#b) surface-level office gossip

[bluejayblueskies]

i am hmm.... having ace thoughts rn. about ace labels and how they don’t account for all the nuances of what someone’s ace experience can be like. how sex-repulsed and sex-neutral and sex-favorable are treated as firmly defined categories with one definition, but my way of identifying as sex-repulsed will be different than someone else’s because we are different people altogether. how sometimes more labels can help people feel at home in their identity and sometimes they can push people away when they can’t quite find one that fits. how asexuality is so intricate and complex, and there are so so many different ways to be ace, but sometimes it doesn’t feel like there are because things get thrown under the umbrella of ‘this is the ace experience’ and it feels like disagreeing means you aren’t ace.

this isn’t really about my own asexuality (though i have felt this way in the past), more just... something i’ve been thinking about wrt both irl ace communities and the way asexuality is treated in fandom. (tbh, especially in the tma fandom with jon.) asexuality is a spectrum and it’s a gradient--there aren’t clear dividing lines, there aren’t little boxes to fit into, there isn’t some checklist you have to complete or standard you have to meet. if you want to create labels for yourself, that’s great! i do that too, because I like labels! but it’s not like that for everyone.

[scullydubois]

Only the Light ch. 6

read on Ao3 here. read earlier parts here.

This was getting quite long, so I decided to cut what I planned to be chapter 6 in half. I’ll try to keep the chapters a bit shorter than they have been cause I know lots of people prefer that. Anyway, that means I’m now almost done with chapter 7 so that’ll be posted in a couple days too. 

Please let me know what you think in the tags or message me! I’d love to know if you think something like this should have been canon or even if you think it was canon, just not shown to the audience (is that possible? haha). 

Description: As Mulder and Scully begin their investigation in Aubrey, Scully finds herself sympathizing with the detective who found the bones more than she would prefer to.

*includes a few lines of dialogue from season 2, ep 12 “Aubrey.” Credit to Sara B. Charno, writer of that episode!*

WC: 2595 words

tagging @today-in-fic​. Thanks for all you do!

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

Scully stares at the bones on the autopsy table in front of her. She has always been capable of separating her feelings from her work. Too good at it, even. But right now, looking at these bones that have been in the ground since before she was even born, all she can think about is how they once were a living, breathing person’s. A partner. A son. An FBI agent just like her. She had narrowly escaped a similar fate. How? What made her survive while this man became a bundle of bones to be poked and prodded? She knows she shouldn’t dwell on it, but sometimes she wonders if her luck would stop if her overthinking did. 

Mulder mentions the killer the detective was investigating. Three victims, all young women between twenty-five and thirty. Scully’s current demographic. He doesn’t say that part, of course, but Scully’s thinking it, and perhaps he is too. The word ‘sister’ was carved onto their chests, then painted on the wall with their blood. That could have been her. 

Nevermind that she wasn’t alive in 1942, let alone living in Missouri. Horrific, misogynistic crimes had been happening well before she was born, and they would happen well after. Scully had no doubt something like this could happen to her at any time. A petite, female FBI agent? She would be the perfect victim.

She had been the perfect victim. And she survived! But that doesn’t mean she wasn’t victimized by all of it. Surviving doesn’t mean living. She is coming to terms with this. It is like going through it all over again.

She lifts one of the rib bones, runs her fingers over it. The rubber gloves catch on a series of tiny cuts down the length of it. Were these a result of decades underground, or had these been inflicted before the detective bled to death? She shivers at the thought.

“Scully?” Mulder’s voice anchors her back in reality. 

She turns around. “Yes?”

“Are you cold?”

He had seen. He grips the edges of his jacket, prepared to place it on her shoulders at a moment’s notice.

She shakes her head. “No. I was just imagining being cut like this.” She points to the razor marks, each one a separate wound. 

Mulder winces. “Do you think that’s what killed him?”

Scully turns the bone over in her hands. It has known pain, and she can almost feel the ghost of it in the marrow. 

“I don’t know,” she says, meaning it. “That would be a horrific way to die.”

“Most ways are,” Mulder replies, not missing a beat. They stand there, this dead body adjacent to them, thinking about death, and life, and what it means to be a person. What a situation they have gotten themselves into. 

A few minutes later, they are looking at computerized scans of the bones when BJ, the detective who dug them up, enters. She asks Mulder a question about the case, but doesn’t seem to listen to his answer. It’s like she’s in a trance.

Just as quickly as she arrived, she goes, excusing herself and staggering out of the room. Mulder and Scully exchange a glance like two gossiping high schoolers. Wordlessly, Scully follows after BJ. She finds her in the women's restroom rinsing her mouth. A pang of guilt circulates through Scully’s insides. She and Mulder have involved themselves in something that is, frankly, none of their business, but it’s too late to back out now.

“Feeling better?” she asks, holding a clean paper towel out for BJ, who ignores it and pulls one from the dispenser herself.

“I’m fine now.” This is all she offers. 

Scully has given this answer enough times to know that BJ is most definitely not fine. She considers her options: she could respect BJ’s hostility toward her, pretend she saw nothing, & return to Mulder, or she could probe further into the situation and try to comfort BJ. She knows the terror that BJ must be feeling.

“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?” The words leave Scully’s mouth before she registers deciding to say them. 

The terror surfaces on BJ’s face. “Does it show?”

“No, not yet,” Scully reassures, patting the detective on the shoulder. She will try to be the comfort she wishes she had at the moment. The comfort she knows she could have, but...

BJ interrupts her train of thought--”Now I know why my mother only had one child. She told me about the nausea, but not about the nightmares.”

Scully blinks. There’s that pang of guilt again. “Nightmares?”

BJ nods. “It's always the same. I'm in a house, it feels familiar. There's a woman that's been hurt. There's a mirror... I see a man's reflection. I recognize his face, but I don't know it. What I remember most is the blood.” She looks up at Scully with desperate eyes. “There's a lot of blood.”

Scully swallows. Hard. She can feel acid in her throat, the contents of her stomach threatening to follow BJ’s lead. She’s glad to be in the bathroom. Nightmares are not a particular indication of pregnancy, she knows this. But she also knows that changing hormone levels can trigger vivid, sometimes upsetting dreams--she had not connected those dots until just now.

“Have you talked to anyone about these nightmares?” Scully asks.

BJ shakes her head. “I'm sure it's something about the pregnancy. If anyone else knew I was pregnant…” She trails off in a way that makes Scully ache for all the women that have ever feared their own body, herself included. There could be no worse betrayal than one’s own body.

“Brian would kill me if I told anyone,” BJ finishes. Her fear is evident in her voice. Scully packs as much sympathy as she can into her glance at BJ. 

“Thank you for opening up,” she says. “I’m sorry about your situation. Let me know if I can help.”

BJ nods in acknowledgement, but doesn’t say anything. She lingers near the sink, as if waiting for the bell to dismiss her.

Scully can feel her uncertainty. “I won’t tell anyone,” she reassures.

BJ releases a breath. “Thank you. I need to...sort things out.”

“I understand.” Scully offers her a soft smile. BJ reciprocates, then quietly exits the bathroom.

Scully stands there a moment, hands in her pockets, heart in her throat. Then the queasy feeling passes, and she moves on.

She returns to the office and takes a seat next to Mulder. He’s gobbling some cookies while the computer analyzes the cut patterns on the bones. It is interesting what their line of work does to them; how it desensitizes them to the most gruesome of wounds, the most horrific of situations. She sometimes forgets that ordinary people don’t play doctor on dead bodies for a living, or chase phantoms, or get abducted by--well, plenty of people claim that’s happened to them. And she doesn’t see why, considering how unpleasant it all was. Is. Maybe that’s why people talk about it, because they just want someone to believe them, someone to know, but Scully’s mind has never worked that way. It’s exactly the kind of thing she’d like to forget forever and never share with anyone else. How shameful to get caught up in myths like that.

Mulder lifts an eyebrow, expecting a report on BJ. 

Scully shrugs. “Food poisoning.”

“Yuck. Remind me not to have what she’s having,” he wisecracks.

Scully’s teeth clamp down on her tongue. “I don’t think you need to worry about that, Mulder,” she says, a knowing edge to her voice. She wishes she could say the same about herself. 

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

They return to their motel after sunset. Mulder walks Scully to her door- number 13, to the right of his--and parts ways with her chastely, telling her he’s planning to set his alarm for 7am and saying goodnight. 

“Night, Mulder,” she says, twisting her key in the lock and pushing hard against the door stuck from humidity. She casts one final smile his way before entering her room, shutting and locking the door behind her.

Mulder turns his key in his room’s lock, but waits for Scully to disappear into the safety of her room before opening his own door. He is not going to lose her again.

Relieved to be in a space of her own after a long day of traveling and consorting, Scully switches on the bedside lamp, illuminating the room. One queen-sized bed with a plaid comforter, a boxy TV with an antenna, a flimsy wooden desk, and a bathroom about three Scully steps deep. It is not much, these lodgings never are, but at least it’s not coming out of her paycheck. She pulls her badge from her jacket pocket and throws it on the bed. It does a backflip against the mattress. She shimmies off the jacket then, folding it up and setting it in the side of her suitcase reserved for the dirty laundry. One time Mulder saw the way she organized her suitcase and laughed. He’s more accustomed to throwing his worn clothes in a garbage bag...or just wearing them over again. 

The shoes come off next, lined up neatly by the door. She craves a shower. After spending the day with decades old bones, she is in need of a baptism. 

She flicks the bathroom light on, and the fluorescent bulb buzzes in protest. There’s no telling when this motel was built; the wall is supposed to be light blue, but entire sections of paint have chipped away into an aged white exterior. Fissures snake through nearly every square of the floor’s tile like they’re there for decoration. Scully looks for her reflection in the mirror and gets the blurry outline of a woman instead. The mirror is somehow permanently fogged. 

She ponders the science of that while she pulls back the shower curtain and turns the knob for hot water. It spurts noisily out of the faucet, interrupting her peace. Speaking of interrupting her peace...she remembers that she forgot to leave Missy the number for the motel. She is not used to someone keeping such close tabs on her. She switches off the water and heads for the phone.

She dials the number, her own number--now her sister’s too--and waits. One ring, then another, then Missy’s steady voice.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Missy. It’s me. I forgot to leave the number, I’m sorry.”

“So I take it you’re not coming home tonight?” She knew her sister never was, but she’ll milk it anyway. 

“No, we got a motel.”

“You already had the reservations, didn’t you?” Melissa inquires. “Or else how would you leave the number?”

Scully rolls her eyes, though she knows her sister can’t see it. Missy can probably sense it anyway. 

“We did, but we would have cancelled them if we didn’t need to stay. It looks like we’re taking the case.”

“Is it an interesting one, or can you not say cause it’s vital to the security of the nation or something,” Melissa teases.

“It’s pretty freaky, but nothing really supernatural. Just your run of the mill humans hurting other humans.”

“Hmm...I thought the suspect had to be like, a werewolf, to qualify as an X-file.”

Scully smiles. “Well, it’s like Scooby-Doo. You always think the culprit is some crazy creature, but then you unmask them and it’s just a cranky old man.”

“Even worse!” Missy quips.

Scully laughs. Her sister’s right. At this point, she’d be relieved to find out that the worst atrocities of humanity were not committed by humans after all, but by some beast with no morals, just instinct. Maybe she’d feel less guilty if she didn’t have to atone for all the sins she’s seen. If they weren’t the sins of humanity. 

“Anyway, you’ve got this number now, so just ask for room 13 if you need me. Or room 14 if you want to prank call Mulder, I don’t care. I’m about to hop in the shower, but did you have a good day?”

“Uh yeah, work was busy and I just got home a little bit ago. I’m waiting on some pad thai from that restaurant you suggested. Probably gonna veg out, watch some Golden GIrls, maybe do a face mask.”

“You’re living a life of luxury,” Scully murmurs.

“Very much so. How was your day?”

“It was...good.” Her voice rises unevenly between the words.

“That’s a ringing endorsement.” 

Scully can hear the hollow noise of Missy twirling the phone cord around her finger.

“The first day on a case is always a bit overwhelming,” she assures. “We’ll get through it.”

“I’m sure you will,” Missy replies with a flat voice, not at all impressed by her sister’s answer. 

“We always do.” There’s a note of optimism in her voice. The statement is more of a prayer than a reassurance. 

“Well, come home safely, okay? I’m not used to sleeping in a big city by myself.”

“I’ll be home as soon as possible,” Scully says, not holding herself to any safe returns. 

“You’d better.” The cheekiness in Missy’s voice takes Scully back to the conversations they had when Scully had just moved to college and would recount the titillating tales of living in a co-ed dorm. Having never had such an experience, Melissa would live vicariously through her stories, and Scully would realize that her sister would make much better use of the situation than she ever did. “Love you. Bye.”

“Bye, Missy,” she says with some weariness. She puts the phone in the receiver, closes her eyes, and wonders how many times she’s uttered that exact phrase. Twenty-nine years worth, so the number’s got to be high.

She returns to the bathroom, feeling significantly grungier than just a few minutes ago. She repeats the routine with the water, slipping off her pants and blouse as the room steams up. By the time her bare skin hits the water, sweat is sliding down the ugly walls.

Usually the motels they stay in don’t have very warm water, so this is a treat. She doesn’t usually take hot showers, seeing them as wasteful somehow. Maybe she subconsciously doesn’t want to increase her water bill. Whatever the reason, it doesn’t apply right now, and every muscle in Scully’s body softens as the water runs down it. Touch. How many times had she been touched today? Surely this is one of the only instances featuring a force with any life in it. It's the most intimate too. She ravishes in it. 

There’s a noise, or rather, a sudden absence of noise, and Scully realizes that Mulder’s shower is on the other side of the wall and he has just turned off the water. She pictures him on the other side of the tile, naked and dripping wet. Slick all over. If only she had x-ray eyes... This is what partners do, isn’t it? She has goosebumps despite the temperature of the water. 

She blinks her eyes closed, holds her breath, and tilts her face toward the showerhead. Baptism. Rebirth. New beginnings. The chance to make up for missed opportunities.

She carries this energy with her through the rest of the night. Through buttoning her silk pajamas from hips to collarbone, through towel-drying her hair because she left her blow dryer for Melissa, through flipping the channels and finding nothing but reruns she never cared to watch in the first place, and through dozing off with her hair cascading off the pillow. Not all nights are as delightfully simple as this.

---thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!!

[rosehvney]

               ♡ . *    have  you  seen  AMORA  ‘AMI’  IZUMI  around  campus   ?   i  hear  they’re  a  FOURTH  YEAR,  SPRING  witch  with  a  specialty  in  ASTROLOGY.  i  almost  never  see  them  without  their  HUMMINGBIRD.  if  they  ever  want  to  be  a  MATCHMAKER  someday  they  should  ease  up  on  being  FICKLE  &  LOFTY.  at  least  you  can  say  they’re  COQUETTISH  &  INTREPID,  too. 

               hey,  hey  !!!   i’m  diana,  aka  ur  resident  girl  group  stan ASJSJSJ  i’m  twenty,  use  she/her  pronouns,  and  reside  in  the  est  timezone   !!    this  is  super  late  but  here  i  am,  finally  introducing   ...   loona   !!!   jk,  under  the  cut  u  can  read  abt  my  lil  spring  witch  amora.  i  was  kind  of  winging  it  the  whole  time  so  i  apologize  if  it  seems  all  over  the  place  but  pls ...  i’m  a libra  i’m  a  little  dumb  it’s  my  nature.  forgive  me   !!   i  can't  wait  to  plot  AKSKSK  let  me  kno  if  u  prefer  discord,  if  not  tumblr  im's  work  fine !!!

♡ . *    𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒔    !

full  name :  amora izumi

nickname(s)  :  ami

zodiac  :  gemini  sun,  libra  moon   (  click  )

sexuality  :  bisexual

alignment  :  chaotic  good

pinterest  :  click

♡ . *    𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅    !

amora’s  mother  was  a  spring  witch  and  her  father  was  a  summer  witch.  to  their  delight,  ami  was  born  a  spring  witch  just  like  her  mother.  however,  ami  would  later  realize  this  was  not  as  good  as  it  seemed

her  mother  was  a  midwife  and  she  wanted  nothing  more  than  for  amora  to  follow  in  her  footsteps.  unfortunately,  amora  never  had  any  interest  in midwifery

during  amora’s  teen  years,  her  parents  started  arguing  frequently  about  the  direction  they  wanted  amora  to  go  in.  her  mother  was  set  on  midwifery,  but  her  father  understood  the  importance  of  choosing  your  own  future.  aside  from  arguing  about  amora,  her  parents  stopped  seeing  eye  to  eye  on  many  other  things  as  well,  and  eventually  they  split  up

amora  did  not  handle  her  parents  split  well.  mostly,  she  blamed  herself.  she  feels  like  if  she  had  just  pursued  midwifery  like  her  mother  had  wanted,  none  of  this  would  have  happened

after  the  split,  she  had  to  live  with  her  disapproving  mother.  her  father  not  only  moved  out,  but  he  moved  to  a  different  city  to  be  around  some  of  his  family.  this  kind  of  broke  her  heart  a  lil.  she  saw  it  more  as  her  father  trying  to  stay  far  away  from  her

so,  amora  continued  living  with  her  mom  who  continued  to  disapprove  of  her  choices.  for  a  while,  she  wasn’t  sure  what  she  wanted  to  do.  however,  after  her  parents  divorce,  she  became  especially  interested  in  matchmaking

she  figured  since  she  drove  her  parents  apart,  she  could  redeem  herself  by  bringing  others  together.  she  quickly  became  obsessed  with  the  idea  of  love

amora  more  recently  found  out  her  father  remarried  and  started  a  new  family.  she  doesn’t  really  speak  to  him  much  anymore,  so  the  idea  that  he  is  present  in  the  lives  of  his  new  family  hurts  her  a  lot.  but  in  the  end,  she  still  blames  herself  for  driving  her  father  away

so,  amora  has  a  father  she  barely  sees  and  a  mother  who  continues  to  try  to  micro-manage  her  life  and  make  a  carbon  copy  of  herself  out  of  her  daughter

♡ . *    𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚    !

amora  is  extremely  extroverted.  she  is  a  social  butterfly  and  will  try  to  befriend  anyone  with  a  pulse

she  is  a  little  bit  of  a  people  pleaser.  after  her  dad,  she’s  really  scared  of  being  abandoned,  which  is  why  she  lowkey  seeks  approval  from  others  :(

she  can  sometimes  appear  to  be  a  little  bit  full  of  herself.  she  tries  2  play  off  her  insecurities  by  having  an  ‘i’m  the  best’  attitude  akdjksdjh 

like  i  said,  she  loves  love   !!!   she  gets  crushes  easily,  but  also  loses  attention  fast  because  they  mostly  tend  to  be  superficial  crushes.  typical  air  sign  behavior

kinda  bouncing  off  the  last  one,  she  loves  2  flirt   !!!   she  loves  flirting  with  her  friends,  the  barista  at  the  cafe,  the  girl  sitting  alone  in  the  library,  literally  anyone  and  everyone.  this  has  gotten  her  into  some  trouble  in  the  past  (   when  she  accidentally  flirted  with  one  of  her  professors  during  office  hours   )

a  loyal  friend   !!!!   values  her  friends  more  than  anything  else  in  the  world.  even  though  she  likely  has  a  large  circle  of  friends,  she  wouldn’t  necessarily  consider  them  all  to  be  her  close  friends.  she  would  still  do  anything  for  them,  though

she  is  an  extremely  curious  and  restless  spirit   !!!   she  is  dying  to  see  the  world  and  uncover  all  of  its  secrets.  always  up  for  an  adventure  no  matter  the  risks

loves  to  party  and  have  fun   !!

♡ . *    𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅  𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔    !

partner  in  crime  -  someone  who  always  goes   along  with  her  antics.  someone  who  she  bounces  off  of  and  they  do  dumb  /  fun  shit  together   !!!

ex-fling/gf/bf -  there  could  b  more  than  one  of  these   !!!    they  could  have  ended  on  bad  terms  or  good  terms,  still  have  lingering  feels  or  tension  or  maybe  they  remained  friends  !!!   we  can  plot  this  however  

unrequited  crush -  maybe  she  has  a  crush  on  ur  muse,  whether  it’s  a  deep  crush  or  a  more  surface  level  crush.  OR  ur  muse  could  have  a  crush  on  her  and  maybe  she’s  oblivious  to  it   !!!

requited  crush  -  speaks  for  itself,  but  our  muses  have  crushes  on  each  other   !!!  maybe  it  isn’t  super  serious,  or  maybe  it  is

will they,  won’t  they  -  there’s  feelings  between  them,  but  maybe  the  timing  has  always  been  off.  they  want  to  explore  whatever  they  have,  but  maybe  they’re  scared

current fling/friends  w  benefits -  someone  she  is  currently  seeing.  could  be  no  strings  attached,  or  there  could  b  some  feelings  there.  maybe  they  don’t  want  to  make  it  anything  serious,  or  maybe  they’re  ready  to  take  it  to  the  next  level.  maybe  one  person  is  ready  to  go  further,  and  the  other  isn’t.

enemies  w  benefits  -  imagine  the  tension   !!!   they  started  out  hating  each  other  but  ended  up  hooking  up.  maybe  it  was  a  one  time  thing,  or  maybe  they  can’t  stop  going  back  to  each  other.  maybe  they  keep  it  a  secret  and  don’t  want  anyone  else  to  know.  this  could  develop  in  soooo  many  ways  pls  this  is  so  sexy  !!!!

party  buddies  -  they  always  go  to  parties  together.  maybe  they  don’t  see  each  other  outside  of  parties,  maybe  they  met  at  a  party  and  became  close  friends  afterwards

roommates  -  self  explanatory,  but  they  live  together   !!!   maybe  they  get  along  really  well,  or  maybe  they  have  some  issues

ex-friends  -  someone  she  used  to  consider  a  best/close  friend,  but  they  had  a  falling  out  for  whatever  reason  n  maybe  they  strongly  dislike  each  other  now.  maybe  they  want  to  re-kindle  their  friendship  but  don’t  know  how

sibling-like friendship  -  someone  she  sees  like  a  sibling.  they’re  there  for  each  other  and  look  out  for  one  another,  always  have  each  other’s  backs

dynamic  duo  -  ride  or  dies.  platonic  soulmates   !!  this  person  is  prob  one  of  the  closest  people  to  her  and  knows  her  very  well   !    they  could  b  a  power  duo,  always  looking  out  for  each  other

take  care  -  someone  who  looks  after  her  when  she  drinks  to  much   !!!   someone  who  keeps  her  out  of  trouble  when  she’s  drunk  and  feeling  a  little  reckless.  she  trusts  them  and  might  feel  like  she  owes  them

confidant  -  someone  who  confides  in  her  or  someone  she  confides  in,  or  they  confide  in  each  other.  they  don’t  necessarily  have  to  be  the  closest  friends  ever,  but  they  get  along,  trust  each  other,  and  maybe  they  talk  more  in  private

rivals  -  they  don’t  like  each  other  for  whatever  reason,  which  we  can  plot. maybe  it’s  jealousy  or  their  personalities  just  clash,  but  for  whatever  reason  they  do  not  get  along.  maybe  they  bring  out  a  bad  side  to  her  that  most  people  dont  see

frenemies  -  they’re  friends,  but  maybe  they’re  always  trying  to  one  up  each  other.  they  might  gossip  behind  each  other’s  backs

bad  influence  -  someone  who  is  a  bad  influence  on  her.  she  isn’t  a  goody-goody  but  she  definitely  holds  herself  back  from  doing  anything  too  crazy.  i’d  love  for  someone  to  be  a  bad  influence  on  her  and  get  her  to  do  or  try  things  she  normally  wouldn’t

this  is  all  for  now,  but  i  should  probably  make  a  plots  page  eventually   !!!

[loverontheleft]

Ready to Leap (4)

AU with B as a band teacher and reader as an English teacher. Fluff and smut anticipated. Chapters 1-3 can be found on my Masterlist.

Brendon x reader. Warnings: language and implied sexual situations. ALSO SOME KILLER FUCKING DIALOGUE; I LITERALLY HIGH-FIVED MYSELF A FEW TIMES (I looked like a goddamn seal). Lesson of the day: it’s important to notice your strengths and validate them.

Word count: 4.2k. Also, I tried some new formatting with the internal thoughts; honestly I was just too lazy to italicize them in the first three chapters but if y’all have a preference just lmk. I don’t think I love it but I’ll do what you want.

—————————————————————

“MS. MILTON. DO YOU KNOW WHAT I HEARD?” You wince at Jessica’s volume.

“Too early to be so loud Jess. We’re in 1st block and you’re at 3rd block volume.”

“I HEARD THAT YOU AND MR. URIE WERE MAKING OUT ON THE MARCHING BAND FIELD YESTERDAY.”

“That’s not true,” Caroline argues from across the room. “They kissed but they weren’t making out.”

“Well, I heard they hooked up.” You can’t tell who that is. Probably Eric.

Caroline comes to your defense. “No, you guys, they only kissed!”

“No, they definitely hooked up.” Brian smirks from the back row. “I saw it.”

You’re done with this. “Everyone.” They freeze at the tone of your voice. You never raise it; you don’t have to. “First, all of you are wrong. I brought him a water bottle. Second, consider your environment. This is a classroom and a place of learning. Respect it as such. Your current topic is inappropriate.” You’re calm and you look at everyone in their desks. “I don’t want to hear anything else about it, understood?”

“I’m just saying Ms. Milton, no one would judge you. He’s so sexy.”

“Jessica!” That’s Caroline. Bless her.

“I mean have you seen his face?” Anna is joining in now. “And his butt? Lord!”

“Anna!” Caroline is probably planning to become a teacher. Or a nun. You’re not sure which.

“He’s super hot Ms. Milton, you should get it.”

“Beth!”

“Ladies! What did I just say?” You’re annoyed now. They can tell. They turn back to face you, chagrin clear on their faces. “I’ll ask again. Am I understood when I say I don’t want to hear anything else about it?” The entire class nods. “Good. Moving on. We’re going back to Beowulf, Canto 11. Brian, you’re up first.” A groan from the back. “You had plenty to say about me, I want to hear what you have to say about Grendel in Canto 11. Don’t make me ask again.” Your voice is level but they can hear the restraint. Everyone, including Brian, knows better than to fuck with you right now.

The rest of class goes much more smoothly, and you feel your shoulders drop. The bell rings. Maybe second block won’t be so - ah, shit. “Ms. Milton, do you know what they’re saying about you and Mr. Urie?” Emily’s eyes are wild and she’s come flying into the room with Stacy and Josh, two other band kids, right behind her. You hold up both hands, hoping to cut her off but it’s no use. “They’re saying you KISSED.”

You laugh. “Oh, is that the worst you’ve heard?” Her jaw drops and you continue. “You three were there and you saw that nothing happened. Don’t let what other people say bother you. I’m fine.” You smile reassuringly and Stacy looks unsure. “Really.”

“Well. If anything did happen -” Stacy starts, and Josh cuts her off.

“The band leadership board supports it.” You act quickly and stifle your laughter. Maybe the worst is a twitch of your lips. Good to know you have their blessing. “After you left, Mr. Urie let us go home 15 minutes early. He’s never done that.” Josh looks impressed.

Hope he went home to take a cold shower after that eyefucking you gave him; you know you did, that white shirt plastered to his chest with sweat had you all - BRAIN. FUCK. Knock it off. “Well, thank you guys. That’s kind of you. I’m sure I had nothing to do with you getting to leave early; you probably earned that with your hard work.” The three of them look at each other and it’s clear they don’t believe you. “Anyway.” You make eye contact with each of them. “If the class isn’t quiet during SSR because they’re discussing this rumor, you three are going to shut it down, yes?” They all nod eagerly. “Good. Thank you.”

There’s some chatter, but the three of them and a few other band kids in your second block quell the gossip and you transition to Beowulf with more ease than first block. You have good students, all in all. The annoying ones don’t ruin it for everyone, and you count yourself lucky.

When the bell rings for third block, you snatch the print-out of the pop quiz you’re giving tomorrow and book it to the copier. You’re feeling lucky; today’s a good day; you’re only going to say nice things to the stupid fucki-...hardworking and tired machine. You round the corner and the juxtaposition of your emotions is harsh. On one hand, Brendon’s back is to you. On the other, he’s writing a sign that says “Out of Order” and taping it to the stupid fucking bitch machine. It’s like your heart went on Tower of Terror. Yanked up, then sent crashing down. Fuck.

“Nooooooo,” you moan, sliding to the floor. He turns, sees you, and smiles wanly.

“I’ve done my best and I can’t get it. I let Jess in the main office know, so hopefully we’ll get a repair guy out here later this afternoon.”

“In time for me to make copies of a pop quiz I’m giving tomorrow?” You look desperate. Copy machines in this school are on strike, if Brendon can’t get this one to work and the repair guy doesn’t come, you’re fucked. He shrugs and offers you a hand.

“Come with me.” You take it and let yourself be pulled to your feet.

“Brendon, cookies won’t fix this.” He grins and shakes his head.

“I have something better than cookies.” You gasp playfully but you follow him back to his office inside the band room. “I have this.” He points to the corner and you turn to him in awe. And then, you’re annoyed.

“You jerk!” You hit his chest lightly. “You’ve been hiding your own copy machine?” He grins and catches your wrist.

“I’ve been saving the public copy machine and saving you time by not making you walk all the way here to me.” You consider this. “It’s for all of the sheet music I have to print. The school didn’t want me holding people up by using teacher’s lounge copiers, so this was a gift from the Band Boosters. You’re welcome to it for as long as you need.”

“This walk isn’t bad. I’d walk a lot farther to get to you.” Fuck. That was out loud. You walk briskly to the machine and start running copies, your head down, praying the comment will go over his head.

He makes a thoughtful sound and says nothing else for a moment. Then, out of nowhere: “You’re wearing pants today.” You give him a weird look over your shoulder. “You can climb the tower this afternoon then. I mean,” you glance again when he pauses and he looks almost nervous. “If you don’t have anything better to do.”

You turn fully, leaning back against the machine. “It’s a Tuesday. What else could I possibly have to do?” He shrugs and you just want to go hug him, he’s blushing and he looks so insecure right now.

“I don’t know, I mean, maybe you’ve got plans with some-”

You cut him off. “I don’t have any plans. With anyone except for you now. I’ll be there.” He breaks out into a smile and the confidence is back. He eyes your outfit and tells you you look good. Your turn to blush. “It’s different. I mean, I am just so used to the skirts…” you trail off, running a finger over the pattern on your ankle pants.

He shrugs. “You look great all of the time. I mean...the students say so. Someone joked you’d win Best Dressed for the senior superlatives.” He grins. “And yeah, it’s a departure from your normal look, but it’s not a bad one by any means.” You’re not sure what to say.

“Thanks.” You collect the copies and look at him and the door. “Any other secret food-based missions we’re going on today?”

He shrugs. “Nothing on my calendar.” Your eyes meet and you blush again. Why are you like this? It’s never been weird before. Those stupid rumors.

“Have you heard th-”

He interrupts you. “The rumors that we kissed and/or made out and/or had sex on the marching field yesterday?” You feel your shoulders drop and you exhale. “Yeah I have.” He looks up at you and grins. “I’d like to think the two of us have a little more class than to go at it on the field.”

You laugh, and the tension is broken. “It’s like they don’t know us at all.”

He stands, stretching. “Exactly. Come on Milton, let’s go get a cookie.”

Turns out there’s a fridge in the student council room too, and you both audibly gasp with glee when you see the carton of 2% milk. You turn to him, looking conflicted, holding a ten dollar bill in your hands. “It’s only Tuesday. Debbie will notice before Friday that they’re running low, right?”

He nods seriously. “She comes in here every day during 4th block. We’ll be fine.” You tuck the ten under the coffee pot and look at him expectantly. He looks back. “Am I making the cookies?” He seems amused when you nod. “Y/n, you know they’re not really better because I dropped the hunks of frozen dough onto the hot surface, and you didn’t, right?”

You shrug, filling two mugs with milk. “But why risk it?” He laughs at your serious expression and gives in, dropping the dough and setting the timer.

“Alright Milton, spill.” You look dubiously from him to the mug of milk in your hands and he rolls his eyes. “Not what I meant. You know,” he nudges your hand with his mug lightly, “your story. It’s been a whole two weeks and I know your name, what you teach, your age, you’re single, and your favorite movie. And,” he grins, “sometimes you disappear on me. I look over and you’re just staring into space.”

You blush. Oh, I could tell you where I’m at, all you have to do is ask. Shut. Up. Brain. “I’m not great with giant vague topics. What do you want to know?”

“Well, I know this isn’t your first year teaching. Where were you before this? What brought you here?”

You look up at him through lowered lashes. “I killed a man.” You can tell from his eyes he doesn’t know whether to believe you or not and you burst out laughing. “Dang Urie, they did a background check on both of us to get hired, remember?” He nudges you again and you fold. “I taught in Texas for 5 years. I grew up there. My parents died when I was 10 and my grandma passed in early February two years ago. Couldn’t stand to be in the area so I moved from Austin to Amarillo. So when my ex from Austin showed up, I did what I do best.” You give him a rueful smile. “I ran.” He is looking at you so softly and you feel the need to comfort him. “I mean. He wasn’t abusive or anything like that. It was just a messy end and he wanted to get back together and I couldn’t - well, wouldn’t. I respect myself too much.” He gives you an encouraging smile. “But he didn’t like hearing ‘no,’ and kept showing up and I just got tired of it. So I called my best friend, she came from Austin, and we starting packing up my apartment. I gave my notice of not continuing my lease, declined to renew my contract, and I sent out my teaching resume, said I’d move really anywhere, and liked y’all the best. So here I am. New start.” He nods slowly, considering this. “What about you? How did Mr. Brendon Urie end up in glamorous Putnam, Connecticut? I know you’re not from here; Tracy in the English department knows everyone and everything from Putnam and she’s got nothing on you except you’ve been here for five years. Hermit.” You point at him playfully.

He shrugs. “I’m a west coast transplant too. Napa Valley, born and raised. Just got tired of it, I guess. Did the same thing as you; except I’ve done all five years here. Got my teaching license and sent out the resume nationally.”

You look at him in disbelief. “You got tired of Napa Valley, where the air smells like wine and the sun is shining almost all the time?” He shrugs again, meeting your gaze. He certainly doesn’t look like he’s got anything to hide. “Okay then.” You nod decisively.

He glances at his watch. “I don’t want to steal all of your planning period. Mine is really a break; we have band after this, so my prep work is minimal. You have to teach.” He looks cautious and you wave away his concerns.

“I’m an insomniac and I’m here when the building opens at 5. I’m super productive in the morning so this is also my break.” He relaxes a little.

“Next question.” He pauses. “I’m going back over the annoying ones your kids asked. Uh. Where do you get your clothes?” He grins. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like someone’s daydream from 1950. You know, the pencil skirts, the sheath dresses...”

You laugh. “That’s the best one I’ve heard yet. My best friend, the one who helped me pack, is a seamstress and she works for the performing arts center in Austin. We both have a very particular style, so she’s made all of my skirts and dresses. The tops and pants are from wherever.” He looks impressed.

“That’s really cool.” He thinks for a moment. “What music do you like?”

You consider. “I’ll really listen to anything. I like most everything, but give the choice, I’ll usually go with some form of alternative pop/rock. Oh, and showtunes. I’m a huge Broadway nerd. Being so much closer to the city is amazing. 3 hours in the car is nothing.”

He nods. “I love Broadway. Do you have a favorite show?”

You groan. “That’s like asking me to pick a favorite child.”

“Wait, do you have kids?”

“Nope. Unless you count the 73 I see on a daily basis.” You grin at him. “Favorite show...favorite show. Uhm. I relate so much to If/Then, but I also love Next to Normal. Fuck, I can’t choose. That creative team is so talented.” You must really look distressed because he places his hand over yours and you shiver at the contact.

“You don’t have to choose a favorite. I’ve seen both of those and they are incredible.” You return the question to him and he thinks for a moment. “Of the classics...probably RENT. Of the contemporaries...Maybe Book of Mormon?” You nod approvingly and he checks his watch again. “We’ve got time for one more if we want to sneak out between lunches. Speaking of lunch, what’s your favorite food?”

“Again, favorite child scenario. I love all food.” You grin and pop the last bite of cookie in your mouth. He laughs and stands up. “And yours?”

He smiles. “Same answer but I’m going to attempt partial credit and give you a restaurant suggestion. The Stomping Ground on Main Street if you haven’t been already. So fucking good.” He extends a hand and you take it, rising to your feet and you leave the room. You stealthily move from the front of the cafeteria to the back, though stealth might not be necessary since the cafeteria is empty except for staff, and you slip through the arts hall door. You pause at his room and he gives you that crooked smile that makes you warm all over.

“I’ll see you later Milton. Practice starts at 4:30 and we’re done at 7:30. Glad you wore pants so I can get you on my tower.” He gives you a quick wink and then he’s disappearing into the room. You’re certain you’re blushing. He knew what he was doing that time. He had to have known.

The fourth block gossip circuit isn’t as bad and yet, in some ways it’s worse. There aren’t any band kids in this class, so no one has even somewhat accurate stories by this point in the day. As a result, the stories are so outrageous, even the students repeating them don’t seem to believe it. They do seem to like Beowulf though.

The bell rings and it’s 3:35 and they’re flying out the door. You’ve officially got an hour til marching band practice starts and that might be just enough time when you factor in traffic.

You end up being exactly right; you’re pulling in beside what you assume is Brendon’s car and it’s, according to your car, 4:20. You open the door, muttering “blaze it” to yourself and grab the cooler from the backseat. You wore shoes with more traction this time so getting down the hill and dragging the cooler isn’t half as bad as yesterday.

He meets you at the base of the tower. “What’s all this?” He looks behind you at the cooler and back at you. “You look great by the way.”

You give him a weird look. “I literally haven’t changed since you saw me two and half hours ago…you on the other hand…” he’s changed into something similar to yesterday’s outfit and he shrugs, either not noticing or reacting to your appreciative glance.

“Thought you should hear it again. What’s in the cooler?”

You smile and bite your lip, feeling the blush creep up your face. His question finally processes. “Oh. I brought you water yesterday so I brought them water today. And snacks! For when they’re done for the day of course.” He looks so happy. It’s a small band, maybe fifty students tops, so this wasn’t a big deal - two packs of water, a bag of ice, and two variety packs of granola bars. You tell him this and he shakes his head.

“No, it is a big deal. I appreciate it. So much.” If you could capture the look on his face right now, you’d look at it every day for the rest of your life.

“It’s the least I can do since I’m hijacking your copier for the foreseeable future. The repair guy didn’t come today.”

He pretends to look annoyed. “Oh no, you’ll be coming to see me all the time and I’ll have to talk to you. Gross.”

You laugh. “I’m not coming for you, Urie,” fuck; phrasing, do better brain, and this time it’s a serious fuck-up because he smirked and raised one eyebrow - fuck fuck fuck. “I’m coming to see that copier of yours.”

“You’ve wounded me. I’ll never recover.” He looks around. Marissa is the only student even remotely nearby; everyone else is unpacking their instruments and talking to others. You can tell she’s waiting for instructions. “Marissa, please start the group warmups. I want the trumpets at least 20% louder, let them know, please. You can use your judgement with the others. Listen closely and remember what we talked about in identifying the ones who are sharp and who are flat. Now go get’em.” She nods eagerly and he sends her off with an encouraging smile. He turns to you. “She’s an excellent drum major and a very gifted flutist. She’s only a junior, so she’s got time, but she’s looking at Berklee in Boston, Juilliard, and Oberlin. I think she’s gonna get in at all of them but I’m biased.” He grins and shakes his head a little. “Sorry. I’m bragging. Let’s get up there. After you.”

You turn to give him a playful grin. “Trying to get a good view, Urie?” Oh, you are shameless.

“No!” He looks horrified. “Honestly, it’s a safety thing. I don’t want you to slip and fall without anyone to catch you.”

“Oh. Well thank you in advance for catching me. I’m accident-prone and I will fall.” You are sure you look embarrassed, not considering the safety of it and saying what you said out loud.

He smirks. “Well I’ll catch you as needed. Also the view thing might also be true, yeah.” You’re laughing as you climb the ladder and he scampers up behind you, sunglasses in place and an extra pair you hadn’t noticed before tucked in his shirt collar. “Here you go.” He hands the other pair to you. “It can get kind of bright when the sun starts to set, if that makes sense.” You nod and accept them gratefully. “Now Ms. Milton.” You look up at him and he looks very serious. “I’d like for you to listen to the trumpets and give me some feedback, and then I want your general opinion on the show.”

“I think I can do that.” Just as the words leave your mouth, the warmups start and as promised, Marissa has the trumpets louder. You smile appreciatively and nod as they run through their scales. “They have a lovely tone. You’ve got one or two who are sharp.” You both wait and Marissa, without hearing you, gives the same feedback. It isn’t long before the show is starting and you’re honestly blown away. You’re leaning slightly over the edge to watch, and your jaw is dropped. Eyes wide, you turn to him excitedly, hitting his arm repeatedly. “Did you see that?!” He grins and nods. The band transitioned seamlessly from interwoven triangles to a full company forward march and it was stunning - you’d never seen it done that well before. “Brendon, this music!” Your eyes are welling up. The show is called Heroes and Villains and what started with a jazzy Superman theme and a riff on The Incredibles has been a wild ride; you’ve just been transported from a full-band, raging interpretation of Dies Irae with something you can’t quite place before it to a soft, lone trumpet playing Taps. “This is gorgeous. Really.” He smiles softly.

“Do you really think so?” You look at him in surprise.

“Uh, yes! It’s amazing!” His smile gets a little bigger but he tries to contain it. It dawns on you. “Did you do this arrangement?” He just looks at you, beaming, and you poke him in the side. “Brendon I don’t know your middle name Urie, did you do this arrangement?” When he nods, you shriek. “Brendon! Damn you for being both so talented and attractive it’s not fair! This is truly incredible, really.”

He grins at you. “You said I’m attractive.” You roll your eyes and shove him lightly. You did say that. Fuck. You wave a hand in front of his face.

“Focus on what’s important here, Urie.” He nods and grabs his megaphone.

“Sounded great everyone. Pack up and enjoy your Tuesday night. Make good choices. Ms. Milton brought water bottles and snacks for you, so grab something on the way out.”

You and Marissa are both staring at him. “Mr. Urie it’s 4:50...we only warmed up and ran it once…” her voice is cautious like she wants her Tuesday night but also doesn’t want to risk her Superior ranking at State. Everyone else meanwhile is either packing up or already packed and flying up the hill.

He beams down at her and drops the megaphone. “And it sounded great. You did wonderfully. Now call that guy you like, Jason or Justin or whatever and let him know you’re free.” She’s gaping at him and he just grins and makes a shooing gesture. “Go on. Text him if you must but make contact. Go go go.” The teenage girl in Marissa’s brain takes over and she’s off the podium, stuffing things in her bag, and racing toward the parking lot. You turn to head down the ladder and he stops you with a grin. “I set them free, not you.” You shiver a little, enthralled. Okay. You’ll bite.

“Fair enough. Okay, first of all, that opening with Superman as a jazz rendition was so fucking cool and it blended into The Incred-what are you doing?” He’s got one hand on your waist and he’s drawing you closer, eyes blazing.

“Focusing on what’s important.” And his lips are on yours and you’re pretty sure this is real. You moan and arch into the kiss, reaching a hand up to get his hat off so you can run a hand through his hair, pulling gently. He gasps into your mouth and his teeth tug at your lower lip, the hand on your waist bringing you closer still.

“God, Urie,” you sigh against his lips and he pauses, using his other hand to cup your face.

“Yes, Milton?”

“Oh thank god. This is real.” You kiss him again, flicking your tongue out over his and when he responds eagerly, really exploring your mouth, you feel your knees start to buckle. You cling to his shirt and he tightens his hand on your waist, wrapping his arm around you now and holding you up and against him. “Told you I’d fall.” You whisper this and he smiles down at you.

“Told you I’d catch you.”

[fruitful-blogger]

Flipping the Script (Part 2)

Part One | AO3

It's the first day of school, Gurls, and we gotta meet some of the other cast! Roman is also breaking the patriarchy as one does.

           “…and that, my good sir, is why the patriarchy is a disaster.” Roman concluded with a nod as he finally sat in his seat. The teacher and other students about were staring, some with open mouths, and others just. Befuddled.

           The teacher fell into the former category.

           “That was… eloquent, Roman.” The teacher coughed. “But I am very lost right now.”

           A student raised their hand. “What the hell does that have to do with Trigonometry???”

           Roman opened his mouth only for a hand to cover it. “No, no, no more.” The star athlete silenced his desk neighbor. “That was stupid enough the first round.”

           The darker of the two swatted the hand away. “I was just saying that the system in place has…”

           His reiteration was cut off with the bell alarm, a loud digital tone that yelled out through the speaker system. “Ok class we start the laws of sine and cosine tomorrow. Please do practice problems one and four in chapter 1.” The teacher told as he looked to Roman and Logan cleaning up. “And please, Roman, save the patriarchal debates for Civics. I’m sure Veronica would love it.”

           “Oh, I will!” Roman defended as his backpack was grabbed by its loop. He was easily pulled across the floor and out of the classroom, where he spun on his captor. “Rude, but also hella good timing. Great for the whole dramatic factor.”

           Logan groaned as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I just… it’s lunch. We’ve barely made it half the day, and you’ve already given me a headache. New record. Congrats.” He spun on his heal to walk away, but Roman was following him. “…you have lunch now too, don’t you.”

           “Yup! Besides, who would you sit with besides me? The other tennis guys?” Roman replied cheerily.

           “Maybe. They at least know the difference between duce and advantage.” Logan threw. “They also won’t somehow decide Tennis is a pathetic excuse for a sport.”

           “Hey, I like tennis!” Roman added as he skipped ahead. “It’s scoring system is crazy enough to confuse the masses, and I can stand behind that. My problem is with some of the more archaic rules that are somehow still a thing, like rules on women’s outfits.”

           Logan adjusted his glasses. He’d taken a quick shower after the work out and now wore his normal day clothes. Because it was the first day of school, he hadn’t gone straight for the basketball shorts and sweats (yet) and instead had a pair of jeans that were a bit wrinkled from being thrown in his bag and a navy button up with the top buttons undone, sleeves rolled to the elbow. He had a fitbit on as part of his training regiment with a beaten pair of trainers on his feet.

           Unlike the uncultured swine that Roman had seen on TV (and met in real life a handful of unfortunate times), Logan wasn’t the stereotypical meat-head jock. Yes, he loved his sport and a few others, but he was in no way blind of the outside world. He was a really good student – probably would have been on the same level as Patton if he wanted to apply himself to it, but he loved tennis through and through. Outside of tennis, he was also the sports editor for the school paper and also liked to debate (usually about healthy lifestyles).

           Roman liked that about his friends. While, on a surface level, they all seemed to fit nicely into the typical goth, nerd, prep, and jock categories, they weren’t just that.

           Like now, as Roman stopped by his locker, he saw the bubbly genius bound down the hall towards them. “LOOOOOOOGAAAANNN! ROOOOOOMMMAAAAAANNNN!” Patton called, but, unfortunately, crashed on arrival. Logan was able to avoid most disaster, though, by jumping out to catch the other junior before he rammed into a hall garbage can. “Woah! Thanks, Lo! I underestimated the friction my shoes would have on this part of the floor!”

           “No problem, Pat.” Logan smiled as he righted the teen. “Are you headed to the lunch room as well?”

           Patton held up his lunch box with a grin. It was a pretty pastel blue with a picture of the solar system on it (though Patton noted that it was proportionally inaccurate, but it made a good learning tool at times). “Yeah! Virgil had to swing by the office, but he’s headed there now, too! Do you guys have lunch this period?”

           “We indeed do.” Logan nodded as Roman tossed the last of the books in his locker. Logan rolled his eyes at the mess that was there as he crossed to his own that he’d left open. Most of the locker was taken up by his tennis bag, so he kneeled down to grab the books at the bottom, stacked in a little organizer to make the most of the room. When he stood, he also reached into the top nook to pull out his lunch.

           Roman nodded as he hiked up his bag. He’d brought money for lunch but, if the menu sucked, he’d try to trade around. Logan always packed healthy but in excess (he burned calories like crazy), but Patton always brought extra sweets to share. “We should head down ASAP. The tables always fill up so fast.”

           The other two nodded as they headed to the lunch room. Patton paused as they approached long enough to dig some ear plugs out of his backpack and put them in. Roman and Logan noticed but did not comment – this was simply a thing. Patton was a Hypersensitive Person. In a broad sense, it made him, well, more sensitive to the world in a variety of ways. He could walk into a room and instantly pick up on the micro-signals that others gave off, allowing him to better notice emotions and read the environment. He was very in tune with the needs of others because of it, but, sometimes, the stimuli became a lot and he needed to diminish it. For him, loud noise was usually a factor. He used to hide in the library a lot, but he’d gotten earplugs from Roman before a movie once (the goth had seen them at the store and figured it was worth a go), and he always carried them now to help.

           It was good timing as the noise doubled once they entered the cafeteria. Students of all grades scattered about, most with lunch trays but a few with sacks or pails of food. Nobody understood how it was established, but the freshman always seemed to coagulate at one end of the room by the lunch ladies, then the sophomores, juniors, and seniors would separate towards the back.

           “Hey, Logan!” Logan looked as a student waved their hand. “Get over here! We got a table!”

           Logan nudged Patton and Roman and pointed to the table, which was only a third filled. The three headed over and set their stuff down, the faces there mostly familiar to the three.

           Lauren was the one to wave them over. She and her boyfriend, Kai, were already seated there while another friend, Elliott, was scribbling away at a notebook. Elliott had a saved seat down next to them, but the rest were still open.

           “Salutations, Lauren.” Logan greeted with a nod before looking to Kai and Elliott. “Hello to you both as well.”

           “Hi again!” Patton waved as he plopped down.

           “Greetings my colorful friends! Except you, Elli. LOVE the dress.”

           Elliott looked up with a smirk. The non-binary teen had actually come into the fold thanks to Roman. They’d transferred to the school last year and, not really knowing anyone, just kind of decided to approach the first person who looked mildly interesting. That person had been Roman, who, upon hearing their pronouns, dragged them to the GSA meeting. Roman had introduced them to Logan, Patton, and Virgil, who introduced them to Kai and Lauren. Nowadays, the teen was usually with the couple. Lauren and Elliott bonded over food, and Kai loved to watch all the B-rated movies with the teen that Lauren hated. “Thanks, Ro. Felt like a no-pants day, honestly.”

           “It’s very pretty!” Patton complimented as he pulled out his lunch. Sure enough, about six cookies fell out.

           Roman only threw down his bag before snatching his wallet. “Guard my things with your lives.” He warned as the others waved him off, them all having already gotten food. Roman weaved through the rows to the lunch line, greeting a few fellow drama nerds that he remembered from last year. A few of the freshmen who noticed him approach seemed to shy back, but Roman got that. He sometimes looked a little scary and out of the ordinary, but he loved that about himself.

           Besides, anyone who spent more than five minutes with the guy knew how much of a bubbly theater geek he was.

           Roman got into line as he spotted a familiar face. “Remy! There’s my favorite sleep-deprived zombie.”

           The figure turned, revealing glasses indoors upon his face. “EEEYYY It’s my favorite gay!” Remy threw as he tossed an arm over Roman’s shoulders. “Gurl, where have you BEEN all day? Like I had the trippiest morning in Mr. S’s class. I swear I thought the starbs guy finally spiked my drink.”

           Roman snorted as they got into line. “Gurl, that’s just Mr. S. You should know that by now.”

           Remy was a senior who was also the president of the GSA and on student council (if only to get the administration to put a Starbucks in the cafeteria). He was as flamboyant as they got, but he also was the king of gossip. He knew it all, even things people didn’t know about themselves. When Roman, a baby goth gay, and Patton, a nervous genius gay, had graced the hallowed doorway of the GSA that first time, Remy had adopted them on the spot.

           “Still, he nearly blew up the classroom! On the first day! That HAS to be a new record.” The teen threw as he grabbed a tray. “And don’t get me STARTED on Dot. I love that woman, I really do, but do you know what she did today? She let her pet MAN EATING PYTHON out in the wild of our halls!”

           Roman couldn’t help but laugh. “Python??? Dude, it’s a foot long, max, and she calls it Fluffy.”

           “Gurl, who’s telling the story? Anyway, apparently one of her kids wanted to hold it. TO HOLD THE BEAST! AND SHE LET THEM!!!” Remy paused to turn to grab a burger as he passed, gaining a few confused (and concerned) looks from the lunch ladies.

           Remy went on about this crazy ‘escaped demon snake’ until they paid and got back to the table. Remy decided to grace the juniors with his ‘gorgeous’ face, even as he could have sat in the senior section.

           When they got to the table, though… there were two Virgils staring each other down and hissing at one another???

           Roman had to stare and blink a few times.

           “What the hell?” Remy spoke.

           “Language!” Patton chided, not taking his eyes off the book in front of him. “And we seem to have an imposter! Virgil A came over here and started having lunch with us, but then Virgil B came in and noticed us. They’ve been hissing at one another since then.”

           “Well when I came back from the office to see this JERK…”

           “You mean when I came back from the office only for this PRAT to walk in…”

           Roman sighed as he looked between the two before grabbing both their wrists. They both yelped as they nearly fell, but Roman allowed their sleeves to fall. “This one is Virgil.” He lifted the arm that belonged to the later Virgil.

           “How can you even tell???” Logan asked, stumped. “I’ve been throwing questions at them for ten minutes!”

           “Ok, it has not been that long, but still.” Kai threw as he looked between the two.

           Roman grinned as he showed off the light pen marks on Virgil’s wrist that looked vaguely like a swirly. “I drew this earlier today when Virgil was distracted. He tried to clean it off, but you can still faintly see it.”

           Virgil blinked before grinning, turning to his double ganger. “Yeah, ‘Virgil,’ looks like your costume isn’t so perfect after all.”

           “Dang it.” He said as his voice shifted. He hissed a little before shoving his hands in his pockets and glaring at Roman. “Had to ruin me, didn’t you?”

           Roman shrugged. “Sorry, Dee, but good effort.”

           The person huffed as they fell into the chair open, shedding the preppy jacket and messing up their hair. They also took a moment to dig out some make-up wipes from their bag and an extra shirt. The purple polo was removed to reveal a black tank, which was quickly covered by the yellow flannel, left open. He used a few wipes to remove the contouring make-up, and soon a plum discoloration on the left side of his face was revealed.

           Demetrius, or Dee, was a bit of a wild card when it came to South Hamilton High. He was beloved by almost all the teachers (especially the biology teacher and her snake – he loved the snake to bits) because he was a good student and relatively trustworthy… until he pulled out his make-up bag. He was renowned for his ability to transform himself and others, and he just loved to pull harmless pranks.

           Virgil snorted as he sat. “Finally some anarchy does me good. No, you cannot use that as a platform for me to get the school spray-painted black or something.” He threw as he saw the look on Roman’s face.

           “Uhg, you suck.” He huffed as he dramatically downed his milk.

           Remy plopped down next to Dee as he nudged the dude. “Gurl, you will not BELIEVE the gossip I have.”

           “Oh, no, you should overhear what Samantha told ‘Virgil’ today…”

           “Stop impersonating me! I have a reputation!” Virgil threw with a hiss. Virgil and Dee had some mysterious past that they never really talked about, but they often butted heads whenever nearby. Really, a teacher’s pet and a prep would usually at least function in the same general vicinity, but Virgil and Dee where not that. It didn’t help that Dee and Virgil shared enough similarities that Dee only had to break out the contouring to get them to look identical as opposed to the wigs and lifts of most of the staff.

           “SHHH I have some important gossip about Samantha right now, Virgie.” Dee waved off as he turned back to Remy.

           Remy and Dee were besties over their shares in the gossip empire of not only the school but most of the town. “Don’t tell me it’s about Todd again.” Remy threw as he bit into a fry. “Seriously, that girl needs to dump his ass.”

           “Oh, but that’s the best part! She didn’t, but he did!”

           Remy choked. “No.”

           “YES!”

           “OMG SPILL!”

           Virgil groaned as he lay his head on the table. “This is only the first day what the fuuuu….dge. Fudge.” He amended as he noticed Patton’s stare. They may be in high school, but Patton kept their language clean.

           “Well, now that THAT is figured out,” Logan turned back to the group. “How is everyone’s first day been so far? Because, honestly, I’d rather be home watching TV. It’s the same drivel they all give every year.”

           “Pretty much.” Virgil shrugged. “Although Patton correcting the teacher this morning was entertaining.”

           “Well, I had to clarify that Hades wasn’t originally the villain of the Persephone story!” Patton nodded to himself. “The book was far out of print, and more recent evidence shows the potential influence of male translations of many of the stories.”

           “Down with the Patriarchy!” Roman, Lauren, and Elliott all said at once. Roman went to high five both.

           Patton nodded, still reading, as Logan rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone to scroll through some sports news. Virgil attempted to keep his composure as he ate, even as half the table began to chant “Down with The Man! Down with The Man!”

           Roman led the charge on that last one.

[amorremanet]

10, 23, 37, 42

asks for fanfic writers.

10. how do you do your researches?

Depends on what I’m researching, but usually, it starts with Google and/or Wikipedia, unless I have other sources that are immediately on-hand, or that have pointed me to places I should be looking. Sometimes, I’ll go use my grad student access to various academic databases for something that is actually useful.

Then, I filter through the stuff to find contradictions I should look at, find the pieces that are unreliable (e.g., gossip journalism with no demonstrable basis in fact, history about POC that was written by white people, LGBTIQ history written by straight people, things that might have been questionably translated, etc.). And then I sorta have to play it by ear, because this is about when it starts getting more variable, based on what I’m researching and what I’ve found or not.

23. least favorite story you’ve ever written

Do you want me to go chronologically or alphabetically? That being said:

* A lot of my old school, “I wrote this when I was fifteen and so deeply closeted that I was Katniss Everdeen levels of, ‘Everybody seems to know my secrets before I know them myself’ before Katniss was even a character who existed, and I really, really thought I was straight for like a minute. A really extended minute” Wolfstar fics are capital-B BAD.

Like, they’re OOC as fuck, they buy into all of the heterosexist and misogynistic top/bottom bullshit that fandom is still so fond of, I forced myself to write a bunch of fluff that I hated and that is absolutely disgusting to me because it’s: 1. overly derivative of “The Shoebox Project” but with absolutely no nuance or depth (so like, the fanon version of TSBP), because, like every other Wolfstar shipper at the time, I loved it and unfortunately, I subsequently emulated it way too much in my own writing, because I was fifteen and thought the only way to find any kind of a place or friends in fandom was to do the popular thing

Pro-tip, kids at home: this is an absolutely bullshit way to try and find a place or friends in fandom. It just straight up DOES NOT WORK.

All of the happy feels that resemble friendship you get will be totally surface-level at best, and unless you are really socially competent — which I was and still am not — you won’t be able to translate it into any meaningful connections with anyone else, because they won’t really be accepting YOU.

They will be giving you attention and appreciation, but you’ll be more or less the same as everyone else who’s doing The Popular Thing Of The Moment, especially if you’re creating content for a huge ship, like Wolfstar was at the time — or for newer examples, like K*laine, like S*terek, like V*iktuuri, like Skittles after a certain point, like [insert literally any popular dudeslash otp here] — but they won’t be accepting YOU, YOURSELF.

If what you are legitimately into happens to be The Popular Thing, then disregard this and keep doing your thing because you’re doing it in earnest and that means that you actually ARE sharing yourself with people through the content you make, and have an actual chance of finding a fannish place for yourself and finding friends in fandom who actually value you as a person, and not just as a creator of The Popular Thing.

But for everybody who’s just doing The Popular Thing because it happens to be The Popular Thing? No. Stop that. You are better and you deserve so much better than that.

Find what really makes you happy. This is a deceptively simple idea, because finding your bliss as a content creator — or the thing that gives you the most sense of purpose as a content creator, since tbh, finding happiness as a content creator is often going to feel pretty impossible — it’s hard. It takes time. It takes a lot of trial and error, it takes soul-searching, it might very well take skydiving and seeing what flashes through your mind (it didn’t for me but I wouldn’t be very surprised if it did for someone)

—but whatever it takes? Find what kind of content it REALLY makes you happy to create, and then do that. It won’t always be The Popular Thing, and yes, let’s be honest, it will fucking suck to put your heart and soul into something, only to feel like people are just totally ignoring it.

But it’s also more likely to help you find people who genuinely share your interests and who are more likely to click with you (especially out in Rarepair Hell; there aren’t enough of us, so we sometimes end up bonding more tightly), and in the end?

Artistic integrity and truly making something that you can be proud of? That’s worth more than how many kudos or followers you can get by doing The Popular Thing when your heart isn’t actually in it.

This has been the most pretentious, “you’re a star, baby, just be yourself” PSA ever, and now back to our regularly scheduled self-deprecation!

and 2. Those old Wolfstar fluff pieces I wrote are gross to me now because they are so fucking emotionally dishonest — both to how Sirius and Remus are as characters, and to how I felt at the time, which was, “meh, varying degrees of miserable but with no functional idea why this is and even less of an idea of how to articulate it” — because I was so desperate to be accepted somewhere and get validation in the form of people on FF.net liking my terrible fanfic.

Like, every sin you can commit as a writer, I probably committed it with those fics and as such, they’re all completely atrocious. Even the “angsty” ones aren’t worth shit because I copped out and gave most of them either pasted-on happy endings or, “lol i am using canon as an excuse to not do a happy ending but i’m still not actually exploring everything as much as it deserves la la laaaaaa~ (somebody please please love me)” endings. They are all hooooooorrible, period, end of discussion.

There’s exactly one (1) that I wouldn’t burn if it were an actual printed book, and it’s the one that has ‘vaguely genderfluid but I didn’t have that word in my vocabulary in 2005’!Sirius having gender and presentation feels about wearing pretty skirts, and a parallel Hermione/Luna story about soft dapper butch!Hermione having gender and presentation feels about wanting to wear suits that were Totally Not Inspired By The Pics from And Fanart of Tipping The Velvet That I’d Seen Online, Nuh Uh, Nope (except that they totally were).

It’s still pretty, “meh” because I wrote it when I was fifteen, and if I were to rewrite it now, I’d do a looooot of things differently but still. It’s about the only not-horrible thing I ever wrote.

oh wait, actually? There are two (2) that I wouldn’t burn.

The other one, I wrote right after we first got HBP and found out that Remus had been out with the werewolves, on Top Seekrit Spy Missions!!! — it had Albus (who was still assumed by most of us to probably be having it off in secret with McGoogles because DH hadn’t happened yet and brought us G*rindeldore For Real Though) going to his office after handling shit with Harry and the kids and all of the Order members who got injured at the battle at the end of OOTP

Because it was a Wolfstar fic, Remus is naturally in said office.

It’s, like, dawn or getting close to it, and Albus is like, “well fuck shit dammit, how am i supposed to have this conversation with Remus when he’s probably going to clam up and emotionally retreat and try to say that he isn’t hurting about losing Sirius, and i can’t entirely call him on it without invalidating him — which i am especially sensitive to at the moment because Harry just almost called me out on it lol — and it’s not like his and Sirius’s relationship was ever simple like fuck, they have one of the most complicated relationships i’ve ever seen, crap fuck dammit, remus make this easy on both of us and let me comfort you okay”

And Remus is just like, “no, fuck that, dnw”

“i don’t suppose that i can ask what you’re planning to do”

“well i’m homeless again but it’s nbd”

“the order still has headquarters—”

“I AM NOT GOING TO LIVE IN GRIMMAULD PLACE WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF SUGGESTION IS THAT”

“i’m just saying—”

“please just give me some pasted-on condolences and then give me a mission so i don’t have to think about anything”

“that sounds like one of the most emotionally unhealthy ideas that you have ever had this week”

“hey, so, you need somebody to go do reconnaissance/outreach with the werewolves, right”

“um i think that can wait—”

“NO IT CAN’T TELL ME TO GO UNDERGROUND WITH THE OTHER GODDAMN WEREWOLVES”

“…………*dumble-sighs* remus, will you please go underground to do information gathering and outreach with the werewolves :/”

“yes. thank you, professor. i absolutely will.”

“this is still one of your worst ideas ever, jsyk”

“la la la can’t hear you over the sound of you giving me permission to do it la la la”

this is, at best, a really sketchy recreation of it that isn’t historically accurate on the grounds that i’m writing the sketch with the view of canon that i have now — minus the obvious omission of the Truth of Grindeldore — but that’s the basic outline of things

if I were to rewrite the thing now, I would do a lot of things differently

but the original fic isn’t completely without its merits, even if it could be a lot better

* “Close Enough For Rock and Roll” — Absolutely terrible, forever abandoned WIP because it’s absolutely terrible. It’s completely bogus D*estiel cis mpreg that has no reason to exist because it’s TERRIBLE. I cringe so hard whenever I get any FF.net emails about people liking it because…… ew. no. why would you even. I don’t even know you but plz. Love yourself and read something better, you deserve that.

* It is a closely-guarded secret of mine — by which I mean that it’s on my FF.net account — that once upon a time, I wrote D*rarry not once, but twice. They’re patently horrible fics, and there’s a reason for that. Namely: I don’t ship it, I have never shipped it, I have never for the life of me understood why it is A Thing, and I am never, ever GOING to ship it — usually, this would be shooting myself in the foot but it’s been 16+ years and I still don’t ship it, so I think I’m in the clear — but the girl I was in love with at the time dared me to write it, just to see if I could. She had a beautiful smile, but I refused to lose.

The fics are garbage and the only reason I don’t regret them is that nah nah nah nah nah nah, I won.

* It is a less closely-guarded secret of mine — by which I mean that it is up on my AO3 — that I wrote NC-17 S*terek once. I hate it a bit less than everything else I’ve listed here, because it’s not completely awful and I wrote it for a friend who’d been having a shitty time of things, and hey, it made her happy so mission accomplished — but it’s still pretty bad. It has a Derek who’s a darker shade of morally gray than he usually is and unnecessarily special!Stiles and consent that is at best highly questionable (though at least I acknowledge it and tagged it as such).

But mostly I hate it because I don’t actually ship that and have so many better fics but ugh, of course the garbage, poorly-written porn for the fandom’s favorite OTP is one of my most popular fics on AO3. UGGGGGGGGGGGGH.

37. canon or AU?

*shrugs* Both are good, it depends on how I feel today.

42. do you plan or do you write whatever comes to your mind?

………Can I just say, “yes” and leave it at that, like??? Sometimes one, sometimes the other, but usually, it’s a mix of both?

[jamiegodwin]

Slow Down to Get Ahead

This is so true and thought I would share this Blog post from mindful.org. Mistakes can be costly, and can trap you in a cycle of having to rush even more to make up for wasted effort, amplifying stress. Mindfulness can help you get clear on your purpose and do it right once.

Time. It’s our most coveted resource because of its scarcity. In an effort to falsely gain time during the day we rush through tasks, projects, and our lives. But we cannot be fully present to life or to our craft when we rush. We can lose our vision and clarity for success. In reactive mindsets, goals blur. We get sloppy.

Rushing hinders our capacity to be intellectually and emotionally available, and capture the opportunities that surface in the present moment. When we slow down and move through our activity with greater mindfulness we are more likely to act with the full power available to us in the present moment.

The Cost of Rushing

Chronic rushing through a never ending to-do list feeds anxiety and heightens stress levels. Due to the epinephrine, also known as adrenaline, released in the brain during stressful periods, our brains get “hooked” on the stimulation of activity. Our bodies become addicted to rushing and our minds switch into autopilot with everything of high importance and needing to get accomplished quickly. We start rushing when rushing is not necessary, or multitasking ourselves into ineffectiveness. This is particularly true for type A executives and leaders who tend to get caught in the cost of time ideal, making everything time-sensitive and urgent, when in fact, only a few matters at hand take true priority.

Research from a publication in 2015 titled “To Multitask or Not, That is the Question” notes that multitasking can reduce effectiveness of even the most refined brains. According to Dr. John Medina, author of the New York Times bestseller “Brain Rules: 12 Principles for Surviving and Thriving at Work, Home, and School,” being interrupted during a task can lead to 50 percent or more errors. Juggling multiple tasks at once is ineffective compared to immersing yourself mindfully and cultivating solutions strategically and efficiently.

When you need to do work two or three times over because you did not do it right the first time, you begin to see the value of patience and the cost of rushing. Mistakes can be costly, and can trap you in a cycle of having to rush even more to make up for wasted effort, causing even greater stress. The answer? Slow down and do it right once. As a leader in your field, you are not only being paid to do things quickly, you are being paid to do things well. And if well means patiently, then you owe it to yourself and others to stay focused.

Being Gets Lost in Becoming

As a culture, we tend to value doing over being. This is especially true when we have multiple tasks to complete under pressure. Yet, while there are some things that take priority to reach our goals, there are those things we simply do to feel or be perceived as productive. Watch for these traps, triggers, and time wasters:

excessive multi-tasking

trying to look busy

worrying about being judged by those engaging in office gossip and negativity

measuring your progress simply in deadlines met

regularly working through your lunch break

When we rush through tasks in order to feel busy or to impress, it’s easy to lose sense of why we are doing them in the first place and their importance to the direction of our lives.

Transactional versus Transformational

Some tasks that keep you busy on a daily basis are purely transactional, keeping you active so that internally you feel you are moving closer to your goals, when in reality, you get caught in an endless cycle of task completion without any real developmental progress. When you confuse task completion with value creation—or worse personal transformation—and commit to busying yourself, it is easy to neglect the importance of transformation to achieve the results you desire.

In recent years, HR departments have tried to refocus organizations and employees to engage in more transformational activities, such as mindfulness and awareness-based practices. While still results-oriented, mindfulness can help move ideas, projects, careers, and lives forward. When individuals engage in transformational activities even around strategy and goal attainment they tend to self-direct and reach goals with greater ease and more mindful effort. In my Mindful Leadership Breakthrough System, we cover important activities such as clarifying personal purpose, mindset inquiry, mental contrasting, or building trust that can all help with the urge to rush.

Using Mindfulness to Get Clear on Your Purpose

If greater and faster effort expended no longer yields improvement in results, and you find yourself rushing constantly, it’s time to slow down, reevaluate, and re-route. Instead of rushing on, create a strategy and think things through. Try these five mindful steps to keep you focused while creating a plan for success that re-aligns your activity with your desired results.

What’s the ideal outcome for today and for the future. Think about your ideal outcome and get clear on your vision of the life you wish to lead. Ask yourself “What does my ideal life look like? What does it feel like? Am I acting in alignment with that?” Often we chase after job titles or companies to work for because we think that’s what we should or ought to do. We don’t reflect on whether or not the details of the position or company culture are in alignment with our personalities, ethics, or life goals. We jump in at the deep end with narrow expectations: more money, more prestige, more power. Remember, the result of your uninformed decision could be your life five months from now, or five years from now. No matter the time frame, time is precious. Get clear on the result you want to accomplish, your ideal outcome, so that you can take necessary and more aligned actions to reach it.

What does success mean to you? Each of us has a different definition of success. For some, success is defined monetarily: I am successful because I earn a six-figure annual salary. For others success means having freedom, or having an abundance of relationships that bring happiness: I am successful because I foster close relationships and maintain a strong community of friends and family. If you don’t define success for yourself, you are more likely to rush in the race toward someone else’s version of it.

Identify your lack of congruence. Pay attention to the actions you take each day that either help or hinder the path to your ideal life. Try to mindfully observe and reflect on your behaviors without judging them. And don’t beat yourself up if your actions do not align with your goals just yet. It just means it’s time to start shifting your focus and re-strategize so that your actions align with the results you want.

Identify the strengths needed for success. What are the skills necessary to actualize your vision of success? What strengths do you already possess that you can tap into and build on? Once you break down the factors necessary to help you achieve your vision you also become more clear on the direction to take in order to acquire the new skills and behaviors you need, or further hone the skills you already have.

Expand those strengths in the present. Do not abandon the skills and strengths you already have for those you don’t as they can help actualize what you wish to achieve. Focus on them, nurture them, and expand them. Your mental and emotional bandwidth is correlated to your ability for refined action. Remember that all qualities you need to succeed reside in the present with you, and whoever gets to the present moment first and fully, wins.

When you consistently rush from point A to point B you miss the subtle nuances of the present moment that bring us joy, build connections, cultivate strengths, provide opportunities, and keep you focused to achieve the vision of our ideal life. Instead of getting caught rushing to nowhere devote some mindful time to slowing down and outgrowing personal habits and limitations to achieve better results.

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