Before she knew quite what was happening, his hand was under the waistband of the sweatpants and his fingers were curling into her sex. Her hips bucked up off the bed at the sensation. “Jesus, Scully, you’re so—“ she nodded at him, knowing the evidence of her arousal would not be hard to come by and she blew out a lusty breath, looking him in the eye. “I need you,” she said, “now .” He stood quickly and raked his jeans down over his hips, kicking them aside. She moved to do the same—wanting no barriers between them, but he held out a hand and stopped her. “No,” he said, “leave it on. Leave everything on.” He knelt back down on the bed, and reached a hand to cup her breast through the thin material of the T shirt, squeezing gently and rubbing his thumb over where her nipple was straining through. She wrapped her arms around him, her nails digging into the hot flesh of his back as he brought his mouth to her other breast and sucked on her through the shirt, his breath hot through the material, his tongue soaking it through. He moved then back up to kiss her and the wet spot he left on the shirt turned cold and she thought she might come just from the sensation. He kissed her soundly, thoroughly, and she could tell he was trying to draw the experience out, but she pushed into him and turned the kiss ruttish, reaching down to grab him, stroking him while trying to draw him to where she most wanted him, not wanting to wait, not able to.

She felt him reach down and pull the waistband of the sweats down, just enough. He positioned himself at her entrance and canted his face back just enough to catch her eye before easing into her.

She returned his look, unblinking, and his top teeth bit into his bottom lip as pushed himself the rest of the way into her, pausing at her apex, filling her right up to her soul.

Love. She’d felt it for him for years, but couldn’t say it. How could she put a word to something so much bigger and stronger than herself? How could mere words contain it? Four letters. Seven years. Miles and miles of feeling inside of them.

Other people felt love, but they didn’t feel this. It was too big, too consuming, too frightening. If other people felt love, she was sure, it was merely in the prinprick light of a star — what they had filled the whole of the sky.

She felt tears forming in her eyes, so she shut them tight and nudged him with her hips. He took the hint and started moving, slow at first, but quicker as she dug her fingers into his back and pulled her knees up to his shoulders. The new angle had him hitting her perfectly and she could feel the slow tingle of orgasm starting to build.

She could tell by his breathing that he was close too, and she pulled him tightly to her, his head tucking into the curve of her neck, the wet slap of their coupling the only sound in the room save their urgent breaths, syncing together as they seemed to do with everything else.

And then she was there, her orgasm starting with a rush from her toes that flashed up through her body like quicksilver, pulsing at her center in a rush. That was all it took for Mulder to come undone as well, and he groaned once and clasped her to him, and they rode out his climax together.

XxXxXxXxXxX

He kept his head tucked into her shoulder, but reached up as their breathing slowed, running his fingers gently down her cheek and into her still damp hair.

“That was...” Mulder mumbled into her shoulder, not knowing how to finish, “I feel like we should high five.”

He finally tilted back to look at her, and caught her wearing an impish grin, her cheeks flushed and rosy.

He felt something dip heavily in his heart and he turned serious.

“I can’t go back to the way we were,” he said, “knowing what this is like, how this feels.”

“Do you think it’ll be too much?” She took his hand from her hair and held it to her cheek.

“I think it’ll never be enough.”

“I… I know what you mean.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

“Do you forgive me for forgetting the receipts?” He asked her after a few minutes of comfortable, reverential silence.

She blinked at him slowly and ran her fingertips lightly up his arm, goosebumps following her touch.

“Ask me again once my clothes are dry,” she said, and crooked a finger at him, all things forgiven.

XxXxXxXxXxX

The End

#txf #msr #fanfic #prompt #the x files #first time

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paintbrushyy · 5 years

Note

hii!! i know this isn’t really relevant at all but ive had this question for a while : i don’t know if its just me but ive never really been able to get myself in the mood to write despite the fact that i really wanna fuckin write?? it’s probably stupid but do you know any ways to like get yourself in the mood to actually write?

OMG, I ACTUALLY DO!

so I have been writing for about 9 years now (almost 10 whoop whoop), and one of my biggest things has always been just not being motivated or feeling in the mood to write. So I’ve started developing tactics to do so.

Tactic 1: Sit down.

one of the big things is to legit just at least sit down in front of the screen. Stare at the word. Sit there. Go read the last 3 paragraphs of your writing and see what it’ll trigger in you, any inspiration or changes. Feel free to edit the story a bit too.

Tactic 2: add a distraction that doesn’t distract!

So this can come in handy especially if you’re ADHD, to put on a relevant movie or tv show or task that’s not as interesting so that it almost feels like you’re procrastinating this new task rather than the writing. I write gay fanfiction so sometimes I’ll put on an LGBTQ+ movie and put it in the corner, and as soon as I do, most of the time, I’ll end up pausing it to write and then I’ll end up writing for a full hour and bust out 1,000 words. Other tasks you could do, is bring your laptop and write while you’re cooking, going back and forth from the stove to the computer and knowing you gotta write quickly can def help. Or do small chores as you write, like laundry or small cleaning. and then go back and forth.

Tactic 3: find some mood music.

A lot of times getting in the mood to write is finding the mood of the piece, and to do that music can be a BIG help. look for sad music, or happy music and just imagine the writing like a movie, the character’s narrated by the music you’re listening to.

Tactic 4: fantasize (this can be done really well in the shower (for some reason))

one of my favorite tactics is to just sit up and think about the story, it doesn’t have to be about that scene, just think about the character, and act it out in your head, become the main character and have a conversation in the mirror with the other characters, make up an entirely irrelevant scene and fantasize about it, and then try to direct your mind to fantasizing about the current scene! talk out loud to yourself, get up and act out the actions. (you do not know how many times I’ve acted out kissing scenes in the air like a fucking weirdo,) it helps get your mind to enter the reality deeply and visualize what is happening by partly experiencing. This can cause inspiration and excitement and get you revved up to write.

Tactic 5: contact a friend.

I have the most amazing best friend in the world, who when I really need to write but can’t bring myself to will sit on facetime with me and scold me whenever she doesn’t hear me typing (i type very fast and intensely). This helps me to stay focused and not get distracted by Tumblr and what not and to force the words on the page until they start coming out good.

Tactic 6: Open up Tumblr search

So I’ve recently found that if I’m on my Tumblr dash I will legit get nothing done, BUT if I’m in the search of my main ship, or character or anything I’ll be able to scroll for a bit, then write for like 20 min then scroll and then back to writing. and it’s easier to go back and forth for some reason.

Tactic 7: Develop a schedule and a routine

Experiment with the time of day you write in. I like to write actually all day, but I write the most intensely late at night. I also if I can’t feel like writing will use a routine of making coffee and putting on the music or movie and drinking while I start to write. The prep time helps your brain to transition into writing so you don’t just JUMP in but smoothly ease into with the intent to write. It’s kinda similar to warming up before doing a workout or sports.

Tactic 8: Change the environment

I tend to only write at a table, and I tend to stay the most focused when I’m in complete darkness with nothing but the light of my computer. If you’re writing on stationery, try writing under desk lamp light and no other light from the rest of the room. It helps keep your eyes focused on the screen so your brain has nothing to be entertained by outside of the writing.

Tactic 9: Have a cheerleader.

My amazing best friend also happens to be my biggest fan. She reads all of my works, knows all my stories, even the ones I don’t post or even get to writing. She beta’s my work and gets to read things as I write them sometimes. She’s my cheerleader whose basic role is to just tell me how much she liked the story. She doesn’t do many other things, cause that’s all I want her to do, and I love that. Having one person who will always love reading your stuff can be such a good motivator. I write my fics for you guys, but a lot of times, when I haven’t told anyone about the fic, I’m writing it for her, I’m writing the story so she can read it and I can get that list of detailed reactions she writes as she reads. We’ve been doing this for years, and I know she’ll always be the one who gets to see each chapter of my novels before anyone else. Having those friends can always help you get it the mood, cause they’ll like talking about it, and that positive support can be really motivating.

I hope these tactics help, I know the struggle of writing, but a lot of times it comes down to just getting started and having at least a little interest in the characters. I use a lot of these, and some I used to use but still recommend. Try out different ones, and experiment with your own ideas. If you can’t come up with ideas to write about maybe try out prompts, or steal movie plots and rewrite them to be better. In my experience, the key to writing is a clear visualization of the movie you want it to be and then finding the descriptions that fit it all best. Hope this helps anon! And no, your question is not stupid, it’s really important. And I’ve honestly been waiting years for someone to think so highly of me that they’d ask for writing advice. So thank you, you’ve made me really really happy!!!

#writing tactics #writing advice #fanfiction #fanfic writing #writing #writngblr #writeblr #authors #advice

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snicketsleuth · 7 years

Text

Was the sugar bowl empty?

Question: So, are there certain answers that haven’t been revealed? Is there an actual answer to what the Sugar Bowl is? Answer: The mystery of the Sugar Bowl is clear enough that one that about reader a year writes me and has figured it out, and that fills me with pleasure. That makes me think it’s not too obscure. If no one ever wrote me about it I would think, “Oh I didn’t do it enough.” But because one person a year who will write me and say, “I figured it out.” The whole answer of the Sugar Bowl is solvable. [A Series Of Unfortunate Questions with Daniel Handler” (Link), Interview of Daniel Handler by Dana Schwartz, 18th of January 2017 for Observer magazine]

After much consideration, rumination and meditation, I’ve decided to put the matter of the sugar bowl to rest. Given Daniel Handler’s recent comments on the sugar bowl mystery, I have no choice but to revise my opinions on the matter extensively.

There will be two articles on the topic:

The one you are currently reading deals with the sugar bowl as it’s presented to the characters of the series in-universe. It involves plotpoints discusses in “All The Wrong Questions” but details from this series are not necessary for the new theory to work.

The second one (Link) will analyse the themes, messages and allusions of “A Series Of Unfortunate Events” and the way they square in with the new sugar bowl theory. Hopefully this should convince people that it fits witthin the literary strategy that Daniel Handler intended.

Full disclaimer: although it’s been in the works since January, this theory was partly written as a response to another article about the sugar bowl secret (Link). Its author, Jacob, attempts to combine two of my articles about the sugar bowl (the Horseradish Takedown and the Microphone Conjecture) into a more satisfying and unified theory. I highly recommend it to anyone looking for a second opinion, it’s one of the most thorough analyses I’ve read on the sugar bowl in the last 10 years. Most interesting is Jacob’s comment that I’ve stumbled upon the solution of the mystery without realizing it. I would argue that Jacob's own insistence that many volunteers are wrong about the sugar bowl’s true nature, and that it may actually be worthless to most members of V.F.D., IS the key to the mystery. We just need to apply that deduction to the entire narrative, on a massive scale.

Because I now sincerely, truly believe the sugar bowl to be secretly empty. Or at the very least to contain something unimportant (sugar, for example). Most of V.F.D doesn’t know this. You might be asking yourself: “why would so many people risk their lives for a container whose contents are completely unknown, or sacrifice the lives of others for an object of no real value?”

That’s the wrong question. The question we should be asking is...

...”why wouldn’t they?”

Once upon a time, there was a secret society called V.F.D.

The organization had an enormous problem at its core: because it trained spies, it encouraged curiosity amongst its younger members, yet protecting sensible information was also key.

The hallways of the Wade Academy were tricky for sneaking, but I’d had a very demanding sneaking instructor. Our final exam began early in the morning, with our instructor entering a small cabin in the middle of the woods and sitting blindfolded in a folding chair. The woods were full of crackly dead leaves, and the floor of the cabin was covered in fragile glass figurines. To pass the class we had to sneak up on him by midnight. When he arrived at the cabin that morning, the entire class was waiting for him. I’d snuck into his office the night before and shared the location of the cabin with the rest of the students so we could sneak up on him before he even arrived. I received the top grade in the class and a three-month suspension. [Shouldn’t You Be In School?, Chapter Nine]

We are entering people’s homes, taking young children who show exceptional observational and/or notetaking skills, and isolating them, for long periods at least, from peope they know. We assign them to strangers and scatter them across the globe, performing errands that are perplexing to them, until their ankles have healed, until we know they can be trusted, and until we know that no one is searching for them any longer. Then, finally, we bring them to headquarters so they can learn the skills they need before they are reintroduced back into society, in order to make sure the world remains, as we say, quiet. [Lemony Snicket’s un-Authorized Autobiography, p.39]

To prevent volunteers in training from finding out too much and too soon, a diversion was set in place. It was V.F.D.’s own spin on the Santa Claus story, with a dash of Holy Grail thrown into the mix. The story went that the organization owned a mysterious an incredibly valuable object: the legendary sugar bowl. Whenever the apprentices asked what on Earth that sugar bowl contained, their mentors just shrugged and insisted that the truth was too terrible for children to learn.

“And you still won’t tell us why the sugar bowl is important?” Violet couldn’t help asking. “It’s not the sugar bowl,” Captain Widdershins said, “it’s what’s inside it. Aye! I’ve already said too much! Aye! There are secrets in this world too terrible for young people to know! [The Grim Grotto, Chapter Six]

"I don’t want you to understand,” the captain said, putting his arm around her. “That’s why I haven’t told you why the sugar bowl is so very crucial. There are secrets in this world too terrible for young people to know, even as those secrets get closer and closer. [The Grim Grotto, Chapter Four]

The promise of revealing that secret was used as a “reward” for good behavior. In reality, it was more of a way to shape and control these youngsters in the direction V.F.D. intended. Inquisitive kids wasted their time investigating the sugar bowl mystery, while the actually valuable intel was safe from their grubby little hands. Once they became full-fledged members, the adults were informed of this deception (although many teenagers realized the truth all on their own anyway) and carried on the tradition with their own apprentices.

Inside the enclosed safe are the documents and required materials for Disguise Training, Phases One and Two. Under normal circumstances, new volunteers like ourselves would not receive disguise training until our years of apprenticeship were finished, but we have not been under normal circumstances for quite some time. [The un-Authorized Autobiography, p.96]

Disguise Training Phase Two : Various Finery Disguises [...] Optional Materials: Sugar Bowl [The un-Authoriized Autobiography, pp.101-103]

Over time, the sugar bowl legend grew more sacred, more complex. V.F.D. acquired an actual sugar bowl and kept it hidden and secured within the Museum of Objects, even though it contained nothing important whatsoever. The volunteers, after all, had to keep up appearances. To build up on this tradition, mentors started not taking any sugar bowl into their tea or coffee, and instructed their apprentices to do the same.

“Sit down, sit down,” Kit said, taking a bite of a pastry covered in powdered sugar. […]“But this J. S. isn’t necessarily a wicked person,” Kit said. “Plenty of noble people would check into the Hotel Denoument and order sugar in their tea. Not to sweeten it, of course- tea should be as bitter as wormwood, my brother used to say, and as sharp as a two-edged swordbut as a signal. Our comrades and our enemies are all after the same thing-the Vessel For Disaccharides.” [Kit Snicket - The Penultimate Peril, Chapter Two]

[…] And in the coffee shop, located in Room 178, a villain requested sugar in his coffee, was immediately thrown to the floor so a waitress could see if he had a tattoo on his ankle, and then received an apology and a free slice of rhubarb pie for all his trouble. [Lemony Snicket - The Penultimate Peril, Chapter Seven]

It was all symbolic, of course: the truth was bitter as horseradish (or coffee), and “tea” was a synonym for “truth” in many variations of slangs. And one should never “sugar-coat” the truth with empty platitudes (or unhealthy disaccharides). There was a lot of symbolism involved: new members understood that the sugar bowl was a metaphor for the quest of knowledge. They eventually found out that the sugar bowl contained nothing yet meant something useful: a religion doesn’t need to rely on facts to inspire helpful advice. The V.F.D. saying that tea should be as bitter as wormwood and as sharp as a two-edged sword was actually a quote from the Old Testament. The insistence that volunteers should not put sugar in their coffee was also V.F.D.’s parody of Judaism’s dietary laws. That should have been enough of a clue to anyone well-read enough to realize the sugar bowl was nothing but poetic imagery:

3 For the lips of an adulteress drip honey And smoother than oil is her speech; 4 But in the end she is bitter as wormwood, Sharp as a two-edged sword. 5 Her feet go down to death, Her steps take hold of Sheol. [Proverbs 5:4]

“I also brought you some tea,” he said, revealing a tray containing a teapot and three cups. “I thought it might fortify you for the trial.” By “fortify,” the manager meant that a few sips of tea might give the children some muchneeded strength for their ordeal, and the children thought it must be Frank who was doing them such a favor. “You’re very kind,” Violet said. “I’m sorry there’s no sugar,” he said. “That’s quite all right,” Klaus said, and then hurriedly flipped to a page in his commonplace book until he found his notes on the children’s conversation with Kit Snicket. “'Tea should be bitter as wormwood,’” he read, “'and as sharp as a two-edged sword.’” The manager gave Klaus a small, unfathomable smile. “Drink your tea,” he said. “I’ll knock in a few minutes to bring you to trial.” [Lemony Snicket - The Penultimate Peril, Chapter Eleven]

But then the Schism happened, and the dream turned into a nightmare.

Because volunteers were now at each other’s throats, a great number of adults from the organization died and an enormous amount of knowledge was lost.

“It’s complicated and confusing,” Olivia explained. “They say that long ago it was simple and quiet, but that might be a legend. There was a schism in V.F.D., a great big fight between many of the members, and since then it’s been hard for me to know what to do. [The Carnivorous Carnival, Chapter Seven]

"Well, the Hotel Preludio is a lovely place," Kit said, "but the Hotel Denouement is more than that. For years, it's been a place where our volunteers can gather to exchange information, discuss plans to defeat our enemies, and return books we've borrowed from one another. Before the schism, there were countless places that served such purposes. Bookstores and banks, restaurants and stationery stores, cafes and laundromats, opium dens and geodesic domes- people of nobility and integrity could gather nearly everywhere." "Those must have been wonderful times," Violet said. "So I'm told," Kit said. "I was four years old when everything changed. Our organization shattered, and it was as if the world shattered, too, and one by one the safe places were destroyed. [The Penultimate Peril; Chapter Two]

This resulted in a “lost generation”: full-fledged members who had no idea the sugar bowl story was a hoax even though they now had already started training apprentices of their own. The legend, for better of for worse, had become fact.

"It was not always this way, Baudelaires," Dewey said. "Once there were safe places scattered across the globe, and so orphans like yourselves did not have to wander from place to place, trying to find noble people who could be of assistance. With each generation, the schism gets worse. [...] Since the schism, all the research, all the observations, even all of the books have been scattered all over the globe. It's like the elephant in the poem your father loved. Everyone has their hands on a tiny piece of the truth, but nobody can see the whole thing. [The Penultimate Peril, Chapter Eight]

Our comrades and our enemies are all after the same thing-the Vessel For Disaccharides. [The Penultimate Peril, Chapter Two]

Their superiors could have stopped the whole thing, but V.F.D. was in such a state of disarray that the deception had to continue. Nobody truly believed their own colleagues anymore. They had more pressing matters to attend.

And then it got worse.

The children who were born at the time of the Schism had their own grievances. They had been raised with nostalgic tales of how great V.F.D. used to be before the Schism happened and volunteers started competing against each other. They had been, repeatedly, denied the most basic of information about their own organization because their mentors were afraid of leaking secrets to its enemies. And they were very, very reckless.

“How can you be certain?” I sighed. “I’m scarcely certain of anything, Widdershins.” Widdershins gave me one last nod. “That sounds like apprenticeship to me,” he said. “None of us are certain of anything.” [When Did You See Her Last?, Chapter Thirteen]

First amongst them was Lemony Snicket.

Fed up with the organization’s current methods, Lemony staged a coup. He gathered a great number of young dissatisfied volunteers such as his siblings, Hector, Widdershins, Haruki, Josephine or Monty, and he devised a plan. They were going to steal the secret society’s most valuable asset for their own: the sugar bowl. With it, they would have the means and the gumption to restore the organization’s glory days.

“How much does your chaperone know,” I asked, “about your secret trip here?” He smiled at me. “You can’t tell them everything,” he said. “They wouldn’t understand.” “Who taught you that?” “You did, Snicket. Remember? You said we could make our organization greater than ever, but only if we stopped listening to our instructors and found new ways to fix the world. It was quite a speech you gave. It almost got you thrown out for good.” “Maybe they should have thrown me out. In Stain’d-by-the-Sea the world looks harder to fix.” “Remember what our associate said,” my associate reminded me. “No reality has the power to dispel a dream.” [When Did You See Her Last?, Chapter Thirteen]

“Exactly,” I said, watching Ellington frown out of the corner of my eye. “We represent the true human tradition, the one permanent victory over cruelty and chaos. We’re an invincible army, but not a victorious one. We’ve had different names throughout history, but all the words that describe us are false and all attempts to organize us fail. Right now we’re called V.F.D., but all our schisms and arguments might cause us to disappear. It won’t matter. People like us always slip through the net. Our true home is the imagination, and our kingdom is the wide-open world.” [Shouldn’t You Be In School?, Chapter Nine]

Naturally, the adults got wind of the plan but found themselves in an embarrassing position: if the youngest members realized the entire sugar bowl affair was a sham, the organization would descend into chaos. Dashiell Qwerty was one of the adults who realized the danger. He asked Lemony’s mentor, S. Theodora Markson, to send him away to the most remote town possible where he wouldn’t cause any trouble. Gifford and Ghede, on the other hand, were talentless volunteers who had never been told the truth about the sugar bowl. Intent on capturing the prize for themselves, they failed to steal it from Kit Snicket. The young apprentice had been caught by the police during the heist and had no choice but to hide the sugar bowl in the city’s sewers. If she ever found out the truth about its true content, she kept her mouth shut. The organization had proven it was willing to go great lengths to keep up the deception: her brother had escaped at least one kidnapping attempt and she had been almost thrown in prison for her betrayal. V.F.D.’s status quo was, for the moment, preserved.

“The sugar bowl secret coul slip their minds entirely. This could lead to grave misunderstandings during coded communication, and we can’t afford that.” [R. - Lemony Snicket’s un-Authorized Autbiography, p.41]

A few years later, Lemony and his friends became adults. They were now a minority amongst the volunteers who knew the sad, sad truth: the sugar bowl mystery amounted to nothing. So why not use that deception for something more… useful?

The Schism had given rise to a number of criminals who exploited V.F.D.’s numerous resources to commit horrible deeds: their old classmate Count Olaf was amongst them. They were the volunteers’ greatest shame, but the organization let them free to do as they pleased as long as they didn’t leak any secrets. The Snicket siblings wanted to change that. They were going to lead the villainous volunteers into a trap, collect evidence on their crimes and throw them in jail for the rest of their lives. With the rabble out of the way, V.F.D. would finally prosper. But how?

The sugar bowl conspiracy was the perfect tool to ensnare Olaf and his allies. It just needed a little push in the right direction. Greed was after all their greatest weakness…

The second-greatest weakness was Esmé Gigi Geniveve, a student of Olaf. She was stupid, she was vain, she was materialistic: she was perfect. Lemony’s girlfriend Beatrice was assigned the task of gaining her confidence, trust and friendship. They would regularly meet for tea and exchange information about the organization. Esme would then spill all of Beatrice’s secrets to Olaf.

And I would hop like nobody has ever hopped before, if I could somehow go back to that terrible Thursday, and stop Beatrice from attending that afternoon tea where she met Esmé Squalor for the first time. [The Hostile Hospital, Chapter Two]

What a wonderful and profitable day! My former acting teacher will finally get his hands on not one but two enormous fortunes!" "Your former acting teacher?" Violet asked in horror. "You mean you've known Gunther's true identity the entire time?" "Of course I did," Esmé said. "I just had to fool you kids and my dim-witted husband into thinking he was really an auctioneer. Luckily, I am a smashing actress, so it was easy to trick you." [...] "I want to steal from you the way Beatrice stole from me." [The Ersatz Elevator, Chapter Ten]

Most of this intel consisted in grandiose stories about the sugar bowl: how powerful it was, how valuable, how precious. Once Esme got her hands on it, she would finally become the innest person in the world! All lies, naturally. But Esmé believed them, and therefore Olaf believed them, and therefore all the villainous volunteers believed them. Beatrice was the one manipulating her, pretending to betray Lemony.

"Actually, the coffee isn’t bad,” one of the white-faced women said, “even if it is a little bitter. Could someone pass the sugar, please?” ‘Sugar?“ shrieked Count Olaf, erupting in anger. He stood up, grabbed one end of the blanket, and pulled as hard as he could, scattering all of Sunny’s hard work. Food, beverages, and dishes fell everywhere,and Sunny had to duck to avoid getting hit on the head with a flying fork. "All the sugar in the worldcouldn’t save this terrible breakfast!” he roared, and then leaned down so that his shiny, shiny eyes stared right into Sunny’s. [Lemony Snicket - The Slippery Slope, Chapter Six]

Lemony and his friends then led the villains on a wild goose chase. Kit had retrieved the sugar bowl from the sewers. Every time Olaf and his allies tried to steal it, they found out it had been moved to another place. And every time they failed, they would leave evidence of their crimes behind. Beatrice and her co-star Bertrand had managed to infiltrate Olaf’s troupe by that point. Olaf and Esme trusted them completely. During their performances, Beatrice would slip in information about Olaf’s activities in code, and Lemony, acting as a dramatic critic in the audience, would collect it.

When you take your bows after Friday’s performance, I will be sitting in the front row, but do not acknowledge me. As you take your bow, drop one of your hatpins off the stage. That will be the signal that it is safe to meet at the usual place for our midnight root beer floats. [The Beatrice Letters, B.B. to L.S. #4]

My darling Beatrice, reports are coming everywhere from Tedia to Paltryville that the performance of “My Silence Knot” are splendid, and that your performance as the Baticeer is the highlight of the show, even surpassing the performance of the Brae-man. More importantly, reports are coming everywhere from T. to P. that you have gathered nearly all of the evidence we need. [The Beatrice Letters, L.S. to B.B. #5]

After a while, Lemony felt they had found enough evidence. He asked Beatrice to marry him, which she accepted. He even went as far as to place fake sugar bowls at his own wedding venue, a V.F.D headquarter where his enemies would certainly show up:

Here at the Vineyard we want to please our customers, so the sugar bowls will all be in place, we promise you. [The un-Authorized Autobiography, p.84]

As a way of giving a final middle finger to Esme, Beatrice made sure she finally found the sugar bowl… only to steal it back from her at the very last minute. She probably never even found out its contents. And if she did it, so what? Esme was obsessed with her social status. She would have to play along this collective delusion, otherwise she would be forever branded as an idiot.

"Then you know all about the sugar bowl,” Esmé said, “and what’s inside. You know how important that thing was, and how many lives were lost in the quest to find it. You know how difficult it was to find a container that could hold it safely, securely, and attractively. You know what it means to the Baudelaires and what it means to the Snickets.” She took one sandaled step closer to Dewey, and stretched out one silver fingernail-the one shaped like an S-until it was almost poking him in the eye. “And you know,” she said in a terrible voice, “that it is mine. ” “Not anymore,” Dewey said. “Beatrice stole it from me! ” Esmé cried. “There are worse things,” Dewey said, “than theft.” [The Penultimate Peril, Chapter Nine]

But if this were a book about me, instead of about the three children who would soon run into someone they had hoped never to see again, I might pause for a moment and tell you about something I did many years ago, that still troubles me. It was a necessary thing to do, but it was not a nice thing, and even now, I get a small quiver of shame in my stomach whenever I remember it. I might be doing something I enjoy–walking along the promenade deck of a ship, or looking through a telescope at the aurora borealis, or wandering into a bookstore and placing my books on the highest place in the shelf, so that no one will be tempted to buy and read them–when I will suddenly remember this thing I did, and think to myself, Was it really necessary? Was it absolutely necessary to steal that sugar bowl from Esmé Squalor? [The Hostile Hospital, Chapter Six]

Olaf, feeling furious, kicked Beatrice out of the troupe, and gave the main role to Esme. Then Lemony, feeling cocky, published an article in which he slammed Olaf’s talent, revealed to the general public he was a criminal and informed everyone Beatrice had accepted his marriage proposal. This was the moment Olaf and Esmé realized they had been manipulated by Lemony and Beatrice from the very beginning. They had to act fast: Lemony was sitting on an enormous pile of evidence, which would soon be given to the authorities.

There was only one thing to do: framing Lemony for the crimes he was trying to expose.

And it worked. Lemony was on the run. Ruining his marriage and career was a small compensation for Esme’s and Olaf’s humiliation. The villains were now embracing their status as enemies of V.F.D. and started leaking the organization’s secrets through their pawns Geraldine Julienne and Eleonora Poe. Worse, Esmé and Olaf still had no idea the sugar bowl was a sham, and they started killing other volunteers to discover its location. Their bosses, the Man With Beard But No Hair and the Woman With Hair But No Beard enabled this. Because they had known the organization before the Schism, they suspected the truth but kept mom: this sugar bowl chase was the only way to control the destructive urges of their minions.

The woman with hair but no beard nodded. “Infant servants are so troublesome,” she said. “I had an infant servant once; a long time ago, before the schism.” “Before the schism?” Olaf said, and Sunny wished Klaus were with her, because the baby did not know what the word “schism” meant. “That is a long time ago. That infant must be all grown up by now.” “Not necessarily,” the woman said, and laughed again, while her companion leaned down to gaze at Sunny. [The Slippery Slope, Chapter Six]

Years later, Beatrice and her husband Bertrand tried to make amends for their mistakes. With Kit Snicket and Dewey Denouement, they devised an overwrought plan to collect new evidence on Olaf and ask for a retrial which would put all the villains in jail. They were, once again, going to use the sugar bowl as bait. Because of his treachery, they knew Olaf could potentially be corrupted. So they sent their children away to Briney Beach and invited Olaf into their home.

My discovery of a torn pant leg shows that Sunny, an infant and the youngest Baudelaire child, played a key role in the dinner party held at the Baudelaire mansion quite some time before it was reduced to a smoking pile of rubble. Third-hand reports suggest that just after the sugar bowl was placed on the table, Sunny shrieked, "Funcoot!", which either meant "My gums hurt!" or "I believe I may have seen someone lurking outside." [The Dismal Dinner, part 3.]

Recent discoveries support my suspicions about the fateful event hosted by the Baudelaire parents before their death. Near the end of the meal, baby Sunny Baudelaire looked out the window and began to cry with a clarity and force that would soon characterize her ability to bite things. Her cries alarmed a number of guests who were in the process of passing around the sugar bowl. [The Dismal Dinner, part 4.]

There, they made him an offer: information on his allies against the sugar bowl. What they hadn’t anticipated was that Olaf had by then figured out Beatrice and Bertrand had murdered his parents. He was never going to accept any kind of “deal” from them. He made sure to lit the Baudelaire mansion on fire and left.

Here and there, the children could see traces of the home they had loved: fragments of their grand piano, an elegant bottle in which Mr. Baudelaire had kept brandy, the scorched cushion of the windowseat where their mother liked to sit and read. Curiously enough, Mr. Baudelaire’s brandy bottle was found on the remains of the dining table, with no coasters nearby. This would indicate that either the coasters were burned beyond recognition, or the Baudelaires had received a visitor who had no manners whatsoever. [The Bad Beginning: Rare Edition, pp.12-13]

But Count Olaf just sat there as calmly as if they were discussing the weather. Certain kinds of weather-severe rainstorms, for instance-have a dampening effect on fires, which is displeasing to arsonists. There have been reports of alleged arsonists so reportedly displeased with the weather that they have been rumored to pound their beverages on an unprotected wooden table. [The Bad Beginning: Rare Edition, p.98]

Despite this tragedy, the plan had to continue somehow. But Kit, Jacques and Dewey had to find the sugar bowl first. It had last been seen in the hands of Beatrice, so the search for a potential survivor of the Baudelaire fire became of prominent importance. Eventually it found its way to the headquarters of the Mortmain mountains, then to the Stricken Stream, the Gorgonian Grotto and the pond of Hotel Denouement. And every time, the villains would arrive too late to acquire it. This was very much deliberate. Dewey was leading to a fake “last safe place” where all the villains could be trapped and forced to attend their own trial: the Hotel Denouement. There, the volunteers would produce all the available evidence and put their enemies in jail for good. Dewey had even acquired the loyalty of a Judge of the High Court to make sure everything went smoothly.

She handed it to Klaus, who unrolled the paper and squinted at it behind his glasses. ”'J. S. has checked in,’“ he read out loud, ”'and requested tea with sugar. My brother sends his regards. Sincerely, Frank.’“ [Kit Snicket & Klaus Baudelaire - The Penultimate Peril, Chapter Two]

"It is a shame,” agreed either Frank or Ernest. “If only there was something that could make the dish a little sweeter. I’ve heard that certain mushrooms are available.” “Sugar would be better than mushrooms,” Hal said unfathomably. “According to our calculations, the sugar will be laundered sometime after nightfall," replied the manager, equally unfathomably. [Lemony Snicket - The Penultimate Peril, Chapter Six]

All he had to do was to make the villains believe the sugar bowl was going to be delivered at the hotel, when it was in fact delivered as its secret underground library within the pond.

"It doesn't matter, Baudelaires," Jerome said. "Olaf won't dare unleash the Medusoid Mycelium unless he gets his hands on the sugar bowl, and he'll never find it." "I'm the only one who knows which words will unlock the Vernacularly Fastened Door," Dewey said, ushering the children back toward the entrance of the hotel, "and there's not a villainous person on Earth who has done enough reading to guess them before Thursday. By then, all of the volunteers will present the research they've done on Count Olaf and his associates to the prosecution, and all their treachery will finally end." [The Penultimate Peril, Chapter Eight]

Once again, the plan failed. The trial had to start in advance, before the protagonists and the entire evidence could be reunited. Then the Baudelaire orphans and Count Olaf made an unexpected alliance to burn down the hotel and escaped. Many villains died in the fire, but many volunteers as well.

If you read my theory about J.S.’s true identity (Link), and the one about the taxi driver (Link), then you know that Lemony was the one who ended up getting his hands on the sugar bowl. He was at the Hotel Denoument partly because the sugar bowl would be there, and could be used as a bait to confront judges with incriminating evidence against Olaf and to prove his own innocence.

I have at last learned the whereabouts of the evidence that will exonerate me, a phrase which here means "prove to the authorities that it is Count Olaf, and not me, who has started so many fires." Your suggestion, so many years ago at that picnic, that a tea set would be a handy place to hide anything important and small in the event of a dark day, has turned out to be correct. [Lemony Snicket to Kit Snicket - The Slippery Slope, Chapter Five]

But now Lemonyfinds himself with a moral dilemna: what is he going to do with the sugar bowl? His plan to steal it in order to lead V.F.D. failed. His plan to use it as bait to collect evidence on the “villainous” side of the Schism failed. His plan to bring it to the hotel and confront Olaf in a Court of Law failed. Beatrice’s plan to sell it to Olaf in exchange for information failed. Disasters and catastrophes, with so many lives lost or ruined in the process... and for such little results.

When I am able, I go out walking on Briny Beach very early in the morning, which is the best time to find materials important to the Baudelaire case, and the ocean is so peaceful that I feel peaceful, too, as if I am no longer grieving for the woman I love and will never see again. But then, when I am cold and duck into a teashop where the owner is expecting me, I have only to reach for the sugar bowl before my grief returns, and I find myself crying so loudly that other customers ask me if I could possibly lower my sobs. [The Carnivorous Carnival, Chapter Five]

Now that both sides of the Schism believe the sugar bowl is lost forever, maybe it’s time for the damn thing to fade into obscurity. No one must know he has it. With no prize to compete over, the war within V.F.D will finally end. He will take that secret to his grave — for Beatrice.

Read the second part of this article here: (Link).

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theonyxpath · 7 years

Link

Hey y’all. Vance here, with a preview from our upcoming book Dragon-Blooded: What Fire Has Wrought. Keeping in mind that this isn’t final draft material and is still subject to significant change, let’s dive into our first preview for the Dragon-Blooded Charms.

Dragon-Blooded Charms are drawn from their Abilities, like the Solars, but in addition, each Charm resonates with the Essence of one or more of Creation’s five elements: Air, Earth, Fire, Water, and Wood.

Deep-Listening Palm

Cost: 5m; Mins: Awareness 2, Essence 1; Type: Simple

Keywords: Earth

Duration: One scene

Prerequisite Charms: None

Touching a surface or barrier made out of earthen or wooden materials, the Dragon-Blooded displaces her sense of hearing into the Essence of earth. She can listen through that barrier as though it were not there. Metal or similarly durable materials may require a (Perception + Awareness) roll of difficulty 3+ to hear through. On a failed roll, the Exalt is only able to hear fragments of conversation or certain noises determined by the Storyteller with this Charm for the rest of the scene. She cannot listen through barriers made of the magical materials, or those enchanted to be impervious to harm or warded against scrying.

Seed and Salt Warding

Cost: 1m, 1wp; Mins: Occult 4, Essence 1; Type: Simple

Keywords: Earth/Wood, Stackable

Duration: One day

Prerequisite Charms: Whispered Secrets Insight

The Dragon-Blooded lays down a line of salt or germinated grain to keep ghosts at bay (Exalted, p. 506). The aspect of this Charm depends on which she uses—salt is Earth, while grain is Wood. She rolls Intelligence + Occult to determine the power of the warding. Powerful ghosts who could normally cross through the line by spending Willpower can only do so if their Resolve exceeds the Dragon-Blooded’s successes on her Occult roll. Otherwise, they cannot cross over the line. In addition, the line repels other forms of the undead, such as zombies or hungry ghosts, who can also only spend Willpower to cross through it if their Resolve beats the Exalt’s roll.

Each use of this Charm strengthens a salt or grain line that extends up to a single range band. The Exalt may stack up to (Essence) invocations to create an extended warding line. The Willpower cost of subsequent activations to extend a line is waived.

Wild-Wandering Forester’s Charm

Cost: 3m; Mins: Survival 3, Essence 1; Type: Simple

Keywords: Wood

Duration: Instant

Prerequisite Charms: None

The Dragon-Blooded knows the wilderness as well as she knows her own domain, aware of the secrets and wonders hidden within it. This Charm is a roll to introduce a fact (Exalted, p. 237) about a wilderness region that she is familiar with with Wits + Survival. She might recount her knowledge of an animal species native to the region, the location of a rare medicinal herb, or effective preparations against a hazard she might encounter.

Dragon’s Hidden Treasure

Cost: 1m; Mins: Larceny 5, Essence 2; Type: Simple

Keywords: Earth

Duration: Instant

Prerequisite Charms: Naked Thief Style

The Dragon-Blooded strikes the earth or an earthen structure with precise deliberation, attuning herself to the flow of Earth Essence. She may cause a held object to vanish into soil, stone, or similar materials, submerging into them without displacing or increasing the earth. She cannot store an object in something that is smaller than it—she could hide her daiklave in a brick wall, but not in a pebble. A second use of this Charm allows her to retrieve the embedded object.

This Charm can also be used to steal objects that other Dragon-Blooded have hidden using it. Finding the location of a hidden cache usually requires both Investigation and Awareness rolls, and potentially Survival rolls to navigate long distances. The hidden object also reappears if the stone it is embedded in is destroyed.

Passion-Transmuting Nuance

Cost: 5m; Mins: Presence 5, Essence 2; Type: Simple

Keywords: Water

Duration: Instant

Prerequisite Charms: Burning Dragon Mien, Unbearable Taunt Technique, Warm-Faced Seduction Style

Human passion is as mutable as flowing water. With a few choice words, the Dragon-Blooded can turn anger to optimism, lust to fear, or delight to sorrow. This Charm is an inspire roll with Manipulation + Presence against a single character who is in the grips of strong emotion, either as a result of an inspire action (Exalted, p. 217), or due to roleplaying reasons unrelated to social influence. A successful roll lets the Dragon-Blooded change her target’s emotion to another, unrelated passion. The new emotion is treated as a Major Intimacy even if the original was not inspired using influence. Resisting this influence requires entering a Decision Point and calling on a Major Intimacy to pay one Willpower.

Revelation-of-Associates Hunch

Cost: 5m; Mins: Investigation 3, Essence 2; Type: Supplemental

Keywords: Fire

Duration: Instant

Prerequisite Charms: Scent-of-Crime Method

Criminals surround themselves with cronies, accomplices, and hirelings like a bonfire wreathes itself in cast-off embers, leaving behind a trail for an intrepid Dragon-Blooded to follow. Any Investigation roll can be enhanced by this Charm, rolling an additional die for every 10. If the Dragon-Blooded successfully uncovers evidence of crime, she experiences the sensation of flashing heat. Based on the intensity of this heat, she can gauge roughly how many individuals were involved—a lone offender’s crime barely registers as heat at all, while a conspiracy of hundreds roars like a bonfire.

With an Investigation 5, Essence 3 repurchase of this Charm, the Dragon-Blooded can detect that a character is connected to the crime with a successful profile character roll enhanced by Revelation-of-Associates Hunch. She recognizes an all-too-familiar heat rising off of the suspect. This does not reveal the role he played in the crime.

Spirit-Chaining Strike

Cost: 4m; Mins: Occult 3, Essence 2; Type: Simple

Keywords: Air

Duration: Instant

Prerequisite Charms: Spirit-Grounding Shout

Dragging a spirit halfway into the material realm with her attack, the Dragon-Blooded exposes it to her allies. She rolls a gambit using any combat Ability against a dematerialized foe, adding (Essence/2) bonus successes. Spirit-Grounding Shout enhances this attack for free. The difficulty of the gambit is equal to the targeted character’s (Essence). A successful gambit weaves gossamer threads of Air Essence through the spirit, binding it partly to the material world. While it does not become fully materialized, it is visible to all Dragon-Blooded characters in the scene, and can attack or be attacked by them as though it were material. This lasts for one round, plus an additional round for every two threshold successes the Exalt rolled on the gambit’s Initiative roll.

Following the River’s Course

Cost: 5m; Mins: Bureaucracy 5, Essence 3; Type: Reflexive

Keywords: Mute, Water

Duration: Instant

Prerequisite Charms: Dashing Brook Method, Finding the Water’s Depths

It is easier to understand the tides that bring every piece of flotsam and jetsam than to understand the forces that govern the flow of money, but the Dragon-Blooded does both. She may invoke this Charm whenever another character makes a money payment to her as part of an economic transaction. She gains a flash of insight into the flow that brought it to her, rolling (Perception + Bureaucracy) with double 9s to read the payer’s intentions. Success reveals how they obtained that money, and any Intimacies that character upheld in the process.

An Essence 4 repurchase allows the Dragon-Blooded to use this Charm on any payment she observes being made.

Phantom Fire-Warrior Horde

Cost: 5m, 1a; Mins: War 5, Essence 3; Type: Supplemental

Keywords: Fire

Duration: Instant

Prerequisite Charms: Blazing Courageous Swordsman Inspiration

The Dragon-Blooded draws on the subtler strengths of flame, overwhelming enemy forces with the appearance of superior force. Her anima banner disperses among the ranks of her soldiers, creating illusionary warriors of smoke to fill in any holes in their ranks. The phantom-fire warriors supplement a roll to rally for numbers, increasing the amount of Magnitude restored by (Essence/2).

The Dragon-Blooded also treats the results of her roll as a threaten action against all battle groups that see the fire-warriors come into existence. Battle groups whose Resolve is beaten will retreat from her army, moving away from them with each turn until their commander makes a successful command roll to give them other orders.

Reading The Unspoken Word

Cost: 1m, 1wp; Mins: Linguistics 5, Essence 3; Type: Simple

Keywords: Air

Duration: Instant

Prerequisite Charms: Speech Without Words

The Dragon-Blooded’s keen intuition can discern the words that someone expects to hear, uncovering the expectations or assumptions couched in that language. A satrap’s servant waiting to lead a foreign prince into his master’s manse might expect to be greeted haughtily and with disdain, a prowling thief worries that someone will question what he is doing, while the guard of a secret meeting awaits the password.

The Dragon-Blooded rolls to read the character’s intentions with Perception + Linguistics, adding (Essence) bonus dice. On a successful roll, she can discern precisely what a character expects to be told in their current circumstances. This may allow her to effectively impersonate someone her subject is waiting on but has not met before, or to otherwise become privy to their confidences. If she leverages this knowledge as part of an influence roll, she adds a non-Charm bonus success on the roll.

#Onyx Path Publishing

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fashiontrendin-blog · 6 years

Text

Why I Stopped Waiting for Love to Happen to Me

http://fashion-trendin.com/why-i-stopped-waiting-for-love-to-happen-to-me/

Why I Stopped Waiting for Love to Happen to Me

I am not a rash woman. I make careful, thoughtful decisions. I’m a “why?” person; I won’t really do something unless there’s a specific purpose for it. My friend Jordan used to describe me as “calculated” to random people — which was only mildly insulting because, despite the negative connotations surrounding the word, she was kind of right.

In the giant chess board that is my life, I move pieces with deep consideration and forethought. So when I blew off my family Thanksgiving and hopped in a car to Chicago to crash the birthday party of my crush — a friend of my friends — people were confused.

I had no game plan. It was a last-minute call. He had no idea I was coming, or that I even liked him beyond our mutual friend’s passing mention that he should make a move over the summer while he visited. (He did not.) I knew my friend’s nudge had probably been long-forgotten, and I knew it was possible he wouldn’t return my interest, but I decided to ignore my doubts, fears and shyness, and go to Chicago anyway.

But sometimes all you need is a few stars to align, a bit of intrigue, and a dash of confidence.

His lack of knowledge about my interest wasn’t the only barrier to starting a relationship either; he lives in San Francisco, I live in Ann Arbor, Michigan. But sometimes all you need is a few stars to align, a bit of intrigue, and a dash of confidence. When he heard about my whirlwind attempt to catch up with him on his birthday, he asked me out on an official date the next night. My adrenaline was still pumping the next morning during our first real moments alone together, on the couch of our friends’ large Chicago Airbnb, just hours before I had to head back home on a train.

“Why?” he asked me, with a sort of confused laugh, partly pleased and partly skeptical. In a culture where we hide behind screens and romantic intentionality is somewhat of a fading relic, I said the only thing I could think to say: “I just had a gut feeling about you.”

The decision to go to Chicago may have seemed rash on the surface, or out of character to everyone who knows me, but it felt perfectly purposeful to me. That’s because when it comes to love, maybe love or potential love, I’d already decided no risk is too big.

Despite living thousands of miles apart, we’ve talked and texted every day since. We’ve endured three cross-country trips between the two of us, despite chaotic job schedules. The odds are stacked against us, but I haven’t been more excited or hopeful about someone in a long time.

If you want to call this interpersonal commingling we now do “dating” — you have to get comfortable with improbability.

If you take each individual connection in a vacuum, the chances you’ll fall together and not apart are low. But after talking to many modern couples over the past several years, I’ve discovered a few foundational principles that increase your odds. There’s one in particular I want to share with you today, the very one that caused me to climb into that car back in November: To date today — if you want to call this interpersonal commingling we now do “dating” — you have to get comfortable with improbability. All love is improbable, and the strongest relationships are built on the strongest connections, no matter the variables involved.

In researching my book on relationships, I listened to a lot of great love stories. On the surface, I can’t think of many I’d call “probable.” Some of my favorites, off the top of my head? One, a couple who was broken up for five years before they both mutually realized they were absolutely right for each other. Two, a husband who told his now-wife he’d help find her a great boyfriend when she was finally ready to date again after a horrible split from her ex. Three, a long-term couple who began dating just two days after he filed for divorce. Four, partners who met in kindergarten and married in their thirties. Five, a pair who talked for nine months cross-country before taking a big ol’ leap to live together in the same city; they have two kids now.

Maybe that last one inspired my current situation, although I suspect the whole concept of “improbable” did one better; after many diligent months of research, I internalized that modern love is just that. Even when I think about youngish committed couples in my own social circle, few have a straightforward romantic trajectory — despite how, growing up, my mom used to repeat refrains like, “when you know you know,” “or, “when it’s right, it’ll be easy.” Oh, how the world and relationships have changed.

I think about love’s improbability a lot. We are wired to sample the field and delay commitment until we’re “ready,” or feel certain we know what we want, testing different types of connection in a vast sea of potential matches via Tinder, friends, bars, work, hobbies, and on and on. It’s the millennial dating version of optimal stopping theory, where you need to figure out when and for whom to take yourself off the market, except that the sample of suitors is virtually unlimited. Only you decide when you want to stop, or what’s worth investing in, as you determine what you want, need and are looking for in a partner.

Purely rational relationships with great-on-paper types don’t leave room for the highly irrational process of chemistry and connection.

But unless you are in a wonderful headspace to build a healthy relationship and meet a someone else who is in an equally commitment-ready state of mind, you might end up with a missed connection. The odds are stacked against us because, in addition to testing the field, we are a generation constantly in motion; we travel, we prioritize friends, we change jobs, we pursue degrees, we want to chase dreams and find fulfillment. Connections can seem fleeting; we’re not always looking, we’re coming off heartbreak, we’re still working through family baggage, we’re living a country apart from our love interest, work is crazy, etc, etc.

Where does love fit in? Again, only you decide when, with whom and how to invest an improbable landscape. Welcome to millennial adulthood.

The variables are such a mess, the romantic era we’ve inherited can feel hopeless. I’ve certainly cried about the apps, vented to my girlfriends about the ghosting, toasted all the bad days and broken hearts. But all the while, the improbability makes me sure of at least one thing: I’ll be braver when I encounter a potential connection.

Bravery, in the midst of improbability, is yet another hallmark of many modern-day loves. I had this conversation over the course of months with a good friend of mine, who waited a full year for her guy to finally commit again after his divorce. She was bold in her feelings, strong in her conviction that he was worthwhile, and steadfast in her patience with his timeline. “Everyone told me to let him go,” she said of her friends, who were playing the odds without knowing the connection. She didn’t let him go; she’s so glad.

If you’re like the vast majority of people looking for a single long-term love someday, connections that may lead to lasting relationships don’t come around often. The way I’ve decided to increase my odds is simple: Be brave in my feelings, bold in my risks, and cognizant of those strong connections. If I’m open and sure of what I feel, I can rest assured that I’ve given a connection a fair shot.

My goal is to ultimately end up with one person. As such, I’m not getting tangled in the logistics of this guy in San Francisco, wondering how it can all work out right now. Purely rational relationships with great-on-paper types don’t leave room for the highly irrational process of chemistry and connection. That is the glue in between, the reaction that forges a bond, the little spark of (necessary) madness.

Such inexplicable elements of modern love give this calculated woman hope, allowing me to make crazy decisions that just feel right. Is my current long-distance connection improbable? Sure. More improbable than my next online date? I’ll let you decide; I already know what I believe.

Collage by Louisiana Mei Gelpi.

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