#i have so much random knowledge in my brain of little spots that would ruin the human body for life if broken

[nullapophenia]

untitled work (Protoflicker, chapter 2)

271 words, rated T : Warnings - Self Harm/Suicide

You're getting impatient. Surely there's a faster way to restart, right? (When you don't have any weapon but your fists, how do you go about dying?)

{You're incredibly conscious of your own body.}

{Every single piece of it, every muscle fiber, every layer of skin, every vein that runs through your flesh, powering you like a machine.}

{You're intimately familiar with all the gears that work together to form you.}

{You hand-crafted them yourself, after all.}

{But.}

{That means you're intimately familiar with the exact gears that, when taken out, will cause the whole machine to fall apart.}

{You've gotten impatient these last few loops. You're starting to hate the trip to find a Tear, even if it's not really that far from your designated Safe Rooms.}

{You have an urge in your bones to go faster. Make up the time. Pick up the pace to spend as little time as possible in this Change-forsaken prison of a House so you can finally leave.}

{ . . . }

{The neck.}

{The neck contains the most vital connection to the rest of your body.}

{Sever that connection, and it'll be over, right?}

{You've established to yourself that dying makes you loop. Anything that means you can't continue on. So...}

{You wait until no one's looking.}

{You take a deep breath, steeling yourself.}

{You bring your hands up to your face and press in.}

{Swift motions, Isabeau.}

{Minimize pain.}

{Maximize damage.}

{Cut off access in one}

{swift}

{motion}

{ You twist your own neck.}

{ And then}

"-- ISA???"

{Oh no}

{You fall to the ground, still conscious.}

{You can't breathe.}

{This was not swift or painless.}

{Your party swarms your sides.}

{You can't hear them.}

{You feel healing craft but it's too late, now.}

{ . . . }

{You'll do better next time.}

{You

feel

a tug

and then

[prinxlyart]

I will say, I am hungry again and I have a few ask for your Willumity/Vinira headcannons. HOWEVER to be fair to you. This time I will restrain myself and simply ask for you to share any headcanons you want to share as of now!

You can ALWAYS ask for more Willumity.

A L W A Y S

But!! Since you’ve given me free reign to just play in this sandbox, that’s exactly what I’m gonna do

We all agree that Luz is hella ADHD. This girl will talk for HOURS about the shit she likes. If something grabs her attention, she wants to know everything about it. She doesn’t like being told to do things, but she loves being asked to do things. For example: if someone tells her she needs to do a thing her brain will immediately click into the “No” position and will refuse to budge. If someone asks her to do something, her brain clicks to “help? I can help? I can help with a thing for this person? Yes! I’ll help this person with this task because it will make them happy! Yes! I can help!” This is why acts of service resonate so strongly with her.

I don’t know what mental diversity looks like on the Boiling Isles considering how just. Horror-based everything is? But I’m 100% on that autistic Amity train. She has to do things a Certain Way or she’ll teeter on the edge of a meltdown. She refuses to touch/eat certain textures. She usually doesn’t know what the appropriate response/reaction is to a given conversation, especially with her socialite friends, which is why she just remains a cool mask of indifference. She’ll inspect every detail of anything that’s handed to her. She’s incredibly smart, but doesn’t always know how to convey what she knows and understands into words other people can understand. The only people allowed in her personal space are her siblings. Eventually that also stems to Luz and Willow, maybe more as she grows more comfortable with herself? But usually anyone getting in her space is overwhelming and alarming. Defo has a hard time regulating/processing her emotions.

I need to make an entire post dedicated to Augustus Porter because my boy deserves it, but I’ll toss some random things here. He has a signed poster from the head of the Illusionist Coven framed on his bedroom wall. He and his dad have bi-weekly after-dinner standup comedy sessions with each other (Perry has kept a secret journal of all of Gus’s best jokes he’s done over the years that he reads whenever he needs a pick-me-up).

Perry and Eda knew each other in school in passing. Their social circles overlapped but they were never hanging out in the same groups. When Gus is very little (like, maybe 3 or 4?), Perry takes him to the market to just wander around and they find Eda’s Human Collectibles Stand. She and Perry catch up, he introduces her to his son, and Eda (ever the saleswoman) pulls out some shiny human thing that Gus is immediately taken with. In between her and Perry catching up, Gus asks her a million questions about the thing he’s been given and then even more questions about other stuff at her stand. She actually finds it really fun to show off her human shit to someone so enthralled by it. She makes some stuff up here and there just to mess with him, but he’s too young to realize it’s a joke or not true, and takes everything at face value. We all know Eda likes to get a little theatrical with her sales pitches; she does the Salesperson act with everything Gus asks her about. She lets Gus take a couple items home just because he was such a riot and Perry insists he pay for something, but Eda just waves them off and tells him that this is just an investment in a lifelong customer. She had no idea how right she was because Gus defo became obsessed with human culture from that point on. He also picked up on Eda’s super theatrical sales pitches (because he thought it was funny and because he thought that’s just how you’re supposed to show human stuff to people) and began showing off his own “human collectibles museum” to his dad with the same theatrical voice. Perry plays along with this too (as a news anchor he’s got a great announcer voice) and ta-da! That’s how we get the boy we all know and love today. It’s 100% Eda’s fault, but Perry definitely encouraged it because it made his son so happy. That’s also why Gus doesn’t seem especially perturbed at meeting Eda for the first time in ep 3. Or for interjecting his new Human Knowledge in the moment she was patting Luz’s head. He’s used to having conversations with her about human junk whenever she has her stand up. Eda’s secretly relieved that one of Luz’s new friends is actually someone she kinda knows. It’s Perry’s kid, and Perry’s a good guy. His little squirt seems to be growing up to be pretty good too.

Eda scoffs at “nerdy” shit as if she hasn’t owned the Clawthorne Braincell her entire life. “She worked twice as hard” “-that just made me work harder than you!”. Eda’s extremely smart and extremely talented. She likely created the secret room of shortcuts entirely on her own. She probably studied in the school library constantly, but under the guise of causing mischief. And like. She probably did both. She was a potions track kid so she probably knew all the best ways to make stink bombs that she could leave hidden in the shelves. She hated school because she was so limited and stifled; she only wanted to learn magic and was told no at every turn. So when she learned magic on her own, yknow, without the guidance of a teacher, there’s bound to be some major fuck ups. Once she’s fine-tuned her mistakes though, she absolutely turns them into pranks. You say I’m not allowed to study multiple tracks, bumpikins?? Well how’s THIS!!! How’s THAT for focus??? (Half of her pranks were also just her showing off and desperately hoping to prove that she could learn any type of magic and couldn’t be constrained to just the one. Bump recognized this of course, but he had strict guidelines to follow and no Luz Noceda to call him out for it.)

Camila treasures her daughter more than life itself. I personally refuse to headcanon anything to do with her extended family or why she’s a single parent (too many variables and options that could be addressed in the show), but I do know that she loves Luz more than anything. It’s exhausting being a single mom, working as a nurse, and trying to be there for her ADHD daughter when the rest of the world doesn’t seem to want her. It hurts her so much to see her baby, the light of her life, her Luz, be brushed aside and written off as “the weirdo”, or bullied, or even outright hated by some people just because she’s a little different. She’s had to have some words with the school staff for how they treat her on occasion. Did you see that Principal’s death glare in the first ep?? He hates her. Camila’s there not just because she’s Luz’s parent, but also to act as a barrier between the principal and Luz. She would move Heaven and Earth for Luz, but it can be a lot when you’re the only adult around. I truly believe she wanted Luz to go to that camp to learn how to be friends with kids that didn’t already know her or her quirks. Even she sounded unsure of what they would do at that camp, but she had full faith that this would be Luz’s opportunity to make friends with other kids that could teach her to like....more mainstream stuff. So she could learn how to mimic their (hopefully, toned down) behaviors. She just wants her baby to be accepted by others.

This next one’s a doozy so hold on to your butts

Lilith is technically smart. And I mean that in a literal sense - she can read and understand the fundamentals of magic, the concepts and execution of complex spells, recite entire chapters of Boiling Isles history, you name it. Many adults in her youth called her gifted because of it. All she actually did was absorb the information and regurgitate it when asked. She thrived on the praise she received. What made her different from her sister is that she never wanted anything more than to do as she was told. Her biggest goal? Her dream job? Was to just be given orders by the Emperor. I’m sure there’s all sorts of flowery propaganda surrounding that, advertising how incredible it is to be in the Emperor’s Coven, what an honor it is to work alongside the witch that can speak to the Titan. But it’s literally just. Taking orders. And knowing you’re somehow better than everyone else because you’ve been selected to be among the elite. She never strived for anything more; she never wanted to do anything else but enforce the Emperor’s will because that was “the highest honor” a witch could have. As a result (or in conjunction rather) she lacks literally any amount of foresight. There’s only one braincell in the Clawthorne Family and her sister has it because this dumbass doesn’t think about anyone but herself. Instead of talking with Eda about what they should do when they were told there was only one spot left in the Emperor’s Coven, she walked away. Only thinking of how she could secure her victory. She didn’t ask Eda how she felt about the situation, she didn’t let Eda speak her mind about what her own desires were; Eda made it clear enough that she just wanted to be by Lilith’s side, she didn’t care what that meant. She just wanted to be with her big sister. Eda tried to reach out to her to discuss their cirumstances, but Lilith just walked away like the broody, self-centered teenager that she was and resolved to cheat her way to victory. When Eda knew this was her dream. Why would she think Eda would take away her dream???? She could’ve asked Eda to throw the duel? She could’ve asked her to fake the match? Or even fake sick? Or just not even shown up! If she didn’t show up it could’ve counted as a forfeit and Lilith would’ve earned the spot by default! But no, she had to ruin her sister’s entire life in an act of cowardice and dishonor because she’s so full of herself and didn’t read the fine print. She loves her sister, of course she does, but she’s so self-absorbed that she’s never seen Eda for who she actually is and wasted both of their lives as a result. And this is all just analysis of her character and that flashback, this isn’t even headcanons. I think if she has any amount of respect for her sister (she doesn’t), her redemption will have to go far far beyond an apology and taking on half the curse. When I say Lilith is a dumbass, this is specifically what I mean. She doesn’t think about how her actions will affect those around her. She was the Head of the Emperor’s Coven, literally one of the most powerful positions she could possibly be in on the Boiling Isles and still sacrificed Amity’s dignity and years of hard work just so she could be ensured that she could one-up her sister. She did this in front of everyone in attendance of that Witches Duel. She risked Amity’s credibility as a witch, as a Blight, and as a person just to fuel her own ego. It’s no wonder Amity was so upset; the witch she’s been idolizing her whole life didn’t think she had what it took to best a human that couldn’t do magic in a witches duel. That can fuck up your self esteem something fierce. And Lilith hardly seemed to give a shit!!!! She didn’t care that she just trashed Amity’s reputation in front of dozens of spectators!!!! I’m v bitter about Lilith as a character in case you couldn’t tell.

If I had to throw a headcanon in, I’ll toss one in that sterling and I have discussed: Lilith literally doesn’t know how to live her life as an independent adult. Sure, she knows how to like. Make herself some easy dinners? But that’s literally only because she used to make herself and Eda dinners when they were kids. Beyond that, she has no fucking idea. She can do the basic household chores any teenager knows how to do, but she’s lived in the Emperor’s Castle with the rest of the Coven since she joined. It’s kind of like living in a college dorm; food and a room is provided, there’s maybe a laundry service, she’s never had to pay taxes in her life (not that Eda does, but yknow). The only things she buys for herself (if she doesn’t make it herself) is her hair dye and books. When she first moves in to the Owl House, she has no idea how the household chores are done. She’s on House Cleaning Duty Eternally and the first......I’ll say year. Eda will wake her up by banging pots and pans over her head once every month and scream-singing about how it’s House Cleaning Day, pull out her lawn chairs and some lemonade, and she and Luz (and sometimes King) will just sit back and relax and watch the show that is Lilith trying to clean Hooty. Hooty does not like to cooperate with her (partially because Lilith is a special friend and partially because he knows how much joy it brings Eda and Luz to watch her struggle).

Oof I could go on but this is already one hell of a post huh? Sorry (not really) for dragging Lilith so hard; not a joke, tumblr made me split hers up into two bullet points because it couldn’t comprehend my ranting for so long in one bullet point. I do love sharing these with y’all though, they’re so much fun and I’m so glad you guys like my rambling. <3333

[dust2dust34]

Kale Chips (Olicity, S4, M)

A/N: A prompt request from @novelsandnerdiness​ for the Fic for Food Drive! The prompt was canon Olicity and “Wait, no, don’t take kissing away from me.” I had the idea to put this in Season 3.5, but I liked it in S4 oh so much better.

Summary: Set between 4x06 and 4x07. Oliver and Felicity steal a weekend to reconnect. Leaving the loft to Donna, they book a little house on the outskirts of town where Oliver plans to make her… kale chips?

(read on AO3)

She stuck her tongue out, for concentration. And balance. And sneakiness.

This hadn’t been the plan. She had come in here to start some coffee for after her shower.

And the universe just sort of handed her the opportunity.

Glancing over her shoulder to make sure he was still in the bedroom, Felicity climbed up onto the counter next to the bags of kale she had pulled out.

They’d run into a farmer’s market on the way to the rental house she found last minute. She had been excited, because Oliver’s best recipes came to him when they perused a market, his mind whipping out random bits and pieces of food knowledge she could not - and would not - understand. But he did. It had been hectic, to say the least, since coming back to Starling City - no, Star City. He hadn’t stopped cooking, but she missed those lazy Saturdays he spent fussing around the kitchen, trying new things, asking her to taste, and not just because he might have ruined something, but because everything he touched was culinary heaven.

It was one of the few things she missed about Ivy Town. She didn’t miss Ivy Town itself, but they had been different there. Oliver had been different. She didn’t regret coming back to Star City, and she couldn’t, not even if she tried. They needed the work they did, both of them, for different reasons.

But now they just needed to find a way to keep the them they had found in Ivy Town too.

Hence why they were at this little vacation house.

Especially after her not-so-small freakout on him. About their relationship, and her place in it.

So yes, she had really been looking forward to stopping at the farmer’s market, to watching him work, to going back to simpler times.

Up until Oliver said the words “kale chips.”

Right to her face.

“Not on my watch,” Felicity mumbled, maneuvering up onto the kitchen counter.

It was harder being totally naked. She was vividly aware of her bare ass sticking out in the air as she balanced on her knees. But it was worth it. Felicity inched to the left a bit so she could open the cupboard. There. Large bowls sat in a neat row on the top shelf, just perfect for stashing things behind. A trickle of guilt hit her as she started stuffing crinkling bags of kale behind the bowls, but then she remembered kale chips.

“Ugh.”

And she was leaving one bag behind - she wasn’t a total monster. There were oh so many better things he could make with a little bit of kale versus a metric ton of it for kale chips.

“There are just some things olive oil and spices can’t fix-”

“What are you doing?”

She stopped mid-motion, the last bag in her hand. “Uh… Nothing?”

“Nothing,” Oliver repeated slowly, his voice low and rough like it always was after he just woke up. She glanced back to find him stepping up behind her, boxer briefs low on his hips, hair skewed, a crease slanting over his cheek from the pillowcase. He looked sexy and gorgeous and rumpled… and annoyed. No, not annoyed. Confused. Maybe even a tiny dash of amusement. He definitely wasn’t pleased, that was for sure. He cocked an eyebrow at the bag in her hand. “Because it looks like you’re hiding kale in the cupboard.”

“Safe-keeping,” she blurted.

“You’re safe-keeping kale in the cupboard?”

Felicity grimaced. “I’m sleepwalking?” she offered. Nope, that sounded worse. And yet… “I mean, that would definitely explain the sight of your crazy naked girlfriend on the counter hiding a bunch of kale, wouldn’t it? That sounds way more reasonable and logical and that is exactly what is happening. No? Okay, well, that’s because this is a dream.”

“A dream?”

“Yep.” She turned to finish her task. “That’s exactly what this is. You’re dreaming-”

Warm hands grasped her bare waist and then he was lifting her off the counter.

She gasped. “Oliver-”

“This feels very real to me,” he grunted and somehow he had her turned around in his arms and tossed over his shoulder. Something primal fluttered in her stomach at the blatant display of strength, but Felicity still sputtered as she found herself face-to-face with the elaborate burn scar across his lower back. He grasped one of her ass cheeks as he walked back to the bedroom. “Oh, that’s very real.”

“Oliver!”

He tossed her onto the unmade bed. The bag of kale she still held flew free, sending the leafy vegetable scattering across the sheets. He climbed on top of her, using his bulk to nail her to the mattress. She moved to touch him in a small act of placation, but he grabbed her hands before she could and pinned them next to her head.

“Oliver-”

“What were you doing, Felicity?” he asked. Slowly. Decisively.

Sexily.

“I, uh, was…”

“Felicity,” Oliver whispered with a sexy rise of his eyebrow. “Talk to me.”

She was suddenly very aware of the hard press of his body against hers. Those thin boxer briefs did nothing to hide the bulge pressing against her thigh, and the sleepy look on his face in conjunction with dragging her name out really didn’t do her any favors. In fact, all the favor was for him as she found herself melting under his interrogation.

“Hmm?” he prompted as he dipped down and nipped at her jawline.

His breath razed over the tender skin of her neck, and then his lips were there, licking, nipping, teasing, finding her pulsepoint before working up to her ear. He sucked her lobe between his lips, his teeth making her shudder. Her nipples beaded and she arched her back, the pearled buds scraping over his scarred chest. He hummed his approval and sucked harder. Sensation washed through her and all she could manage was a little inquisitive hum.

“What were you doing?” he whispered into her ear, his tongue tracing the shell.

More noises. Sounds. Grunts. Whispers. She had no idea.

“Were you hiding the kale from me?”

Something unintelligible fell out of her.

“Felicity.”

“I… was, uh…”

He kissed his way over her cheekbone, her nose, her other cheek, down her jaw. His lips grazed over the corner of her mouth and she tried to turn to capture his lips with hers, but he evaded her. Felicity frowned as he kissed down her chin, then up… She tried to kiss him again, but he moved out of the way before she could. Something akin to begging was on her lips as she tugged on her hands where he held her fastened to the bed, but he didn’t let her go. And when she tried to capture his lips again, he moved away. Again.

“Kiss me,” she breathed.

“No.”

“Oliver.”

“What were you doing?”

The question was too confusing for her brain to process just then. Instead she lifted her head up off the bed to find his lips. All she got, though, was a sloppy, wet smack of her open mouth against his chin and then he was pulling away from her.

Felicity growled. “Kiss me-”

“Nope.” He dragged his lips along her jaw. Teasing her. Just when it was getting good, when he started sucking at the sensitive spot at the base of her jaw, he pulled back. “No more kisses.”

“Wait, no, don’t take kissing away from me-”

“Then tell me what you were doing.”

“I…” Felicity huffed. “I don’t like kale chips.”

He smirked. He actually smirked. “And?”

“And? What do you mean ‘and’?”

“I know you don’t like kale chips,” he said with a grin. “I was teasing you yesterday. I was going to make that kale pesto pizza tonight and then use the rest in a parmesan casserole tomorrow.”

“Oh,” she said lamely, her face heating.

Oliver chuckled. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice all that kale missing?”

“I hadn’t exactly thought that far ahead,” Felicity admitted and he laughed. “I guess I should leave the ideas to when I’m caffeinated, huh?”

“Probably a good idea,” he replied. He let go of her to frame her head with his hands. Felicity immediately wound her arms around his shoulders, snuggling in as he pushed his fingers into her hair. “Hey.”

“Hmm?” she hummed.

“As much as I loved the view when I walked into the kitchen,” he said and she flushed, “next time, just talk to me.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, running her fingers down the side of his face.

“Whatever it is,” Oliver continued, brushing hair off her temples, “we’ll get through it.”

Felicity stared into his eyes. He wasn’t talking about the kale, and they both knew it. They had mended the rift that had inexplicably opened up between them - the rift she had sort of made herself - but she could still see the lingering hurt and confusion that he’d fallen into the more she had pushed him away. She had done some damage here… and she’d just made it worse by hiding freaking kale instead of just telling him she didn’t like kale chips. Or talking about it to discover that he already knew.

“No more hiding,” Felicity said. “No more secrets. Of the kale variety, or of the this-is-freaking-me-out-and-I-don’t-know-how-to-talk-about-it variety.”

“Or of the hiding-it-for-your-own-good variety, like pretending there wasn’t email in Bali.”

Felicity grimaced. “I’m horrible.”

Oliver dropped a kiss on her nose. “You’re not horrible. You had good intentions.”

“I promise to talk to you,” she vowed.

“And I promise to talk to you,” he replied.

They shared a soft kiss.

And then Oliver shoved his hands underneath her with a grunted, “Hold on,” before hauling her up off the bed. She let out a little squeak, her insides warming as his muscles rippled under her hands. “Let’s hope you didn’t waste all the hot water during your kale thievery.”

“Oliver.”

He paused in the bathroom doorway, holding her close as he looked up at her.

Felicity sifted her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’m sorry.”

He smiled and he tilted his head up. She read him loud and clear and pressed her lips to his. When he pulled back, he winked at her. “Shower sex and we’re good.”

“Oh, I think I can accommodate that.”

“And then you have to eat some kale chips.”

“Ew, no!”

His laughter - that rare, beautiful, gorgeous laughter that always made her heart clench, that she vowed to do everything she could to always hear it, including facing her own demons - echoed through the bathroom as they once again found each other.

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Witches, Chapter 29: something of an overdue talk, in a long overdue chapter.

Hey everyone! We’re back at it, hopefully, with a few orders of business.

First things first: I’d like to issue a small warning for a short discussion of past suicidal ideation that pops up during this chapter. Since this series is a retelling, generally most of you do know what’s coming up next and what we’ll run into and to brace ourselves for that. You know about the characters’ past traumas and future choices and know where that pops up, or if it becomes unexpectedly relevant or makes a new parallel, you did at least know in advance that it happened. Phoenix’s occasional oblique allusion to Edgeworth’s “choosing death”, for instance. 

As this is not something quite like that and comes up more out of nowhere than usual, I just wanted to make sure that no one is uncomfortably caught off-guard. It felt like something different to me personally as I was writing - whether it’s going to strike any of you as different than other heavier material we’ve had in the past, I can’t say, but I’m erring on the side of caution today. If you’ve got any questions or concerns or anything you want done for content warnings in the future, please do come talk to me and let me know!

On two lighter notes: thank you all for bearing with me through the “oops all Fire Emblem only Fire Emblem” hiatus. It’s been a weird year, obviously. I’m hoping that I can carry on with room in my brain for both.

And finally: Happy UR-1 day! Today is, yes indeed, the exact day that Simon Blackquill is arrested for murder, and in honor of that, have a chapter where I mention him one (1) entire time.

[Seelie of Kurain Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

[Witches of Los Angeles Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

----

Golden Saturday-morning sunlight streams in through the blinds, lighting up the dust particles swirling through the air. The office is colder than Apollo expects for the end of October - colder than it was last year this time - and Phoenix is even wearing a sweater, the shining locket that Apollo hasn’t seen in a while hanging around the outside of the tall collar. “Morning,” Phoenix says, without raising his eyes from what appears to be a manila folder full of newspaper clippings he is perusing. “What’s up?” 

Straight to business, then. Apollo is fine with that. He grabs the chair from his desk and drags it around, not directly in front of Phoenix’s desk, but near enough that it will be harder for Phoenix to ignore him.

“Is there any way to break a curse?” he asks, shoving his hands deep in the pocket of his hoodie. If it were this cold in a regular office on a Saturday, that would make sense; save money on heating bills when no clients are coming in. This is just - fae bullshit. The beginning of their seasonal tantrums. Winter only properly begins on the solstice, and Apollo really wishes that the fae of Kurain would respect the astronomical seasons. Stave off the snow until the end of December and end it in March. Don’t allow it to span from October to April. 

Phoenix sweeps the scraps of paper all back within the folder and ducks down to set it inside a drawer. “If I knew a way,” he says, rising back up with the magatama in hand and setting it down on his desk with a hard clack, “do you think I would go around looking like I do? You don’t think I would’ve gotten this mess cleaned up a long time ago?”

He doesn’t offer Apollo the magatama for a refresher on what that mess looks like. Maybe he was just making a dramatic point with it. “Oh,” Apollo says, scratching the back of his head, faintly embarrassed by how obvious the answer is if he’d given it a modicum of thought from that perspective. “I guess not.”

“Right,” Phoenix says. “As my understanding goes, you can theoretically maybe mitigate a curse, if you layer another opposing blessing on. I am ‘lucky’” - he makes sarcastic quotation marks to ensure that the bitterness dripping from the word doesn’t go unnoticed, as if Apollo could possibly not notice - “to have known enough fae that I’m saddled with both Fortune and Misfortune, and Life and Death. But I’m also not certain that when you drop those on each other they don’t just each take their own separate niches. I’m not dead, but god knows when I try to go somewhere for a vacation or a day off, I still stumble across crime scenes like nothing else. Stunningly lucky in some aspects, and wildly unfortunate in others. You know me. I don’t need to elaborate too much, do I?”

Apollo nods. 

“So that’s the theory, but I don’t think that helps anyway for your purposes, which - this is about Prosecutor Gavin?”

Apollo nods again. Phoenix sighs and rubs his eyes. “Shit,” he says, folding his hands together in front of his face and leaning his head against them. “I - believe me, Apollo, I wish I had some - I wish I had any way to help him.”

And Apollo does believe him. Apollo has to believe him, and believe that Phoenix means well, because he’d go crazier if he wasn’t reminding himself that Phoenix’s most frustrating decisions are born out of good intent. That Phoenix thinks he knows what’s best, but there’s still that old saying about good intentions. 

“Why didn’t you tell him?” Apollo asks. “You knew before this. You knew before he asked you.”

Phoenix raises his head. “And what does telling him get him? Secure in the knowledge that his brother - who is already in jail by the way, don’t need any more proof of his crimes, he’s already never getting out to be able to hurt anyone ever again - hates him enough to have wished him dead?”

Basically the same reasoning that Klavier had, but Apollo has a counterargument now. “Gives him time to come to terms with it before someone dies!”

“You don’t!” Phoenix slams his palms on the desk. Apollo flinches. Of course everyone is volatile and heated over this topic, but that doesn’t make it easier in the moment that it first gets directed at him from people who are usually frustratingly calm and casual. But Phoenix winces, lifting one of his hands and dragging his fingers through his hair, and sighs. “I’m sorry,” he says, and repeats, much quieter, “You - you don’t. Or I never didn’t. I knew from right when it happened that I was cursed; I had three years between then and when Mia died - it - I could’ve had a decade, or two, and it - it wouldn’t have helped. I wouldn’t have felt any differently. Any more come to terms with it. With the thought that I - helped cause—”

His tongue heavy in his mouth, Apollo nods. “But - but wouldn’t it have been worse to find out right after she died?”

“Of course it would have,” Phoenix says blithely. “Of course that - this - is the worst possible alternative. Of course I would’ve said something if I’d known that this was what would happen instead.”

“But you have to have expected that someone would—”

“No, I didn’t,” Phoenix interrupts. “That’s not how this works. You know Klavier. You know how much he doesn’t say, don’t you? How much I don’t - you know what people like us are like. Who’s going to tell him? Sebastian forgets half the time that he even has the Sight. Kay only acts like she knows things. Prosecutor Blackquill spent until two days ago acting like magic isn’t real even when he knew we knew otherwise. Someone who means ill isn going to keep that information to use it, and not to just plainly say something.” He frowns. “Well, usually not. Unless they’re a clumsy interloper stumbling in somewhere they don’t belong and getting themselves fucked over for it too.”

“So other than Means just walking all over everything” - because he wasn’t immersed in this kind of fae etiquette, didn’t grow up in it, learned just enough to spot what he thought were opportunities and ruined himself by it - “you think every other random stranger is just going to respect all these - these weird little rules about what you don’t say?”

“Rules of engagement, basically,” Phoenix says. “Yeah, I do.”

“Prosecutor Gavin told me that you’re cursed,” Apollo says. “Don’t just tell me that’s - that’s the exception that proves the rule, or whatever.”

Phoenix’s expression, smug and trying to dampen that smugness back into something that respects the seriousness of the conversation, tells Apollo that yes, yes that is absolutely what his retort was going to be. Apollo considers screaming. “I’ve been tangled up in this for far too long,” Phoenix says. “I can promise you, I know the patterns. I know the way these things go.”

“And because you’re so much smarter than the rest of us, that makes it okay?” Apollo demands. “To take a gamble and just hope that it won’t go wildly wrong?” 

And he wants to, really wants to add, I guess that’s what you do, just gamble with people’s fates, and he doesn’t, and Phoenix’s face still darkens like he knows, like he can read Apollo’s mind. Because every time Apollo ends up arguing with him, that’s always at the core. This playing card that haunts them both, burnt a bridge barely built, and they keep trying to balance on the ashen skeleton of it. “Just because Prosecutor Gavin is too fucked up about everything else to be mad at you for hiding this—”

“I did,” Phoenix says, voice low, eyes narrowed and dark as an evening’s storm clouds, “what I thought would be best, based on my prior experiences of both how curses don’t get talked about, and knowing exactly what it is like to personally live with knowing that I’m cursed. This is not something I want anyone to have to know how it feels.”

“So you think ignorance is bliss,” Apollo says. Klavier said that. Apollo wants to know how Phoenix takes that statement.

“I wouldn’t call it ignorance,” Phoenix says. “It’s not like he, or you, didn’t know what Kristoph was like until you found this out. You know the crime, the verdict, the sentencing - and everything else that Kristoph tried but failed to do. That Kristoph also wanted Klavier dead is only another small piece in the grand scheme of it all.” 

Still the same argument that Klavier made; Apollo can’t imagine they discussed it. What brought them to the same conclusion? That they both have lived this strange specific kind of grief? This common ground that they share that is foreign to Apollo.

“Come to terms with - Klavier’s already got to come to terms with the rest of that,” Phoenix continues. “It was obvious during that trial how much Kristoph despised him. He knew that too. He knows that Kristoph ruined more lives than just the people he murdered - that he tried to kill more people than he actually succeeded at - cursed and tried to kill children because he couldn’t have - didn’t want anyone remaining who - who could - could… say…”

If Phoenix hadn’t faltered like that - fumbling and failing to continue, words petering out as he went back over what he just said, his eyes going wide and welling up with horror - then Apollo would have simply assumed that his thoughts were moving too fast for his mouth and he couldn’t keep them straight. It would have been easy to talk right through it, and Apollo wouldn’t think twice. If Phoenix hadn’t showed his own hand, gave the game away. Something too terrible for even seven years of professional poker to hide. 

“Mr Wright?” Apollo asks, and Phoenix turns his head, glancing away away, no longer meeting his eyes when less than a minute ago he was staring him down with a cold confident glare. “What - what are you talking about? Vera, and - not someone else? Who else?”

Phoenix makes a tiny shake of his head, and even that little motion is a bright, distinct liar’s red. It lights up his eyes, too, when they dart down to the floor. “Mr Wright?” Apollo repeats. When would this have been? He casts his mind over everything he learned, just a little over a year ago, Phoenix sitting him down to explain seven years of information collected about Kristoph, what he’d done and how he’d tried to cover it up. He tried to kill Drew Misham to tie up that loose end; he cursed and poisoned Vera, two precautions because he wasn’t confident enough in the former, hoping that if she ever left the house she wouldn’t be able to speak to his identity and the forgery he requested. He killed Zak Gramarye seven years later to hide the same. He wanted to eliminate every link in the chain that connected the diary page to him. Its makers Vera and Drew, and Zak who knew he was the first attorney on the case, and then the page got to Phoenix via—

Via—

“Mr Wright,” Apollo says. His voice shakes. “He didn’t—”

“Promise me something, Apollo,” Phoenix says firmly. His mouth is drawn in a tight line but he doesn’t look stern. He looks more like he’s going to cry and is desperately trying to stop himself. “Promise me.”

“Wh - what? I can’t—”

“Promise me, Apollo.”

Not until you tell me what I’m promising, Apollo thinks, Apollo knows is what he should say. He’s been told this enough times; he’s aware of this on his own. Don’t agree to a deal before all the terms are set. Don’t sign the contract before it’s read thoroughly. Rules for lawyers and fae are the same. Just because Phoenix means well doesn’t mean that Apollo agrees with those decisions he makes; certainly not the one they have been discussing, and likely not whatever Phoenix is asking him to agree to. 

“Please.”

The air in the office is so cold. Even the sunlight seems cold now. Apollo shivers, hunches himself up further. What does Mia think? Is this secret-keeping so natural to her, easy as breathing once was, because she’s fae and that’s what they are, liars by trick and by trade?

“Just promise me you won’t tell her until I do.”

His mouth dry, Apollo nods and croaks out, “All right. I won’t.”

He almost regrets pushing the issue,regrets ever asking Phoenix why he faltered. Phoenix sits slumped, his hands in his hair, and when he glances back up at Apollo, he looks so exhausted that it reminds him of Klavier last night. Burnt-out and broken, when it’s so rare for either of their masks to break. Rarer for Phoenix not to be positioning himself as the one with all the cards in hand; for him to fall apart, for Apollo to actually see him upset. “Yeah,” he whispers, soft enough that Apollo sits forward to make sure he can hear him. “Everyone involved in getting the diary page from him to me, Kristoph wanted dead, or to make sure he could silence them. Everyone who knew, even if she was - eleven years old, or eight. The girl who made it, and the girl who gave it to me. He fucking hated the Gramaryes. You think he didn’t jump at the opportunity to try and get rid of all of them that he could? That he wouldn’t cast a curse on each one who ever entered his sight?”

“And she” - Apollo’s voice cracks - “she doesn’t know? You didn’t tell her?”

“Shit, no,” Phoenix says. He sounds close to cracking, too, and when he drops his hands to his desk he starts shaking his head, his eyes scrunched closed. “Being a Gramarye has been goddamn enough of a curse for her. She lost all her family and then found out that her grandfather buried her mother’s soul in the woods because he was a monstrous son-of-a-bitch who deserved worse than getting to go out on his own terms by shooting himself in the fucking head—”

Apollo shudders. Phoenix had never before directly stated his opinion on Magnifi, but Apollo could definitely tell he held only disdain for the man. This, though, is more than disdain. This is positively venomous, and more than a bit frightening. Did he always feel like this, and hid it, or is this hatred something that has only come about since last year Trucy came back to the office with her mother’s soul in her hands?

“—so yeah, on top of that, I’m definitely going to tell her that the same man who killed her father cursed her just because of the accident of who her family is.”

“B-but—” Apollo doesn’t quite know what he’s arguing. He also doesn’t know where all of his prior conviction went. Of course Klavier should have been told - because he found out in the worst way possible - and Trucy - to take a gamble with her too - that’s got to be just as wrong— “Nine-Tails Vale,” he says suddenly. “We went there, and then there was a murder - that - that’s - is that like—”

“Like what happens to me?” Phoenix asks. “What happens with a curse? Yes. That’s how it goes.”

“And you - you’re not going to - to tell her? Ever? In case - in case something happens to her like with Klavier, or—” Too many thoughts are playing in his head, and the next one grabs hold of him and pivots him away from the point he was going to make about maybe why Trucy should know. “The concert,” he says. “When we went to the concert, Trucy and I, and Klavier was there too of course but that’s - Romaine LeTousse was murdered. They’re both cursed and they - wait, was Klavier cursed then? That was before…” 

Did Klavier know when it happened? Did he tell Apollo? He’d said that Phoenix had seen him twice since the trial last October. Presume then that Kristoph cursed him then. The last time the brothers saw each other, and that doesn’t make one bit of sense. 

“How could Kristoph have cursed him?” Apollo asks, and he doesn’t miss a momentary flash of panic that passes over Phoenix, his eyes popping wide for half a second and a loud, sharp intake of breath. “Klavier always has iron on him. He gave me—” He looks down at his hand, and then back up, to Phoenix’s lifted eyebrows. Apollo sticks his hand back in his pocket. “What’s the point in iron if it doesn’t actually save you from being cursed?”

Phoenix is obviously trying not to move. He knows Apollo is watching him, waiting for a twitch, anything to pounce on and draw an answer out of him. Staring steadily back at Apollo, he barely blinks; he rests his folded arms on his desk and his fingers curl just a little tighter into where he’s gripping his arm. Apollo is right to be asking these questions. He’s getting closer to something that Phoenix is hiding. 

“Or it does,” Apollo says. The veins on the back of Phoenix’s hand flex from his grip. Apollo thinks about someone else with a tense hand and secrets. “And he couldn’t have been cursed then, at Vera’s trial, if it does. So then Mr Gavin hated him that much before then.” Phoenix blinks placidly, but he doesn’t adopt his lazy-eyed gaze. Too serious even for that. “And you lied,” Apollo adds. “You lied about when.”

Phoenix flinches. It’s just a tiny one, pulling his head back, the muscles in his jaw and neck tightening, but Apollo can’t miss the light show. Can’t miss that the lie is bleeding out of him.

He finds himself on his feet, not stepping any closer to Phoenix’s desk, just needing the height, just needing to move a little to stop the shaking in his hands and in his chest, a trembling that goes right down to his heart. “He knew already that he’s cursed! Why did you keep lying to him!” 

“I didn’t lie to him,” Phoenix says evenly, but very quietly, and Apollo wants to go over and slam his fists on the desk and make him stop with these hollow justifications, make him face what he’s done couched in none of his winding words. “I just didn’t correct his assumption.”

“That’s lying!” Apollo shouts. “That’s still lying! That’s what happened in Mayor Tenma’s trial! Do you remember that? Do you care!” 

“Don’t accuse me of not caring.” Phoenix’s voice is low, his eyes dark, staring up at Apollo. “I do care. I—”

“You don’t care about lying! But you do care about - what, about us? Doing this because you care, because you always know what’s best for everyone not to know!” Apollo throws his hands in the air. Phoenix’s brow furrows further, his jaw set tightly. “Never mind that Athena had a breakdown during the trial because Means hit her exactly where you were worried she would be! And you didn’t prepare her! Never mind that Klavier’s having a breakdown now because he found out at the worst possible time! When you could have told him! You know—”

“And if what he knows already hurt him this badly, then what do you think would be happening if he knew Kristoph cursed him years ago?” Phoenix slams his hands on his desk like he’s at the defense’s bench, pushing himself up out of the chair and onto his feet. “That his brother’s wanted him dead for that long? You think that’ll help anything, for him to find that out right now on top of all this? You want him to have that to come to terms with right now, too? I didn’t lie to him! He made an assumption that I didn’t correct because I’m not in the business of salting anyone’s wounds!”

He makes - a point. Apollo sees where he’s coming from. Why he’d do that. An additional piece of truth, yesterday the same as a salting of the wound. “But you don’t think he’s ever wondered if - if Mr Gavin resented him for that long? If he - if you would be setting something to rest, if you told him that. You can’t decide for someone else what they’re capable of handling.”

“Fair point,” Phoenix says. He sinks back down into his chair, and then motions to Apollo’s, suggesting he sit back down. “If he’d asked, I’d have told him. If he ever asks, I’ll tell him. I just wasn’t about to drop that on his head with him unprepared. Or if he asks you - I’m not asking you to swear silence to that. Shit, if you ever think that it’ll help him to know, then tell him - tell him you just found out from me, throw me under the bus and lie to make me look worse, that’s fine.”

Apollo returns to his chair, still not feeling any less like he wants to take a swing and see if he’s gotten any better at punching since last April. “You want me to lie now too?” he asks. 

“I want you to use your best judgment about what he might want to know or be able to handle,” Phoenix says. “To not pile on more if he didn’t ask, if you don’t think he’s prepared. Like I said, when it comes to being cursed, I didn’t ever not know, and I know what the knowing is like. Yeah, I took a gamble that if I didn’t tell them then no one else ever would. That they’d never know, I hoped.” 

He shakes his head and then leans it back against his chair, his eyes closing. “See, it’s not just grief, not at all. The woman who cursed me was someone I thought I knew. Though I’d known for a while. She had actually wanted me dead since we first met.” His eyes pop back open. “Eventually she tried to poison me, and when that didn’t work she tried to frame me for murder, and when that plan fell apart she just tried to kill me with a curse because she was pissed about it. She was a lot stronger than Kristoph, I’ll tell you that much. But Mia stepped in, and now I’m still alive and other people just drop dead all around me instead.”

He sounds almost like he is making a recitation, like he’s rehearsed it, scripted it. Apollo wonders if he’s ever told anyone else all these details, if anyone else lacking the Sight knows that Phoenix is cursed, and if he used this same script then too. He’s speaking about himself, something so personal, in a way so curt and crisp, so much more detached than he’s been speaking about Klavier, or Trucy. 

Apollo nods numbly, unable to force his tongue to ask any of the questions he has.

“I could have come to grips with her hating me that long and that much - I could’ve come to terms with it and moved on. I was - well, I eventually became glad to know what she was. I could’ve been okay with all that. Eventually. If I hadn’t known about the curse. But I did and the - the knowing, the - Mia was murdered. Three years after she saved me. That long, thinking I could accept that I was cursed, and as soon as something really happened - I couldn’t.”

He presses his hands together and rests them against his chin. “And I couldn’t ever even just grieve her, because I had this guilt. That her death was my fault - I know, I know, some other man murdered her. He got to rot in jail for the rest of his life for his crimes, and he would’ve hated her whether or not I was cursed. For the things she did and because of what he was, and I had no part in any of that, but I was still - thinking, if maybe if she hadn’t ever taken me under her wing. If I hadn’t been around, maybe it would’ve been different somehow. Maybe she would have survived.”

The lights flicker gently and return dimmer and softer than they were before. Everything that gets talked about in this office, Mia hears; Apollo wonders if Phoenix doesn’t get sick of it sometimes, just want to say something without her offering input. Even if this is presumably well-meant, some attempt at comfort, the most a dead woman who can’t speak can give. Apollo exhales and can see his breath. He shivers again. “Why are you telling me this?” he finally asks. 

“I want you to understand.” Phoenix rubs his hands together, a vacant look in his eyes, like he hasn’t quite realized why he’s so suddenly cold. “What it felt like, and what I’m worried about. If I’d told Klavier, or I tell Trucy - once I say something, I can’t take it back. That’s it, and they know, forever, just like I do. So I want to be sure that this won’t - I want—” He drops his hands and reaches over and picks up the magatama, idly spinning it around between his fingers. Apollo can’t remember ever seeing him this uneasy, this fidgety. “Klavier, especially, reminds me of myself when I was his age, and of a prosecutor I knew then, too. And that - recognition” - he gestures with the magatama clutched in his hand - “is not good, because we were not - okay.”

Apollo wishes he could remember with clarity all that Phoenix said to him about this time a year ago, about Klavier, about Phoenix being concerned for him. He does remember that Phoenix said something about some other prosecutor then, too, that Klavier reminded him of. Or that he was worried Klavier was going to end up like.

Phoenix inhales slowly, and says, “Six months after Mia was murdered - which was three, three and a half years after I was cursed, mind you - I lost someone else. I didn’t realize how badly he was doing - he did a good job at hiding it, and I didn’t know how to reach out. I was wrapped up in my own loneliness and depression, and then he was gone.” 

He stops turning the magatama between his fingers, staring down at it for a few seconds, and then he resumes fidgeting with it. “I felt like I’d caused both of those. Couldn’t convince myself otherwise. Every other factor I knew there was, every single thing I couldn’t prevent or control, all these other things that other people did - I still thought that if I wasn’t cursed, then it could have been - just different enough that they would still be here.” He reaches up, brushing his fingertips across his temple. “Wouldn’t have been a fatal wound. Or wouldn’t have—”

He falters, staring past Apollo now, over at the window. This is the same thing he said about Mia earlier, about that sense of guilt, even knowing someone else murdered her. That he held some kind of responsibility, for a curse that seems to manifest itself as coincidence. Just coincidence, a little too often. 

“They could’ve been okay, somehow, in the end, I thought,” he continues. “And instead, I was - I was there, I was still around, and they weren’t. And all I could think was that if I didn’t do something, then I would just lose the other few friends I still had - they would be around me, and they would die for it.”

“Didn’t you say that there’s no way you know to break a curse?” Apollo asks. From Phoenix’s solemn expression, he’s not going to suddenly say that there is a method, but Apollo has no idea what he is going to say. What that something he thought to do was. 

“Right,” Phoenix says. “So I thought - only way to take the curse out of the equation is by taking myself out of the equation. I thought - as long as I’m not around - if I go and die, then anyone else who I love won’t. The curse will be gone, right, if death finally takes me. But the curse only seemed to hit other people, not me, so if dying was what I needed to do, then I…”

Klavier lying on the stage, wondering why it had to be Courte who died instead of himself. Phoenix’s dark, pained eyes, as he speaks again, finishes the thought in a voice barely above a murmur. “It made - made far too much sense to me, then. Was far too appealing a prospect.”

The question of what Phoenix won’t quite spell out catches sideways in Apollo’s throat, and when he tries to force it he just makes a soft croaking sound. Phoenix presses his lips together and glances away. “It’s a pain I wouldn’t wish on anyone,” he adds softly. “Klavier’s - he’s what, twenty-whatever? I was twenty-five when I—” 

When Mia died, Apollo thinks, but that Phoenix doesn’t finish the thought, swallows hard and stares at his desk and says something else, makes Apollo think there was something even worse he could have said, with that implication he didn’t say. “And Trucy - she’s my daughter. I’m supposed to protect her. I took her in because I couldn’t live with the thought of anything else happening to her when I could bring her here, hope that Mia could somehow bless and protect her as much as she did me. But I can’t imagine just - I can’t let that happen to her. To suffer the way I did, to - to spend her life wondering if wherever she goes, someone’s going to die - the concert, Nine-Tails Vale, to ever - to think she can blame herself. Or that everyone she loves is better off without her. Or to—”

He blinks, fiercely, his eyes watering, and Apollo hopes he’ll never have to see Phoenix this close to tears again. Phoenix, cursed and trying - and in the case of Klavier, now failing - to shelter others from that same pain. Klavier, and Trucy, and—

“What about Vera?” he asks. “You explained to me, but did you ever tell her that she’s—” Phoenix stares at him, blinks slowly. Apollo squeezes his own eyes shut. “You didn’t tell her.” He’s unable to muster the same indignation he was before. He can’t really even bring himself to feel manipulated. Phoenix told him exactly that he was saying all this to make Apollo understand. Phoenix sought this reaction. But Phoenix’s chessmaster act has never superceded his desire to keep secrets before; there’s no way that Apollo can convince himself that this emotional vulnerability is all entirely a ploy to get Apollo to shut up. How many times has he refused to explain something and just left Apollo to stay angry about being in the dark? He has never been reluctant to do that. To just sit silent and lock Apollo out. To let Apollo hate him for his secrets.

He wanted Apollo to understand, intimately, whatever it took. So that Apollo would agree keep these secrets. So that Apollo would go along with him. And it might be concern that drives him - he cares, of course he does - but it’s still manifesting in the most infuriating ways possible. In well-meant silence.

“Would you want to know?” Phoenix asks, and that question at this time is an answer and confirmation in itself. “I know the truth is important to you, Apollo - I know it is to all of us.” 

For once, Apollo believes he means it. He’d know it’s the truth because he can see when Phoenix is lying, but he’s actually convinced, this time. 

“But,” Phoenix continues, “if you already know that the person who cast the curse hates you and is in jail for committing murder - already got to come to terms with that, or grieve that, or for someone else dead - you already know that truth. Would you really, honestly want to live with also knowing that you’re cursed?”

To possibly want to die because of it, like Phoenix did? Apollo opens his mouth. He wants to say yes, yes he would like to know, because that’s the truth of it and he wants to always know the truth, all of its facets no matter how ugly. 

Doesn’t he? 

He thinks about Nahyuta, about Dhurke, about trying to forget they ever were anyone, because that’s easier than facing the fact that Dhurke abandoned him, and they might both be dead by now. Easier than wondering whether they were human or fae or something else. He doesn’t want to know what they were. He wants to deny the dreams, to convince himself they’re nothing but the weird subconscious mash-up of memory and the fae horrors Clay has spent all these years warning him about. He doesn’t want the truth about his childhood. He doesn’t want to remember his childhood at all.

(Is it well-meant silence when he doesn’t tell Clay, or Trucy, or Klavier, about them? To not worry them about his life and his past? Or is it just cowardice on his part? Blissful ignorance.)

He closes his mouth. Thinks about the smile Trucy forced onto her face as she realized that Apollo was about to reveal to the court that her father Zak Gramarye was murdered six months before then. Thinks about how she couldn’t keep that smile forced when she found out that her dead grandfather took her mother’s soul for his own personal gain. Thinks about Klavier lying on the stage wishing that he had been the corpse there, not Courte. All the pains that truth has caused them. Is that better or worse than that alternative? Does it depend on what truth it is being hidden?

(He thinks about how long it’s been since he’s said Nahyuta’s name out loud. What color were his eyes in real life, and not Apollo’s haunted dreams? He doesn’t remember.)

“I - I don’t really know,” he admits.

The smug, victorious expression he expects never arrives on Phoenix’s face. There’s no satisfaction in winning this argument. “I’m sorry,” he says, closing his hand around the magatama. “I told you about Vera because it mattered directly for that case, but the rest of this - I wanted to shoulder it myself. So the rest of you don’t have to worry about it. I don’t want you to have to keep secrets from anyone. But I don’t know what else to do.” He forces a smile onto his face with visible effort that makes Apollo wince. Nothing masks the exhaustion written into the lines on his face. “Maybe we put our heads and together we figure out some better way to talk about it. If I ever figure that I should tell…”

He trails off, touching a finger to his locket. Tell Trucy. If he ever gains reason to think that he should tell Trucy. Would he actually run it by Apollo first, ask for his advice? The possibility of being in Phoenix’s confidence for something that isn’t a case doesn’t make a damn bit of sense. 

“I still don’t think you should try and keep it secret forever,” Apollo says, “but I - I guess I see what you mean. And why you don’t just…”

Why he doesn’t just tell her. More reason that just because Phoenix doesn’t “just tell” anyone anything. For once, he’s not being a cryptic bastard.

“Believe me, Apollo,” Phoenix says darkly, “I’m always thinking ahead and trying to plan for the worst. I’m not naive enough to just hope that anything will stay one way ‘forever’. But I have to be sure I don’t make it worse, either.”

It isn’t the lack of a visual cue that makes Apollo believe him. It’s knowing him that makes Apollo believe him. Phoenix always has his eye on something down the line, playing out the plan a few steps ahead to find the complications. Even - especially - while he wasn’t a lawyer. A gambler’s steady hand holding the cards, chancing on an outcome, because the cost of doing nothing at all is even more unthinkable. 

Apollo nods, more times than necessary, lacking anything else to say. Phoenix cocks his head. “Apollo, you all right?” he asks. 

What the hell is he supposed to say - how the hell is he supposed to be? Fine? In what world is he possibly fine? At the end of this, he’s learned more than he ever dreamed he would from his sole initial question, but in it all, that first answer has never changed. 

This is all there is. A rabbit hole of pain so unfathomably deep and winding, and in its darkest depths, the same as the answer given to him on the surface: there’s no way to break a curse. Their lives aren’t the kind of fairy tale where true love’s kiss can wake a sleeping beauty or transform a beast back to a prince - it’s grimmer than that, colder than that, crueler than that. Curses not so concretely visible but more like haunting coincidence, a ghost whispering at the shoulder with reminders of guilt. How could a man who wasn’t even there when the crime happened blame himself for his mentor’s murder? And yet, even after the killer’s confession, how could he not? How can even the curse’s caster be blamed when someone else wielded the murder weapon? And yet, how could they not share in it?

Apollo would rather someone have been turned into a frog, honestly. Wouldn’t that be easier to grapple with, a simple chain of cause and effect, and no ambiguity in who to blame. 

“No,” Apollo finally says. “Not really, no.”

“I guess that was a bit of a stupid question, huh.”

Apollo nods. No kidding. What’s a better question at this point, anyway? Not what he says. “How - how can there really not be any way? For a curse to be broken, I mean.”

Phoenix spins his chair around, resting his head back against it, eyes turned up to the ceiling. Once he slows to a stop, facing the windows, he says, “I mean, maybe it’s possible there was, once, but it was forgotten. There’s a lot of magic that’s gone that way.” 

He gives Apollo a moment to digest that, and then continues, “The Court’s heyday was thousands of years ago. They’re living ruins of what they used to be, and a fraction of what they used to know. Maya - you haven’t met her, she’s Pearl’s cousin - Maya’s helping me out with some matters by trying to dig up more about some kinds of magic they’ve forgotten the nuance of. But even that’s something we’ve got a hint that they knew, once. Not like—” He shrugs helplessly. “I’m sorry. Don’t hold your breath waiting for a way to break a curse.”

“Oh,” Apollo says, somewhat surprised, but pleasantly so, that Phoenix said that much. It would be typical of him just to reiterate that no, there just isn’t any way he knows, that’s all, and to skip the explanation for fear of giving Apollo false hope. But thinking about the prospect of false hope is still easier than really, truly considering the meaning of what Phoenix just said - that this, that everything they’ve ever had to deal with in regards to the fae, could have be so much worse. They could do so much worse than all this pain they’ve ever wrought - they were once so much more dangerous than this, and now their Court is only ruins. This is what they are when they are weak.

“If I do find anything out, I’ll—”

Phoenix breaks off, rising up slowly from his chair, staring at something past Apollo, over his shoulder. Apollo twists around to look, not sure what he expects to see, but it certainly isn’t Vongole standing in the doorway, her head held high, her body much more solid than it usually appears, and stiller. The wispy fur at the back of her legs and off of her tail does not stir as though she is made of mist and surrounded by a breeze that affects only her; she could almost, in this moment, be a normal dog, but for her glowing eyes and her ears so bright red as though they were dipped straight in paint.

All the color drains from Phoenix’s face. He snatches up the magatama and springs to his feet, hurrying past Vongole to peer into the other half of the office. Apollo rises to his feet; if Klavier was here - if he heard what Phoenix was hiding - how Apollo promised to keep it a secret—

Vongole stares at Apollo. She doesn’t move. Phoenix reappears in the doorway, curling a hand in his hair, but his face has fallen slack with obvious relief. The claws curled into Apollo’s heart unclenches. “So then what are you doing here?” Phoenix asks the hound, whose ears fold back flat against her head, though her snout does not turn to shift her attention to Phoenix. She stares Apollo down like she will pounce. “Does he send you places or did you just wander here yourself?”

“You don’t know?” Apollo asks.

“You think I’ve ever had the chance to ask either Kristoph or Klavier about the logistics of their spectral hellhound?” Phoenix asks. Apollo tries to remember when he first started seeing Vongole. Whose ownership she would have been under. How soon after Kristoph’s arrest did Klavier come back to Los Angeles?

Despite her weirdly lanky proportions, like a regular dog was put on a rack and stretched out, Vongole always moves with grace, a predator’s prowl and elegance. A monster, but a beautiful one. She circles Apollo like she intends to herd him somewhere, like she is a shark smelling blood waiting for the moment to strike. “What—” Apollo spins too, trying always to keep her in his sight. She moves just slowly enough that he can keep up, but just quickly enough that he becomes slightly dizzy in his efforts. “What do you want?”

She stops. Apollo steps forward, trying to escape her circle, but she swings suddenly to the side, throwing her body up against Apollo’s hip. He expects her to fade through him, as she does walls and doors, but when she hits him he staggers with the force of her weight. And the cold - her body is cold and it reaches straight through his clothes, cold enough to burn, ice on bare skin type of burning, and Apollo doesn’t understand. He’s touched Vongole before, without problem, hasn’t he? Surely he has. What’s wrong with her? Or is something wrong with Klavier?

She trots over to the door, standing on the threshold, staring back at Apollo with her head aloft. He can’t bring himself to move, can’t unfreeze his feet from where they are riveted into the ground. Vongole presses her ears back against her head, lowering it so that her neck is level with her shoulders, prowling again, and she makes another circle of Apollo before again stopping in the doorway.

“I think she wants you to go with her,” Phoenix says.

She wags her tail, much faster than the usual low, wide swishing path that it takes. Apollo wrenches his foot from the floor and takes one step forward. Vongole bounds through the front room of the office, weaving between magic props tossed carelessly on the floor as though she couldn’t pass through them. And she stops and waits at the door, glancing expectantly back at Apollo. He fumbles his phone free from his pocket, finding no messages waiting for him; why would Klavier do something as cryptic as sending his faery dog to collect Apollo, rather than just calling or texting him?

Unless it isn’t Klavier instructing Vongole. Unless she’s acting on her own. Or unless Klavier is in trouble.

“You’d better go,” Phoenix says. “I can lend you the—”

“It’s fine,” Apollo says. He’s pretty sure that Klavier hates the magatama, and he found him fine without it last night. And he didn’t have Vongole guiding him then. 

“Let me know that everything’s all right,” Phoenix says quietly. Apollo opens his mouth to ask what Phoenix knows, why he’s so sure that this means something is wrong - remembers what Phoenix said about himself and how Klavier reminds him of himself, long ago. Closes his mouth. Knows why Phoenix worries.

Phoenix always worries. He means well. His road is paved in well-intended worry.

“Yeah,” Apollo says. “I’ll - I’ll let you know.”

Vongole waits for him only to reach the door, diving through it as his hand reaches for the doorknob. He next finds her waiting beside the bike rack, her smoky fur drifting independently of the chill breeze, and as soon as he mounts his bicycle she lopes off down the sidewalk. She never looks back at him but is obviously monitoring him in some way, her pace changing depending on obstacles and traffic so that she always remains in his sight. He follows her through the quieter (relatively, anyway) city of weekend mornings, through his usual stomping grounds, to end up on the stoop of an apartment building that is - quite frankly, not as grandiose as Apollo would expect. He presumes this is where Klavier lives.

(If it’s not, then he’s far too deep into something that it’s also far too late to back out of.)

Vongole noses one of the buttons on the buzzer at the entryway and disappears through the door. Only seconds later, too quickly for her to have physically covered the necessary amount of ground, the door clicks to unlock. Apollo enters the lobby and before he has time to take in his surroundings, she appears in front of him. Literally appears - not bounding up to him out of a wall, but materializing out of the air, white fog swirling in circles around her ankles. She directs him to the elevator, pressing her nose into the button for the fourth floor and then several times in quick succession slamming her nose into the close doors button. “So were you always like that, or did you pick up your impatience from him?” Apollo asks.

She sits down and fixes her eyes on him. He doesn’t know what that means. He’s not sure why he bothered talking to her. She can’t respond - can she understand? Does she have some way to communicate information she hears to Klavier? Surely not - hopefully not, depending how long she was in the office.

She does not move until the elevator halts at their destination, and she springs to her feet and slips through the doors before they have opened wide enough for a fully-corporeal dog of her size to pass through. But when he makes it through, she meets him right at the other side, her impatience not taking her any further down the hall until Apollo can follow right at her tail. The walls are not cracked and peeling as in Apollo’s building, but they are certainly plain - again, very much not the kind of place he would imagine Klavier to live.

Vongole throws herself through the door of Apartment 404, and Apollo waits in front of it. A moment passes, and then another. Right. Even a faery dog doesn’t have opposable thumbs to grip a doorknob. He fails to swallow his apprehension but knocks anyway. There has to be a reason Vongole brought him here. He can’t just run away from it. 

The seconds crawl past. Apollo reaches up to knock again, but the door swings suddenly open, and he flinches back.

Klavier’s hair is barely held together in a ponytail, strands falling loose around his face, and he looks even more like he hasn’t slept, going by the shadows under his eyes. And Apollo never thought there would come the day that he sees Klavier in sweatpants, but - he’s still alive. He’s still intact in one mobile piece, and he’s lucid enough to look annoyed. Apollo fumbles for words, any at all, but none arrive on his tongue. He hadn’t thought this far ahead. He starts to raise his arm to point at Vongole, to blame her, and before he can, Klavier sighs, shaking his head, his apparent annoyance sliding into exhaustion, and he steps out of the doorway, pulling the door open wider, and gesturing for Apollo to come in.

-

[notes on the chapter]

[bitchsexuality]

i need to scream into the void for a bit so vent post under the cut

my mom is obsessed with me getting a job which like. i DO understand why and i AM trying to find something long-term that i can handle without having Psychotic Breakdown #234928

well. ok i mean technically she’s obsessed with me studying, not just getting any random job, because... honestly as much as i love her i know that she’s trying to live through me in a way and she has lots of frustrated dreams. and i guess she kind of wants to make sure that doesn’t happen to me too but mostly she just wants to see me as an investment that paid off so that her mistakes don’t seem as bad to her in retrospect

i’m not projecting or assuming there, that is 100% what is happening. and it’s been happening for a long LONG time. like when i graduated high school after dropping out because of Psychotic Breakdown #5 (The Big One!) she said that it was all thanks to her because i wouldn’t have made the effort if she hadn’t pressured/encouraged me to which is. absolutely false, dumb as shit and frankly insulting lmao

Anyway. she’s constantly telling me to find something i love to study so i can get a job i love! and be emotionally fulfilled and feel like i have a purpose! or whatever! but the problem is (i’m gonna make a list it’s easier for me):

- there are only like. four things i consistently enjoy. and that’s rounding up

- if one of those things goes from “thing that i like/that distracts me and relaxes me” to “thing that i have to do every day because my life depends on it” then it’s going to stop being something i enjoy really fucking fast, so in the end doing something i don’t particularly like would be BETTER for me because the end result would be pretty much the same BUT i wouldn’t lose one of the At Best Four Things I Enjoy

- probably repeating myself here but it’s important to note that literally i can NOT think of anything less emotionally fulfilling for me than a job. not saying that’s an universal thing of course but the like, structure and feeling of dependency that come with a job would absolutely ruin everything else for me no matter how good it is/seems

- studying is hell for me because the academic environment and all the pressure + obligations involved fuck me up VERY BADLY so even if i found something i love (but not too much) it’d take me like... 7 years to get a degree depending on how long the major is supposed to be for people who don’t regularly have Big Bitch Breakdowns

i probably fucked up the order in which these should be but whatever. the point is that i am NOT going to find my ~vocational calling~ because i probably do not even HAVE a ~vocational calling~. and studying some random thing for the sake of making my mom happy would genuinely just be a waste of time and maybe not lead anywhere because. y’know. a degree does not guarantee a job. so whatever

kinda lost where i was going with this at first but i needed to rant and i’m getting there now. because what finally made me go “ok i’ve had enough i need to write a weird journal on tumblr dot org now” is that she’s currently obsessed with me studying programming. of all fucking things.

like the thing is that whenever i talk to her about my hobbies she’s like “OH THIS COULD BE YOUR JOB STUDY THIS”. and she knows that i a) like videogames, b) would VERY MUCH prefer to work from home, because c) going outside on a regular basis usually makes me uncomfortable and d) my #1 favorite activity is staying in the same spot (often a chair) all day

so for her the very obvious logic there is some kind of youtube recommendation reach of “you like videogames so you will like programming, which is used to make videogames”. and also “you’re good with languages so you’ll be good at programming because uhh Programming Language???” (and completely ignores the part where i keep telling her that i’m not good with languages, i just speak english fluently because i do everything in english so it sticks, and even that just started out of necessity because i fucking refused to play videogames with spanish-from-spain aka Worst Spanish translations/voiceovers, and i’m pretty sure that if i tried to do the same with Programming Language??? it’d either be impossible or give me a migraine because i’m 95% sure you’re not supposed to play videogames by just like. looking at the code).

and HERE IS THE PART THAT I HAVE BEEN TRYING TO SAY FOR LIKE 11 PARAGRAPHS NOW I LOST COUNT: i did try basic programming once and it was awful because... ok honestly i was going to blame it on Probably Dyscalculia Brain but not everything is because of Problems Brain, even for me, who is 99% Problems Brain. i just think it’s very hard and i don’t get it. and yeah i guess maybe i could do it if i spent a long time trying, but like if the idea here is “get a job soon” i don’t think that “spend 11 years learning how to program” is. the best way to do it.

but my mom has this thing where like... she thinks that all those things that i have been talking about for 12 paragraphs are a result of me just being like. stupid? naive? idk. like i don’t understand that the way i’m handling everything is kind of fucking up my life, so it’s a Big Deal. but. i know that. i absolutely know that. and it’s terrifying and upsetting and etc etc etc i was going to overshare more about my current state of mind (bad) and my emotional stability (none) but uh. better not.

so she keeps sending me stuff that i guess she thinks will suddenly make me go “oh thanks mom this article from lifetipsthathelpandaregoodforyou dot blogspot dot com made me rethink my entire life and i know The Way now!!!!”. which is. annoying. AND today’s was an article about how programming is the job of the future and it’s well-paid. and i just. don’t know what to reply to that. like i literally told her “no, i don’t think programming is for me, i know it’s in high demand now and it pays very well, the issue is not that i don’t UNDERSTAND THAT, it’s that i’m just not good at it? and it requires a lot of practice?” and her answer is essentially “you’re wrong <3″ (even though, for the record, she knows even less about programming than i do)

the way i phrased all of that makes it sound super stupid i know but mostly i just don’t know how to deal with her or how to make her happy anymore because it’s like. nothing is enough for her? her idea is “get a job NOW. study NOW. get a job based on what you’re studying WHILE YOU’RE STUDYING it now. learn programming IMMEDIATELY programming pays well. STUDY LITERATURE (the thing that i wanted to do but didn’t) AND LIKE ABSORB PROGRAMMING KNOWLEDGE FROM THE INTERNET AND PROGRAM (it pays well) WHILE UHH ALSO STUDYING BIOLOGY (another thing that i wanted to do but didn’t)” and then “if you don’t do these things it’s because you’re too stupid to realize they’re important. you need me to constantly tell you that you’re fucking up your life because you’re stupid. if you fail it’s your fault. if you do well it’s all because of me”.

it’s like. fucking exhausting. maybe i’m exaggerating and of course the programming thing isn’t the biggest issue here but it’s kind of... all of this has been happening for years, as i said, and i feel it’s been getting worse and worse, so her new obsession with programming is just a tiny little bit/symptom of that but also uh *checks linguee* the straw that broke the camel’s back

[vicunaburger]

Admittedly, I’m Hard to See

Fandom: Beetlejuice the Musical Chapters: 4/? Pairing: Beetlejuice x OC (Holidae) The Players: Beetlejuice, Lydia Deetz, Holidae Bell Word Count: 1,550 Warnings: M for Language

Notes: Beej is a dramatic little bastard. HE WENT TO JULLIARD, GUYS. He is drama baby.

In Which Introductions are Made

The human female and the ghostly male sat in a long, uncomfortable silence; neither one of them willing to make the first delicate move. A few times, Holidae took a deep breath in preparation for speaking, but instead kept her mouth shut. Nervously, she started to chew on her lower lip, aggravating the skin that had already bruised from the last time she gave in to the habit.

Beetlejuice eventually eased himself into sitting cross legged on the hardwood floor, his knees pressing against her legs with the lightest pressure. It was a two-fold maneuver: one, to get himself comfortable, and two, to keep her pinned between the bed and his body. There was a good chance she would try to bolt out of reach once she gathered her wits. He didn’t want playtime to end too early.

He watched as her eyes darted from the door to the card still held in her hand, the paper crinkling in her iron grip. Slowly, he reached out and took the card away, setting it on the floor next to them. Each motion was calculated; like an animal wrangler on those nature shows Lydia liked to watch late at night.

“Now, I’m going to take your lack of a proper greeting- stop that” Beetlejuice darted his hand out and pulled her lip from in between her teeth. “Gonna ruin that mouth- your lack of a greeting that you can in fact see me, but you are speechless with awe of my good looks. I know. I get it. It’s a lot to take in at once, but please take your time. Let your eyes wander… start undressing me…”

Holidae touched her lips briefly, pulling away to find her fingertips dotted with blood, “Habit.”

“It speaks!” Beetlejuice clapped his hands excitedly, “And you can see me. This is the best day ever. Wanna know why?”

“…because that fall actually killed me and hell is surprisingly familiar?” she replied, subtly attempting to move away, but only succeeding in rubbing her legs against his.

“Ha, cute. Precious, but no. You are very much alive,” a hand reached out and grabbed her shoulder, keeping her immobile. “You and I are friends now. Not bestest best friends; that’s Lyds. She’s special. You are not as special as Lydia, but I wanna be pals. Compadres. Friends with benefits?”

She blinked down at the clawed hand, swallowing heavily, “Lydia’s your friend?”

“Bestest best,” he corrected, enjoying the feel of her sweater beneath his fingers. “I get why she could wanna keep me all to herself, though. But I figured; share the wealth since we’re roomies now. There’s plenty of me to go around, Holly’n’Ivy.”

Holidae started to calculate her chances of making a mad dash for the bedroom door. He had the advantage over her in a few ways, but maybe she could gain a few feet before being caught. If nothing else, the attempt would make her feel not-as-helpless as she did currently.

Beetlejuice could almost hear the gears turning in her brain, figuring she would be going to go on the offensive any moment. With a soft puff of smoke, he vanished, reappearing behind her with his hands under her arms to help her stand up.

Unable to do much but comply, she let herself be placed upright like a marionette. Beetlejuice was none too subtle about holding his thick fingers tight against the sides of her chest, getting a good feel of her breasts hidden beneath her sweater.

“Hey,” Holidae spun on her heel, puffing herself up to seem bigger than she was, “Those aren’t for you.”

“Be nice if they were.” He shrugged, adjusting his suspenders under his jacket, “I certainly wouldn’t mind taking care of them for you- oh no you don’t.”

Holidae had bolted for the door, just twisting the knob before a dozen ghostly padlocks barred her escape. She rattled the chains in a childish gesture, looking back over her shoulder at her captor. He was busying himself with getting comfortable in her bed, kicking off his boots, shrugging off his jacket, and leaning back against the headboard.

She turned to face him fully, an incredulous look on her face, “Excuse me, do you mind?”

Beetlejuice patted the spot next to him, “Nope. There’s plenty of room for us, babydoll. What’s the thread count on the sheets? Above five hundred?”

“What do you want?”, Holidae moved to stand at the end of the bed, “My soul? Probably not worth much, but then again I don’t know the current exchange rate. My first born? My organs? I kinda need the organs in general… so not that. Blood too, that’s important to me.”

The ghost chuckled, pulling a cigarette out and offering it to her, “You want one? You seem twitchy.”

“No, thank you.” She shook her head. “Wait. What? Just… why are you on the bed? Aren’t you some… demon? Boogeyman thing? Why aren’t you being more menacing?”

He blew a few smoke rings into the air, gesturing to the whole of her, “I am having way too much fun watching whatever this is, sweetheart.”

Before she continued her ranting, Holidae walked over and moved an empty glass on the bedside table closer to him. He tilted his head slightly, his vivid green hair dulling into a moderate violet. Every move she was making was imprinting itself into his brain; another piece of the puzzle being slotted into place.

“Ashes,” she explained, seeing the puzzled look on his face.

Without a word, he flicked the excess ashes into the cup she provided.

“Thank you, now. I find it most difficult to believe that not only are you friends with Lydia, but that she would neglect to tell me about some guy living in the house with us. Which means you’re lying, because she has no reason to lie to me.” Holidae paced the room, tugging at her hair in frustration.

He held up a hand in protest, “My bestest best friend would totally lie to you. I taught her everything I know.”

“Okay. Fine, let’s say she lied. Now I have to deal with that knowledge.” Holidae stopped pacing, “The point is that… that…”

She trailed off, all her previous bluster deflating quickly. Was there really a point to be made in a situation like this? There was some random… person… making himself at home in her bed - that Lydia may or may not know personally - who seemed to possess some degree of supernatural prowess. Bending down, she picked up the forgotten business card, trying to discern any fine print she may have missed.

Beetlejuice watched her go through at least three stages of grief during that long pause, content to let her puzzle things out for herself. Holidae was so different from the Deetz and Maitland clans. A new breather to mold into something fun to play with for a while. Half the work was already done for him given her little quirks such as the unprompted ashtray, and the fact she hadn’t gone screaming in terror the moment he showed up.

She was hospitable, which meant there was no immediate danger of him being banished for now.

It was going to be fun learning all those buttons to push. Bonus points if he could get hands on those knockers again. Future goal.

“I should talk to Lydia about all this.” Holidae broke the silence, gesturing to the door. “Let me out?”

Beetlejuice shook his head, “It’ll open in the morning. Don’t need you interrupting her sleep.”

“I could yell really loud,” she challenged, taking a deep breath. “LY-”

Holidae found herself screaming face first into her pillow instead of the open air, the ghost having the forethought to translocate her person onto the bed next to him, face down. It was… not a pleasant sensation. Her body felt like it was waking up on pins and needles from being stationary too long.

She turned her head toward him, getting an eyeful of black and white striped waistband connected to suspenders, “If you could never do that again, I would appreciate it.”

Beetlejuice dropped the cigarette into the cup, scooting his body down to get eye level with her, “I’m sure you would, but that means I’d be denying myself the enjoyment.”

Holidae rolled her head back to squish her face into the bed, sighing heavily, “…Six-fifty, I think.”

One of his claws started poking at her in various places, and he snickered when he prodded the squishy flesh of her hips, causing her to roll to the edge of the mattress. “What’s that?”

“The thread count.” She replied, trying to push him off the bed with her feet. “Get… get up! Don’t you have your own bed? If I’m gonna be trapped here for the night, at least let me have my privacy.”

Holidae found herself kicking at the air, her bedmate now standing in the middle of the room, putting his jacket back on. Irritated, she sat up and whipped her pillow in his direction, catching him square in the center of his chest. For a few tense moments, neither of them moved; Holidae thinking she nailed her own coffin shut, and Beetlejuice surprised at the sudden attack.

With a dramatic sigh, Beetlejuice clutched his chest, moaning as though he were in pain, “Oh~! You have wounded my delicate heart. To be rejected by such a creature… forever shamed! I pray you will be cured of these hysterics in the morning. For now, I take my leave.”

He vanished, leaving Holidae thoroughly confused by the entire display.

“What the fuck was that?”

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

Decryption_Error: “The Server Room, Part I”

Summary: Elliot is locked in the server room by a few of his colleagues to stop him from ruining their Memorial Day weekend. Y/N, Elliot’s manager, finds him and comes up with a solution to fix the broken servers, but because of Elliot’s injuries and his refusal to go to a hospital, Y/N makes him stay at her place for the long weekend. As Elliot and Y/N bond for the first time outside of work, something a little more than friendship starts to emerge.

Summary/Mood Board

Word Count: 5800

Disclaimer: I know 0 things about technology and want to cry real tears for making my narrator Elliot’s boss. I sincerely apologize to anyone I offend for my whack tech references--please let me know if you need me to fix something because it’s awful and I will credit you for saving me some embarrassment!

Tags: @sherlollydramoine @rami-malek-trash @teamwolf2411 @thingsfandom @limabein @lovie-rami @txmel @hopplessdreamer @ouatlovr

Warnings: Physical injuries/blood, language, **=heavily paraphrased from a monologue on Robot

Author’s Note: I won’t be able to update this story as quickly as Remnants because my life is about to get crazy busy. However, I will do my best so y’all don’t lose interest : ) Special shoutout to @alottanothing for helping me get this story organized and underway! Thanks for being my cheerleader 💕

For fuck’s sake! I thought as I changed out of my swimsuit and into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, shoving my still wet feet into a pair of sandals.  

I had made it to my family’s place for Memorial Day weekend for the first time in years only to be called back to work because something happened to the servers. My boss, Miles, was out of town like everyone else in the goddamn city, and he trusted me as the Senior Manager to handle the situation.

CIStech Cybersecurity had been my life for the past four years. Starting as an Analyst really fostered my affinity for data and subsequently put me on the fast-track to become management. I liked working hard, and when I first started at CIStech, I would be mystified when I realized it was 10 pm, everyone had gone home, and I had skipped dinner (again) because I was 5,000 clicks deep into testing a contingency plan I created for scenario 11/1,000 in the event of a security breach.

My relationship with my job was complex--I knew I worked too much, but I needed those long days to help quell my anxiety; data gave me a focus and helped me make sense of a world that seemed to be drifting further and further into shades of grey, a place where evil and good barely served as separate entities anymore.

This long weekend was an important test for me—I needed to prove to myself that I could step away from the office and the world wouldn’t end, nor would my mental stability. 

Except that I did step away from the office and the world did end—sort of. So much for convincing my brain that taking time off was a good thing.

For the first three quarters of the drive into the city, I had gone over about 30 scenarios in my mind and just as I was about to drive myself crazy, I shook my head and cranked up the music. There was only so much I could mentally prep for until I knew whether the problem was physical or within the network.

Because everyone in the city had fled to escape the rising humidity, I was able to park on a side street about a half of a block from work. I swiped my badge to get into the lobby of CNC Precision Machining, our host company, then said a quick hello to the head of night security, Lance. I swiped my badge again to activate the elevator, and as I rode up to the 18th floor, my anxiety curled into a lead ball and made itself at home in my stomach. Something did not feel right, and I almost, almost went back downstairs to ask Lance to radio a guard.

But, how often do we actually act on our anxiousness? For me, I had to talk myself out of so many horrors a day that I always felt silly when I gave in to whatever idea had made itself at home in my mind.

I talked myself down, thinking, It’s almost 11 pm, and all I have to do is check the servers. Maybe one of the fans broke. Maybe a plug fell out. I can fix it and still get back to Mom and Dad’s by 2.

Once again, I swiped my badge. I entered CIStech’s wing, but as I opened the door to the cybersecurity offices and turned to deactivate the alarm, I saw it had never been set. My mouth fell open, and again the idea of turning back flitted through my mind, except being pissed overtook my apprehension.  

Whoever was the last to leave was getting a letter of reprimand. Sure, the building itself was secure, but to not set the alarm in a company’s tech security office? Inexcusable.

Since I was now fuming, the unset alarm compounding with my ire over my ruined start to the weekend, I grumbled away my nagging thoughts as I quickly walked to the server room, swiped my badge and scanned my fingerprint to open the door.

The harsh lights were on an automatic switch, so they popped to life as I stepped a few inches into the room; however, the crunch of plastic and the popping of glass made me stop, one foot poised in the air as I looked down to see what I stepped on.

The remnants of a server, or more than one server, were littered across the ground, and as I scanned for the source of the damage, the last thing I expected to find was a body. Immediately, my mind wondered if this was a trap, and then I wondered if the body was even alive.

My voice emitted a sort of strangled groan which caused the body on the floor to move—and when I saw that it wasn’t just a random body, my heart sank.

It was Elliot, my employee and my friend. 

***Eight Months Ago***

“Next up is Elliot Alderson. Recent grad. Bachelor’s in Computer Engineering from Stevens Institute of Tech. This is the guy with the impressive skill set, knowledgeable in everything we use. His portfolio backs it up, too.”

“Mmm, I remember reading through it and thinking if even half of it is legit, he’s smarter than everyone in that room put together,” Colin said, gesturing in the direction of the office floor.

“I tested his work on the headless Raspberry PI he sent with his portfolio—worked like a charm.”

“That could save us a lot of headaches,” JaLeah said, clicking through the description in Elliot’s portfolio again.

“Did you notice how streamlined his portfolio is? It’s masterfully organized and aesthetically pleasing,” I said, leaning over to look at JaLeah’s screen.

She hummed in agreement.

“Jayne? Bring in Mr. Alderson, please,” I said as I pressed the button on the wireless intercom.

At CIStech, we strived to maintain a comfortable atmosphere. Instead of a panel of interviewers, it was just myself and my two Supervisors. Instead of interviewing in our board room, we interviewed in my office, the three of us seated at a round table so when the applicant joined us, they felt less on-the-spot.

However, when Elliot Alderson walked in the room, his unease was so palpable I doubted anything would alleviate his nervousness.

“Mr. Alderson,” Colin began, extending his hand. “I’m Colin Greene, Supervisor.

Elliot paused long enough for me to give him a onceover, and peripherally, I saw JaLeah do the same.

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N, Senior Manager,” I said, shaking Elliot’s hand, his grip light as if the last thing he wanted to do in the world was touch me.

As JaLeah introduced herself, I took another quick inventory of Elliot Alderson. He was dressed well, although in clothes that were a bit too big on his small frame. His haircut, however, was immaculate, cut in a close fade on the sides with a mop of styled black hair on top.

His big, greyish eyes were moving around the room as if he were searching for the exit; and then, suddenly they stopped. It was like he reminded himself to pick a spot and focus.

“Go ahead and take a seat,” JaLeah said, sliding over the piece of paper that listed our interview questions.

As Elliot pulled out the chair and settled in, I explained what would happen during the interview, the goal to once again ease the nerves of the applicant. 

“So, Mr. Alderson, I’m going to explain the process for this interview. First, we will give you a few minutes to read over the questions on the paper in front of you. When you are ready, let us know and we will take turns asking those questions. Once the Q&A portion is complete, we will connect our laptops to the one right here via RDP, and we will ask you to complete a specific task. Any questions so far?”

Elliot shook his head no.

“Excellent. Please take a few minutes to read over the questions, feel free to jot down notes in the spaces provided, then let us know when you are ready to begin,” I explained, ending with a smile.

Elliot did not return my smile; instead, his eyes dropped to the interview questions. As I watched him scan the paper, I had to remind myself not to stare. There was something about him that drew me in. His eyes were unlike any I had ever seen, and I couldn’t stop thinking about that damn, overquoted line from one of Walt Whitman’s poems: “I contain multitudes.”

Looking at Elliot, it was clear he contained depths, and I wanted to know everything there was to know about him. I could count on one hand the number of times I felt so immediately intrigued by another person.

After a minute or two, Elliot looked up, his eyes flickering between the three of us, and said, “Okay.”

Colin began, asking Elliot to tell us about his schooling and his professional experience.

Elliot answered carefully, reciting his academic and professional history. His voice was deep, a soothing monotone that was more like a raspy rattle than a melodious note.

“Thank you,” I said once he had finished speaking. “Question two asks about the steps you would take to secure a server. Walk us through that process, please.”  

Once again, Elliot’s answer was correct and succinct.

“To secure a server, you use the SSL protocol for data encryption and decryption. Establish a secure password for your root and administrative users. Create the new users in the system. Remove remote access from the default root accounts. Configure your firewall rules for your remote access.”

I watched Elliot as he answered, his eyes focused on a spot over my shoulder. I made my notes as JaLeah moved on to the next question.

“What are the most common types of cyberattacks? Explain which attack you feel is most common and why it is most common.”

Elliot listed off the usual attacks with ease—phishing, malware, DDoS, password attacks, malvertising, man in the middle, but it was his answer to the second part of the question that allowed us to see a glimpse under his carefully crafted façade.

“People. People are the only reason cyberattacks happen and people are the ones who make it easy for hackers to execute any attack. The most common cyberattack in a large corporation is phishing—people are all too willing to provide information without first checking the origination. People who work in companies operate on autopilot, running their daily programs, usually without interruption, and in order to avoid a runtime error, people will click a link, enter their password, and by then, they have you.”**

We were all quiet for a moment and Elliot looked a bit surprised, as if he couldn’t believe what he just said aloud.

“Excellent answer, Mr. Alderson,” JaLeah said, narrowing her eyes and nodding, still mulling over Elliot’s response. “If only we knew how to prevent human error—but I supposed that would be a billion-dollar answer,” she finished, flashing him a smile.

He shrugged his shoulders and gave her a tiny smile in response.

That was the only real glimpse of Elliot’s personality we got for the rest of the interview, but he absolutely nailed the task, finding each vulnerability we set up in our system and fixing it in record time.

“Do you have any questions for us, Mr. Alderson?” I asked as we closed out the interview.

“I’ve already found out everything I needed to know,” Elliot replied, his eyes meeting and holding my gaze.

I smirked and nodded.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less, Mr. Alderson. You’ll hear from HR within 24 hours, either way,” I said as I hit the intercom.

“Please see Mr. Alderson out, Jayne.”

Elliot left as nervously as he entered, not bothering with any attempt at casual conversation to make his interview a bit more memorable.

As soon as the office door clicked shut, Colin leaned back in his chair and said, “No way. Guy’s weird.”

“Weird?” I questioned. “Since when is being nervous the same as being ‘weird’?”

“He didn’t make eye contact with me once—and not like in an ‘on the spectrum way.’ More like, he has a secret and no one can know it way. I’m not trying to be a dick—I just got a bad vibe.”

“Well, you are being a dick,” I said. “There are a thousand reasons why people struggle with eye contact, Colin. Don’t stereotype. Give me something factual if you really didn’t like him for the position.”

“And I remember a time when you couldn’t look me in the eye, Colin,” JaLeah said, her dark eyes flashing.

Colin rubbed his hands over his face and sighed.

“He didn’t elaborate on any of the questions—he spit back text-book answers on every one, except for JaLeah’s question about cyberattacks. I felt like he wasn’t hungry for this job—he acted like he didn’t really want it.”

I nodded my head.

“I wish he would have elaborated, too. However, I think his tech skills far outweigh any subpar people skills.”

“I agree with Y/N,” JaLeah said. “But I do see Colin’s point—remember when we had those interns? We ended up hiring Steph because she was able to build a rapport with everyone here. Granted, they all had about the same skill set, but her ability to communicate set her apart.”

“Doesn’t it also work in reverse, though--tech skills over people skills?”

Colin nodded in agreement. “It does.”

“So, let me make you both a deal: if any of the remaining candidates perform as well or better than Elliot Alderson on the task, we hire them. If not, we go with Alderson.”

“Works for me,” JaLeah said. “For the record, I did like him. He really spit some fire on that answer about human error.”

I smiled at JaLeah and nodded while Colin rolled his eyes.

“Alright—who’s up next?” he said, already accepting the idea that he was probably not going to win this one.  

* * * * *

I closed my eyes and rolled my neck, listening to the bones pop and crunch. It was time to get up and take a lap around the office before the blood decided to pool in my calves and send me to an early grave.

It was nearly 8 pm, so when I saw the illumination of a computer screen reflected in a set of big grey eyes, I was a bit surprised. Elliot Alderson had accepted our offer and started at CIStech three weeks ago. He was proving to be an excellent engineer, and once he settled in, I wanted to assign him to the white hat team.

However, Colin saw fit to initiate a trial by fire and made Elliot the project manager for the development of a new code that could counter a DDoS flooding attack.  

Colin may have done it to be an asshole, but I permitted it out of curiosity to see if my hire had what it took to climb. It was already clear that Elliot’s skills were unmatched. If he could pitch, he would be on the fast-track to becoming my boss one day.

When he saw me approach, his fingers immediately stilled and a look of apprehension crossed his features.

“Hey, Elliot. Working late?” I asked, surprised at the butterflies in my stomach as I initiated a conversation with him.

“I’m sorry if I disturbed you, Ms. Y/L/N. I didn’t realize how late it was,” Elliot said in his deep voice, his words rolling out in that gentle monotone.

“Y/N. It’s Y/N—we don’t do that Mr. and Ms. stuff once you’re hired. Call me crazy, but I like to think of all 50 or so of us as a family. Distant and dysfunctional, sure. But whose family isn’t?” I finished with an awkward chuckle at my own joke.

Elliot looked at me, his expression unreadable, and said nothing for what felt like an obscene amount of time. I’m certain my cheeks colored at my failed attempt at a joke and his subsequent silence. I began to feel an urgent need to fill the quietness with this almost-stranger I just called “family” when Elliot finally spoke.

“That’s . . . nice.”

I laughed and said, “You’re not much of a talker, are you?”

Elliot gave me a tiny smile, if you could even call the fleeting upturn of his lips before they drew back into a straight line a smile.

“No. I’m not.”

I thought for a few seconds, wanting my first one-on-one interaction with Elliot to be right. A thousand things to say barreled through my mind like Shanghai’s Maglev, and I saw Elliot’s attention turn back to his computer, his fingers twitching, probably wondering if it would be rude to go back to work.

“Do you know what I wish, Elliot?” I said, my words rushed as I reigned in the speeding train of my thoughts.

“No,” Elliot said, looking at me with genuine confusion.

“I wish we had a code we could input to just automatically cut out the bullshit of small talk. Imagine if our minds could input all of that information—we’d know right away whether or not a person was to our liking, whether they would be someone who could become our friend.”

Elliot looked at me, his eyes shining from the monitor in the dark of the office, his mouth a bit agape; he looked at me as if I were either the first human he’d ever seen or the last human he’d ever see—I couldn’t make up my mind on the former or the latter.

“Is that totally crazy?” I asked.

“It’s the least crazy thing I’ve ever heard,” Elliot said, his voice breaking with its normal monotone to convey honesty.  

I smiled, and the butterflies in my stomach finally settled. I moved around Elliot’s desk and leaned on the edge. He scooted his chair back so he could angle it toward me, his hands fidgeting, unsure what to do without a keyboard underneath of them.

“I’m willing to pretend that code is real—we’ve scanned each other, determined we’re cool, and can now proceed along the route of friendship. At least, that’s what my data has output.”

Elliot grinned, and the fucking butterflies came back in full force. There was no part of my 8 pm afterwork self that was equipped to handle how damn good-looking this guy was.  

“My data reads the same,” he said, his smile turning shy, his eyes flickering away from my face and toward the floor.

“Excellent. So, as emerging friends, I want to confess that, believe or not, I’m not much of a talker either.”

“I—I don’t think we are the same kind of not-talkers,” Elliot said, frowning up at me.

“Do me a favor. Tomorrow, pay attention after you pitch the DDoS counter plan. Once the pitch is out, everyone shoots off their own ideas and if they don’t have an original thought, they’ll turn to criticism. I won’t say a word—I never do.”

“Why?” Elliot asked, clearly interested because his response was immediate.

“Because I listen. People are so consumed by a need to have self-validation that they talk just to talk, hoping something that comes out of their mouth is what sparks someone else’s path to self-validation. It’s a . . . circle jerk, if you don’t mind me speaking in my ‘off the clock’ tongue.”

Elliot’s mouth had dropped open a little again as he listened, his brows drawn in as he gave it some thought—well, a lot of thought because once again, the silence bordered on oppressive before he spoke again.

“I thought people only said things like that inside their minds. Especially bosses.”

“Did I reveal an inherent human truth you were unaware of?”

Elliot chuckled, a gravelly rumble, and it was the cutest damn thing I had ever heard.

“No—I’ve thought the same thing for as long as I can remember.”

“See? Our data chose well. Now, do you want to sit there and tell me more about how unalike we are or are you ready to trust me enough to help you with whatever is plaguing you about pitching tomorrow?”

“How did you—” Elliot began before sighing and popping off of his chair to stalk over to the window. It took me by surprise that a little piece of his mask was so readily falling away.

I stayed where I was, even though his form was little more than a shadow that moved against the backdrop of the lighted city.

“I am not good with people,” Elliot said, his voice sounding harsh and too loud in the quiet office. “I don’t know how to talk to them one-on-one, so I sure as hell don’t know how to talk to them in a group. All I can think of when I get in front of anyone is how much of an idiot they think I am. I even typed up a letter of resignation,” Elliot said, his voice returning to its normal murmur with his confession.

This time, it was my turn to nurse the quiet. I thought about saying, Bullshit—you’re talking to me. You can do anything you put your mind to! But Elliot wasn’t someone who needed a pep-talk. He was deeper than that—probably even deeper than I could ever comprehend. “I’m not gonna bullshit you. You could walk out of here and get hired just about anywhere in any one of these buildings with your skill set. But I’d like to believe that you care, maybe just a little, that I am the one who extended you an offer—gave you a shot at your first ‘real’ job. So, yeah, you can run. But you’ll hurt my feelings if you do.” Whatever Elliot was expecting me to say, it wasn’t that. He walked back to stand in front of me and he blinked those big eyes that were once again a reflection of the light blue of the desktop.

“You don’t even know me enough to be affected by anything I do. I’m just another cog in the wheel.” I thought we were on a path to friendship, but if this was Elliot’s response to my admission I cared about whether or not he quit, I knew he was hiding, deep, deep inside of himself. “What makes you think you’re unworthy of general human concern? You are human, aren’t you?” I said, once again making an awkward joke for myself to softly laugh at. “I—I didn’t mean that I—" “Careful, Elliot. You intrigue me. And when people intrigue me, I have to figure them out. Have to.”

Elliot took off toward the window again, pacing as he struggled to convey his fear.

“Like I said, I’m not much of a talker and I’m not very good with people. I can do anything with a computer, but people. I just . . . can’t.”

“Mmm, until I see a T-800 running around and declaring “I’ll be back,” I will disagree with you that you can do ‘anything’ with a computer.”

Elliot stopped pacing and turned to face me, his head comically turned to the side as he decided whether or not to finally laugh at one of my jokes.

This time, he did laugh, a soft little chuckle as he shook his head and shoved his hands in his pants’ pockets.

“Let me make you an offer—”

“An offer I can’t refuse?”

I giggled and shook my head.

“Yes! He jokes! We really are on the path to friendship. . . which means, I want to help you: Fill me in on the details of what you’ve designed, and we can practice. Come on—we’ll go in the meeting room.”

“I can’t ask you to—”

“You did not ask. I gave you a command. All you have to do is type Y,” I said in a sing-song voice, smiling before pushing off the edge of his desk and walking toward the meeting room.

I turned after a moment to see Elliot grab his laptop and follow me.

When we crossed the office to the meeting room, I paused with my hand on the door.

“Actions help us believe what our minds have convinced us not to believe—if I truly thought you were nothing more than a cog, would I give my time to you? Tell me—what’s more valuable than time?”

Elliot didn’t answer me. Instead, he smiled at me, his expression conveying his gratitude.

I turned the knob and walked toward the sofa, plopping onto the cushion.

“So, fill me in.”

* * * * *

Elliot and I passed many nights like this, and I quickly realized Elliot wasn’t going to follow in my footsteps and climb up the management ladder. After his DDoS proposal, Colin followed my recommendation and moved Elliot to the white hat hackers, a small team of ten. The white hats worked a little more in isolation than the other techs, which is what Elliot wanted. 

So, we worked. We talked. We listened. We ate too much take-out and spent too many late hours at the office.

Our data was compatible, which would be Elliot-speak for saying, “We became friends.” 

***Present***

“Elliot! Elliot, what happened?” I asked as I dropped to my knees and rolled him the rest of the way onto his back.

His eyes snapped open and darted around the room, looking everywhere but at me. Elliot scooted away and backed up to the wall, pulling his knees up to his chest and crossing his arms over his legs. He looked like a trapped, feral animal, trying to make itself as small as possible to avoid capture.

I noticed the cuts and the trails of blood that smeared across his hands, and I saw that there was blood on the floor where he had been laying. As I looked him over, I also saw a gash across his forehead that ran into his hairline. Blood was still trickling down the side of his face.

“Elliot,” I said again in a soft, calm voice.

He still didn’t react; instead, he looked around the room and started mumbling, thumping the back of his head off the wall.

I got up and quickly moved to drop down in front of him, placing my hand between his head and the wall. It looked like he already had a concussion and I didn’t want him to hurt himself anymore.

“Elliot. Hey. It’s Y/N. You’ve gotta focus, sweetheart. Focus on my voice.”

I kept repeating myself in the same soothing tone. After a few moments, I slowly reached out and grasped his shoulder, running my thumb over the material of his light grey dress shirt.

Slowly, Elliot stopped moving his head and his eyes stopped darting. I still had no idea what he was mumbling and if it weren’t for the vibrations of his chest and the very subtle movements of his lips, I wouldn’t have known he was speaking.

When Elliot finally fixed his eyes on my face, his brows contracted into confusion.

“Y/N?” he said, his voice raspy, like someone who had been talking too loudly over music or who had smoked too many cigarettes in a night.

“Hey,” I said smiling and removing my hand from his shoulder.

“Shit! The servers!” Elliot said, and tried to dart up, but I held him back.

“No. Don’t move. Your head is bleeding and so are your hands. I need to get you to a hospital.”

Once again Elliot’s eyes began to look everywhere but my face and he tried to scramble up. This time, he broke free from my grasp and I found myself flat on my ass as he bolted up from the floor.

He didn’t get very far because after about three steps he swooned and crashed into one of the broken servers. I scrambled to my feet and helped him sit back down on the floor.

“See? Hospital. Now.”

This time Elliot looked right at me, his eyes filled with tears as he begged me not to take him to a hospital. The display of pure emotion was a shock for me—even though Elliot and I spent a lot of time together, he was always very careful in his interactions and remained emotionally distant. To see him so vulnerable made me rethink my insistence.

“Shh, okay. Okay. Listen—I don’t know if you’re concussed or what, but can you tell me anything about what happened? Or when this happened? If the tapes never went out. . .” I trailed off, unable to even imagine the repercussions.  

“The courier left at 4:48.”

I raised my eyebrow at Elliot’s precise answer.

“Okaaaay.”

“I remember the time because—” Elliot broke off and looked away.

“Because why?”

“That’s when they locked me in here,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible over the buzzing of the air conditioning that kept the server room so cool.

My phone rang, startling both of us. As I talked, Elliot retreated further into himself again, his knees pressed to his chest once more, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor.

“Yes, I’m at work, Miles.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah.”

“We definitely have a problem, but everything’s been backed up—the tapes were couriered out this afternoon.”

“No—you don’t need to come in.”

“Uh, it’s a problem with the a few of the servers themselves, some broken parts. Listen, I promise—I’ll take care of it and everything will be up and running on Tuesday like nothing ever happened.”

“You’re welcome—enjoy your night.”

“I will. Bye.”

I hung up the phone and stood up, leaving Elliot to himself for a moment. I surveyed the damage that was apparently done by Elliot himself. My mind couldn’t even grasp the idea that people I supervised, many of whom I had hired myself, would do something so inhumane.

It was no secret that people avoided Elliot, even his white hat teammates—he was closed off, smarter than most of them, and worked harder than all of them. I wasn’t blind to the way he was he treated, but I also knew him in a different way; I knew he kept to himself because it was so difficult for him to socialize with people he considered strangers.

I also knew Elliot didn’t mean to do this.

After I surveyed the damage, I began thinking outloud, “Towers 2, 3, 6, and 7 are fucking toast, but the rest are untouched. I need to synchronize the traffic to the secondary servers and synch the databases. Since it’s Memorial Day weekend, the traffic is light enough that no real damage should have been done. I have a friend who might be able to get us new towers.”

Elliot was watching me as I talked and figured out how to fix his mess.

“I can—” he began, but I cut him off.

“I have to tell them how this happened, Elliot. I’m not making any promises, but if I can fix it by Tuesday morning, you might be able to keep your job. And I can promise you, the fucking assholes that did this to you won’t.”

Elliot looked to the floor again, his face filled with sadness.

“Sit—do not move while I grab some papertowels and ice.”

Elliot gave me a barely perceptible nod, and I went off to gather what I needed to ice his head and clean up the blood.

When I came back, Elliot was sitting at the desk in the server room, his fingers poking over the keys on the keyboard.

“Damnit, Elliot! I said not to move.”

“This is all my fault. I have to fix it. I have to fix it. I have to—”

I cut him off by lifting his arms away from the keyboard and scooting the rolling chair back. Elliot turned his bloodshot eyes to mine, the rims lined with red and I wondered if he’d been crying.

I sighed and placed my hands on both of his shoulders.

“This is not your fault,” I said firmly, my eyes flickering between his, refusing to release him from my gaze until he listened to me.

Elliot opened his mouth, then closed it, choosing not to fight me.

“Hold this on your head,” I said, tearing my eyes from his face, and reaching for the ice pack I had set on the desk.

Elliot complied, and I turned back to the desk to finish synchronizing the servers. Once I was done, I wiped up the blood on the floor with the wet papertowels, then unplugged the damaged servers.

“Now, let’s get out of here. Your head is still bleeding,” I said as I made a final lap to check for damage.

I helped Elliot up by wedging my hand under his elbow, careful to avoid his fucked up hands. For a moment, the two of us were face-to-face. His eyes lifted up to look into mine and I sighed, reaching up to grasp his chin and turn his head to look at the gash.

“Head wounds are the worst. Never can tell how deep they are,” I whispered, looking closely at his cut.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“I know, El. Come on.”

Elliot followed me out of the server room and I locked the door. After throwing away the bloodied papertowels in the bathroom, I came out to see Elliot at his desk, struggling into his hoodie, hissing as his bleeding and bruised hands slid through the fabric.

“I’ll get your backpack,” I said as I approached and reached under his desk to pull it out. “Is there anything else you need?”

Elliot shook his head no and I shrugged into his backpack. He stayed close as I set the alarm and waited for the elevator, neither one of us wanting to talk.

“Good night, Lance,” I called toward the front desk as I kept walking.

“Eh, Ms. Y/L/N? Do you need me to call—”

“Nope—all is well! Sorry you’re stuck here tonight, though,” I said with a wave.

“Me, too,” Lance answered, chuckling a little.

I led Elliot to the passenger door of my SUV, opening it and then waiting for Elliot to get in. Once I made sure he was settled, I shut the door and opened up the back door to take off his backpack and place it onto the seat.

I got in, buckled up, and put the key in the ignition. The radio started belting out the Britney Spears song I was rocking to on the way in, and I quickly turned it down after Elliot and I both jumped.

“Now you know my darkest secret,” I said shaking my head.

Elliot looked at me, the hint of the smallest smile in the universe turning up one corner of his mouth.

“I’m taking you to my place and I don’t want an argument. I have a friend who is a PA and I’m going to call her. She’s going to look at your head and if she says you need to go to the hospital, you are going to go. Is that clear?”

Elliot frowned and his eyes looked to the door as if he was contemplating whether or not he could escape.

I quickly put the SUV in gear and swerved out into the street to prevent him from making a move.

“Ok,” he said quietly, knowing he had no other choice.

[kamino-ink]

Trouvaille | Do Kyungsoo

✧  trouvaille - something lovely discovered by chance; a lucky find.

✧ Genre: College!au, smut, fluff, a wee bit of angst

✧ Summary: You end up having a one night stand with some random guy at a party, with him leaving you to wake up all alone the next morning. Unfortunately (or perhaps, fortunately) for you, it seems as if fate is truly out for your heart.

✧ Word Count: 3.1k

✧ Requested!

                                         ✧

 You hadn’t been in a proper relationship since your sophomore year of high school, which, isn't a bad thing, per say - except the lack of any riveting sexual activity was leaving you desperate for more. You craved the touch of a man who would know where to touch you body, and how to make you feel pleasure like you have never felt before; yet as a working college student, you could rarely find the time to make pleasantries with any of the nice men in your classes.

 To make matters worse, your kid-brother (who technically wasn’t so much a kid anymore, rather a lanky teen going through puberty) had been shipped off to your already cramped apartment for about two months; apparently your parents had some business in Hong Kong that was going to take quite some time to sort out, and with a high school student in their home, its not like he could just drop everything and go with them to the foreign land. So instead, you were left to blow up an air mattress in your office, practically giving up a majority of the room so your poor brother wouldn’t have to sleep on the floor or the couch.

 Needless to say, you were at your wit’s end with college and life in general.

 You craved something more, something exhilarating to fill the empty holes in your life - so you concluded that maybe going to a frat party wasn’t too horrible of an idea.

 Okay, maybe it wasn’t your best idea; going to a frat party of all places to hopefully find a sweet guy isn’t exactly... expected, to say the least. Irene, one of your classmates, had verbalized this rather bluntly as the pair of you hopped out of the cab that had dropped you both off at the frat house, already buzzing with energy.

 “Y/N, you do realize that most of the guys here are just looking for a quick fuck, right?” She stated with a cocked eyebrow, giving you a pitiful glance when you blush a deep red. “Listen, if you hook up with someone and they happen to stay and not leave, that’s fucking great - but don’t get your hopes up. Just let loose and have some fun, alright?” And with that, she was gone.

 Now you were left to your own devices, stood completely alone in the front yard before you realized that you probably looked a bit odd just standing there in a pair of flats and dress. With that humiliating thought, you stumbled inside the frat house into a sea of drunk college kids.

 God help me.

                                         ✧

 Parties were boring as fuck, you decided as you pressed your back against the wall uncomfortably yet again so a couple could slide by you, their tongues down each other’s throats while their feet clumsily took them over to one of the bathroom’s.

 You really wanted to go home right about now.

 However you also needed to do something about the slight ache between your thighs, craving to be touched in some shape or form; then again, you were a bit hesitant to try and have a real one night stand, especially since you were kind of looking for something more compensating and real.

 Luckily for you, fate seemed to be on your side for once.

 “Um, miss?” A soft, drawled out voice caught your attention from your left. You turned around in confusion, wondering what stranger would be speaking to you so suddenly. “I uh, I think you dropped your phone - is this it?”

 The man standing in front of you had asked, his voice gentle yet oddly soothing as he held out a hand to you, unclasping it to reveal that it was indeed your cellphone he had picked up. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I didn’t notice that I dropped it,” you breathe out, gratefully taking the device from the stranger’s hand and shoving it back into the depths of your purse (which you noticed had not been zipped up all the way like you previously thought it had been), “thank you so much for giving it back to me, I um, I don’t quite think some of these other people would’ve been so kind.” You admit sheepishly, your cheeks flushing a dusty pink when the man chuckles at your words.

 “I suppose I should thank you for dropping it, since I got to give it back to such a beautiful lady.” He hums thoughtfully, his pretty lips parting in surprise when you’re the one to laugh softly now. The entire night you had witnessed stunning women being catcalled with words such as hot stuff, sexy, and the occasional vulgar slur of the drunk man’s tongue (and woman’s, of course), but this man had uttered a much more endearing sort of compliment, one that had your already nervous heart racing in your chest.

 “S-sorry, was that too blunt?” The handsome stranger stutters on his following words, and it’s then that you realize he seems to be just as nervous as you are in general. “God sorry, I just - you’re really pretty and I figured you should know - obviously you should already know that, fuck. Miss, I um - I’m really sorry if I made this weird-” You giggle in amusement, halting the man in his nervous rambling by holding out one of your hands to him, offering to shake.

 “No, its okay, I promise...?” You trail off, suddenly aware that neither of you knew the other’s name.

 “Kyungsoo, my name is Kyungsoo.”

 “Well in that case, its fine Kyungsoo. Would you... would you like to dance?”

                                         ✧

 That night, at the party, you learned that Kyungsoo was a dedicated psychology major at your university. He was your age as well, but he had the knowledge of a grown man in that wonderous brain of his. He liked to read in his spare time, though he had a preference for historical playwrights since he was also an amateur actor, getting a few small gigs every now and then.

 You also learned that Kyungsoo had incredibly plush, soft lips. They tasted like strawberry chapstick, melding against yours as you struggled to unlock the front door to your apartment.

 You were suddenly very grateful that your little brother had gone out to spend the night with a few of his friends.

 With a ‘click!’ the front door finally swung open, letting you lead Kyungsoo into your tiny apartment and slam the door shut behind him. The sounds exchanged between your lips are loud and sloppy, sensual yet gentle; but at some point you have to reluctantly break away from his eager lips to inhale, a quiet giggle bubbling from your own sore pair of  lips when the black haired man pouts at the lack of kissing going on.

 So you lead him into your bedroom, silently praising yourself for taking the effort to clean up before you had gone to the party earlier. Before you can lay down on the comfort of your bed, Kyungsoo is wrapping his toned arms around your backside, his fingers delicately unzipping the back of your dress so you wouldn’t accidently ruin it in your escapades. Then his fingers go to work on unclipping your bra, and you nearly blush a tomato red when his eyes widen at the sight of your exposed breasts.

 “Dear god you’re stunning, Y/N.” He says without thinking, his gaze snapping over to your bare neck in a sudden movement; before you know it his cushioned lips and teeth are nipping and kissing the skin of your neck, ravishing it with intricate purple and blue hickies. You take a second to catch your breath, stunned by the man’s skill. Once you do manage to somewhat recollect yourself, you find your hands trailing down his blazer, slowly unbuttoning it with a bit of difficulty since the man was still painting your neck with lovebites.

 He helps you slide his now unbuttoned blazer off of his shoulders, only breaking away to quickly slip his white undershirt off and undo his belt buckle, letting it drop to the floor with a small ‘thump.’ “Lay down, princess.” His command comes out short and nearly inaudible, but you somehow catch it and do as he says, going to spread your mostly naked body out onto your red, silk sheets.

 You watch with hungry eyes as Kyungsoo slides his black dress pants down his hips and legs, almost agonizingly slow, to which he smirks at your lips pouted in the slightest bit of impatience. Next to go are his boxers, a simple white color, showing the outline of his prominent bulge. As if he can feel your need, the man hurriedly kicks off his boxers and climbs up onto your mattress above you, just over your thighs. He hovers over that same spot for just a moment before he hooks a finger under the hem of your panties, making eye contact with you so you’ll understand what he wants; and you do, lifting up your hips so that he can slide your panties down your legs and off of your body, flinging them somewhere else in the room.

 “Tell me if I do something you don’t like, okay?” He murmurs, dipping down between your thighs so his lips are brushing against your clit, making your lips part into a soft gasp of surprise. Sure you’ve had sex once or twice before, but you had never been eaten out. As if he can tell you’re experiencing an entirely foreign sensation, Kyungsoo slowly starts to suck on the bundle of nerves, occasionally looking up at you to make sure you’re still enjoying what he’s doing. The man then goes down to your core, which has started to drip with excitement.

 He carefully pushes the tip of his tongue inside you, almost immediately moaning at your amazing taste. The vibrations of his moans echo into your waiting core, only making your wetter than before. He does this a few more times, teasingly dipping his tongue deep into the crevices of your core, lapping up your juices when he comes back up each time. Then at one point, he suddenly stops, sliding off of your bed and crouching down towards the floor.

 “Soo, what are you doing?” You ask him shakily, propping yourself up onto your elbows to try and see what exactly he’s doing, afraid that maybe he was content with just a taste of you. Your nerves are quashed when he goes to climb over your body again, this time closer to your own confused face with a sheepish smile.

 “I uh, got a condom from my pants. Better to be safe than sorry, princess.” He chuckles deeply. You mentally slap yourself for questioning his motives, instead resolving to grab the foil packet from his slim fingers and unwrap it yourself. Kyungsoo watches with wide, sparkling eyes as you carefully slide the rubber condom onto his length and lay down on your back again, your breaths short yet excited. “If - if it hurts, tell me and I’ll go slow-”

 “N-no, its okay... you can be as rough as you want, please.” Your words come out a bit jumbled, your cheeks heating up in embarrassment when he licks his lips and nods quickly, one of his hands going down to guide the tip of his hard erection to your pussy lips. You were starved for sex, and deep down you had always wanted someone to really fuck you hard and fast - and Kyungsoo clearly didn't seem opposed to this either.

 Suddenly your mouth is wide, gaping in a mix of pain and pleasure when he slides his cock inside of you with little warning, a grunt escaping his pretty pink lips at the same time. He stills for a moment, gently rocking his cock against your walls to make sure you’re not in too much pain before he pulls out completely - only to slam himself inside of you again, a shrill scream of utter sexual pleasure bursting from between your already parted lips. He does this a couple more times, driving his cock deep into your pussy and pulling out just to do it all over again, causing your body to slide upwards on your mattress with each powerful thrust.

 “Oh Kyungsoo, please fuck me already!” You moan loudly to the man, who then lets his lips twitch into the tiniest of smirks as he heaves your legs up and over his shoulders, letting them dangle in the open air.

 “What the princess wants, the princess shall get.” He grunts lowly, suddenly moving his hips fast and hard against your thighs as he fucks you relentlessly, your screams sure to wake up your poor neighbors.

 But you could have cared less.

                                         ✧

 You wake up with an unfamiliar ache between your legs, your eyelids struggling to open as sunlight filters into your bedroom through the partly opened blinds. Your cheeks are undeniably warm when you remember all of what happened last night; Kyungsoo had treated you like a princess, all the while fucking you like a man deprived of sex for years. He’d made you cum three times, twice purely from thrusting his hips into you and once from fingering you until you saw stars. To repay him, you had him come undone twice as well, once from your animalistic fucking and once from a blowjob that had the short haired man groaning your name as he spurted his white seed into your waiting mouth.

 It had been the best sex you had ever had in your entire life, in all honesty. And to make it even better, you’d done it with one of the sweetest, down to earth men you had the pleasure of meeting.

 ‘That’ll show Irene,’ you thought to yourself, going to turn around and wake up the sleeping man, ‘men can approach me and not just want a one night stand-’

 But he wasn't there.

 Instead, you were greeted with an empty spot beside your still naked body, nothing left of the handsome and pleasant man you had been with merely hours ago.

                                         ✧

 You sulked for the rest of the day, just barely getting through your afternoon classes without making it too obvious that you had indeed had a one-sided one night stand. In fact, you were so upset that you had neglected to tell Irene what had occurred the night of the party the whole day, not wanting to further embarrass yourself because you had been completely, utterly wrong about Kyungsoo.

 The walk back to your lonely apartment was dreadful. Only as you were heading home did you notice the amused stares of other regular people walking by, and you remembered that Kyungsoo had left one side of your neck completely blue and purple - and you had worn a V-neck shirt the entire day.

 “Y/N, you’re home! Guess what? Mom hired a tutor for me before she left, and he is so fucking cool!” Your brother blew out your tired eardrums the second you walked into the shared apartment, his mouth going a mile a minute as he talked without realizing how shitty you felt (though you couldn’t blame him). “He’s even making our favorite ramen, isn't that great? His name’s-”

 “Dude, give me a second to breathe,” you interrupted the rambling teenager, bringing your fingers up to your nose and pinching the bridge of it with a disgruntled sigh, all the while placing your backpack down beside the front door and tossing your shoes to the side, “um, yeah whatever that’s cool. Just don’t- Kyungsoo?” You broke off upon seeing the all too familiar student stepping out from the kitchen, a baby blue apron tied neatly onto his torso as he stared at you in anything but surprise.

 “Hey, ramen’s done. Go get some bowls and I’ll meet you in your room to get started on your algebra work.” He said to your brother, not once breaking eye contact with you, even as the poor kid raised an eyebrow and darted into the kitchen. “Listen Y/N, I erm… I’m, sorry for leaving this morning without saying anything.” He breathes out after a minute of awkward silence.

 “I just, when I woke up I saw your brother passed out on the couch and I recognized him from the paperwork I was given by your mom and one of his teachers at school - I didn’t want to make either of you feel weird so I left.” He said in a rush, daringly taking a step closer to you, testing the waters to see if you would protest, which you luckily didn’t; instead choosing to awkwardly cross your arms over your chest and wait for him to finish talking. “I was kind of hoping to walk you to class or something, but when I came back after cleaning up you were gone already.” He explained, taking another short step towards your frame.

 “I thought this was a one night stand, Soo.” You admitted, wincing when he flinches back in hurt. “No - I mean, I didn't necessarily want it to be, but I figured that was what you wanted since you... left.”

 Kyungsoo nibbles on his bottom lip, which was still a tad bit swollen from the heavy kisses you both had exchanged the night before. “I really do think you're an incredible girl, Y/N,” he says with some confidence, taking another breath when he is suddenly having to tilt his head down to make solid eye contact with you, chests nearly touching from the close proximity between the two of you, “at the party, you actually listened to me talk, and I got to hear how amazing you are by doing the same for you. I swear to god, I didn't have a single drink last night - all of this, was because I happened to think you were a beautiful, intelligent, opening girl. I would love to maybe take you on a date sometime, to get to know more than just your body - not that... not that I didn't mind that part of the night.” He blushes a deep pink, plucking up the courage to place a hand on your shoulder, the tips of his cold fingers tracing the plethora of marks he had left on your vulnerable skin.

 “I - I would really like that, Kyungsoo.”

 And that was the start of a wonderful relationship between two college students; one filled with care and love, as well as some of the best sex either of them had ever experienced in their lifetimes.

                                         ✧

[brittainrhea]

Ghouli

- Ghouli looks so cool.

- Those girls were slicing and dicing. Damn! Calm down!!

- "You see what I want you to see"

- "Frozen on a stranger's bed" That's not creepy at all.

-Omg the three-piece business casual set of satin pajamas have returned!! I can't remember who on here talked about her always wearing it and referred to it as a three-piece business casual set of satin pajamas BUT I always scream "three-piece business casual satin pajamas!" EVERY. TIME. It makes me happy. Then I think about somebody saying she was a cozy bitch. Yeah...that makes me happy. So happy. Geez, how many times can I say three-piece business casual satin pajamas? So many times...so many...

-Scully is looking pretty badass walking through that house in her three-piece business casual satin pajamas holding a gun. Such a badass.

-They're being followed...that's not good.

-William is watching them on the Chimera.

- Bob! Go get your coffee!

- It's breath smelled like cinnamon?

- A dream just like Scully. Okay, so these girls were both Jackson's girlfriends and they didn't know what his house looked like? I mean you would think they would have seen it at some point. I guess it depends on how long they've known each other. Anywho, the one said her parents didn't approve of her having a boyfriend so did she mean a boyfriend in general or didn't approve of Jackson. She says "they're really lame but he's cool." Kind of makes me wonder if she was meaning they didn't approve of him specifically.

- "Kids would get stoned on it in the summer. Not me." Mulder's face and the way he throws his hands up at this comment was pretty funny. He's like yeah right...lol!

- Van de Kamp. Scully's face says it all.

- Woah, people still use the steering wheel and pedals on games?! What?! I know this is not the important part of the scene but I haven't seen anyone use those in a long time.

- I just want to hug Scully. Did you see her face?

- "You're trying to find answers to questions nobody else is asking." Well yeah...you don't understand why but it's kind of important for them to know this stuff.

- A murder suicide to me would seem a bit strange unless there were known issues with the family which I don't remember them saying anything about throughout this episode so...yeah...it seems a bit strange that the detective was so quick to accept that.

- Seriously Scully, seeing you like this just makes me sad and want to give you a big hug.

- I like that they had his room decorated in space stuff. Nice touch.

- I like that Mulder goes full detective.

- These DoD peeps are dicks.

- The first time I watched Scully's speech in the morgue...it was sad but I just didn't feel much of anything which for me was incredibly weird. However, the second time I watched it, I connected with it more.

"I wish I could have been there to ease your pain."

That part got me. Out of everything she says that part really got me. Gillian Anderson did a wonderful job which is nothing new. She's awesome. Well I think she is. Have you seen her in The Fall? So awesome.

Both times I watched this scene when she says "if you are William...this is what I'd say." Seemed so weird. So strange for her to say. I just feel like if that line was cut out, it would have been better. If she said "If you are William...I'm sorry." I would have been more immersed in the moment because both times I watched this as soon as she says "this is what I'd say." I immediately was pulled from the scene. Something about that just bothered me. My brain was just like why would you say it like that?

-Poor Scully...Poor Mulder... You can tell this is really getting to him, he's just trying to hide it for Scully.

- Mulder is right. She doesn't need to apologize for anything. She tried to do what was best for him.

- "Is this a message for me? Or am I sending a message to you?" After watching this episode, I'd like to know that answer too.

- "Did you take that from his room?" You can hear in his voice that he's struggling to keep it together.

- ”Do you like windmills?”  My brain immediately started thinking about the “I like turtles” kid.  

- "I like this one." Scully is so sweet.

- DoD douchebags here to ruin everything. Good job with the soda, Mulder!

- Skinner, come on dude. You're so lucky that I like you. I know you're in a tough spot and you try to help Mulder and Scully but damn dude! OMG! CSM, why must you show up?! I'm completely okay with not seeing you. I really hate you now. I didn't like you before but I could at least watch your scenes without getting completely pissed. You've gone to the next level of douchebag and your complete being just angers me.

- "It's cold and it smells." Skinner don't be a baby. Your warning is a little late dude. Skinner stop talking...you're making this worse. Mulder must think they're to blame for William's death. So sad. Skinner definitely feels terrible now. Maybe he should have told them this crap sooner. Well maybe he didn't know all of it yet.

So...CSM is using Mulder and Scully to find William?  And does Skinner not realize this? I feel like Skinner would have really tried convince them to stop searching for William if he knew this.  It seems strange...he know so much or appears to know so much.

- "It's an alternate reality Fox doesn't exist in coffee shops."

- CSM and Project Crossroads. Another experiment that Scully was unknowingly a subject of...well I guess we don't know for sure yet. Scully didn't seem to have much of a reaction to finding out that she was possibly the subject of another experiment thanks to Ol' Smokey. I know her main concern is William however she was just told that she was experimented on again. I would think she would be visibly pissed, upset, something!

- Where is he now? Well Scully they decided to make your son into kind of an ass so he's going to hang out with his two girlfriends. You know the ones he decided to test his powers on. Possibly traumatizing them by making them see the other as a monster which made them attack and almost kill each other.

- Okay...the first time I watched this whole Jackson at the hospital scene...I was so pissed that they made him seem like such a douche that I didn't notice some of his expressions when he was apologizing to them and explaining what was going on with him. I didn't pay close enough attention to how he was saying stuff and to what he was saying either. Obviously all this makes a big difference when watching this scene. I originally thought it seemed like he didn't care about what had happened with everything. To me it seemed like he was scared that these people were trying to kill him but that was about it.

Now the second time...once I had time to cool off...I noticed that he did seem bothered by what he had done, what happened to his family, and he seemed really confused and scared. He seemed like he was in shock after all this which is understandable.  He still seems like an ass which is disappointing.

- Jackson...you need a haircut...it would be a lot easier for you to escape if you could actually see where you are going.

- Again, Ghouli looks cool. Too bad it isn't real. What a shame.

- WILLIAM GET OUT THERE AND TALK TO YOUR MOTHER! I was so pissed at this part and I literally yelled this at the tv.

- I liked the final scene between Scully and Jackson. It seems so weird calling him Jackson and not William. I wish he would have just shown his face and actually talked to them before driving off. Was that too much to ask? Seeing Mulder and Scully watching the video...seeing him and hearing him was a very sweet moment. But I feel like they should have tried to go after him. It seems more like something they would have done... well at least it seems like something they would have done back in the day. I felt like Scully would have realized that was him before he drove off. I know she thought something was strange but it just seemed like with their knowledge of his power that she would have put that together.  I mean they just discussed it.

- To be honest, I was super pissed and incredibly disappointed after I watched the episode the first time. I was so excited to see this episode in particular because we all knew we would see William. We would actually get to see what he's become. I was so pissed that they made him seem like such an ass. I felt like I did at the end of MSIII. I tell you when I realized where they were going with the En Ami episode with CSM and Scully...I freaked especially since I've read the theories about it before and that was the one thing I said I really hoped they did not include in the show and guess what they did it!

Anyway...I guess my disappointment was with what they did with William not so much the episode as a whole because we had some great Mulder and Scully moments.

I enjoyed the episode more the second time I watched it. As I said before once I had time to cool off and not go into it being super hyped. I'm still not happy with the choices they made with William. His overall appearance irritated me. Seriously dude...cut your hair...if not cut your hair then get it out of your face...style it differently. Just do something different...geebus... The whole two girlfriends thing and testing his powers on them...I really just don't like it. I know he apologizes for what happened on the Chimera but he doesn't seem to see anything wrong with having two girlfriends that knew nothing about the other. The whole going to the hospital to see them and so on...ugh... It makes him look like an ass.

I feel like we were left with more unanswered questions that we will more than likely never get the answers to.  

I’m still on the fence about this episode...I liked it better the second time but I’m not sure I can say that I necessarily thought it was a good episode.  I just didn’t hate it. I don’t know...I felt like this episode should have been so much more.  

Other random thoughts....

Scully, why didn’t you seem upset about being a part of another experiment thanks to Ol’ Smokey? It seemed like they just acted like Mulder didn’t say anything about it. Why bring it up?

The Van de Kamps are now in Virginia? In like some fancy ass house. In season 9 weren't they on some farm in Wyoming. That's a major lifestyle change. Will we find out what happened with that? They were in the middle of nowhere before but now they're in some fancy neighborhood. Very weird.

I wish the Ghouli was real. It seems like a waste of a monster for it to just be something Jackson made up in his head. It looked pretty cool. They could have made him some failed experiment from the eugenics program. Like some branch of doctors working on the program really messed shit up. Lol!! I was really bummed that it wasn't some badass monster.

I noticed that both times Mulder saw William dead he kind of stares at his face and then suddenly looks away like he can't handle looking at him. First time when he goes upstairs to find Scully and sees them putting him in the body bag. The second time when he's hugging Scully in the morgue. So sad.

Ghouli.net was cool.  When Jackson said he made everything up, does he mean just everything about the Ghouli? Or did he make up the stories about the kid seeing the red haired woman too?

They need to rename this episode 'Mulder and Scully need a hug.'

[clonerightsagenda]

This was last minute but I'm a grad student so I was mostly drafting from life anyway. You can tell I was losing steam by the end though. All the library details are from my uni library, although I have never seen any dead Union soldiers, or any other ghosts for that matter. The creepy grad cages are my favorite part of giving tours.

 tuesjade prompt: school

The third floor of the library is so quiet every keystroke echoes. Last time you heard someone walking through, it was the security guard on their hourly late night round. You picked this spot for its isolation.

The door leading out into the central stacks creaks open, and you listen for the student's footsteps passing by. Instead, the curtain between your carrel and the stacks twitches back, and you squint out to see Jade waving at you from the other side of the grating. "I like your shower curtain."

"You would. School mascots are just anthro with a veneer of plausible deniability.”

You don't mention that the curtain is on your side of the door, which means she's pulled it backward (and tied it up with businesslike lashwork) with Space powers instead of with her hands. There's no one else in here, and the security cameras can't pick up that level of fine detail.

"Don't science students have their own library?" you ask. Wait shit, it sounds like you're trying to get rid of her. Which you're not, exactly, although if you wanted company you'd be doing research in your apartment. Still, when it comes to people it's safe to be rude to, even after all these years Jade Harley doesn't make your list.

If she takes offense, she doesn't say so. "They do, but a few of my theoretical readings have mentioned Foucault, and I think I've gone as long as I can pretending I know who that is."

"Yeah, you'll get random Foucault encounters in unexpected disciplines. If it's not him it's Derrida popping out of the tall grass of the lit review. Philosophers were never meant to escape."

"You would know." She glances at the shelves nearby. This section is materials so old they're still in Dewey instead of Library of Congress - another reason you preferred the spot. No one needs this stuff. "How many libraries do all your programs fit into?"

"A couple, but this is the best one." You've got a pretty good setup here, if you say so yourself. Books stacked up on the makeshift shelving unit, your own modem wired into the wall to make up for the library's spotty wifi, and a mini microwave tucked under your feet. Home away from home. "None of the others let you rent carrels."

"Is that what they're called? They look more like spooky library jail cells."

"Some undergrads passed through a few hours ago while I was typing and I heard one whisper, ‘I think there's a graduate student in there.’ They screamed and ran when I sneezed."

She giggles. "They thought you were a ghoooost."

"If anywhere on campus were haunted, this would be it." The third floor stacks are perpetually poorly lit. Thanks to later additions to a library building only Escher could love, the arched windows on the far wall open to nothing but brick. In Roxy's words, "it’s where you go to get some serious ass studying done or to share a hip flask with a Civil War ghost.”

"Actually, I asked Aradia, and she said it's clean. The chancellor's house, on the other hand, definitely registers as harboring some kind of otherworldly presence. We haven't determined whether it's the chancellor yet."

"Take a look at some of the desks and tell me this place isn't possessed by demonic energies." Graffiti springs up faster than the staff can afford to replace furniture, and when the wooden desks are too choked with pen doodles and carved Greek letters, people move to the walls. If they're not sharing their phone numbers, they're swapping insults with rival frats. You take anthropological interest in this detritus, although one time you'd tried to decipher a Sharpie scribble, made out "We fucked here ;)", and speedily left the seat.

"Rose says the building appeals to your Gothic sensibilities."

"If she compares me to Lord Byron, tell her those are fighting words."

Jade peers in, and you make a halfhearted effort to push the clutter of Monster cans and energy bar wrappers out of her line of sight. "How long have you been in there?"

You stretch your legs as far as they can go, which isn’t far. "I can still feel my feet, and if I have circulation that means it's been under ten hours."

She purses her lips. "Dirk..."

You gesture toward your open PDF files. Several are still waiting for you to review their footnotes. "This dissertation isn't going to write itself."

"It won't write itself if you're dead either."

"Overwork is neither Heroic nor Just."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm confident on a philosophical basis."

She shakes her head. "I know I'm up a little late too. I had a night class on campus, and then I had a bunch of grading to do… You know how I lose track of time when I'm working sometimes." When you'd all lived together, both of you would get lost in projects and miss meals, only noticing the time when someone showed up to drag you out of your room. Jade had started setting timers for herself. She recommended the habit, but you hated having a buzzer interrupt your thoughts. Things take the time they take.

"I've heard rumors about your grading." You may not have a vibrant social network, but you keep your ear to the ground on social media. There's a waiting list for section 4 of Physics 1000. If you weren't long past gen ed credit requirements, you'd take it yourself. "Everyone thinks you'll be a soft touch."

You couldn’t teach. It still takes effort for you to spit out “Good job” to a friend. Your brain, conditioned by years of self-criticism, jumps over congratulations to what’s next and what they could do better. If a three-year-old presented you with their fingerpainting, your first reaction would probably be to tell them to wash their hands. No one deserves to be subjected to that. Isn’t Dave living proof?

“They have to learn,” Jade says. She doesn’t love it when people can’t keep up either, but she, unlike you, has historically been able to slow down and let them catch up without beating the lesson into them. "I let anyone who wants come into office hours. We'll walk through the concepts together and then they can resubmit. It's not my fault if they don't want to try. But anyway, I don't make a habit of all-nighters.” There she goes, picking the thread of the conversation back up again. She’s always been good at that, no matter how much people try to dodge. “They're not good for you. So how about once I finish looking up whoever this very important French guy is, I take you home?"

"Isn't that out of your way?"

She snaps her fingers. "The teleportation express runs 24/7 and omnidirectionally."

"Shit, I should have asked you for a ride here. On the shuttle I got stuck between some guy dumping his date over the phone and an octogenarian professor who might've died while we were in traffic."

"Ask me any time. I'm glad I ran into you tonight though, and not just to rescue you from dying in the depths of Web of Science. Jane wanted me to pass on that your resolution for the graduate assembly got voted down."

"Another one for the garbage, huh?" You click out of the open PDFs and drag them into your 'To process' folder. As much as you’ll never admit it, your blood pressure drops along with the number of tabs open. "I've given them the opportunity to be relevant on this campus, but if they want to keep kissing the administration's ass, that's their business."

"It's hard to challenge the people giving you funding. I'm writing grant applications for the lab this semester, believe me, I know."

Money. That’s an aspect of civilization you hadn’t missed growing up in its waterlogged ruins. For an institution allegedly devoted to higher knowledge, this place is obsessed with it.

"Speaking of which,” Jade continues, “Jane also said if you try anything else the board might pass a new resolution to stop letting you submit resolutions."

You snap your laptop shut. "This is homophobia."

She snorts. "I won't be long, I just need to track down a selected works book. Then I'll come back and we can get out of here."

" I can't be held responsible for any losses to scholarship." You stand up and stretch. Something in your back pops, and your head swims. Ok, maybe you've been sitting here too long.

"I'll take the blame from the academy. Just get tidied up while you're waiting." She looks critically at your collection of Monster cans. "You can recycle those, you know."

By the time Jade gets back with a thick-spined book on philosophy, you’re out of your carrel and have brushed most of the crumbs off yourself. The recyclables have been scooped up and dumped into your backpack’s outer pocket. It’ll be a sticky mess later. “Are you ready to go?” she asks

“Sure.” It’s not even one, which makes this the earliest you’ve gotten home all week. You’re struck by an impulse to yawn and almost crack your jaw resisting it. For fuck’s sake, it’s only November. You’re not allowed to get tired until March at the earliest.

Everything flashes green, and before you have time to rub your eyes, you’re standing outside your front door. Part of you expects to walk through together, but you don’t all live under the same roof anymore. Growing older changes things, even for gods.

“You’re coming to the group dinner next weekend, right?” she asks.

You dig in your pocket for your key. There must be some sort of interdimensional portal in there, it’s fucking ridiculous. Roxy probably knows about eldritch creatures that eat housekeys, that’s got to be within the Void’s purview. “It’s at Jane’s place this time, right?”

“It was the last time I checked.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Then I’ll see you later. Have a good night!” She waves and vanishes before you have time to reply. So instead you turn around, stick the key in the lock, and step inside.

 (Dirk would be one of those zombified PhD candidates who you can find obsessively scrolling through 50-year-old dissertations on microfilm at 3 am. He IS the library ghost. He doesn't attend any committee meetings because he's overscheduled but he does send proxies with detailed questions/comments/concerns for every agenda item. If they knew what he looked like, the other committee members would probably kill him on sight.)