#my brain is coming up with heinous little ideas. what background do we have on Ludociel? That his family and friends were killed

[hihopelessromantics]

Hiya! To all the lovelies who’ve been reading “Through the Wall,” I got a question. A poll if you will. How many times do you wanna see someone / something get thrown through a wall? I’m still working out plot details so there’s plenty of room for fun hehe :) 

more storybuilding nonsense / questions in the tags! 

[whisker-biscuit]

The Birds, The Bees, and The Bottles

Fandom: Psychonauts

Rating: T for mild language and discussions of underage drinking

Summary: Two teens are caught trying to sneak into a bar. Bob finally has a conversation he’s held off for far too long.

Because herbaphony is not the only thing that runs in the Zanotto family.

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

Bob’s phone rang at two in the morning. Judging by the jolly ringtone of Helmut singing Strawberry Fields Forever, it was his personal phone instead of his work one, and that was the real tip off to things being very, very wrong.

He woke up and groggily pulled out of his still-slumbering-husband’s arms to answer the little thing going off on his nightstand.

“H’lo?”

“Bob!” Truman’s voice came out far too loud for the time of night, and far too stressed. “Bob, I’m so sorry to wake you, but something happened with Lili. I need you to pick her up for me, please.”

The older man sat up, much more awake as worry and fear immediately rolled in his gut. Helmut finally began to stir beside him, sensing his partner’s agitation.

“Truman, what’s going on? Pick Lili up from where?”

“The city’s police precinct on Abbey Avenue. She – she called me, but I’m out of state and I wouldn’t get there for hours at least even if I left this instant. She’s not in danger!” He added hastily, hearing the concern before Bob could even voice it mentally. “She didn’t get hurt! She’s just…”

The way he tapered off, the way he hesitated, said more than words could.

“She just got herself into some trouble, and she needs someone to go get her.”

Helmut was sitting up now, and Bob felt the question cross their mental link.

 What happened?

 Truman needs me to pick Lili up from the police station.

“I’m up, I’m on my way right now,” He responded to his nephew verbally, heaving himself out of bed. His husband followed suit despite still looking extremely puzzled, bless him.

“Thank you so much, Bob. I’ll make it up to you as soon as I can, I promise.”

“Don’t worry about it.” The older man waved a dismissive hand even though Truman wasn’t there to see it. “Family is s’pposed to do that for each other anyway.”

“Did I hear that right? Our peppy petunia had a run-in with the law?” Helmut asked as soon as his partner hung up. He paused, and in a lower tone – “she didn’t kill anyone, did she?”

“I don’t think it’s that serious,” Bob said, pulling a coat on over his sleep shirt. “But something tells me we still have a few things to worry about. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Ohohoh, no, don’t even think about hoofin’ it without me. We both know I’m the better driver.”

“Neither of us are very good drivers, Helmut.”

“Exactly! That little bit makes all the difference!”

The herbophanist sighed, charmed despite himself and the situation. “Alright, alright. Let’s not keep her waiting.”

The police precinct was nearly dead at this time of night. While it would’ve felt eerie to anyone else, Bob was grateful for the lack of people, and not just because he was still an introvert of the highest degree.

Two teenagers awaited them in the lobby, sitting on a bench together. One was hunched over and burning a hole in the ground with his downcast eyes. The other sat straight up, defiant, holding a glaring contest with the officer standing over them. When Bob entered the room first and met his great-niece’s eyes, her self-assuredness wavered for a brief moment. She hid the slip-up behind a wall of indifference.

“Lili,” he said softly. Then, just as softly but with a gruff tinge of surprise; “Razputin.”

There was no accusation in his voice, but the former scowled harder and the latter looked like he wanted to employ his invisibility. Bob studied them both a moment before his husband appeared and broke the tension with his mere presence.

“We’re here to bust you out, kiddos!” He announced with spread arms, cheerfully ignoring the looks he received from every person in the room.

“Are you Truman Zanotto?” Asked the officer who finally broke his gaze away from Lili to give them a disapproving once-over.

“No, I’m uh, I’m Bob Zanotto, and this is Helmut,” came the awkward reply. “Truman called me to pick Lili up. She’s my great-niece.”

A few seconds of silence passed as the officer made no move to do anything with that information. Bob cleared his throat.

“We’re, uh, listed in her emergency contacts for school?”

“I see. If you can just fill out some paperwork first, we can release her into your custody.”

The herbophanist watched the way Raz seemed to sink further in his seat at the mention of family contacts. The Aquatos were also out of state right now too, if he remembered correctly. Perfect timing for two minors getting up to mischief.

Well, up until they were actually caught.

“And…Razputin, too?” He asked, catching the teen’s startled gaze and giving him the mental equivalent of a thumbs-up.

The officer raised a brow. “Is he related to you, too?”

“Well, uh –”

“Yep!” Helmut interrupted, strolling right up to Raz and giving him a merry clap on the back. The teen had a physique comparable to most adult Olympic athletes, but even he nearly toppled forward from the force of such a big man. “He’s my third cousin, twice removed. Big family. Very close. Holidays are an experience, lemme tell ya!”

“Fine,” the officer pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, okay, I’ll make sure he gets cleared for release too. I’ll be right back.”

He stalked off, muttering something about it ‘being too damn early for this’, and the older couple turned to face Raz and Lili. Helmut steepled his fingers together to rest against his mustache.

“So! Now that Officer Spoil-Sport is gone, are we allowed to know what heinous crime has been committed in the night by my favorite pair of mischief-makers?”

The two glanced at each other. Raz was the one to break their silence.

“We, uh…got caught sneaking into a bar.”

Cold heat rushed through Bob’s core. Helmut blinked once, twice, then let out a boisterous chuckle.

“That’s it? Jesus! From the way you two were acting I thought you’d robbed the First National Bank.”

“…Helmut.” His husband murmured. The psi-king lost his mirth as he caught Bob’s eye.

“Ah…w-well, y’know, while I’m certainly glad we won’t hear about a righteous homicide in the news tomorrow, forgery ain’t exactly a humble hobby either.”

“It was just two IDs,” Lili muttered under her breath. “Not a big deal.”

The ice in her great-uncle’s heart turned frigid, but before he or Helmut could say anything to that, the officer was back. He shoved a handful of forms under Bob’s nose and the herbophanist fumbled to grab them before they all tumbled to the floor.

“Uh, uh, thank you.”

“Alright, we’re putting the pause on this conversation to make you free citizens again, but don’t think that means we’re done with it.” The Psi-King gave the teens the sternest look he could manage. “As soon as we get in the car, you two will have a lot of explaining to do.”

“O-Okay.”

“Uh-huh.”

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

No one spoke a word as they got in the car and started the drive back.

Raz seemed content to continue his efforts to blend in with the background of his seat, still not meeting anyone’s eyes, and Lili stared out the window with her chin in her hand, leaning against the car’s backdoor and letting the lights of the city bathe her in neon sickness.

Helmut, bless his soul, dutifully kept the radio going while he drove, changing the station to something more mellow whenever a song started getting a little too upbeat for the collective mood of the vehicle. Bob sat in the passenger side with his arms folded awkwardly. His brain was buzzing, dreading the inevitable conversation he needed to have with his great-niece and trying to figure out how he was going to go about it.

It surprised them all when Raz spoke over the music.

“It was my idea.”

The two adults glanced at each other, then through the rearview mirror at the fidgeting teen.

“Your idea to go looking for a drink? Or to sneak into a bar to do it?” Helmut asked, turning off the radio.

“Both.”

He still wasn’t meeting their eyes. Bob sighed through his nose.

“I don’t believe you.”

Razputin’s head finally snapped up to stare at him in shock for the fast call on his bluff. “I’m telling the truth!”

“I think you’re only telling part of it, kid.”

“No! I’m telling all of it.”

“Razpu-”

“Oh, come off it, Raz,” Lili snapped a little too loud, making the whole car jump. “Quit trying to take the fall for me. It was my idea to try the stupid fake ID thing, okay? Happy now?”

“Wh – uh, who said anything about being happy about it?” Helmut asked, legitimately confused.

“Look. Neither of us had anything to do tonight, and we were bored, so Raz suggested getting a drink somewhere, but Adam and Lizzie are out of town so we couldn’t ask them.” She crossed her arms and spoke without any inflection. “So, we went out but no one would let us do anything cause we’re minors. I thought that was stupid, because we’re agents same as any of you, so I came up with the sneaking-in part. We only got caught cause one of the bartenders recognized Raz from a show.”

There were a lot of loaded things to parse through from that explanation, but Bob’s mind stalled on one particular detail.

“Adam and Lizzie give you two alcohol?”

“Not…often,” Raz admitted. “Just once or twice, when we asked.”

“Do you mean like, a literal once or twice, or a…an estimated once or twice?”

“Did Dad put you up to this?” Lili shot back. “It was just a few times, like he said. What’s with the inquisition?”

“…Lili –”

 “Raz.”

“Okay!” Helmut proclaimed as he slapped his hand against the steering wheel in boisterous aggression. “Who wants some ice cream?”

Everyone stared at him, dumbfounded.

“Cause I’m really feeling some chocolate-vanilla swirl right now. Basic bitch style. Right? Who’s with me?”

Silence.

“Great! Look at that, open Dairy King right there, better take advantage of this opportunity before it slips through our fingers like the melting ice cream we’re all gonna have in about five minutes!”

The psi-king swung into the parking lot in a frenzy and herded the car crew inside before any of them could come out of their shock long enough to protest. It was only as Bob was staring up at fifteen flavors of oversaturated sugary goodness that he realized what had just happened.

He couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief over his husband’s diversion. The tension that had been boiling over was cooled significantly by the sudden non-sequitur, and while the teens were rather half-hearted about picking out their sweet treats, there was no longer a risk of an explosion happening.

Metaphorically and literally.

Helmut caught his spouse’s eye with a meaningful look at Lili the moment all of them had their orders in hand, then slung his arm around Razputin’s shoulders and steered him away. “C’mon my lad! Nothing like the cool night air of three in the morning to keep your Hurricane ™ properly chilled!”

The poor boy had no choice but to let himself be pulled outside, leaving the two Zanottos standing awkwardly in the dingy restaurant. Bob gave a nervous scratch at his chin under his beard.

“How about we, uh, find a seat somewhere?”

Lili couldn’t fully cross her arms while holding ice cream, but she did a good job of making it work anyway. “Sure.”

They sat in a booth in the farthest corner from the front counter. Both great-niece and great-uncle stared at their respective sweet treats as if they could teleport them out of this situation. Bob glanced out the window and saw Helmut and Raz standing outside of the car. The former was on one knee with his hand on the teen’s shoulder, speaking earnestly but inaudibly, and the latter was scuffing the toe of his sneaker against the asphalt.

“Are you going to lecture me?” Lili finally cut through the silence.

Bob turned back to her. “No. Not really.”

“No?” She broke her gaze away from her ice cream just a little bit, eyeing him with surprise. “Then why did Helmut take Raz and leave us alone?”

She was so perceptive, so smart. And yet, still so young.

“Well, I… I still want to talk to you about what happened. I’m just not very, good, at this kind of thing.” He took his spoon and absentmindedly began drawing a flower in his soft-serve. “You already know what you did wasn’t a good idea, right? So I don’t think a lecture would help things any on that front.”

She didn’t respond. He continued.

“It’s less about the fake ID and more…the reasons you made the fake ID. Does that make sense?”

“I guess so, but I know what I’m doing, Uncle Bob. I’m not going to drink irresponsibly.”

The herbophanist shook his head. “But you’ll do irresponsible things to be able to drink in the first place.”

“That’s not –” Lili didn’t have a good rebuttal. She folded her arms and grumpily started eating her cherry chocolate delight. “Whatever. It’s two different things, anyway.”

Against his better judgement, Bob began picking at his own food as he thought about how best to bring the subject back up without making the teen defensive again. Spoons clicking against teeth was the only sound between them for a solid minute.

Finally, an epiphany.

“Did Truman ever…tell you anything, about your great-grandma?”

The girl paused with a bite halfway up to her mouth. She frowned, confused. “Grandma Tia? Not much. Just that she died when he was a baby.”

“Yeah. Yeah, she did.” He ran a tired hand over his face. The ache in his heart might have long-since healed into a scar, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt when pressed. “She passed away when I was nineteen. The doctors told me it was liver failure.”

He didn’t have to say anything else. Lili’s mouth thinned and she put her spoon down, uncomfortable.

“When I…found out the reason behind her death, I was horrified by it. It didn’t make sense to me why she would willingly do something that hurt her so badly, especially when I was right there to love her and help her. It felt like a betrayal that she never got help or made herself stop. I was…disgusted by the mere thought of doing anything like that.”

Bob took a moment to breathe and wipe his eyes. He wasn’t crying, but better safe than sorry.

“It sounds pretty hypocritical when I say it now, doesn’t it?”

His great-niece only gave him a hesitant look.

“Anyway, uh, where was I…” He worried his lip. “Oh, right. I told myself that I’d never touch the stuff after that. I was angry at what she’d done, and I was determined not to have the same ‘weakness’, so to speak. As you know, it, uh, it didn’t last long. I was at a college party barely a year later when I was invited by some friends to drink with them. I didn’t make human friends very easily back then – actually, I still don’t – so I was a little desperate to keep them. It turned out to be pretty hard whiskey, so I got hammered.”

The man leaned back in his seat, staring at the patterns in the booth table.

“Back then, no one really knew how alcoholism could run in a family. Everyone thought it was a personal choice to keep drinking. It wasn’t even classified as an addiction yet. So I didn’t know how susceptible I was, or how careful I had to be. I’d spend months not having a single drink, thinking I was fine and could handle myself, and then I’d get plastered for a week at parties and bars and God knows what else, and it would take me even longer to get myself to stop again. It was like that even when I was with Ford and his gang. It wasn’t until I started dating Helmut that I started trying to change those habits. I’d never met anyone who loved me so unconditionally that I wanted to be a better person for them, until him. And it worked for a while.

“Well, barring our wedding, of course. I got shitfaced at the reception. It was embarrassing afterwards, but Helmut told me it made our cake-eating ceremony a hell of a great time.”

Lili snorted, and it was accompanied by a tiny upturn of her lips. Then it dropped as her expression became solemn. “And then…everything with Maligula happened, right?”

“Yeah. I think you know the rest of that story.”

“Uh-huh.”

Great-niece and great-uncle sat together for a while, just thinking about it all.

“I know I have to be more careful drinking than a lot of people, Uncle Bob,” Lili finally said at length. “My dad warned me about it when I was old enough to ask.”

“Truman is a good dad,” he murmured in response.

“The best dad.”

“Definitely the best dad.”

More silence.

“I didn’t mean to worry you and him,” she continued. “Or scare you. I know it was dumb to do what we did tonight.”

Bob looked at her, and she gave a conceding sigh.

“Okay, it was dumb to do a lot of what we’ve been doing with this stuff. That doesn’t mean I’m not being careful.”

“Kid, it’s not always just a matter of being careful. I thought I was being careful. I thought that for years and years, and when I finally realized I wasn’t, I convinced myself I could stop any time I wanted to, and kept up the same patterns anyway. That’s what I’m trying to get you to understand. I just don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did. I’m just worried about you.”

Lili closed her eyes with a grimace. “I know. I’m sorry, Uncle Bob.”

“Hey, kiddo, look at me.” He waited until she did so. “I’m not mad at you. I’m not disappointed, either. That’s your dad’s job. I get it, is what I’m saying. It gives you a buzz, and it’s fun and exciting, and you just wanted to have a good time with your, uh…”

Bob leaned in a bit, and dropped his voice to a stage whisper.

“Is Raz still your boyfriend?”

“Wha –” her cheeks went red. “Yes, he is!”

“Alright, sorry, I’m just always out of the loop. No one ever tells me when these things change or not. Anyway,” he continued before she could get brighter than the cherries in her ice cream. “I’m just saying that you gotta be more than careful with this kind of thing. Everyone should be, really, but especially people like us. Plants aren’t the only thing that runs in the Zanotto family, unfortunately, so we just have to be aware of it and act accordingly.”

The teen turned this over in her mind. He could practically see the gears moving. When she looked at him again, it was with a slow, contemplative nod.

“No more late-night bar-hopping?” Her great-uncle asked.

“No more late-night bar-hopping.” She answered, sincere.

“Good.” He looked outside. Helmut and Raz were both lying on the front of the car, pointing out stars to each other. The sight made him smile. “Come on, we’ll work on that whole thing about Adam and Lizzie giving you alcohol another time, when it’s not three in the morning. For now, let’s rejoin our boys again and go get some rest, okay?”

“Okay.” Lili slid out of the booth and tentatively took her family member’s hand. His fingers squeezed hers in reassurance. “And...thanks, Uncle Bob.”

“Well, what can I say. Us weird Zanotto plant people hafta look out for each other, right?”

“Right.”

They walked out together, hand-in-hand.

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

A/N: I knew from promotional material that we'd be going into the mind of someone struggling with alcoholism, but Bob's Bottles punched me hard in the gut. It's probably my favorite mind in the game, both because it's visually gorgeous and because it hit a little close to home with some of the themes, like generational alcoholism and how the addiction can make someone a shell of themselves.

I wrote half of this three weeks ago and then found myself really struggling to finish it because it brought up a lot of old feelings I thought I'd sorted through a long time ago.

Psychonauts, man.

[snake-rot]

(EXCLAIMING)

(ORCHESTRA MUSIC BLARING)

(GROANS)

(WHIMPERS)

(GRUNTING)

(MYSTICAL INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC PLAYING)

(GROANS)

(COUNTRY ROCK MUSIC PLAYING)

(COUGHS)

Sweet home Alabama

Where the skies are so blue

WOMAN: Excuse me, sir, is there a commode?

Sweet home Alabama

(GRUNTING)

Lord, I'm coming home to you

(GRUNTS) Justin!

Quick, honey, take my picture. I got the pyramid in my hand.

(CAMERA CLICKING)

Yeah

Justin, you get back here right now!

No, stop!

GUARD 1: No, no, no! Stop him! GUARD 2: Go back! Don't climb!

(JUSTIN IMITATING AIRPLANE WHOOSHING)

Wait, wait.

Hold on. Easy, little boy.

Okay, stop, child! Stop right there. No!

(GASPS)

No, no, no, no, no! Oh! There he goes.

(GASPS)

Justin!

I've got him! I've got him!

(JUSTIN GRUNTS)

(AIR ESCAPING)

Outrage in Egypt tonight as it was discovered

that the Great Pyramid of Giza had been stolen

and replaced by a giant inflatable replica.

There is panic throughout the globe as countries and citizens

try to protect their beloved landmarks.

Law enforcement still has no leads,

leaving everyone to wonder, which of the world's villains

is responsible for this heinous crime?

And where will he strike next?

Gru: Freeze ray! Freeze ray! Freeze ray! [laughs evilly] Fred: Morning, Gru! How you doing? Gru: Hello, Fred. FYI, your dog has been leaving little bombs all over my yard, and I don't appreciate it. Fred: Sorry. You know dogs. They go wherever they wanna go. Gru: Unless they're dead. [laughs] I'm joking! Although, it is true. Anyway, have a good one. Fred: Okay. Yeah. Steamrolling whatever Gru: [groans] You've got to be pulling on my leg! Margo: Hello! Cookies for sale. Gru: Go away. I'm not home. Margo: Uh, yes, you are. I heard you. Gru: [gasps] No, you didn't. This... [monotone] is a recording. Margo: [scoffs] No, it isn't. Gru: Yes, it is. [o.s.] Watch this. Leave a message, beep. [Edith kicks the door] Gru: Ow! Agnes: Goodbye, recorded message. Margo: [o.s.] Agnes, come on. Gru: Huh? [screams] Kyle! Bad dog! No! No, no. Sit. My muffin. Dr. Nefario: Gru! Gru: Ah, Dr. Nefario. Dr. Nefario: I know how you must be feeling. I, too, have encountered great disappointment, but, in my eyes, you will always be one of the greats. Gru: What? What happened? Dr. Nefario: It's all over the news! Some fella just stole a pyramid. They're saying he makes all other villains look... lame. pause Gru: Assemble the minions! [throws Kyle off of his arm] Minions, assemble! Minion: Okay. Okay. Hey! Gru: Looking good, Kevin! How is the family? Good? All right. That's my Billy boy! What up, Larry? Hello, everybody! Yeah, all right! Simmer down. Simmer down! Thank you, okay. Now, I realize that you guys probably heard about this other villain who stole the pyramids. Apparently, it's a big deal. People are calling it the crime of the century and stuff like that. But am I upset? No, I am not! A little, but we have had a pretty good year ourselves, and you guys are all right in my book. Minion: Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! Gru: No, no raises! You're not going to get any raises. What did we do? Well, we stole the Times Square JumboTron! Nice! That's how I roll. Yeah, you all like watching football on that, huh? But that's not all. We stole the Statue of Liberty, the small one from Las Vegas. And I won't even mention the Eiffel Tower! Also Vegas. Okay, I wasn't going to tell you about this yet, but I have been working on something very big! Something that will blow this pyramid thing out of the water! And thanks to the efforts of my good friend Dr. Nefario... Dr. Nefario: Thank you! Gru: There he is. He's stylin'. Now, we have located a shrink ray in a secret lab, and once we take this shrink ray, we will have the capability to pull off the 'true crime of the century. We are going to steal... The Minions all pull out their weapons in response. Gru: Wait, wait! I haven't told you what it is yet. One of the Minions, Dave, shoots his rocket launcher at a crowd of Minions. Gru: Hey. Dave, listen up, please! Dave: Ditto. One of the Minions Dave shot walks over to him and punches him on the shoulder. Gru: Next, we are going to steal, pause for effect, the moon! The Minions cheer in response. Gru: And once the moon is mine, the world will give me whatever I want to get it back! And I will be the greatest villain of all time! That's what I'm talkin' 'bout. [picks up his phone] Yes? Dr. Nefario: Hello, Gru? I've been crunching some numbers, and I really don't see how we can afford this. It can't be done. I'm not a miracle worker. Gru:Hey, chillax. I'll just get another loan from the bank. They love me! Margo: Edith, stop it! Edith: What? I'm just walking. Girls: Hi, Miss Hattie. We're back. Miss Hattie: Hello, girls! Agnes: Anybody come to adopt us while we were out? Miss Hattie: Hmm... Let me think. No! Edith immediately puts a mud pie on Miss Hattie's desk, much to her displeasure. Miss Hattie: Edith! What did you put on my desk? Edith: A mud pie. Miss Hattie: [sighs] You're never gonna get adopted, Edith. You know that, don't you? Edith: Yeah, I know. Miss Hattie: Good. So, how did it go, girls? Did we meet our quotas? Margo: Hmm... Sorta. We sold 43 mini-mints, 30 choco-swirlies and 18 coco-nutties. Miss Hattie: [gets up] Okay.

Well, you say that like it's a great sale day. [furious] Look at my face! Do you still think it's a great sale day? Edith rolls her eyes in response. Miss Hattie: [hangs up a portrait] Eighteen coco-nutties. I think we can do a little better than that, don't you? Yeah. We wouldn't want to spend the weekend in the Box of Shame, would we? No. Girls: No, Miss Hattie. Miss Hattie: Okay, good. Off you go. Go clean something of mine. Girls: Hi, Penny. Penny: Hi, guys. Gru: Hello, Mom. Sorry, I meant to call, but... Gru's Mom: I just wanted to congratulate you on stealing the pyramid. [Gru sighs in disgust] That was you, wasn't it? Or was it a villain who's actually successful? [laughs] Gru: Just so you know, Mom, I am about to do something that's very, very big, very important. When you hear about it, you're going to be very proud. Gru's Mom: Ha! [sarcastically] Good luck with that. Okay, I'm outta here. [hangs up the phone before sending her karate instructor flying] Gru: Gru to see Mr Perkins Receptionist: Yes, please have a seat. Neil Armstrong: That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind. Young Gru: Ma, someday I'm going to go to the moon. Gru's Mom: I'm afraid you're too late, Son. NASA isn't sending the monkeys any more. Vector: Hey. I'm applying for a new villain loan. Go by the name of Vector. It's a mathematical term, a quantity represented by an arrow, with both direction and magnitude. Vector! That's me, 'cause I'm committing crimes with both direction and magnitude. Oh, yeah! Check out my new weapon. Piranha gun! Oh, yes! Fires live piranhas. Ever seen one before? No, you haven't. I invented it. Do you want a demonstration? Shoot! So difficult, sometimes, to get the piranha back inside of my... Receptionist: Mr Gru, Mr Perkins will see you now. Gru: So, all I need is money from the bank to build a rocket. And then, the moon is ours. Perkins: Wow! Well, very nice presentation. I'd like to see this shrink ray. Gru: Absolutely! Will do. Soon as I have it. Perkins: You don't have it? And yet you have the audacity to ask the bank for money? Gru: Apparently. Perkins: Do you have any idea of the capital that this bank has invested in you, Gru? With far too few of your sinister plots actually turning a profit. How can I put it? Let's say this apple is you. If we don't start getting our money back... Get the picture? Look, Gru, the point is, there are a lot of new villains out there, younger than you, hungrier than you, younger than you. Like that young fellow out there named Vector. He just stole a pyramid! Gru: I've got it. I've got it. So, as far as getting money for the rocket... Perkins: Get the shrink ray, then we'll talk. Minion: Suckers! Suckers! Gru: We got it! What? Hey! Hey! What! Hey! No, no, no! You! Vectors: Now, maybe you'll think twice before you freeze someone's head! So long, Gru! Gru: Quick! We can't let him get away! Up ahead! Up ahead! Fire! Fire, now! Vector: You missed me! Gru: Come to papa! Take that. Vector: How adorable. Gru: Got you in our sights! Like taking candy from a... What? Vector: Hey, Gru! Try this on for size! Gru: That's weird. What is going... This is claustrophobic! No, no, no! Too small! This is too small for me! [groans] I hate that guy. Margo: ...and please watch over us, and bless that we'll have a good night's sleep. Edith: And bless that while we're sleeping, no bugs will crawl into our ears and lay eggs in our brains. Margo: Great. Thanks for that image, Edith. Agnes: And please bless that someone will adopt us soon, and that the mommy and daddy will be nice and have a pet unicorn. Amen. Margo/Edith: Amen. Agnes: Unicorns, I love them Unicorns, I love them Uni, uni, unicorns I love them Uni, unicorns, I could pet one If they were really real And they are So, I bought one so I could pet it Now it loves me Now I love it Gru: Don't you... What the... Good luck, little girls! Edith: Whoa! Cool. Margo: Hi! We're orphans from Miss Hattie's Home for Girls. Vector: I don't care. Beat it! Margo: Come on! We're selling

cookies so, you know, we can have a better future. Vector: Wait, wait! Do you have coco-nutties? Margo: Yeah. Gru: Light bulb. Dr Nefario! I'm going to need a dozen tiny robots disguised as cookies! Dr. Nefario: What? Gru: Cookie robots! Dr. Nefario: Who is this? - Gru: Oh, forget it. Mrs. Hattie: Well, it appears you have cleared our background check, Dr Gru. And I see you have made a list of some of your personal achievements. Thank you for that. I love reading. And I see you have been given the Medal of Honor and a knighthood. - Minions: Me, me, me. Me, me, me. Minion: Kevin? Mrs. Hattie: You had your own cooking show and you can hold your breath for 30 seconds? It's not that impressive. Minion: Idiot! - Minions: Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Mrs Hattie: What in the name of... What? Gru: Well, here's the dealio. Things have been so lonely since my wife, Debbie, passed on. It's like my heart is a tooth, and it's got a cavity that can only be filled with children. I'm sorry. You are a beautiful woman. Do you speak Spanish? Mrs. Hattie: Do I look like I speak Spanish? Gru: You have a face como un burro. Mrs. Hattie: Well, thank you! Gru: Anyway, can we proceed with this adoption? So, so excited! Mrs. Hattie: Please tell Margo, Edith and Agnes to come to the lobby. Margo: I bet the mom is beautiful! Edith: I bet the daddy's eyes sparkle. Agnes: I bet their house is made of Gummi Bears. [Edith and Margo look at her curiously] I'm just saying it'd be nice. [picks up a Cheeto] Aww. My caterpillar never turned into a butterfly. Edith: That's a Cheeto. Agnes: Oh... [eats said Cheeto, making Edith and Margo recoil in disgust] Miss Hattie: Well, Debbie was a very lucky woman. [pause] Gru: Who's Debbie? Mrs Hattie: Your wife. Hi, girls! Girls, I want you to meet Mr Gru. He's going to adopt you. And he's a dentist! Agnes: Yeah! Margo: Hi. I'm Margo. This is Edith. And that's Agnes. Agnes: [sing-song] I got your leg, I got your leg! Gru: Okay, that is enough, little girl. Let go of my leg. Come on. You can do it. Agnes: Higher! Higher! Gru: Just release your grip. Wow! How do you remove them? Is there a command? Some nonstick spray? Crowbar? [sighs] Okay, girls, let's go. [They drove off in the distance.]Vector: Uh-huh! Oh, yeah! Pretty impressive! What are you looking at? Boo-ya! You got shrunk, tiny mouthwash! Take that! You done been shrunk! (His phone rings) Yello? I got the shrink ray, all right. No, I'm not playing with it. Gru? Don't make me laugh! No. P.S., he is not getting the moon, and P.P.S., by the time I'm done with him, he's gonna be begging for mercy. (Shrinks a toilet) Okay, bye. (Hangs up) Look at you, a little tiny toilet for a little tiny baby to... [The toilet pops out and water sprays him.]Vector: Curse you, tiny toilet! [Gru and the Girls arrive at Gru's Home.] Gru: "Okay, here we are. Home sweet home. Margo: So... This is, like, your house? [realizing] Wait a sec... You're the guy who pretended he was a recorded message! Gru: No, that was someone else. [Margo gives a skeptical look before she, Edith and Agnes enter Gru's house, with Gru following suite.] Agnes: [scared] Can I hold your hand? Gru: Uh... No. Edith: [looks around] When we got adopted by a bald guy, I thought this'd be more like "Annie". Gru: No, hey! [screams] Kyle, these are not treats. These are guests. Girls, this is Kyle, my... Dog. Kyle snarls in anger. Agnes: Ooh! Fluffy doggy! [approaches Kyle before he runs away, much to her disappointment] Margo: What kind of dog is that? Gru: He is a... I don't know. Margo: Do you really think that this is an appropriate place for little kids? 'Cause, uh... It's not. [Edith sees a closet that is sharp and goes in it.] Gru: No! No! Stay away from there! It's frag... [He sees juice spilling on the floor.]Both: (Gasps) Gru: Well, I suppose the plan will work with two. Edith: [muffled] Hey! It's dark in here. [Gru opens the iron maiden, revealing Edith, who spits out a straw]Edith: It poked a hole in my juice box. [They went to the

kitchen.] Gru: As you can see, I have provided everything a child might need. All right. Okay. As I was saying... (Edith knocked a bottle down) Gru: (Cont'd) Hey! Oh. Edith: Somebody broke that. Gru: "Okay, okay. Clearly, we need to set some rules. Rule number one. You will not touch anything. Margo: Uh-huh. What about the floor? Gru: Yes, you may touch the floor. Margo: What about the air? Gru: Yes, you may touch the air! Edith: (Gets out a laser gun) What about this? Gru: (Screams) Where did you get that? Edith: [shrugs] Found it. Gru: Okay. Rule number two. You will not bother me while I'm working. Rule number three. You will not cry or whine or laugh or giggle or sneeze or burp or fart! So, no, no, no annoying sounds. All right? Agnes: Does this count as annoying? [popping] Gru: Very! [sighs] I will see you in six hours. Margo: Okay, don't worry. Everything's going to be fine. We're gonna be really happy here. Right? Agnes? Gru: Question. What are these? Dr. Nefario: A dozen boogie robots! Boogie! Look at this. Watch me! Gru: Cookie robots. I said cookie robots. Why are you so old? Dr. Nefario: Okay. I'm on it. Margo: Hello? Agnes: TV! Margo: What is that? Edith: Whoa! That is cool! Come on! Agnes: I don't think he's a dentist.Dr. Nefario: We've been working on this for a while. It's a anti-gravity serum. I meant to close that. He'll be all right, I'm sure. Gru: Do the effects wear off? Dr. Nefario: So far, no. No, they don't. And here, of course, is the new weapon you ordered. Gru: No, no. I said "dart gun," not... Okay. Dr. Nefario: Oh, yes. 'Cause I was wondering under what circumstances would we use this? But, anyway. What I really wanted to show you was this. Gru: Now those are cookie robots! Agnes: La, la, la, la I love unicorns Gru: What are you doing here? I told you to stay in the kitchen! Margo: We got bored. What is this place? Edith: Can I drink this? Dr. Nefario: Do you want to explode? [Edith kicks him in the shin] Dr. Nefario: Gru! Gru: Get back in the kitchen! Agnes: Will you play with us? Gru: No. Agnes: Why? Gru: Because I'm busy. Margo: [scoffs] Doing what? Gru: Umm... Okay, okay, you got me. The dentist thing is more of a hobby. In real life, I am a spy. And it is top secret, and you may not tell anybody, because if you do... Edith: What does this do? [She fires a laser and it hits Agnes's unicorn and it burns to ashes]Gru: Hey! Edith: Whoops. Agnes: My unicorn! You have to fix it. Gru: Fix it? Look, it has been disintegrated. By definition, it cannot be fixed. [Agnes gasps in shock, then starts holding her breath] Gru: That's freaking me out. What is she doing? Margo: She's gonna hold her breath until she gets a new one. Gru: [sighs] It is just a toy. Now stop it! (Agnes faints) Gru: Okay, okay! I'll fix it! Tim! Mark! Phil! This is very important. You have to get the little girl a new unicorn toy. Gru: Hey, hey, hey! A toy! Go, and hurry! What are those? Gru: They are my... Cousins. Jerry! Stuart! Watch them and keep them away from me please. [The three minions put on a disguise and head to the store.]Minions: Wow!- Wow! [Meanwhile the two minions and the girls are tossing toilet paper at each other. Gru comes up and he sees the Girls and the two minions having fun.]Edith: It was your cousin's idea. Jerry: What? Gru: Okay, bedtime. Girls: Aww... Minions: Aww... Gru: Not you two! Minions: Yay. Gru: Okey-dokey. Beddie-bye. All tucked in. Sweet dreams. Margo: Just so you know, you're never gonna be my dad. Gru: I think I can live with that. Edith: Are these beds made out of bombs? Gru: Yes, but they are very old and highly unlikely to blow up. But try not to toss and turn. Edith: "Cool." Agnes: Will you read us a bedtime story?" Gru: No. Agnes: But we can't go to sleep without a bedtime story. Gru: Well, then it's going to be a long night for you, isn't it? So, good night, sleep tight, and don't let the bed bugs bite. Because there are literally thousands of them. And there's probably something in your closet. Margo: He's just kidding, Agnes. Agnes: It's beautiful. Gru: Girls, let's go.

Time to deliver the cookies! Margo: Okay. But first, we're going to dance class. Gru: Actually, we're going to have to skip the dance class today. Margo: Actually, we can't skip the dance class today. We have a big recital coming up. We're doing an excerpt from Swan Lake. Agnes: Yeah, Swan Lake! Gru: That's fantastic. Wonderful. But we're going to deliver cookies! Come on! Margo: No. Gru: No? Margo: We're not going to deliver cookies until we do dance class. Really? Gru: Well, I am not driving you to dance class. So if you want to go, you are going to have to walk yourselves. What are you doing? Margo: Walking to dance class. Gru: Ya? Okay, fine. You just keep walking, because I'm really not driving you! Margo: Okay. Gru: You're going to suffer the wrath of Gru! Seriously, I'm going to count to three! And you had better be in this car! Here we go! One! Two! Teacher: ...three, four and five. And lift, and stretch. And one, and two... Agnes: Here you go. Gru: What is it? Agnes: Your ticket to the dance recital. You are coming, right? Gru: Of course, of course. I have pins and needles that I'm sitting on. Agnes: Pinkie promise? Gru: Oh, yes. My pinkie promises. All right. Our first customer is a man named Vector. Margo: But he's a V. You know, we're supposed to start with the A's. Then we go to the B's. Then we... Gru: Yes, yes! I went to kindergarten. I know how the alphabet works! I was just thinking that it might be nice to deliver Mr Vector's first. That is all. Almost over. It's almost over. Vector: Girls, welcome back to the fortress of Vector-tude! Do you have my cookies for me? Margo: Four boxes of mini-mints, two toffee totes, two caramel clumpies and fifteen boxes of coco-nutties. Vector: Exactly. I'd like to see somebody else order that many cookies. Not likely. Name one person who ordered more cookies than me. Margo: That'll be $52. Vector: Right. Seven, eight, nine... Tic Tacs! Where was I? Seven, eight, nine... Agnes: Why are you wearing pyjamas? Vector: These aren't pyjamas! This is a warm-up suit. Edith: What are you warming up for? Vector: Stuff. Agnes: What sort of stuff? Vector: Super-cool stuff you wouldn't understand. Agnes: Like sleeping? Vector: They are not pyjamas! Here you go, 52 big ones. Bye! Gru: Come on! Vector: What the...? Quiet down, fish. Down, boy!Gru: [laughs] We did it! Come on, girls, let's go! Margo: But what about the other people who ordered cookies? Gru: Life is full of disappointments... For some people. [chuckles ominously] Agnes: (Screams) Gru: Don't do that! Agnes: Super Silly Fun Land! Can we go? Please? Gru: No. Edith: But we've never been. And it's the funnest place on earth! Gru: "Don't care." Girls: Please? Please? We'll never ask for anything else, ever again! Pretty please? Please? Come on! Come on! Gru: "Light bulb." Edith: Come on! Gru: "Goodbye, have fun. [He began to leave. But a attendant of the roller coaster stopped him.]Carnival Ride Worker: Sorry, dude. They can't ride without an adult. Gru: What? [groans] [Soon Gru gets sick from the roller coaster ride.]Agnes: Oh, my gosh! Look at that fluffy unicorn! He's so fluffy, I'm gonna die! Margo: You've gotta let us play for it! Gru: No, no, no. Agnes: Come on! Gru: How much for the fluffy unicorn?Carnival Barker: Well, it is not for sale. But all you gotta do to win it is knock down that little spaceship there. It's easy! Agnes: Yay! Again! Margo: Wait! Edith: Come on. One more time! Agnes: Just one more. I accidentally closed my eyes. I hit it! I hit it! Edith: That was cool. Awww. Gru: Whoa, whoa, whoa. What was that? She hit that. I saw that with my own eyes.Carnival Barker: Hey, buddy, let me explain something to you. You see that little tin spaceship? You see how it's not knocked over? Do you know what that means, professor? It means you don't get the unicorn! Somebody's got a frowny face. Boo! Better luck next time! Gru: Okay, my turn. [Gru uses a fire gun and it blows up the whole booth.]Gru: "Knocked over!" Agnes: It's so fluffy! Yeah! Margo: That was

awesome! Edith: You blew up the whole thing! Agnes: Let's go. Let's try another game!Dr. Nefario: Gru, do you mind if I have a quick word? Gru: Okay, girls, go play. I got the shrink ray! Cotton candy! Dr. Nefario: We have 12 days until the moon is in optimum position. We can't afford any distractions! Gru: Get me Perkins. Sorry to bother you, Mr Perkins, but I figured that you would want to see this! Mr. Perkins: What? Well done, Gru. Rather impressive.Gru: Now, the rest of the plan is simple. I fly to the moon. I shrink the moon. I grab the moon. I sit on the toi-let. What? (girls start laughing) Sorry. Sorry! Could you excuse me for just one second? I told you not to touch my things. I told you, I told you. I've told you a thousand times. Margo: Hey, can we order pizza? Gru: Pizza? You just had lunch. Edith: Not now, for dinner. Gru: Dinner? Just... Fine, fine, fine, whatever. Just get back in there! Margo: Can we get stuffed crust? Agnes and Jerry: Stuffed crust!Gru: I'll stuff you all in the crust! Agnes: [giggles] You're funny! Gru: Just don't come out of that room again! All right. Sorry about that. Where were we? Mr. Perkins: You were sitting on the toilet. Gru: No, no, no! No, I'm sorry. It was a little attempt at humor. I know how much you like to laugh... [Mr. Perkins glares at him] Inside. Eh, now, I was saying... [the door suddenly opens] You don't seem terribly focused, Gru. Believe me, I am completely focused. Right? Edith: Hello! Mr. Perkins: What? Edith: That guy is huge! Agnes: Are we on TV? Mr. Perkins: What are those? Children?Gru: What are you doing? I told you to stay out of here! No, no, no! *Agnes: Freeze ray!Mr. Perkins: Mr Gru? Gru: Okay. As I was saying... Mr. Perkins: No need to continue. I've seen quite enough. Gru: But my plan... Mr. Perkins: Is a great plan. I love everything about your plan, except for one thing. You. Young Gru: Look, Mom, I drew a picture of me landing on the moon! Look, Mom, I made a prototype of the rocket out of macaroni! Look, Mom, I made a real rocket based on the macaroni prototype! Gru: I don't understand. Mr. Perkins: Let's face reality, Gru. You've been at this for far too long with far too little success. We're gonna put our faith, our money, into a... Well, a younger villain. Gru: But I... Mr. Perkins: It's over. Goodbye, Gru. Gru: Now, I know there have been some rumours going around that the bank is no longer funding us. Well, I am here to put those rumours to rest. They are true. In terms of money, we have no money. So how will we get to the moon? The answer is clear. We won't. We are doomed. Now would probably be a good time to look for other employment options. I know. I have fired up my resume as I suggest that all of you do, as well. What is it? Can't you see that I am in the middle of a pep talk? Yes! Yes, we will build our own rocket using this and whatever else we can find! Grab everything! Hit the junkyards! Take apart the cars! Who needs the bank? Let's go. Let's go! Mom! What are you doing here? Gru's Mom: And here he is in the bathtub. Look at his little buns. Gru: Mom. Not cool. Gru's Mom: And here, he's all dressed up in his Sunday best. Margo: He looks like a girl! Gru's Mom: Yes, he does. An ugly girl! Agnes: You're funny! Edith: Yes! Mine's shaped like a dead guy! Receptionist: Mr. Perkins, your son is here. Mr. Perkins: Send him in. Vector: Hey, Dad. You wanted to see me? Mr. Perkins: Yes, I did, Victor. - Vector: I am not Victor anymore. Victor was my nerd name. Now I am Vector! Mr. Perkins: Sit down. Do you know where the shrink ray is? Vector: Duh! Back at my place. Mr. Perkins: Oh, is that right? Back at your place? That's cool. I guess Gru must just have one that looks exactly like it! Vector: What the...?! Those girls sold me cookies! Mr. Perkins: Do you have any idea how lucrative this moon heist could be? I give you the opportunity of a lifetime, and you just blow it! Vector: No, I didn't. Mr. Perkins: Oh, really?Vector: You just wait until Gru sees my latest weapon. Squid-launcher! Oh, yeah! Man:

There's a squid on my face!Vector: Don't worry. The moon is as good as ours. Gru: Come on now, it's bedtime. Did you brush your teeth? Let me smell. Let me smell. You did not! Put on your PGs. Hold still. Okay, seriously! Seriously! This is beddie-bye time, right now. I'm not kidding around. I mean it! Edith: But we're not tired! Gru: Well, I am tired. Agnes: Will you read us a bedtime story? [pause] Gru: No. Agnes: Pretty please? Gru: The physical appearance of the "please" makes no difference. It is still no, so go to sleep. Edith: But we can't. We're all hyper! Margo: And without a bedtime story, we'll just keep getting up and bugging you. All night long. Gru: [sighs] Fine. All right, all right. Sleepy Kittens. Sleepy Kittens? What are these? Agnes: Puppets. You use them when you tell the story. Gru: Okay, let's get this over with. "Three little kittens loved to play, they had fun in the sun all day. "Then their mother came out and said, 'Time for kittens to go to bed."' Wow! This is garbage. You actually like this? Agnes: Keep reading! Edith: Come on! Gru: All right, all right, all right. "Three little kittens started to bawl, "'Mommy, we're not tired at all.' "Their mother smiled and said with a purr, "'Fine, but at least you should brush your fur."' Edith: Now you brush the fur. Gru: This is literature? A 2-year-old could have written this. All right. "Three little kittens with fur all brushed "said, 'We can't sleep, we feel too rushed! ' "Their mother replied, with a voice like silk, "'Fine, but at least you should drink your milk."' Agnes: Now make them drink the milk. Gru: I don't like this book. This is going on forever. "Three little kittens, with milk all gone, rubbed their eyes and started to yawn. "'We can't sleep, we can't even try.' Then their mother sang a lullaby. "'Good night kittens, close your eyes. Sleep in peace until you rise. "'Though while you sleep, we are apart, "'your mommy loves you with all her heart."' The end. Okay, good night. Agnes: Wait! Gru: What? Agnes: What about good night kisses? Gru: No, no. There will be no kissing or hugging or kissing. Margo: He is not gonna kiss us good night, Agnes. Agnes: I like him. He's nice.Edith: [turns off her light] But scary. Like Santa! Dr. Nefario: Only 48 hours till the launch, and all systems are go. Gru: About that, I was thinking that maybe we could move the date of the heist. Dr. Nefario: Please tell me this is not as a result of the girls' dance recital, is it? Gru: No, no, no! The recital? Don't... That's stupid! I just think it's kind of weird to do it on a Saturday. I was thinking, maybe a heist is a Tuesday thing, right? Dr. Nefario: Gru, you and I have been working on this for years. It's everything we've dreamed of. Your chance to make history, become the man who stole the moon! But these girls are becoming a major distraction! They need to go. If you don't do something about it, then I will. Gru: I understand. Dr. Nefario: Good. Minion: Butt. Butt. Butt. Gru: All right. Now, when we put our cups together, we will make the "clink" sound with our mouths. Ready? Edith? Gru: and Edith: Clink. Gru: There we go. And now we drink. And Agnes? Gru and Agnes: Clink. Gru: Very good! Excuse me, girls. Girls: Come on! Gru: Don't worry, I'll be back. Keep clinking. - Clink, clink. - Clink, clink.Gru: Miss Hattie, what are you doing here? Miss Hattie: I'm here for the girls. I received a call that you wanted to return them. [Gru gives her a quizzical look] And also, I did purchase a Spanish dictionary. [swats Gru's head with the dictionary] I didn't like what you said. Gru: But... I will get the girls ready. Agnes: Don't let her take us, Mr. Gru! Tell her you wanna keep us. Mrs. Hattie: All right, girls. Come on, let's go. Margo: Goodbye, Mr. Gru. Thanks for everything. Dr. Nefario: I did it for your own good. Come on, let's go get that moon. Gru: Right. What is this for? The recital? I am the greatest criminal mind of the century. I don't go to little girls' dance recitals! Dr. Nefario: Opening launch bay

doors. Commencing launch sequence. And we are good to go in T minus 10 seconds. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six... Vector: Oh, yeah! Gru: Nice work, Doctor. All systems go. Vector: Boo-ya! My flight suit. Oh, yeah! Once again, the mighty... Gru: I've got it! I've got the moon! I've got the moon. I can make it. Dr. Nefario: Wait a minute! Jerry: Kevin! Gru: Come on! Come on! Agnes: He's still not here. Margo: Why would he come? He gave us up. Agnes: But he pinkie promised! Teacher: Girls, girls, places. Edith: No, we can't start yet! We're still expecting someone. Agnes: Can we just wait a few more minutes? Teacher: All right. But just a few more minutes. Margo: He's not coming, guys. Dr. Nefario: Gru! Gru, can you hear me? Quick, we have to warn him, and fast!Gru: Okay, okay. There's the library. That's Third Street. The dance studio... There! There! There it is! Janitor: Sorry, buddy. Show's over.Gru: Over? Gru: Vector, open up! Vector: First give me the moon. Then we'll talk. Agnes: Mr. Gru! Vector: Zip it, Happy Meal. Gru: Now, the girls. Vector: Actually, I think I'll hold on to them a little while longer. Gru: No! Vector: Oh, yeah! Unpredictable! Gru: Listen close, you little punk. When I get in there, you are in for a world of pain! Vector: [laughs sarcastically] I'm really scared. Agnes: He is gonna kick your butt. Vector: What? He punched my shark! Dr. Nefario: There he is! Hang on, Gru. Oh, no! Gru: Vector has the girls. Go! Dr. Nefario: What happened to the ship? It's big again! Not as big as the moon is going to be! Gru: What? Dr. Nefario: The larger the mass of an object, the quicker the effects of the shrink ray wear off! I call it the Nefario Principle. I just came up with it now, actually. Gru: Oh, no! Margo: Did you see that? Girls: Vector! Help! Vector! Over here! Vector: Hey! What are you girls doing back there? Girls: The moon! Watch out! Vector: Ouch! Gru: Get as close in as you can. You got it. Margo: Mr Gru, up here! Agnes and Edith: Mr Gru! Gru: Okay, girls! Girls! You're going to have to jump. Edith: Jump? Are you insane? Gru: Don't worry, I will catch you. Margo: You gave us back! Gru: I know, I know. And it is the worst mistake I ever made. But you have to jump now. Margo: It'll be okay. Gru: Okay, girls. Margo: Jump now! Gru: Margo, I will catch you. And I will never let you go again. Vector: Not so fast! Gru: No! Margo: Let me go! Gru: Margo! I'm coming, Margo. Hang on! I got you.Vector: No! Oh, poop. News Reporter: This time, good triumphs, and the moon has been returned to its rightful place in the sky. But once again, law enforcement is baffled, leaving everyone to wonder, who is this mysterious hero? And what will he do next? Gru: Okay, girls. Time for bed. Edith: Come on! We want a story. Agnes: Three sleepy kittens! Gru: Oh, no! Sorry. That book was accidentally destroyed maliciously. Tonight we are going to read a new book. This one is called One Big Unicorn by... Who wrote this? Me! I wrote it. Look, it's a puppet book! Here, watch this. That's the horn! Agnes: This is gonna be the best book ever! Gru: Not to pat myself on the back, but, yes, it probably will be. Here we go. "One big unicorn, strong and free "thought he was happy as he could be. "Then three little kittens came around "and turned his whole life upside down." Edith: Hey, that one looks like me! Gru: No, what are you talking about? These are kittens! Any relation to persons living or dead is completely coincidental. "They made him laugh. "They made him cry. "He never should have said goodbye. "And now he knows he could never part "from those three little kittens "that changed his heart. "The end." Okay, all right. Good night. Margo: I love you. Gru: I love you, too. No, no! All right. Didn't I get you already? They're very good! Gru's Mom: I'm so proud of you, Son. You've turned out to be a great parent! Just like me. Maybe even better. Gru: No, I'm fine. Go ahead. No, no, no! THE END Hey, Carl! Hey. No, no, no. Me, me, me. John? No, no. Me, me, me. Oh,

poop. Oh, no! Stop! Stop! Hello, I am Gru. Back to work, back to work! Back to…

IS THIS THE ENTIRE FUCKING SCRIPT?

[scullydubois]

Only the Light Ch. 18

18/? | AU where Melissa moves in with Scully after Scully’s abduction | angst, msr slow-burn, occasional fluff | currently: mid-s3 (canon-divergent) | T | 5k | previous chapters | read on ao3 | tagging: @today-in-fic <3

Scully, Mulder, and Missy travel to California to meet Emily and wrestle with the future.

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

The echo of Scully’s heels against the linoleum is almost enough to drown out her racing heart. Mulder’s thumping steps and her sister’s daintier ones help too, but their collective power does nothing to ease Scully’s awareness that the Earth circles the sun at a thousand miles per hour. Today, she’s feeling every bit of it. 

The three of them round a corner, and a broad-shouldered man and tiny-waisted woman come into view. Agent Feniston and the lawyer, this must be. Outside of conference room C--as planned. 

Straightening every disc in her spine, Scully extends a hand and exchanges a firm shake with each of them. Mulder and Melissa hang back. 

“Dana Scully,” she declares. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“That decision rested with the foster parents,” the male agent insists. “As does any from this point forward.”

“Yes, and I’ll be sure to thank them as well,” Scully acquiesces.

“Hello, Ms. Scully.” The lawyer uncrosses her ankles. “I’m Tanya Joyce, you can call me Tanya. As a representative of the state of California, my priority is guarding the child’s wellbeing and ensuring that any choice made is what’s best for her.”

“Of course,” Scully murmurs. “Thank you for being here.”

Tanya thumbs toward the closed door of the conference room. “Brian and Cecily are eager to meet you. The foster system has extremely limited information on little Emily. Your testimony will help us all fill in some blanks.”

Scully nods. “Me as well...this is as much a surprise for me as all of you.”

“Are we to understand that you were not aware you bore a child, Ms. Scully?” Agent Feniston asks. 

“Yes, sir. I know it’s quite hard to believe, I feel the same. I was missing for a period of time last year and was comatose when I returned.”

“Yes, and how long was that period of time, Ms. Scully?”

The edges of her lips fall. “Approximately five weeks.”

“So is it safe to assume that though the child shares your DNA, you did not carry her?”

“No sir, not that I know of. I believe that my eggs were harvested, and she was...well, she comes from one of those.”

The agent hums a note of acknowledgement. “As I told you over the phone, the federal database contained no viable DNA match of a father.”

Scully nods. “Yes sir, and I have no knowledge of what sperm may have been used.”

“Noted.” He rubs his neck. “We were lucky, we only found you because you were in the missing persons database.”

“I had no idea I was still listed there,” Scully says. “I’ve asked the FBI to remove it.”

“Well, it was a stroke of luck for us,” the agent tells her. “This little girl’s foster parents encouraged the state to pursue child abandonment charges against whoever left her. She was found outside a local care center at two weeks old, as I’ve told you.”

“Yes.” Scully purses her lips. She imagines a baby with her eyes, nose, toes, chromosomes crying on a nondescript doorstep...she and Mulder did not know what they were doing when they said they wanted the truth. 

“We’ve already confirmed your story with the FBI,” Feniston continues, “and we have proof that you were working on cases in the east at the time of Emily’s delivery to the foster center, so you are free of any child abandonment charges.”

“Wonderful,” Scully replies, but really, those were the least of her concerns. “May I see my daughter now?” 

That’s the first time she’s ever said that sentence, and she didn’t expect terror to shoot up her spine. Is this what it is, having an extension of your life outside your body?

The lawyer steps forward. “I’ll introduce you to Brian and Cecily, they’d like to speak with you first.”

Scully does not like the way that sits in the air. Still, she musters a smile. “It would be my pleasure.”

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

Mulder and Melissa make themselves at home on a pair of leather chairs outside the conference room. They have been the pall-bearers keeping Scully aloft as her crushed dreams reinvent themselves as high hopes. They don’t understand how it happened any more than Scully herself: one phone call turned into multiple consultations with Agent Feniston, then Tanya and California Social Services and finally, DC social workers who performed background checks and prepared forms so that Scully could come here today to meet her baby and, God-willing, bring her home.

It doesn’t happen this fast, it never does--different voices said these same words to them a dozen times. And yet, barely two weeks after Agent Feniston’s fated voicemail, here they are. On All Hallow’s Eve, no less. Just in time for Emily to complete her first rotation around the sun.

They both play contrasting yet crucial roles in Operation Miracle Baby, as Mulder dubbed it. Dana has sobbed into Missy’s shoulder every night for the past two weeks; happy tears (her baby! she has a baby!), sad tears (she has a baby…and she didn’t even know...), scared tears (a baby! a baby, Missy! probably already walking, and maybe even talking if she’s exceptional...). The situation--and its implications--are impossible to reconcile in such a short time, if at all. Scully’s petite frame could not physically contain it. 

Mulder’s the comic relief, the distraction, the reminder that nothing can be so grave if there's still breath left in your body. He bought a CD of nursery rhymes and stuck in it his beat-up office radio, playing it through the day while Scully labored over this form or that and he pretended to alphabetize the case file drawer. Now, he hums himself to sleep every night with one of those rhymes; he’s hoping this new skill will come in handy. 

He would’ve bought toys and baby clothes too, but Melissa made him swear not to in case the adoption falls through. And she’s right, he can’t bear to imagine the pain Scully would feel packing those away. For sale: baby shoes, never worn hits you no matter who you are. Still, he has a stuffed UFO and a Build-a-Bear fox (yes, he went in and filled it himself) hidden in his closet, and he hopes they won’t go to waste. 

Operation Miracle Baby has been as covert as anything Mulder’s ever been involved in. He, Melissa, and Mrs. Scully are the only ones in his partner’s circle with any knowledge of what’s going on. No one else, in Scully’s words, matters. Trinity too has received a full briefing from Missy and is ecstatic about her girlfriend potentially becoming an auntie. Skinner was told it was a family emergency--and well, it is--though surely he’s suspicious about both of his agents requesting time off. Bill Jr. has no idea they’re in San Diego, though they may seek “refuge” (the air quotes are Missy’s) at his place if the proceedings drag on. 

This is a triumph or failure to be shared only with those most beloved, that’s what Scully said to them the night before they boarded the plane. Mulder has never been included in anyone’s most beloved before. It feels pretty damn good.

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

The perky lawyer raps on the conference room door, opening it in response to a voice on the other side. Scully’s breath catches….a strawberry-haired infant rests in her mother’s arms (Scully hates to think it, but surely this woman is more Emily’s mother than she is), pulling at a lock of the woman’s blonde hair. 

The woman turns her way, and Scully gets her first glimpse at Emily’s face. Emily. Her baby. She wondered the whole flight here whether she would feel a connection….a sense of recognition...upon laying eyes on her daughter. And my god, it’s like some chained section of her heart has burst open, flooded with all the good feelings of the world. Icy blue eyes and cherub cheeks...that’s her baby. That’s her baby.

She watches as her baby is passed to a woman in a CA Social Services button-up who slides past Scully in the doorway like she’s not even there. Scully has a split-second to notice the dimples on her daughter’s cheeks, but that’s it. Emily’s gaze misses her entirely. 

Tanya strides toward the couple in the room, Scully following behind. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Lace, this is Dana Scully, Emily’s biological mother.”

“We’re so glad to meet you,” the man says, shaking Scully’s hand with a firm grip. “I’m Brian, and this is my wife Cecily.”

“Thank you for speaking with me,” Scully tells them, shaking Cecily’s hand in kind. “I understand you’ve cared for Emily since shortly after she arrived at social services.”

“Yes,” Cecily confirms. “She came to us when she was a month old. Raising her has been an absolute joy.”

Brian nods. “She’s the second infant we’ve fostered. We adopted our first one, Andrew, when he was a year and a half.” 

“I didn’t realize you had another child,” Scully converses, feeling out of her depth. “It must have been quite a transition, taking Emily in.”

“It sure was, but she’s an angel, truly,” Brian says. “We couldn't fathom that someone could abandon her and get away with it, that’s why we contacted Agent Feniston.”

Cecily chimes in--”We were told the chances of finding a DNA match in the federal database was slim. We didn’t expect to learn that you were unaware of Emily’s existence!”

“Yes, I’m still coming to terms with it all,” Scully replies. “I’m grateful that you’ve given me the opportunity to see her, at the very least.”

“When we heard your story, we knew it would be heinous of us to say no,” Cecily says, offering a sympathetic smile. 

“You’re an FBI agent, did we hear that right?” Brain asks.

“Yes sir, I’ve been with the Bureau five years now.”

“You live in DC?”

Scully nods. “Around the corner from the National Mall.”

“That’s exciting!” Cecily pipes up. “How did you find yourself having Emily in San Diego?”

“I actually have no idea, Mrs. Lace,” Scully murmurs. “My family lived here when I was young, but I haven’t been back since. Coincidentally, my brother lives not too far off.”

“Wow,” Cecily gasps. “They weren’t kidding about you being a missing person.”

“No ma’am.” She went from a missing person to missing a person. No wonder she’s spent the past year feeling so empty. 

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

Mulder and Melissa get only the slightest moment to catch their breath before a child that is unmistakably the progeny of Dana Scully is carried into the lobby. Her hair curls around her ears in a cute mushroom top, her tongue dancing in her mouth like it has a mind of its own. They stare; they know better, but fuck it, if any baby is worth staring at, it’s this one. 

“Is that--?” Mulder whispers.

“Yeah,” Missy breathes. 

They’ve both seen the pictures, they are well aware that it’s her. They say these things for the awe of it. 

“She’s…” Mulder’s eyes are wide. “She’s bigger than I thought she would be. Not fat, I mean. Just...a whole tiny human.”

“She is, isn’t she?” Melissa smiles at her niece, who is now seated on her caretaker’s lap across the hallway. Emily’s big eyes blink at her, containing silent judgements. How like her mother she is.

Missy elbows Mulder. “I bet she orders mushroom pizza and then picks the mushrooms off because apparently ‘the cheese tastes better than on the regular cheese pizza,’” she muses, naming one of her sister’s quirks. 

Mulder likes this game. “I bet she vehemently denies the existence of extraterrestrials only to secretly believe that her dashing partner is right,” he offers.

Missy smirks. “I bet she would find this game very stupid if she understood it.”

“I’m all in on that one.” Mulder mimes pushing a pile of poker chips into the center of a table. 

Missy laughs, looks toward her seat partner with soft eyes. “She’s gonna be a great mom, isn’t she? Dana, I mean?”

“Oh yeah.” Mulder clasps his hands in his lap. “We should be so lucky to have a little Scully in the world.”

“Mm-hm.” Missy focuses on his face, watching for the slightest move that might give his thoughts away. “And she’ll be able to do it alone, do you think?”

“Well, I’m sure she’ll need some help from Mrs. Scully, and you, and…” he trails off before adding his own name, but Missy’s mind fills it in reflexively. “She’ll need help,” Mulder finishes, “but yeah, she’ll be incredible.”

The details have already been parsed out. As a single mother, Scully is required to list a guardian who would take custody of Emily if something were to happen to her. She listed her mother as the primary one--the social worker told her it’s best if it’s someone who has child-rearing experience--and Missy as the secondary guardian. She would, after all, already live in the child’s household. 

Then there was the matter of the job--its extensive time requirements, travelling, and danger level were all of concern to the agency. This came as no surprise to Scully; a single female FBI agent does not make the ideal adoption candidate. And though she hasn’t yet spoken to the Bureau, Mulder has promised her they’ll work something out. It can be like your leave of absence, he assured her. You tackle the paper trail and I’ll focus on following the suspect’s trail. Easy-peasy.

That’s what he says to her, though he’s terrified of losing her as his partner...Of her being reassigned to something simpler or leaving the Bureau entirely. She could teach at Quantico, that schedule would be a hell of a lot easier than running on Mulder time. Agent Scully can pack for hastily-booked flights at midnight then catch them at 7am, but Emily’s mother couldn’t. He will have to reckon with this if all the pieces fall into their graceful place. He’ll have to figure out how to rearrange their partnership for her, or even worse, how to live without her as his partner. Or maybe even at all. 

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

Scully glances at her shoes, then summons the courage to meet Mrs. Lace’s hazel eyes. “I hope you will consider my request. I know it’s not up to you entirely--the court will have the final say--but my abduction experience has left me unable to have a biological child, so learning of Emily was truly a miracle of the highest order.” 

Her voice clips as she takes a breath. “I understand that it would be a huge sacrifice on the part of your family, and that you’ve developed a bond with Emily over the past eleven months. I just ask you both to please...think about it.” Tears twinkle in her eyes. She made it, thank god, she made it without breaking down! She’s rehearsed that speech ten times over.

Cecily lays a hand on her husband’s arm. “Of course, Dana. It would be a painful sacrifice to us, you’re correct, but we understand that you’ve flown across the country to be here, and that you’ve brought witnesses to testify to your character, so your commitment is clear. We’ll listen and make as compassionate a decision as possible.”

Scully’s lips creep into a smile. “Thank you. I appreciate that.” She steps back, the weight of imminent sobs settling over her chest. 

“Ms. Scully has already undergone most of the requirements needed for adoption,” the lawyer tells Mr. and Mrs. Lace. “Medical clearance, psychiatric clearance, criminal background check, and home study. In the spirit of her unique circumstances, California and the District of Columbia have agreed to cooperate to make the process as smooth and expedient as possible, if you should choose to surrender Emily to her. I don’t mean to sway your decision in any way, just to give you all the available information.” 

The couple nods. “Thank you, Tanya,” Cecily answers. “We’d like to speak with the first witness now.”

Scully balks. She expected more questions, a barrage of them, as intense and prying as if she were testifying in front of Congress. And she was ready for that--she was prepared to do whatever they asked of her, to show that there are no lengths she wouldn’t go for Emily. She’s already documented every detail of her life for social services and given over the necessary specimens to prove that no, she’s not a drug user, and yes, her thyroid is hyperactive, but she takes medication for that and her doctor will confirm that it’s under control. 

And if they wanted to know more, she’d tell them. She’d tell it all. Her deepest, darkest secret (telling Daniel that yes, he should leave his wife & kids...all for her, to be with her), the most petty thing that haunts her (stolen cigarettes, smoked on the family porch at 1am), what she wants to say most but can’t (I love you)...a part of her was taken to create Emily. She would give the rest away to keep her.

There was a moment, in one of the drab little interrogation rooms at DC social services, where Scully was met with a question that lunged toward her like a time-bomb. Pull the fuse, pull the fuse it taunted her. See what happens. Instead, she played it off. Pretended she didn’t hear its doomed tick. Feigned none the wiser. No, she isn’t aware of any potential medical condition that would inhibit her life expectancy or ability to care for a child, she told the nice woman. Thank god they got the chip out of her neck before it showed up on any x-rays. 

She snaps back to reality, watching as the conference door opens, and her sister enters the room. 

“Thank you, Dana,” Tanya says, and she assumes that’s the lawyer’s way of telling her to get out, so she does. Outside the room, she settles next to Mulder in a seat that’s still warm.

“How’d it go in there, champ?” he chatters. “You need some water or anything?”

Scully’s not listening. Her eyes are trained on the baby girl across the way with hair too auburn to be brunette that’ll require a smattering of box dye every two weeks to qualify her as a soulless ginger. 

Emily’s eyes land on the woman she does not know is her mother, studying this new face with an infant’s usual curiosity. Mulder has realized by now that the little girl is of much more interest to his partner than he is, and he watches as mother and daughter wave to each other.

Scully lets out a laugh so strangled that for a moment Mulder thinks it’s a cry and jumps to comfort her. He relaxes back into his seat once he sees the joy on her face.

“She’s a sweetheart, huh?” Mulder wisecracks as the young girl jams her fingers into her mouth.

Scully beams. “She’s a baby, that’s her way of learning the world!”

“Hey, I’m not knocking it. That’s my personal preference as well,” he says with a lop-sided smile. 

“Yeah, well, she’s not licking evidence,” Scully quips. 

Mulder shrugs. “A man can’t help his oral fixation. Haven’t you ever heard of Freud…?” he lets it slide off his tongue. 

Scully rolls her eyes. His inability to maintain an appropriate manner is nothing if not inspiring. 

She gestures toward Emily. “You’re already encouraging bad behavior. Tsk-tsk,” she teases. 

“That’s my job as--hey, wait. What’s she gonna call me?” If you get custody, of course passes silently between them.

“I don’t know, Mulder,” Scully says, watching her daughter out of the corner of her eye. “I hadn’t really thought about it.” That’s a lie. She’s sat up during the night trying to decipher Mulder’s relation to Emily. He would certainly be the male authority in her life, but that doesn’t make him a father figure. Right? 

Scully adored her father because he was the head of the family, and he embraced the responsibility, always making sure they had what they needed. While her mother was often the one doing the grunt work of caring for them, her father provided for them. His long deployments with the Navy protected them. Scully understood his sacrifice and loved him for it 

That’s not how it would go with Emily. If she were so lucky as to get the child, Scully would be the caretaker and the provider. A two-in-one deal with a high price. What would that mean, for Emily? Scully could do it, she believes that. Not that it would be anything less than utterly exhausting, but with a little help from her mother and her sister, she could make do, and they say it takes a village to raise a child anyway, so what’s so bad about that?

Since she’s filling those roles herself, that leaves...well, Mulder could be the fun uncle, that fits him. Bill Jr. isn’t gonna cut it, and neither is Charlie, considering that he’s god knows where. Besides, it’s unlikely that Mulder will get a chance to know a biological niece or nephew. He and Emily could fill missing pieces in each other’s lives.

Scully’s eyes trace the contours of her partner’s face. “Do you have a preference about what she calls you?”

“I was hoping for His Royal Highness Fox Mulder of Martha’s Vineyard--is that too much?”

Scully lets a strand of hair fall over her face. “It might take her awhile to get her tongue around that.”

“Or it’ll speed up her speech acquisition,” Mulder replies. 

“Oh, you’re a child-rearing connoisseur now?”

Mulder twiddles his thumbs. “It is my goal to raise the first kid to transcribe canine language into English.”

“Really? I wasn’t aware of that,” Scully tells him, a smile flitting on her lips. It’s this kind of banter that keeps her sane. A few minutes out here with him, and she’s forgotten that what happens in that conference room will dictate the rest of her life. 

Across the hallway, Emily giggles at the air, and it fits, doesn’t it? Here she is, already laughing at Mulder’s jokes like the Scully girl she is. 

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

It feels like a prisoner exchange when witness number one in their civil-that-sure-feels-like-a-criminal case joins Scully back in the hallway, and Mulder is called forward “to the stand.” He swears he found a penny in the parking lot this morning & promises to bring back good news. Scully’s pretty sure he made that story up, but she’s no less hopeful that it’ll come true.

Returned from her brief stint in captivity, Missy dives right into a discussion of her niece: “Look at her, Dana, she looks just like you!”

“Well, she does have fifty percent of my DNA,” Scully concedes with an admiring glance at the little girl.

“Have you gone over to see her?”

Scully shakes her head. “I didn’t think that would be proper.”

“Are you kidding me?” Missy retorts. “First of all, Brian and Cecily are very nice people, and I’m not supposed to say this, but I think there’s a chance that Emily will be yours. Secondly, this could be your only opportunity to interact with your daughter and you’re not gonna take it?”

Scully bites her lip. Her sister knows how to craft an argument. “Alright, but you have to back me up.”

“Trust me, I wanna see her just as badly as you.”

Scully steels herself, then approaches the woman in the polo shirt. “Hello.” She does a polite half-wave, which she’s never done before and which makes her feel ridiculous. “I’m the potential adoptee, and I was wondering if I could say hello to this precious little girl.” It all feels completely out of character, like she’s reading lines from a script. But this is it, this is her reality.

The woman’s face offers little in the way of recognition. “You can have a supervised visit with her, yes,” she recites, as rehearsed as Scully. 

“Great.” Scully claps her hands together. “May I take her to my sister right over there?”

The woman nods. Scully lays her hands on Emily’s waist and lifts the girl gently from the woman’s lap. She is heavier than Scully imagined, or maybe just heavier than she hoped. Every ounce is a reminder of unseen existence and unwitnessed growth.

Emily does not balk, just stares up at her mother with those probing eyes. 

“Hi baby girl,” Scully coos to her daughter as she settles her against her hip. “Can you say hi? Have you got that one yet?”

The girl blinks. “Ma-ma.”

Scully crooks her neck, tries to reign in her racing imagination. All babies do this at this age, don’t they? Calling every woman mama and every man dada. Emily’s no exception. And yet...for that to be the first word her daughter has ever said to her. God winked at her, and she’s glad to have caught it. 

The pair makes it to Missy, who blows a kiss in Emily’s direction. “Hey there little one.” She extends her index finger, and the girl latches onto it. 

Scully cradles her baby’s head, Emily’s fine hair soft beneath her fingers. 

“She’s even-keeled for a baby,” Missy remarks, wiggling her finger and watching Emily crack a smile. 

“Yes,” Scully gurgles out of the sheer joy. She settles into her chair with Emily in her lap. “Do you know what she said to me?”

Missy looks up. “What?”

“Mama.” Scully dons a triumphant grin. “She called me mama.”

“Oh, no way!” Missy squeals. It’s a bit too loud and sudden, making Emily jump. The ladies laugh, and Scully pulls her daughter in closer, kissing the crown of her head. She still has that baby smell; the freshness of new life and all its purity. Scully sighs. It must have been even stronger when she was born.

Scully closes her eyes. If she had one chance to pause life somewhere along the way, to linger in a perfect moment longer, she would do it right now and she would never regret it. 

“My baby…” she breathes into Emily’s ear, hoping it will stick. That one day she’ll remember and find her way home, should she need to.

A warm tear slides down Scully’s cheek and lands in Emily’s lap, a dark drop on the girl’s corduroy pants. “Mama loves you, Emily.” She tightens her embrace. “That’s me,” she sniffs. “I love you, Emily.”

Observing this, Missy feels that she is an interloper and slips off to the bathroom, leaving mother and baby to have their moment. 

Scully strokes the girl’s tiny palm with her thumb. She has missed so much already, and my god, she could miss so much more. What is love, if not sacrifice? Hadn’t that been the takeaway from each week of Sunday school?

The conference door opens, and Scully finds herself irritated that life has failed to pause. Oh, what wouldn’t she do to take the reins from God, even for a moment? She looks up at Mulder, doe-eyed as he processes the optical illusion that is Emily and her mother. Said mother sees the tenderness on Mulder’s face as he comes to terms with this sight, and something in both of them breaks, and something else opens. 

Mulder approaches quietly, apprehensive about ruining the moment. Little does he know, he’s not ruining it; he’s completing it. 

“Hey,” Scully swoons. “How was it?”

He’s too earnest to crack a joke right now. “Less nerve-wracking than I expected,” he murmurs. “Brain and Cecily are good people.” 

Scully can’t help but wonder if they’re hammering this point about Brian and Cecily to make her feel better when the gavel falls in their direction. Mulder directs her train of thought away from this when he kneels in front of Emily.  His eyes are as soupy as ever, Scully notices; she could sink right into them.

“May I?”

Scully chuckles under her breath, like a stranger has just asked if they could pet her dog. “Of course, Mulder. Say hi.”

Over the past weeks, Mulder spent considerable time anticipating this initial interaction. First impressions are important, after all, and there is no one he has wanted to impress more than this sweet girl. Ultimately, he decided that he didn’t care what their meeting was, as long as it would be. And now that he’s here, knelt in front of his two favorite girls, he’s ready to make a promise.

He envelops Emily’s closed fist with one hand and uses the other to caress Scully’s palm. “I want you to know,” he begins, shifting his gaze between mother and daughter, “that I’ll always be here for you.” 

He looks to Scully, realizing that Emily is unable to comprehend what he is saying. “Regardless of Brian and Cecily’s choice, I am prepared to make every sacrifice so that you two can be a family. The family you deserve to be. I know what it’s like to not have that, and christ, Scully, I’m not letting you go through that. You’ve had enough for one lifetime.”

Scully’s face puckers. She is moved on a dimension that transcends the spiritual, if such a thing is possible. She closes her eyes, lets the tears slip out, then softens her focus on him. 

“Thank you, Mulder...Fox,” she effuses, needing to heighten the intimacy. “Emily and I…” she kisses her daughter’s temple again. “Well, you know. You already know.” Her voice is somber almost, reminiscent of a wedding vow’s binding utterance.

Mulder smiles up at them, pats Scully’s hand. “I know. Me too.” 

There are many phrases that could fill her blank, but he chose his favorite, and he’s got an inkling that he’s right.

Scully sucks in a breath, and it’s the first one that has ever counted. Earth is new to her, again.

The door opens a second time, and the lawyer approaches with Brian and Cecily behind her.

“Mr. and Mrs. Lace would like to take some time to think about their decision,” Tanya announces. “You will understand, they hope…?”

Scully nods, swallowing back a lump in her throat. She would like to break into a tantrum, throwing chairs and screeching every obscenity she knows. Begging please, please, don’t let me miss another heartbeat. Let me live in this Heaven I’ve found. But no answer is better than an immediate rejection, so she screws her lips into a smile and gives away two more handshakes. 

“Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Lace. I’m grateful for this opportunity.”

[aces-to-apples]

Your Reputation Precedes You

A response to “On Fandom Racism (and That Conlang People Are Talking About)” because lmao that cowardly bitch just hates getting feedback from people that she can’t then harass into oblivion

i.e. God I Wish I Could Use The Tag Fandom Wank Without The Titty Police Nerfing My Post

-

To be frank, I'm not here because I think you or any of your little cronies are going to change your minds. If the 'name' wasn't a giveaway, your group of ~likeminded individuals~ have quite the reputation for espousing ableist, antisemitic, and, yes, racist views under wafer-thin the veneer of "calling out racism." I think we both know that what you're actually doing is using the relative anonymity of the internet and progressive language to abuse, harass, and bully fans that you personally disagree with. You and your group are toxic, hateful, and utterly pathetic, using many peoples' genuine desire to avoid accidentally causing harm and twisting it into this horrid parade of submissiveness to You, The One And Only Arbiter Of Truth And Justice In Fandom. Never mind that you have derided autistic people as lacking compassion and empathy, that you've used racist colonizer dogwhistles to describe a fictional culture based heavily on real live Maori culture, that you've mocked the idea of characters having PTSD, or that vital mental health services are anything more than "talking about your feelings with friends uwu." Let's just ignore that you have ridiculed the idea of adults in positions of power exerting that power over children in harmful and abusive ways, that creating transformative fan-content that doesn't adhere to the spirit of canon or wishes of the original author garners derision and hatefulness from you, and that you've used classic abuser tactics in order to gaslight people in your orbit into behaving more submissively towards you in order to avoid more verbal abuse.

Let's toss all of that crucial context aside in favor of only what you've written here.

What you've written here is nearly 3,000 entire words based on, at best—though, admittedly, based on your previous behavior, I am actually not willing to extend to you an iota of good faith—fallacious reasoning. You posit that a constructed language, to be used by a fictional religious group located in an entirely different galaxy than our own, is othering, racist in general, and anti-Asian specifically. This appears based in several suppositions, the first being that a language unknown by the reader will, by nature, cause the reader to feel alienated from the characters and therefore less sympathetic, empathetic, and caring towards the characters. That idea is patently ridiculous and, I believe, says far more about your ability to connect to a character speaking an unfamiliar language than any kind of overarching truth about media and the human condition. New things are interesting; new things are fun; the human brain is wired from birth to be fascinated with new things, to want to take them apart, find out how they work, and enjoy both the process and the results.

The second supposition this fallacy is based upon appears to be that to move away from the blatant Orientalism of Star Wars is inherently anti-Asian. While I find it... frankly, a little bit sad that you cling so viciously to the Orientalist, appropriative roots of Star Wars as some form of genuine representation, that's really none of my business. If you feel that a Muslim-coded character bombing a temple and becoming a terrorist and a Sith, a white woman wearing Mongolian wedding garb, a species of decadent slug-like gangsters smoking out of hookahs and keeping attractive young women chained at their feet (as it were), a species of greedy money-grubbers with exaggerated features and offensively stereotypical "Asian" accents, and an indigenous people wearing modesty garb based on the Bedu people and treated by most characters as well as the narrative as mindless animals deserving of murder and genocide are appropriate representation of the many, varied, and beautiful cultures around the world upon which they were "based," then that is very much your business. Until you pull shit like this. Until you accuse other fans, who wish to move away from such offensive coding and stereotypes, of erasing Asian culture from Star Wars. Then it becomes everyone's business, especially when you are targeting a loving and enthusiastic group of fans who are pouring their hearts and souls into creating an inventive and non-appropriative alternative to canon.

Which leads into the third supposition, that a patently racist, misogynistic white man in the 1970s, and then again in the 1990s, intended his universe to be an accurate and respectful portrayal of the various cultures he stole from. I understand that for your group of toxic bullies, the term "Death of the Author" holds no real meaning, but the simple fact of the matter is that George Lucas based his white-centered space adventure on Samurai movies while removing the cultural context that gave them any meaning, because he liked the idea of swords and noble warriors in space. He based the Force and the Jedi Order on belief systems such as Taoism and Buddhism, but only on the surface, without putting any real effort into into portraying them earnestly or accurately. He consistently disrespected both characters of color and characters coded to be a certain race, ethnicity, culture, or religion, and likewise disrespected and stole from the cultures upon which he based them. He was, and continues to be, a racist white man who wrote a racist story. His universe has Orientalism baked into its every facet, and the idea that fans who wish to move away from this and interrogate and transform the text into something better than what it is are racist is not only laughable, but incredibly disingenuous and insidious.

As I said, I am not writing this to change your mind, because I truly believe that you already know that "cOnLaNgS aRe RaCiSt" is a ridiculous statement. The way you've comported yourself in fandom spaces thus far has shown to me that you are nothing more than a bully who knows that the anti-racist movement in fandom can be co-opted for your benefit. If you tout your Asian heritage and use the right language, make the "right" accusations and take advantage of white guilt and white ignorance, you can have dozens of people falling at your feet, begging for forgiveness, for absolution. And I think that gives you a thrill. So, no, none of this will change your mind because none of this is genuinely about racism—it's about power, it's about control, it's about fandom being the only space where you have some.

So I'm writing this for the creators of this wonderful conlang, which has been crafted by multiple people including people of color, who don't deserve this nonsensical vitriol, and for the fans reading this manipulative hate-fest, wondering if they really are Evil Racists because they don't participate in fandom the way you think they should.

Here it is: fandom has a lot of racism, antisemitism, misogyny, queerphobia, ableism, etc. baked into it. Unfortunately, such is the nature of living and growing up in societies and cultures that have the same. The important thing is to independently educate yourself on those issues and think critically about them—not "think critically" as in "to criticize" them, but to analyze, evaluate, pick apart, examine, and reconstruct them again in order to come to a well thought-out conclusion. Read this well-articulated attack on a group of fans who have always welcomed feedback and participation, are open about their backgrounds, their strengths and weaknesses, and wonder who is actually being genuine.

Is it the open and enthusiastic group who ask for the participation of others in this labor of love? Or is it the ringleader of a group of well-known bullies who have manipulated, gaslit, and then subsequently love-bomb people who did not simply roll over at the slightest hint of dominance? The ones who spent hours upon hours tearing apart, mocking, deriding, and falsely accusing authors of fanworks and metatextual works of various bigotries and -isms, knowing that those evaluations were spurious and meant only to cause harm, not genuine examinations of the works themselves or even presumed authorial intent. The ones who made their own, quote-unquote, community so negative and toxic that even after the departure of a large portion of them, including this author in particular, that community still has a reputation for being hateful, toxic, and full of mean-spirited harassers who will never look critically about their own behavior but only ever point fingers at others. The ones who are so very determined to cause misery wherever they go that as soon as their usual victims are no longer immediately available, they will turn on each other at the slightest hint of weakness.

This entire piece of (fan)work is misinformed at the most generous, disingenuous at the most objective, and downright spiteful when we get right into it. The creators of Dai Bendu, along with various other works, series, and fan events that these people personally dislike, have been targeted because it is so much easier to harass, bully, and use progressive language as a weapon against them, than it is to put any effort into making fandom spaces more informed, more positive, more respectful.

As someone rather eloquently put it, community is not a fucking spectator sport. You want a better community, you gotta work at it. And conversely, what you put into your community is what you'll get out of it. This author and their friends have put a lot of hate into their communities, and now they're toxic cesspools that people stay well away from, for fear of contracting some terrible form of harassment poisoning.

Congrats, Ri, you've gotten just what you wanted: adoring crowds listening to you spout your absolutely heinous personal views purely to live out some kind of power fantasy, and the rest of us staying well away, because fuck knows nothing kind, helpful, or in good faith has ever come from Virdant or her echo-chamber of petty, spiteful assholes.

No love, bad night.

P.S. Everyone actually in the Dai Bendu server knows your ass got kicked because you didn’t say shit for a full thirty days and ignored the announcement that inactive members would be culled. You ain’t cute pretending like it’s because you were ~*~Silenced~*~ after ~*~Valiantly~*~ attempting to call out racism. We see you.

[astyle-alex]

[FanFic] Start with Why | the Old Guard

This chapter just went live on Ao3, so I’m putting it up here too! I’ll still be posting the BatFam Kid!Fic, too, but that chapter will go up tomorrow!

Start With Why    (Part 4 / 6)

Fandom: the Old Guard  Pairings: Background Nicky x Joe Characters / Focus: OT5 + Copley, reacting to Booker's betrayal Rating: Gen Audiences Warnings: None (well, language, because the team are all quite colorful) Total Word Count: 10,288 Chapter Word Count: 1,535

Summary:

The thing about betrayal is that it hurts. Sometimes it hurts too much to see the broader situation clearly. But after Booker's betrayal, the team has to look at themselves and see how every one of them is culpable. Booker may have done the deed, but his measly 200 years makes him a child to the others, especially Andy, and like babysitters are to blame when their charge sets the curtains on fire, the Family needs to ask themselves WHY and accept the honest answers. Why Copley, Why Merrick, and Why something made Booker believe that his choice was the right one for his Family...

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Part IV :: Joe

           Booker betrayed him.

           His brother betrayed them.

           Joe’s own blood-oath brother of Fate betrayed them all like none of it mattered and he put Joe’s own sweet soul under the knife of callous torment, because he was too jealous and too weak and too short-sighted to know better.

           Because he was too young to know better.

           Nicky and Andy and Nile have all somehow resolved that they can forgive him— either they have already or know that they will, soon enough, come to it in time.

           Joe cannot begin to fathom it.

           Andy says Booker was a teenager trying to commit suicide and accidentally burning down the house, that he failed to see any of the realest consequences in his actions.

           Nile says he’d simply found something that helped him see a sort of goodness he could finally believe in; says he met Copley, found a kindred spirit who believed in him, and wanted to do something good that actually gave him back some tangible reward— selfish bastard.

           Even Nicky, Joe's own dear Nicolò, has fallen for the forger’s petty peddling.

           Nicky believes him, believes that his reasons for nearly destroying everything good about Yusuf’s whole world were good enough reasons to make him truly think it could be worth it.

           Joe will not forgive him, not ever. He has resolved to it, resolved to carry the hatred that the others cannot bear to shoulder. He will carry all of it for them, hate Booker for them. So, they can let the weight that comes from hating him so thoroughly rest outside their ardent souls.

           For a moment, Joe isn’t sure he will survive it.

           Hating Booker is like hating his own foot, like hating the run of charcoal his own fingers managed to get into his watering eye.

           Booker is Family, Booker is his brother.

           For a moment, Joe is very sure he will not survive this.

           But then he looks at Nicky, his unfailingly kind and sweet beloved, his so-forgiving Nicolò, and hears the echoes of his dying screams on that bitch Kozak’s table… He sees shadows of Nicky’s brains being stepped in by the boot of that degenerate Keane after he’d shot Nicky in the head… And Joe feels such a blindingly hot fury at the prospect of letting anyone connected to that horror dare to live that he wants to find a way to kill Booker dead himself.

           And yet, he’d hate to give the bastard what he wants.

           Yusuf cannot talk to Booker, cannot stomach even thinking about it.

           When he pushes up from the table, he doesn’t face the window when he storms away— instead, he goes outside the other way, tromping down onto the old cobbles that he’d been around to watch be laid. Most of them have been replaced since then.

           Nicky appears beside him, eventually, as he finds one of the very few original stones left.

           The love of Yusuf’s life doesn’t say anything, doesn’t touch him, doesn’t do anything but exist and be there and Joe already feels better for it— feels slightly more himself.

           Which breeds a guilt like no other.

           Nicky is here, but if were up to Booker, he wouldn’t be.

           Nicky being here shouldn’t be what lets Joe not hate Booker for almost taking him away.

           “That traitor’s head should be cut off,” Joe announces with a violent hand gesture that probably hasn’t been genuinely rude in a few hundred years. “Repeatedly, until it sticks.”

           Nicky gives a slow blink that Joe finds inconsolably unreadable.

           “I would’ve cut my own arm off, even if I knew it would not grow back, before I let a stranger say a bad word of him,” Joe wails. “I would have died, for good, to save him. I would have let myself leave you.”

           Nicky does not say anything, he simply lets his sad eyes overflow with sympathy and understanding for how much just existing in this nightmare hurts.

           “I hate him, Nicky,” Joe says, at a loss for words, a true rarity for him in his thousand years of life. “I hate him, and I hate that I hate him, but I hate the idea of not hating him even more than I hate this feeling.”

           “You cannot hate him anymore than he hates himself,” Nicky states, and Joe feels like he’s been wrapped in a hug he didn’t know he needed, though Nicky’s hands are still in his pockets and he’s standing nigh on three full meters yet away.

           Nicky will forgive him for hating Booker, Joe knows that.

           He might not approve of the vitriol Joe bears their brother, certainly disapproves of the claim that any of that hatred is on Nicky's behalf, but Nicky will forgive him for it.

           It makes Joe hate Booker even more.

           “Your God is the vengeful one,” Joe accuses suddenly, hating himself even as the words fall from his lips. “Allah would never seek to add more suffering to this world, but your god should have filled you with His righteous fury.”

           It was supposed to be an accusation, but Joe regrets it too much before he even speaks it to have managed to make the words come out with any barbs.

           Instead it’s made a few tears squeeze out from the corners of his eyes.

           “There is no righteousness in fury,” Nicky says, pulling the last dregs of wind from Joe’s sails with the simple and beautiful eloquence of the Divine.

           Joe trembles, hands in fists, wishing he had Booker’s nose to break instead of just his own poor heart as Nicolò meets his gaze, unwavering.

           “You and I have grown passed the banalities of organized religion, poorly built by broken men,” Nicky states eventually. “We fall back on scripture only when the doubt is fierce enough to quench the fire of our souls, but our souls are not like charcoal. We are not done burning once our fire has been made damp. The spark will reignite again, eventually, and we have our sure salvation in that we are blessed with time enough secured to wait until it does.”

           “He killed Andy,” Yusuf wails, the only ember of his pain left burning.

           At this, Nicky hardens— leans a fraction of an inch away.

           To Yusuf, that fraction feels like miles and eternities.

           “No, Yusuf. He did not,” Nicky states surely. “He shot her, fully expecting that she’d heal. Her time is her time, and it is not Booker’s Fate to bring her to it. Already, even having shot her, he did not stumble upon her time inadvertently. Even unaware that she could not heal, he did not introduce her to her Ferryman. All he tried to do was slow her down a little— In hope that he could somehow convince her if he explained.”

           It’s a revelation to Joe, a reframing of the situation that actually matters.

           It’s the difference between watching a sunrise through a window and seeing the full glory of it on the endless horizon of a jewel-toned desert.

           Booker declared that he’d killed Andy.

           He’d directly incited the wrath he believed he was due.

           And Joe had given him his full fury for it.

           Shame floods him, completely enough to snuff out the fury and turn it purely to despair.

           “He still was willing to make me sacrifice you for his own pathetic reasons,” Joe says, feeling hollowed out and raw in a way he cannot fathom how to deal with. Just as he cannot fathom how the others have a depth of soul that can forgive such a heinous betrayal as Booker’s.

           “I cannot forgive him,” Joe announces, “I cannot believe I will forgive him. Ever.”

           “I’ll believe it for you,” Nicky supplies. “I’ll remind you who you are right now is not always all that you can be, and I will love every version of you I meet between this version and the one I know will come eventually— the one who will forgive his brother.”

           Yusuf crumbles. His Nicolò still does not embrace him, but his soft smile props Joe up as steady as any arm might do.

           “I hate him, Nicky,” Yusuf says, shuddering as he exorcises the vile sentiment from his soul. His voice is hardly strong enough to call a whimper. “I hate him more than I have ever hated anything, than I have ever hated you. I cannot breathe, I hate him so.”

           “This will not kill you,” Nicky declares, “Your death is mine.”

           It’s an old promise between them, sometimes an oath of self-righteous possession, from they each believed it was their Fate to kill the other, and sometimes it's a promise of a deep despair at the potential of the Veil dividing them.

           Today, it makes Joe feel invincible— something he’d forgotten that he was.

           He gives Nicky his own weak smile.

           “My death is yours,” he says. Yusuf will never leave Nicky unless Nicky lets him go, Allah could not mean for them to be apart unless Nicky could truly bear it. And vice versa.

           “As yours is mine,” Joe finishes.

           Nicky offers Joe his hand and, together, they go back inside.

- - - - -

NEXT TIME: It’s NILE’s turn to try to find some sense in this chaos!

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[emospritelet]

Honourable Members - 3/3

Yay, I finished something!  And yes, I know the spoilers for Cobra have the PM on the opposite political side to the one I picked for him.  I don’t care, I still got them laid, and that’s what counts.  Here there be smut.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [AO3 link]

Sutherland was pacing his office.

It was an excellent room for pacing, he had discovered.  The rug was thick enough to cushion his steps to silence, but not so thick that his shoes caught on the pile when he turned.  Pacing was a habit of his, usually when he was irritated or had something that required a lot of thinking time.  Right now, however, his brain was concentrating on very little other than burning off the nervous energy that had been produced by a long night and too much coffee.

The prospective administrator of Wolsingham plc had finally backed out, restructuring talks had broken down, and the Government’s largest private contractor was being put into liquidation by its creditors, of which the biggest by far was the Government itself.  It meant that infrastructure projects would be on hold unless a new contractor could be found to take them over, and there would inevitably be widespread job losses, for which his administration would be blamed.  However misplaced that blame might be.

Since receiving the late-night call from the Minister of the Department of Innovation and Industry, a call which he had dreaded but which wasn’t wholly unexpected, he had been up and working.  He had approved the statement regarding the Wolsingham fiasco and sent it out to all MPs around half an hour before it was released to the press, at around seven o’clock that morning.  The Minister had appeared on Today to explain the Government’s position, but given what was already leaking out from the company itself following the announcement, it was more a case of damage control than reassurance.  Inside sources at the company, mouths firmly shut throughout its trading, were now telling anyone who would listen lurid tales about the rampant misconduct in the higher levels of the firm, and each new revelation made Sutherland want to wring the neck of each and every board member.

It was now almost midday, Parliament was in session and he was due to attend in an hour to give a statement.  Passing his desk, he snatched up the remote control for the wall-mounted television and switched it on.  The familiar green benches of the Commons flashed into view, already half-full of MPs gathered for the day’s business.  The Speaker called on Belle French, who stood up and raised her chin, and Sutherland’s eyes narrowed at the determined look on her face.  Here we go.  

“Mr Speaker, having received notification of the impending liquidation of Wolsingham plc this morning, I was appalled to discover the level of mismanagement and corruption that appears to have been going on!” she began.

“You didn’t bloody discover it,” muttered Sutherland.  “Somebody with a bloody axe to grind released the information.”

“I have received intelligence from credible internal sources at the company providing evidence of the most shocking misuse of public funds!  Evidence that the Government appears not to have acted upon!”

“Well, we’ve only just received it ourselves, give us a bloody chance.”

“Undercutting, loss-leading, deliberately pitching bids at levels they knew could not be delivered, then leaving the taxpayer to foot the increased costs when those projects foundered!”

“None of which you would know about if we hadn’t appointed a provisional liquidator!” said Sutherland, more loudly, as though she could hear him.

“Not to mention, Mr Speaker, the atrocious way in which this company has treated the weakest in our society.”  Miss French was on a roll.  “Thousands of jobs at risk, hundreds of small businesses going without payment!  This is blatant incompetence on a national scale, and the Government needs to be held accountable!”

“Oh, right, and the fact that we were tied into those fucking contracts by the last administration for the next five fucking years is lost on you, is it?”

Miss French stared out across the Commons, eyes flashing blue fire, perfect lips slightly parted as her hands gripped the notes in front of her.

“Moreover, Mr Speaker,” she added.  “Is this latest debacle not indicative of this Government’s utter contempt for the people it serves?  The failure to take seriously the mounting complaints about the small businesses and employees, suffering under the yoke of Wolsingham for years!  The slew of queries from local people that I and other Honourable Members have received and have raised with Government Ministers, only to be brushed off and sacrificed on the altar of progress!  A form of progress, Mr Speaker, that appears to be for a select few on the boards of these firms, and their shareholders!”

“Right, well, we’ll just nationalise everything, shall we?  Should be the work of moments...”

“This country needs fresh ideas and a fresh perspective,” she went on.  “The Democratic Socialists are the party of the twentieth century: a tired, worn out relic of the past run by tired, worn out men.”

“Bloody cheek!”

“It’s little wonder the Prime Minister spends so much time hidden away in Downing Street,” she said, seemingly uplifted by the chorus of jeers around her.  “I’d be ashamed to face the nation if I were him!  Presiding over those who have shown such blatant disregard for the people they were put in power to serve!”

“Can you believe this shite?” Sutherland demanded of no one in particular, gesturing at the television.

There was a rattle behind him, and he glanced around, to see Alice carrying in a tea tray.  He quickly cleared some papers on his desk so she could put it down, and turned back to the television, folding his arms.  Miss French stared out at him, proud and fierce as a warrior, her jaw set and her head high.

“Mr Speaker,” she said.  “The House demands that an urgent inquiry be held into the collapse of this firm and all who were involved in this alleged malpractice!  In the meantime, I call upon the Minister for Industry and Innovation and the Prime Minister himself to immediately make themselves available to this House for questioning on this most heinous of matters!”

“I’m attending in an hour for that purpose, and you fucking know it!”

He glared at the screen, but Miss French had sat down to a mingled chorus of cheers and heckling, and the Speaker called on another Member.  Sutherland turned off the television in disgust.

“What the hell do they bloody expect when we got the information only a few hours before them?” he demanded.  “I swear they want me to perform fucking miracles and then act all disillusioned when I don’t!”

“Seems to me like she’s already fighting the next election a year in advance,” remarked Alice, with a twinkle in her eye.  “Try not to take it personally, sir.  Coffee?”

He grumbled at that, but accepted a cup of coffee from her.

“Anything I need to hear about before I go over there?”

“The Press Office sent through a list of potential TV and radio programmes that have requested an interview,” she said.  “Carrie’s handling it, she says she’ll catch you up after you’ve been to the House.”

“Fine.”  He slumped into the chair and let his head roll back with a sigh.  “God, I’m tired.  If I have much more caffeine my head’ll explode.”

“I could make you some decaf if you want.”

“No,” he grumbled.  “If I tried to drink decaf I think my nervous system would be in open rebellion.”

“Have a biscuit instead, then,” she suggested.  “Chocolate Hobnobs.  I picked them out specially.”

“Sometimes I think you and Arthur are the only ones that care about me.”

“You know perfectly well that Arthur’s a greedy attention-whore and doesn’t give a shit about anyone as long as he gets fed and snuggled,” she said, with a grin.  “Mine is the only true loyalty around here.”

He chuckled, and sat forward, reaching for a biscuit.  Alice dropped a folder of documents on top of the pile already on his desk, and he ignored it in favour of dipping his biscuit in the coffee before sucking off the melted chocolate.

“Can you tell Carrie to come in here when she’s ready?” he said.  “I want to look over the briefing papers again and I could use her input.”

“Sir.”

She went out, and Sutherland ran a hand through his hair, pulling the papers towards himself and trying to take in what was printed there.  He ate the last of the biscuit, hesitated, and then took another, telling himself he could use the energy after pulling an all-nighter.  Tired and worn out my arse!  We’ll see who’s bloody worn out by the end of this!

x

The House of Commons was almost full, MPs clustered together on the benches, staring at him and muttering as he delivered his statement, the odd heckle or roar of approval cutting across the ever-present background noise. Sutherland ignored them, speaking in clipped tones, laying out the facts and avoiding anything extraneous.  He glanced around the chamber as he did so, briefly catching the eye of Belle French, who was staring at him with her mouth twisted and one eyebrow raised, as though she didn’t believe a word he was saying.  It was a little off-putting, and so he looked away again.

“The Minister for Industry and Innovation is in talks with other members of the cabinet and with major stakeholders at this moment,” he said, drawing to a close.  “I’m expecting an update from him in the next few hours, and this Government will keep Honourable Members briefed accordingly.  I have every confidence that the Civil Service will act with its usual expertise and professionalism to make the process as painless as possible for all those affected.”

He sat down, mentally readying himself for a grilling, and the Speaker shouted to be heard above the din.

“Order!” he bellowed.  “There’s a little time remaining for questions, but if you all get over-excited and shout over one another, it’s going to prove difficult for the Prime Minister to answer!  Mr Baron Samdi!”

“Thank you, Mr Speaker.” Samdi stood, suave and immaculate, straightening the cuffs of his shirt as he caught Sutherland’s eye.  “What reassurances can the Prime Minister give those of us with constituencies for which Wolsingham is a major employer that there will not be large-scale job losses?”

Precious little, at the moment.  Sutherland stood up again.

“The viability of the company’s ongoing contracts and the potential for TUPE to apply to firms willing to take them on is under discussion and will form part of the Minister’s initial report,” he said, and sat down abruptly.

“Miss Belle French!”

For fuck’s sake, she gets to ask a question again?  Wouldn’t be surprised if he bloody fancies her, the old bastard!  Sutherland scowled to himself, but tried to smooth his expression as Miss French stood.

“Thank you, Mr Speaker,” she said.  “There have been rumours circulating about the directors of this firm and potential misconduct in the handling of the firm’s finances and in the running of its business.  Misconduct, Mr Speaker, that touches the lives of millions of taxpayers and service users.  Misconduct that can only be described as contemptible—”

“Order!” shouted the Speaker, as the usual low grumbling increased in volume.  “Perhaps, given the early stage of this affair, the Honourable lady could limit herself to a question to the Prime Minister, rather than a damning indictment?”

Sutherland smirked.

“Thank you, Mr Speaker,” said Miss French, in a flat tone.  “Given the rumours of misconduct, rumours which I attempted very recently to bring to the Prime Minister’s attention, what steps is the Government taking to ensure that the directors are held to account for their actions?”

Sutherland wanted to grind his teeth.  He stood up, gripping the edge of the despatch box to stop his fingers from drumming on it in irritation, and fixed Miss French with a glare which she returned with interest.

“I admire the Honourable lady’s tenacity,” he said dryly.  “I’d like her to rest assured that the Government is not currently in need of her guidance in this matter.  Investigations will be carried out as deemed appropriate by the relevant authorities, misconduct will be reported and acted upon where they see fit, and the Government will act in accordance with any advice received.  If the Honourable lady could remind herself that the company has only just entered liquidation and it’s possibly a little too early to be erecting the scaffold, I’d be eternally grateful.”

A chorus of laughter rolled around the chamber, but he distinctly heard Miss French say “well, that’s bloody deflection, if ever I heard it.”

Her words needled him, but he stepped back from the despatch box, gathering his papers, a strange ringing in his ears that he recognised as growing frustration and anger.  The questions continued, but fortunately the Speaker only allowed another five minutes, so he didn’t have long to suffer.  He could feel Miss French’s eyes on him, and when he happened to glance her way she was glowering.  The questions over, MPs began leaving for lunch, the next debate scheduled for an hour’s time, and he allowed the room to empty a little before marching from the chamber.  Carrie fell into step beside him in the lobby, taking the papers from his hands and tossing her hair.

“Not a disaster, on the whole,” she said.  “I’ve arranged a press conference outside Number 10.  The Minister’s provided a brief update which we can go over in the car.”

“Fine.”

“Prime Minister!”

Sutherland let his head roll back with a rumbling groan at the sound of a familiar voice.

“Just keep fucking walking,” he muttered, and Carrie looked as though she wanted to burst into laughter.

“Prime Minister!”  Tap-tap-tap-tap went her heels as she trotted after him.  “If you have a moment?”

He caught a flash of chestnut hair and a whiff of her perfume as she drew up alongside.  Sutherland sighed.

“Whatever it is, Miss French, you have precisely ten seconds to spit it out,” he said curtly.  “I’m a little busy right now.”

“Fine, then I’ll keep it brief,” she said bluntly.  “I want in on the Wolsingham Committee.”

“The—”  Sutherland stared at her.  “There isn’t a bloody Wolsingham Committee!”

“Oh, so you’re telling me there’s gonna be no public enquiry coming out of this?” she said flatly. “No House Select Committee, no Government scrutiny whatsoever?  Pull the other one, it’s got bloody bells on!”

Sutherland was in parts outraged and impressed by her bravery.

“Miss French, I thought we already discussed your prior dealings with this company and decided that those disqualified you from having any part in Government consideration of its actions.”

“Well, I’d suggest to you that things have changed since the firm went down the toilet and took a bunch of innocent people with it, wouldn’t you agree?” she said tartly.  “At least put me forward for consideration and let someone else who isn’t blinded by prejudice decide whether I’m capable of acting impartially.”

Sutherland stopped abruptly, Miss French taking another step before turning to face him with fire in her eyes.  Carrie had stepped back from them, clutching his briefcase to her chest, her eyes flicking between them avidly.  He felt his jaw clench in outrage at Miss French’s thinly-veiled accusation.

“Are you saying I’m prejudiced?” he demanded.  “Based on what?  My reluctance to be accused of a rigged fucking system?”

“Right…” she drawled, nodding.  “Because it’s not like that exists in public office.  Perish the thought.  Thank goodness the Government is here to preserve public trust...”

“I don’t like your tone, Miss French,” he growled.

“I speak as I find,” she said coldly.  “You know as well as I do that this is an unmitigated disaster and it’s only gonna get worse!  But maybe you don’t care about the little people who get hurt, hmm?  I imagine being Prime Minister, stuck down here at Number 10, it’s easy to get out of touch.”

Sutherland prided himself in his self-control, something he had fought against his naturally volatile nature to address and improve over the years.  It was a mark of how far he had come that he hadn’t cursed anyone out on the floor of the House, in his opinion, but he was tired, and stressed, and so he did something that, looking back later that day, he would not be proud of.  He lost his temper.

“Don’t you dare tell me I’m out of fucking touch and don’t fucking care!” he spat, taking a step forward and wagging an admonitory finger at her.  “When I was working my arse off campaigning for equal pay you were probably at fucking pony club!”

“And what if I was?” she demanded, hands on hips.  “Just because my parents had money, it doesn’t invalidate what I want to do as a public servant!  And - and it doesn’t mean I can’t recognise injustice when it happens to others!”

He growled under his breath, turning away and heading for the entrance, but she followed him relentlessly, getting in front of him again and glaring at him.

“Okay, so I don’t have as many years of service under my belt as you,” she said.  “But then I am somewhat younger than you sir, and I’ve spent most of my life in school and in university!  During which time I also volunteered for Citizens Advice and a local women’s refuge!  Is that enough for you?  Have I earned whatever credentials you think I’m missing?  Or is it the fact that I’m challenging you that you don’t like?”

“Oh, so I’m a fucking misogynist again, am I?” he snapped, drawing to a halt again.  “Take a look at my staff, Miss French!  Take a look at all the women in senior positions in this Government and in Number 10 and tell me I’m a sexist pig, I fucking dare you!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, raising an eyebrow.  “I don’t think you have a problem with women, sir, I think you have a problem with me specifically.”

Sutherland tried to keep his rage internal, swallowing down the waspish retort that had risen in his throat like bile.  He even managed a tiny, bitter smile.

“If you have some sort of complaint about my behaviour, you know the proper channels to go through,” he said, as pleasantly as he could.  “As regards your request about involvement in future committees, put it in writing and my PPS will look it over.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I actually have to go and do some fucking work.  Perhaps you’d be good enough to do the same.”

He stepped past her, quickening his pace, and Carrie trotted at his side, shooting him an amused look as they made their way out into the sunshine.  He could still feel Miss French’s eyes on his back, as though he had a target painted there.  It made his shoulder blades itch.  He was inwardly seething as he walked to the car, and Carrie seemed to sense it, calmly drawing his attention to the briefing paper she had mentioned.  It was a useful distraction, and by the time he reached the podium that had been placed outside Number 10, he was as cool and collected as he could be.  The press conference went well, and when the door of Number 10 was closed on the world, he heaved a sigh, handing his coat and jacket to Alice, who winked at him and promised to bring him some tea.

Sutherland stomped into his office, followed by Carrie, who was smirking slightly, as though she was thinking of a joke she wasn’t about to share. Slumping into his chair, he snatched up a folder of papers that Alice had left on the desk. Reports with one-page briefings attached made up the bulk of it, and he growled under his breath as he saw what he suspected would be the first of many letters from the Honourable Member for Avonleigh, her complaints about the alleged mismanagement of Wolsingham there in black and white.  Snatching up the letter, he shook it at Carrie, who slouched in the chair opposite with a grin still on her face.

“And now I can’t escape the woman even here!” he complained, waving the letter.  “Look!  She’s gonna drive me up the bloody wall!”

“Well, if you let her set the tone of your encounters, that’s certainly true.”

“I don’t understand why we manage to push each other’s buttons so bloody much,” he added.  “I never had this problem with her predecessor.”

“That’s because he was hopeless,” she reminded him.  “Spent most of PMQs snoring on the benches, as I recall.”

That was true, but he grumbled under his breath anyway.

“You think she gets off on making me look an idiot?”

“I think you’re capable of doing that all by yourself,” she said, and he sent her a flat look, which made her sigh and roll her eyes.

“I think she gets off on the challenge,” she said.  “I’d say that you’re fairly evenly matched, on the whole.  Both very intelligent, both very passionate, just with slightly different ways of getting your point across.”

“As in I sound as though I’m shouting outside the factory gates and she sounds like a bloody orator?” he muttered.  “I’m well aware.”

“Well, you never know.”  She winked at him.  “Maybe she likes a bit of rough.”

“I’ll give her a bit of bloody rough,” he growled.

“I expect that’s what she’s hoping,” she said absently, flipping through her papers.  “We won’t say which bit, of course.”

“Remind me why I haven’t fired you?” he demanded, slapping the letter down, and she arched a brow at him.

“Because you think it’s important that people be able to speak truth to power, and you know I’ll always tell you the truth,” she said airily.  “Even if I take the piss while doing it.”

He grumbled at that.  It was accurate, of course.

“What am I gonna do about her?” he asked, and there was a hint of pleading in his voice.  Carrie pursed her lips, a thoughtful look on her face.

“Well,” she said.  “You could try sleeping with her.”

“Carrie!”

“I’m serious!” she protested.  “It’s obvious that you want to.  It’s even more obvious that she wants to.  Why am I the only one saying it?  You know, apart from the rest of the Cabinet, most of the Commons, Special Branch, the tabloid press...”

“That would be a total abuse of power and you know it!”

“Oh, please!”  She sniffed in derision.  “She’s not some gullible young intern gawping at you in awe.  She’s a very intelligent, very competent adult.  And she’s more than capable of handing your delightful arse to you.”

“She’s half my bloody age!” he said, ignoring the comment about his arse.

“Right, because that’s a total barrier to mutual lust…”

“For fuck’s sake...”

“You know I’m right.”

“I know we can barely stay civil when we have a conversation,” he said. “That’s what I know.”

“Yes, you’re both brimming over with passion,” she said absently.  “Go burn some of it off would you?  Preferably together.  Preferably naked.”

“No, I’ve got a better idea.”

“I very much doubt it,” she remarked, and then sighed again as she looked up. “Very well.  What’s your brilliant plan?”

“Easy,” he said.  “I’m gonna give her something to do.”

x

Sutherland took a sip of whisky, scribbling a note on the report in front of him.  The clock on the wall ticked its slow rhythm; it was approaching nine o’clock and most of the staff had left for the day.  Even Arthur had wandered out of the room and left him alone.  He was still expecting a visitor, though.  The business of Government continued.

He finished reading the report, added a final comment, and set it aside just as the clock chimed nine.  Sitting back, he took another sip of whisky, hearing voices outside the door.  He took another sip, draining the glass.  It appeared his visitor had arrived.  A swift knock, and the door opened, Carrie peering around it.

“Miss French to see you, sir,” she said, in a perfectly appropriate tone, which she spoiled entirely by winking at him.  “I was about to get off, but if you want me to stay…”

“That won’t be necessary,” he said, in a very even tone.  “I daresay Miss French won’t be here long.  Thank you, Carrie.”

She nodded, disappearing, and Miss French took her place, black skirt and white shirt beneath a neat black jacket, her feet in some of those impossibly high shoes.  She nodded to him cautiously.

“Prime Minister.”

“Well, come in and sit down,” he said impatiently.

She closed the door behind her, crossing to the chair in front of his desk and taking a seat.  He sat back a little, tapping his pen against the papers in front of him as he looked at her, and Miss French pursed her lips.

“Am I to be reprimanded?” she asked lightly, and he raised a brow.

“For what?”

“For chewing you out in the corridors of power,” she said dryly.  “For not knowing my place, whatever.”

He rolled the pen between thumb and forefinger, raising a brow.

“You think I brought you here to chastise you, is that it?”

A slight blush bloomed in her cheeks, and he wondered what she was thinking.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.  “Although I guess if you were going to do something, it would have been earlier, right?”

He allowed himself a tiny smile.

“Miss French, if you think that was the worst thing that’s ever been said to me in the Houses of Parliament, you’re very much mistaken.”

“Guess I’ll need to try harder.”

She smiled a little, to take the edge off, and he grinned, jerking his head towards the cabinet.

“Would you like a drink?”

“Are we celebrating something?”

“No,” he said tersely.  “But I’m gonna pour myself one, and I’m being fucking polite.  D’you want one or not?”

She eyed him, lips pursed.

“Okay.”

He got up, taking his empty glass to the cabinet and taking out another.

“Whisky?”

“Thank you.”

He poured two glasses, turning with them in his hands.  Miss French had stood up, and perched herself on the edge of his desk again, knees crossed, one foot bouncing a little as she watched him.  The light gleamed on her curls, shining waves of mahogany resting on her shoulders.  He wondered if it was as soft as it looked.

“No Arthur this evening?” she asked.  He handed her a drink, trying not to glance at her perfect legs.

“He wandered off an hour ago.  I should think he’s already gone to curl up on the bed.”

“Hmm.”  She took a sip, still watching him.  “Lucky Arthur.”

Her eyes held his, and he licked his lips, his throat suddenly dry.  He wanted to say something, but the words seemed to catch in his throat.  He took a sip of his drink as he tried to collect his thoughts, and Miss French came to his rescue by speaking first.

“Do you always work so late?”

“Not always,” he said, and shrugged.  “Sometimes later.”

She smiled a little.

“Long days, then,” she said.  “Longer nights, perhaps.”

She took another sip, eyes fixed on his, and he licked his lips again.  He was nervous, he realised, and it was an unfamiliar feeling, if not entirely unpleasant.

“Country doesn’t run itself, unfortunately,” he added.  “There’s a reason every Prime Minister rapidly goes grey.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” she said.  “You look very distinguished.”

“That’s a kind way of saying knackered.”

She grinned at that.

“Well, you know what they say about all work and no play...”

“I know,” he sighed.  “Ridiculously long work days and no personal life to speak of.  I’m sure I must seem very boring to you.”

“Quite the contrary.”  She tilted her head a little, looking him over.  “I’m sure you can be very interesting indeed when it suits you.”

Her gaze was weighing, measuring, as though she was peeling off his clothing layer by layer to reveal the true man beneath.  It was a little unnerving.

“I hope you find time for - leisure,” he said awkwardly, and her lips pursed, her eyes sparkling.

“I can keep myself amused.”

Her gaze was making his skin tingle, and he began pacing, head turned away from her a little.  The silence between them stretched and grew, making his heart thump and his breath quicken.  He heard her shift a little on the desk, the soft swish of smooth skin against skin as she uncrossed her legs.  The sound made his breath catch, and he took a sip of whisky to cover it.

“Why am I here, sir?” she asked.

Her voice was calm, her tone mellow.  He could feel her eyes on him, tracing a line of heat down his spine and making him shudder.  Turning to face her, he took a deep breath, raising his glass.

“I thought perhaps we could clear the air,” he said.

Miss French sucked her teeth, looking thoughtful, and nodded as she crossed her legs again.

“Alright,” she said.  “That seems like something two mature adults would do, doesn’t it?”

“I was thinking we might have a calm and rational discussion,” he added.  “No one raising their voice, yelling or swearing.”

“By no one, I take it you mean you.”

Sutherland grimaced.

“I shouldn’t have lost my temper with you earlier,” he admitted.  “I’m not proud of it, and I’d like to think it won’t happen again.”

“Oh, I should think it’s almost inevitable,” she said.  “But is that a bad thing?  To give one’s passion free rein?”

She had raised her chin a little, one dark brow arching, lips a little pursed, and for a brief, distracting moment he wondered what other passions she had.  How else she might give in to them.  He shook his head, dispelling the images just starting to form, and stepped back on one foot, taking his weight on his heel as he looked her over.

“You and I appear to have an - antagonistic - relationship,” he remarked.

“Yes,” she said.  “I get on your tits, to use the vernacular.  You already told me that.”

She took a sip of her drink, eyes fixed on his, crossed leg swinging at the foot a little.  He could feel his breath quicken a little as she raised her head.

“If it makes you feel any better, you get on mine,” she added.

He was aware that his eyes had automatically dropped to her chest, where high, firm breasts pushed against her white shirt.  A brief image flashed into his mind, her shirt open, breasts bare as his hands gripped and squeezed, as his mouth and tongue sought hard pink nipples.  Swallowing hard and trying to ignore the sudden swelling of his cock in his pants, he dragged his eyes back up to meet hers.  Miss French smiled a little, a slow curve of her berry-stained lips and a knowing glint in her eyes as her foot bounced a little quicker.

“Well, be that as it may,” he managed.  “I’m sure we can work together to get past it.”

“I’m sure we can,” she said.  “Is this an offer of peace, then?”

“It’s an offer of work.”

Her smile grew.

“That’s a start, I suppose.”

“I’ve had some preliminary reports out of Arendelle Town Council,” he began, desperately hoping his rising arousal would dissipate.  “Perhaps you’ve heard the stories circulating in the press?”

She looked curious.

“I’ve heard as much as everyone else, I suspect.”

“Turns out there’s truth in them.”

“How much truth?” she asked.

“That’s what we need to find out,” he said, pacing again.  “I’m convening a committee to investigate potential large-scale negligence on the part of social services and the police.  I understand that you have a particular interest in women’s safety and child protection, so I’d like you to be part of it.”

A smile was already spreading across her face, her eyes widening.

“It’ll mean spending a lot of time in the constituency itself,” he added.  “I’m afraid that will mean reduced time in your own constituency, and in Parliament, but I want first-hand accounts from those involved before any hearings are chaired.”

“An unusual job for an MP,” she observed.

“Well, I want someone I can trust to oversee the investigations,” he said.  “Should be a good opportunity for you, and I have every confidence that you’ll do a first-rate job.”

“Thank you for your support, Prime Minister.”  Her tone was dry, and he turned to face her again, a frown already drawing his brows down.

“Is there something wrong with my offer?” he asked.

“Not at all,” she said blandly.  “I’m sure this long-distance placement absolutely needs my feet on the ground in Arendelle and couldn’t possibly be done remotely.”

“I realise it’s a little unorthodox,” he said.  “But I feel it’s the right choice.”

“Is it?”  She pursed her lips.  “Because it seems like a good way to keep me out of your sight for a considerable time.  Getting me off your tits, as it were.”

“It’s a job that needs doing!” he insisted.  “I thought you’d welcome it!  I never thought that by offering it up I’d be accused of - of - what is it I’m being accused of, anyway?”

“I’m not sure,” she said, looking irritated.  “I think we could work well together, but I get the impression you don’t like me too much.”

“Really?” He chuckled hollowly, taking a sip of his drink. “And here you’ve gone out of your way to endear yourself to me.  Can you imagine…”

“Oh, I’m well aware I can be a pushy pain in the arse,” she said impatiently. “That’s how I got here.  That’s how all of us got here, isn’t it?”

He supposed that was true.

“It’s just that you seem to have some difficulty being around me at times, like - like you find me repulsive or something,” she went on.  “Am I repulsive?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” he snapped.  “You’re bloody gorgeous, and—”

He clamped his mouth shut, swallowing what he had been about to say, but Miss French smiled, looking deeply satisfied.

“Well,” she said.  “So it isn’t that.  How interesting.”

She picked up her drink, still smirking, and took a sip.  Silence had fallen, a strange, heavy atmosphere making his skin tingle.  He took a drink to give himself something to do, his mind working overdrive as he tried to think of a way to take back what he had said without looking like a total idiot, or worse, a total creep.  Miss French was watching him over the rim of her glass, eyes dark beneath thick lashes, and she lowered the glass, the tip of her tongue sweeping across her lips.  She set down her drink on the desk, bracing herself on the palms of her hands as she raised her chin.

“I’m sorry,” he said, having regained the power of speech.  “That was inappropriate.  I never meant to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t,” she said abruptly.  “It’s actually quite reassuring.”

“Reassuring?”

“Well, you’ve admitted you find me attractive,” she said.  “I was beginning to think all the hints I dropped were a waste of time.”

Sutherland blinked.

“Hints?”

Miss French tossed her dark curls, licking her lips as she uncrossed her legs.

“Perhaps I was being too subtle,” she said.

Her voice had lowered a little, grown smoky, sultry.  It made desire tug at him, a low-down pull in his groin as his cock twitched.  He took a drink to cover it, his eyes not leaving hers.

“Miss French—”

“You can call me Belle,” she interrupted.

He spoke her name in a whisper, the word ghosting over his lips, flowing from his mouth into the air, as though he were casting a spell, and her smile flickered into life again.

“We’re two adults,” she said.  “Two adults who had the ambition to get where we are and who know their own worth.  I think we can be honest with one another, don’t you?”

“I would hope so.”

“Good.”  She reached out, taking the glass from his hand and setting it next to hers.  Her eyes met his again, her lips moist from the touch of her tongue. “So. I find you attractive, you find me attractive.  It’s out in the open, no more awkwardness required.  Are you going to kiss me?”

He was beginning to think this was all a strange and vivid dream, and bit the inside of his cheek to prove otherwise.

“Do you want me to?”

Belle rolled her eyes.

“Definitely too subtle,” she sighed.  “Yes, I want you to.  But perhaps you should make sure we’re not disturbed first.”

His breath had quickened, his heart thumping and a high ringing in his ears as the clock on the wall ticked away, and he walked over to the door in a trance. Opening it up, he glanced outside, and caught the eye of the nearest Special Branch officer.

“Absolutely no visitors for the next half hour,” he said.  “Unless someone starts a fucking war, I don’t want to be disturbed.”

“Understood, sir,” said the man, his face perfectly clear of any expression.

Sutherland nodded.

“And - and even if someone does start a fucking war,” he added, “knock first, got it?”

“Understood, sir.”

Sutherland grimaced as he shut the door.  He hadn’t been kidding when he said they knew how to keep their mouths shut.  Bloody good job.  He turned around, heart still thudding in his chest as he walked back to the desk.

“They won’t let anyone in,” he said, his voice echoing strangely in his ears.

“Good.”

Belle raised her chin a little, shaking back dark, shining curls as he stepped closer, and he reached out to put his hands on her knees.  Her skin was cool and smooth as silk, and his hands spread out and slowly pushed upwards, the fine wool of her skirt bunching and rising, exposing long, pale thighs.  Fingers slipped down between her legs, slowly pulling them apart, and he stepped closer, in between her knees.  Belle’s breath was coming faster, her chest heaving, and he raised his eyes to hers as he shifted closer, their noses almost touching.  He could feel her cool breath against his lips, and for a moment he paused, gazing into wide blue eyes as his desire flared upwards, raging through him like fire ready to burst from his mouth, until he bent his head and captured her lips with his.

She opened for him, her tongue slipping into his mouth as she inhaled sharply, fingers sliding in through the short strands of his hair and making him shudder with pleasure.  Belle let out a tiny moan as his tongue stroked hers, and he answered her with a deep, rumbling groan at the sweet taste of her.  His fingers flicked open the button of her jacket, hands dropping to cup her breasts and squeeze before sliding down and around to grasp her rear and tug her towards him.  Her knees rose up, legs wrapping around him, thighs gripping his hips as he pressed up against her, his cock already hard.

Her hands slid from his hair, over his shoulders, raking his back through the jacket, and he deepened the kiss, his hands squeezing her as he ground against her.  The feel of it sent bursts of pleasure through him, desire that had lain dormant for what seemed like years surging through his body.  He wanted to feel every bit of her, to slide a hand between her legs and push his fingers deep inside her, to tug aside her underwear and bury his cock in her and fuck her hard.  The kiss grew rough and messy, and he pulled back a little, breathing hard, catching her gaze for the briefest of moments before he lifted his hands to sink into her hair and kissed her again.

Her arms had disappeared from around him, and she shrugged off the jacket, letting it drop onto his desk.  Desperate fingers clawed at the knot of his tie, working it open and dragging it from his throat, then dropped to his shirt, tugging at buttons and flicking them open.  He worked on her own shirt, breaking the kiss to press his forehead to hers so that he could see what his shaking hands were doing.  Buttons sprung open, revealing the pale mounds of her breasts cupped by white lace.  She shrugged out of the shirt, sending it to join her jacket, and he slipped his thumbs beneath the straps of her bra, tugging it down her arms, the cups falling down to reveal firm breasts with taut pink nipples.  She was beautiful.  She was perfect.  And she was half-naked on his desk.

He bent his head to her, sucking a nipple in between his lips, and Belle arched her back with a moan, fingernails scoring his scalp and making him growl.  Her skin tasted very faintly of vanilla lotion and salt, and he sucked at her, tongue scraping over the peak of her nipple.  He wanted to taste all of her, to spread her out on his bed and take his time uncovering every inch of that milky skin, to slip his tongue into the heat and wetness between her legs and lick her to a screaming climax and suck the cum from her.  But he was hard and desperate and it had been too bloody long for niceties.  Perhaps she’d come up with him.  After.

His hands shifted, pushing beneath her skirt again, bunching it up around her waist as his fingers sought the waistband of her underwear.  He tugged it down, Belle shifting to help him get it off, and he let her breast slip from his mouth, stepping back from her and drawing the little thong down her thighs to fall off at her feet.  Belle kicked off her shoes, leaning back on the desk a little, her chest heaving as her eyes met his, heat in her gaze.

“Touch me!” she whispered.

He kissed her again, one arm going around her waist and tugging her closer as he reached between her legs, touching hot, wet flesh.  She was soft as silk, slippery with her juices, and he groaned into her mouth as his fingers rubbed over her, feeling the tiny bud of her clit.  Belle moaned, fingers clutching at his shoulders, and he stroked her slowly, teasing her entrance with a finger before pushing inside.  She pulled her mouth from his with a whining gasp, head rolling back, and he kissed down her neck, sucking at her skin as his finger pushed deep.  His thumb rubbed over her clit as he thrust, and Belle arched her back, hands stroking through his hair and sending shivers through him as she opened her legs a little wider.

“God, that’s good!” she breathed.  “So good!”

He bit down into her neck, making her let out a tiny cry, and added a second finger, thrusting in and out of her, his palm wet from her arousal.  His mouth found her ear, and he felt her shudder, a ripple of pleasure running through her.  He could hear her ragged breathing, could feel her hips rocking as he pushed and slid and rubbed, the pad of his thumb flickering over slippery flesh.  Belle’s fingers had twisted in the short strands of his hair, her nose grazing his jawline as she put her mouth to his throat, and he let out a groan, feeling her soft, wet tongue stroke up his neck.  She nipped at him, leaning back a little to gaze at him with a dark hunger before she lunged to kiss him again.

He inhaled deeply as his tongue pushed into her mouth, wrapping around hers, his fingers buried in her to the knuckles.  She kissed him hungrily, nails scraping his scalp, her thighs gripping his sides.  A long, low moan made her break the kiss, taking panting breaths as she pressed her brow to his.  His cock was hard and straining in his pants, and he yearned to free it, to slide deep inside her and feel her all around him.  Belle was letting out tiny moans, still rocking her hips in a steady rhythm, and he timed his thrusts to match, fingers rigid, thumb loose.  He could feel her body growing taut, her moans increasing in volume, and she let out a loud cry as she came.

He thought it was perhaps the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, her back arching and head rolling back, her dark curls shaking out behind her, gleaming in the light.  She let her hands drop from his hair, bracing on the desk beside her as she tried to catch her breath.  Her chest was heaving, perfect breasts bouncing, her nipples dark from the pressure of his mouth and her pale skin marked with tiny pink patches.  He could feel her gripping him, slick with her cum, and her eyes flickered open as he slowly drew out his fingers.  Her scent was everywhere, sweet musk that made him want to lie her down and devour her.  He sucked her juices from his fingers, salt on his tongue, his own breathing ragged.

Belle opened heavy-lidded eyes, a slow smile curving her mouth.  Her lips were full and dark, glistening with saliva, and he watched as the tip of her tongue swept across them.  He dropped his hands to her hips, leaning in to press his brow against hers, to find a moment of stillness as they each let their breathing steady.  Belle let out a sigh, a shuddering, contented sound, breath cool against his lips, and reached up to stroke her fingers through his hair.  Her nose brushed against his, and he felt the urge to kiss her again, to explore her sweet mouth with his tongue.

He cupped a breast, squeezing gently as he nudged at her nose with his, moving her head a little so that his lips could meet hers.  Belle moaned, opening her mouth, her tongue stroking, the kiss growing messy.  His hands slipped down to her rear, tugging her against him, and he let out a rumbling groan as he rubbed against her, inwardly cursing the barrier of his suit pants between them.  Belle undulated, breasts pushing against his chest, thighs gripping him tightly, and his tongue swept across hers, his cock hard, his balls aching.

She pulled back with a wet, sucking sound as their lips parted, her chest heaving and her eyes dark with desire as her hands braced on the desk.

“Fuck me!” she whispered, and launched herself at him, slipping from the desk and pushing him down on the carpet.

He hit the floor with a grunt, a rush of air leaving his lungs and his head thumping against the thick carpet pile as Belle landed on his chest.  She pushed open his shirt and began kissing her way down, sucking at his nipples and making him groan with pleasure as jolts of sensation went through him.  It had been so long he had almost forgotten how good it could feel to have someone, to be with someone.  Too long.

He reached up to stroke his fingers through her soft curls, enjoying the feel of her lips against his skin, and Belle let her tongue trail in circles as she made her way down over his belly.  Sutherland closed his eyes, hearing the thud of his pulse in his ears and the clink of his belt as she tugged at it.  He smiled a little, feeling her hands get his pants open, and lifted his hips so that she could pull them down along with his underwear.  Belle let out a hum of appreciation, and he opened one eye a crack to see her looking him over.  And then she bent her head to draw her tongue up the length of his cock, and he lost the last shreds of anything that might have been called reason.

Belle took him in hand, lifting him up and taking him in between her lips before sucking him in deep, and he arched upwards with a long, low groan at the feel of her.  She sucked hard, moving with a slow rhythm, lips sliding up and down his length and making stars dance behind his eyes.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” he gasped.

He felt her smile as her tongue stroked over the head, sending pulses of pleasure rippling through his body.  Over and over it circled, the sensations building, making his body grow taut, his muscles straining.

“Belle!” he groaned.  “Oh God, please!”

She let him slip from her mouth, sliding up his body with a triumphant grin on her face, and he gasped for breath as she straddled him, hands bracing on his belly, his cock pressed against her wet heat.  Her skirt was still pushed up around her waist, the bra bunched around the waistband, and he watched as she unhooked it and tossed it aside.  She was pressed against him, every movement a delicious agony, and he yearned to get inside her, to sink deep into her.  Belle took a deep breath, fixing her eyes on his, and smiled softly.

“Ready?” she asked, and he nodded.

He reached between them, taking himself in hand, using his other to stroke through her wet flesh, teasing, probing.  Belle moaned, shaking back her hair as his fingers found her entrance, and he slipped two inside her, pushing in up to the knuckles, making her moans grow louder.  She was hot and slippery-wet, soaking his fingers, so he drew them out, lining them up so that she could lift her hips a little and sink down onto him.  He let out a low groan as she took him deep, scalding wet flesh closing up around him, a velvet glove surrounding him.

Belle stilled for a moment, breathing hard, hands splayed on his belly, and her eyes found his, her gaze intense.  She began to move, hips rocking gently, letting him slip out a little way before taking him back inside, and he pushed up into a sitting position, one arm snaking around her waist to hold her tight against him as he kissed her.  She clutched at his shoulders, her movements increasing, and he moved in time with her, thrusting upwards, pushing deep. The friction was incredible, the tug and pull of her flesh against his, and he reached up to cup her face, lips pushing hers open, tongue stroking inside. Belle moaned into his mouth, the sound a frantic whimper, and he quickened the pace of his thrusts, hips bucking, their bodies rubbing together.  Her nails dug into his shoulders, her body stiffening, and she pulled her mouth from his with a cry as she came, clenching around him, heat and wetness flooding over him.

He fell backwards with a gasp, back arching as he thrust up inside her, the sensations building inside him, a rising wave of bliss.  Belle was still moaning and jerking, and he slid his hands up her thighs to grasp her hips, holding her close against him as he thrust.  The wave surged, crashing through him, and he let out a loud groan of pleasure as he came, bright lights bursting behind his eyes, electricity coursing through his body as his cock spurted deep inside her.  It felt so good he wanted to burst out laughing, and he slumped against the carpet, every inch of his skin tingling.

For a moment there was no sound but for their own heavy breathing and Belle’s contented little moans, and he took several deep breaths to steady himself.  His heart was thudding hard in his chest, sweat beading on his upper lip, and he raised a shaking hand to run a palm over his face, inhaling the scent of Belle’s pleasure as he did so.  Belle let out a low giggle, leaning forwards a little as he opened his eyes.

“You see?” she murmured.  “We work very well together.”

He chuckled at that, reaching up to kiss her before letting his head thump onto the carpet with a satisfied groan.  Belle leaned forward, folding her arms across his chest and resting her chin on them as she eyed the door.

“You realise Special Branch probably heard everything,” she said.

“Undoubtedly.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Probably less than it bothers them.”

She giggled, eyes sparkling, and pushed up on her hands a little, looking him over.

“Well, I think it’s safe to say our professional relationship is ruined,” she remarked.

“Given the dreadful state it was in, that can only be a good thing.”

She giggled again, and he reached up to push a stray curl of hair behind her ear.  A feeling of contentment was stealing over him, the heat and bliss of his orgasm mellowed into something pleasantly lazy.

“Do you want to come upstairs?” he asked, and she raised her head, pursing her lips.

“Upstairs?”

“The private apartments are very nice,” he said.  “And very private.”

“Hmm.”  She pursed her lips.  “Is that where Arthur’s curled up on the bed?”

“Well, I was thinking we could politely ask him to leave.”

She giggled.

“For awhile, at least,” she said.  “I don’t mind cats being on the bed.”

“Nor do I, as a rule,” he said.  “As long as there’s no other company, of course.”

“Are you asking me to stay the night?”

“Yes,” he said.  “Yes, that’s what I’m asking.”

“I’d have to leave first thing,” she said.  “Need to get home to feed my own cats.”

“I’ll have a car take you,” he offered.

“A very early start, then.”

“Not too early,” he said.  “We’ll have breakfast first.”

“Most important meal of the day.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he growled.  “I can think of a few other things I’d like to eat.”

Belle giggled again, fingers tracing patterns on his skin.

“And you’re hungry, are you?”

“Starving.”

She leaned in to kiss him again, lips pulling at his before she sat back.

“Harder to sneak me past the press pack in the daylight,” she observed.

“I don’t give a flying fuck,” he said.  “Will you stay?”

She eyed him for a moment, then smiled, a wide, beautiful smile that made his heart clench.

“Yes,” she whispered.  “Yes, I’ll stay as long as you like.”

She pushed up, mouth finding his, and he let his hands sink into her hair as he rolled her onto her back.  As long as I like?  That could be a very long time.

[hamilton-one-shots]

Hamilton High School AU 88

The pair spent the next few hours in quiet, watching movies and letting them serve as background noise as they silently comforted each other through holding and squeezing hands, gentle touches, and tiny kisses.

John was the first one to make a different move once he was feeling up to it, turning to Thomas and slowly leaning in for a kiss.

Thomas gladly accepted and returned the gentle kiss, putting a hand on John’s waist and still holding his other one.

When he pulled away, John sighed and looked at Thomas, apologetically. "I'm sorry this is how we had to spend the last few hours.. Thanks for comforting me.."

He shook his head and smiled softly, kissing John's forehead. "Don't be sorry. I needed it just as much as you did, okay? I know you could feel it."

John nodded a bit. He hadn't thought about it much, to be honest. Neither of them were thinking too much about comforting each other. They just knew what the other needed and, upon realizing that, it made John smiled. "Yeah, I guess you're right.." They just knew sometimes.

Thomas saw it a bit more clearly, being a natural romantic. He didn't mind that John didn't realize he needed the comfort, at least that he didn't consciously realize it. "I think it's sweet that you just know.. Deep inside."

"Thanks." He kissed his cheek. "I still feel kind of bad.. I should've realized that you needed support."

He shook his head. "I'm just like you, baby. I keep it all in when it comes to Lucy." He'd have to be blind to not see how torn up John was whenever it came to his siblings. Even when Mary was at their school, he could see right through John's huge smile. Deep down, he knew that it was only a temporary thing.

John wasn't as aware of his subconscious thoughts, but he felt them and he obeyed their wishes gladly, comforting people when they needed it and putting up a fake face to those who would appreciate it. Thomas was right. Every time he saw his siblings, it tore him up to know that it was only temporary, but he didn't dare let them know how devastated he really was. Every time he saw them was a blessing.

Thomas kissed his forehead. "Are you alright?.."

"I'm okay." He took a deep breath and grounded himself again. There was no use in crying over it, even if it made him feel a little bit better.

"Don't forget, I'm always here for you if you need to cry or talk.. I'm your boyfriend, I'm glad to help you at any time."

"Thank you.." He smiled softly.

Thomas kissed his forehead. "Do you want to just watch the movie?.."

John shrugged a bit. "I want to ignore the movie and make out with my amazing boyfriend.."

He smiled and cupped his cheek. "We can definitely do that, as long as you're sure."

"I'm very sure." He smiled and leaned in, kissing him until they were interrupted by Thomas's phone ringing.

At the end of his own day, Lafayette drove Alexander home, then went right back to school. After all, there was drama that day. As successful as they were with the first musical, Eacker was dying to put on another one and it was the first day of drama practice.

He showed up at the classroom and took his usual seat, looking around the classroom. Did Thomas forget?.. That was weird. He never forgot. Maybe he was just late. Everyone else was there, though. Frances, Martha, Theodosia, even Lauren.

When Eacker showed up half an hour later, Lafayette knew that Thomas forgot. He pulled out his phone and texted him. [Did you forget about drama?]

"Sorry, sunshine." Thomas pulled out his phone and checked the text, his eyes widening a bit. "I forgot I had drama today..."

"That's okay," John assured him. "You can go and I can get some art done or something." He smiled, but Thomas shook his head.

"No, why don't you come with me?"

"Go with you?"

"Yeah. I don't see why not." He shrugged. "Just to watch us, then we can go get something to eat together."

John thought for a second before nodding. "Yeah, sure."

"Great." Thomas smiled and walked out with him. At least he could remember something.

They got in the car and went to the school together, Thomas's arm around John's waist once they got out and began walking inside.

"I feel like we're missing someone.." Eacker muttered, counting over everyone present. "Where's-"

"Right here, sir. Sorry I'm late." Thomas took his seat and John sat right beside him.

"Ah! Great, you did show up. And you brought our star."

Their... Their what?

"I, uh.. I didn't tell him yet," Thomas chuckled awkwardly.  

"Tell me what?.." John asked cautiously, a nagging feeling in the back of his head telling him that this was Lafayette's doing.

Thomas looked at Eacker, expecting him to say the news.

"Well, since our spring musical went so well in February, I had the idea that you could join this musical and your art club can get some more funding."

Oh, wow.. "That sounds amazing, sir, but I'm no singer.." John chuckled awkwardly.

Thomas shook his head. "He's being modest. He has a lovely voice."

"I know. Lafayette already told me."

He knew it. Lafayette always had something to do with it, whatever it was. "I'm no performer.."

"Well, that's what practice is for," Eacker assured. "It won't be the starring role, but it'll be close."

They even already had the musical chosen, mainly because it was the only other musical that they had.

Eacker handed everyone scripts to Be More Chill.

John glanced at the front page before flipping through a bit. "Is my role already decided?.."

"Pretty much," Thomas said. "Only yours, but we have some roles in mind for all of us."

That being said, it wasn't Thomas that John was paired with to practice roles with, but Francis.

"Were you in on this too?" he asked as Francis looked for a good spot to start.

"I knew about it, but it was completely up to those three." She pointed over at Thomas and Lafayette, who were talking to Eacker. "I think it's cool, though. Oh, turn to this page." She showed him a number and he turned to it, looking down the page.

"Why is this all the same character?.."

"Duh! It's a solo." She smiled. "I want to see what your voice is like. Can you mimic me?"

"Uh, I can try.." he said with a nervous smile. "As long as you don't go too high."

"I won't, don't worry." She sang a few lines and John sang them back, a bit off, but nothing that couldn't be fixed with time.

"You're a natural!" she praised. "I mean, I think you can really do this."

"Thanks, Francis.." he chuckled.

She smiled and did a few lines herself, thinking about a few different character who she could be. There was, obviously, Jeremy Heere, but she was sure that Lafayette would get the main role again. Then, there was Rich, but she wasn't sure she could hit some of those belting notes. She liked the girl characters, but she wasn't very interested in auditioning for them.

"How do you think he'll do?" Lafayette asked, reading through the script. The only experience he had with the musical was the one time he'd watched it with Alexander, but he'd had the same experiences with Heathers.

"I think he'll do fine. He's got a great voice, he just needs to figure that out," Thomas said with a shrug. He had no doubt that John could pull it off, but he needed to find the confidence himself.

"You're right. Oh, here it is," Lafayette said, pointing at the page.

"Great. Let's start from right there." Thomas pointed out a line and they began practicing.

Just like with Heathers, Eacker stopped them and took Thomas and Lafayette to the front of the class to practice a quick song.

As everyone filed into the auditorium, Lafayette sat cross legged on the stage and looked at Eacker for the signal to start the scene. Once everyone was seated, he gave it and Lafayette began the scene, tapping on his head.

"Hello?.. Are you on?.."

Eacker called the next line. "Jeremy, are you talking to yourself in there?"

"I.. Guess I am?.." Lafayette shrugged and pulled out his phone, grinning as the music for the song started. "C-C-C-Come on, c-c-c-come on, go- Ow!" he held the side of his head and stood up as Thomas came out from behind the curtain.

"What did we say about masturbation?" Once again, Thomas was confident in his words, even without a script.

Lafayette held the script at his waist and rubbed the side of his head with his other hand. "I was just... checking my email."

Thomas scoffed. "You can't lie to me, Jeremy. I'm inside your brain. Now, we're going to devise a system. I'm going to tally every time you think about sex and that is how many pushups you do. If this morning is an indicative sample, you'll have pecs in no time."  

"Good morning, Jeremy," Eacker once again called from off stage, Thomas raising an eyebrow at him before looking back at Lafayette.

"That is the source of your genetic material?"

"That's my dad, yeah," Lafayette responded.

"We'd better double those pushups," Thomas muttered as he handed Lafayette his backpack.

Lafayette took it with a sigh and turned back to the crowd. "Still not gonna be the cool guy, but maybe not so left out. Of all the characters at school, I might be the one who the story's about." He began smiling hopefully. "Now that someone's helping me out!"

Thomas put a hand on his shoulder. "Now get ready to more than survive."

Francis, Lauren, and Eacker joined in with Thomas as the ensemble. "Naa na na na na na na naa na na!"

"All in all a not-too-heinous day," Lafayette sang as he walked around the stage.

"Naa na na na na na na naa na na!"

"Walk the halls with purpose as I swagger on my way," he continued, adding a hip flick for emphasis.

"Hey! Hey! Hey!"

"Feeling crisp and high and clean! I head to drama practice with Christine!" As the song ended, Lafayette smiled and bowed as their classmates cheered, Thomas doing the same.  

John sighed. "I have a lot to live up to.."

Francis patted his back reassuringly. "You can do it."

[hannahindie]

We’re No Heroes - Chapter 2

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, sister!reader, Tony Stark Word Count: 2,169 Warnings: Adult language, crochety Dean, and Tony Stark. I think that’s enough warnings. A/N: So this whole Avengers/Supernatural idea I had got out of hand, and this is the second part to it. There is no timeline for either universe; it’s most definitely an AU. As far as the Avengers go, it’s obviously before Infinity War (for reasons I’m sure you can guess) and I think, generally speaking, we’re just ignoring that Age of Ultron existed. (Unlike a lot of people, I didn’t mind it...but that’s just whole other level of me trying to fit stuff in, and it already hurts my brain. lol) Also, we’re just going to pretend that Civil War either happened and turned out better or it just didn’t happen at all. The Supernatural part is set sometime after they’ve found the bunker. What I’m saying is, I do what I want, and I want all of these people in one spot, and there doesn’t need to be an explanation. Doesn’t have to make sense. Just...let it happen, and bask in it.

Beta’d by @pinknerdpanda, because she’s been my lifesaver as of late. Well, always, but especially here lately. Thank you, twinny. <3 “ I love grumpy old man Dean.”

As always, tags are at the bottom. If you’d like to be added let me know! This fic will, hopefully, be updated every Wednesday until it’s over. Hopefully.

“So, Agent Springfield...Springfield, right?”

“Yep, that’s right.”

“Like Rick Springfield?”

“Yep. My friends call me Dick.”

“May I call you Dick?”

“Nope.”

“Okay, Agent Springfield, what I’d like to know is why you’re in New York. I’ve spoken with the local authorities, and not one of them can tell me why you’d be called in. Not a clue.”

“Hmm. Well, the locals aren’t always included in federal investigations, so there’s your explanation. I don’t report to them.”

“I don’t think you report to anyone. I think you’re impersonating a federal agent, and at the same time, lying to one. You do realize that I’m part of the organization, right?”

“I don’t even remember your name, much less your job description. No offense.”

“Let me refresh your memory, Dean Winchester. My name is Phil Coulson, and I’m the reason you aren’t in a jail cell in a high security lockup. You’ve done some pretty heinous things, so forgive me if I’m less than patient with you. Now tell me, what in the hell happened out there?”

“Why don’t ask you ask your merry band of men in tights? I seem to recall they had a hand in all of it.” He leans forward and Coulson sits back slightly, his eyes wide. “They certainly didn’t seem to be offended by someone like me. Maybe explain why the heroes of the universe would associate with such a heinous individual such as myself? You call me a serial killer? Looks like maybe you should do your job better. I seem to recall a few casualties at the hands of,” Dean rolls his eyes as he air quotes, “‘Earth’s Mightest Heroes’. Now my bro…” he clears his throat and leans back in his chair, “my partner, he’s the true crime expert so he would know better than me...and correct me if I’m wrong...but that sounds a hell of a lot more like a serial killer to me.  And you just let them run around in high tech suits and without superversion…” he whistles and puts his hands behind his head, “Doesn’t sound like a good idea to me, although I guess the government has a lot of those-”

“They aren’t serial killers, and if I were you, I’d be very careful how far you step over the line. I’m not asking them, I’m asking you. What happened out there?”

“You’re not as much of a pushover as I thought you would be, Phil. What’s your last name again? Collins? I bet you can feel it in the air tonight, can’t you?”

Coulson glares at Dean, his knuckles white as he clenches them tightly. “It’s Coulson,” he manages to grind out, “and you’d do best to remember that. Now, tell me.”

“Awwe, I’m just having fun with you. I know your last name is Coulson, Debbie Downer. Anyway, it started about a day after we got to New York…”

“Well, that was a fucking bust, wasn’t it?” Dean grumbles as he takes his jacket off and tosses it in the backseat.

“Did you really expect it to go any differently? Since when do we ever actually get the answers we need?” Sam grabs Dean’s jacket off the seat, straightens it, then lays it gently on the bench seat with his own. “Maybe Y/N’s got something.”

Dean climbs into the car and shuts the door as Sam goes around to the passenger side, “Yea, maybe.” He starts the car, and after checking his mirrors, pulls out into the road and is quickly honked at by a taxi that seemingly appears out of nowhere. He sticks his arm out the window, flashes his middle finger, then continues into traffic. Sam rolls his eyes and sighs, and Dean looks over at him. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Why don’t you call Y/N, see what she’s found?”

Sam is already scrolling through his phone, and he glances at Dean as he puts his phone up to his ear, “You know, you could go easier on her. She's an adult, and she grew up the same way we did. It's different with her, she can take care of herself.” He frowns when she doesn't answer and hangs up.

“What?”

“No answer. She's probably researching. Let's head back to the hotel and see what she's up to.” He taps out a quick text and hits send, then puts the phone back into his pocket.

“I know she grew up like we did, but that doesn’t mean anything. We just found her, the last thing we need is another Adam situation.” They both fall silent at the thought of the youngest Winchester brother still trapped in the cage. “Anyway, I’m just saying, we gotta watch out for her. Her mom will kill us if something happens.”

“She’s not going to kill us.”

“Sam, she could be Ellen’s twin. She will absolutely kill us.”

“Dean, you’re being ridiculous.” They pull into the valet parking and Dean practically growls when he hands his keys over. “What is wrong with you?” Sam hisses under his breath as he grabs their jackets and his bag from the backseat.

“If she so much as gets a thumbprint on a window…” he glares at the valet as he climbs into the driver's seat, Adam’s apple bobbing nervously as he swallows thickly under Dean’s hateful gaze.

“She’ll be fine. What is with you today?”

“I just don’t see why we have to stay in this fancy ass hotel. We could have stayed outside the city for cheaper, and I could park my own damn car. Maybe gone to a bar where I don’t have to pay to just sit down.”

“You don’t have to...you know what, never mind. It’s only for a couple of days, anyway. We’re scoping it out, then we’ll meet up with Garth and see what we need to do.”

Sam smiles at the woman at the front desk, and she blushes furiously before ducking behind her computer. Dean rolls his eyes as Sam pushes the elevator button.

“What?”

“Nothing, Mr. Universe, nothing at all.” They walk into the elevator and Dean jams his thumb into the thirteenth button. “Thirteenth floor. I feel like that's just asking for it.”

It is Sam’s turn to roll his eyes as they ride the rest of the way to their room in silence, other than the canned Muzak playing through the small speakers above them. The elevator finally slows to a stop and the doors slide open with a ding. “When we get to the room, please just...lay off her, huh? She's not a kid, she's a good hunter.”

They step out and begin walking down the hall. “Why don't you quit telling me what to do? As much as you're repeating it, it sounds like you're trying to convince yourself that she's fine.” He puts a hand on Sam’s arm and stops him outside their door, “She’s our responsibility now. We promised Alice that if she came with us, we’d keep her safe. Just being a Winchester is one strike, and I’m sure Y/N taking our last name is probably a second.”

Sam sighs, “Do you really think Alice would have let her come with us if she didn’t trust us? I mean, you’ve met her, right? She’s not exactly a pushover, and I’m also pretty sure she doesn’t care about the last name thing. Y/N did that before we even knew she existed. Nothing is going to happen to her, okay? Not everyone we care about dies.” Dean raises an eyebrow and Sam sighs again. “Alright, I see your point. She’ll be fine.” Sam unlocks the door and pushes it open, “Y/N, were you able to find anything-” He stops mid-sentence when he sees the that the room is empty and exactly the way they had left it that morning. “Y/N?”

Dean throws the bathroom door open, then walks into the connecting suite to find it also empty. He walks back into the living room, “You were saying?”

“I’m sure there’s a good explanation. Maybe she decided to work at the library instead of coming back here.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and frowns, “She’s not answered my text message.” He taps the screen, then quickly puts the phone to his ear. “Y/N, where are you? Call us back as soon as you can.” He hangs up, then looks at Dean, his brows knitted in concern.

“Okay, clearly no one came here...so somewhere between the police station and here, she went off course. It’s Y/N, so that’s not a surprise. And like you said, when she’s researching, she doesn’t pay attention to anything else. You’re probably right, she’s just at the library. Now, where’s that?”

“Do you realize how many libraries are in this city? She could be anywhere.”

Dean plops down on the couch and runs a hand over his face, “Yea, well, we have to start somewhere.”

“If you have a good idea, let’s hear it-” Sam is interrupted by his phone ringing and he quickly answers it. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me. Get anything?”

“Seriously? Where are you?!”

“Oh, yea, sorry, I got caught up. You’re never gonna believe-” A muffled voice in the background cuts her off, there is a moment of whispering, and then she comes back on the line. “Actually, can you meet me somewhere? It’s uh...it’s kind of hard to explain. But I think I’ve got some help on this little demon problem we’re having...well, not little. It’s not little at all.”

Dean grabs the phone out of Sam’s hand, “Where the hell are you? You were supposed to come back to the hotel room, what happened?”

“Like I said, it’s hard to explain. I need you guys to meet me at this address.” She rattles it off before Dean has a chance to answer and he grabs the notepad from the coffee table and hastily scribbles the information she gives him.

“But you’re okay, right? All in one piece?”

“Yes, Dean, I’m fine. Thank you for being worried. Now, hurry your asses up and get over here.” The line goes dead and Dean hands the phone back to Sam.

“She gave me an address, let’s go.”

“Where is she?”

“I guess we’re going to find out.”

Dean pulls up to the address Y/N gave him and slows to a stop, his eyes slowly traveling from the entrance to the top of the very tall building.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What?” Sam asks without looking up from his phone. Dean grabs his face and turns it to the window and he looks up, his jaw dropping at the sight in front of him. “Are you... are you sure this is the address she gave you?”

“Yea, I’m sure.”

They both climb slowly out of the car, their heads turned upward at the sight, and close their doors.

“Mr. Winchester?” Dean looks down and sees a valet standing in front of him, his hand held out and smiling. Dean frowns and the valet laughs, “I’ve been told you’re very protective of...Baby. I promise, sir, she’s in good hands. I wouldn’t have this job if I wasn’t good at it.”

“He’s right you know, I don’t hire riff raff. Happy parks my cars all the time, top notch parking. As a matter of fact, he just parked my car, did it perfectly. Actually, we’ve got a deal, ideal parking in thirty seconds or it’s free.”

Both Winchesters snap their heads in the direction of the voice, their eyes wide. The man belonging to it walks casually down the stairs, sunglasses obscuring the upper part of his face. Dean drops his keys in the outstretched hand and walks around the Impala to join Sam. The man stops in front of them and pulls his sunglasses off, and Sam’s face transforms from disbelief to pure awe.

“What...we…”

“You must be Sam.” He looks him up and down for a moment, “You sure you aren’t part of the super soldier experiment? I mean, you’re huge. What year were you born? And where? I’d like to know what they put in the water there, maybe use it for something here. Science, you know. And you,” his eyes travel to Dean, “you must be Dean. I mean honestly, Y/N said you guys were large, but I think our resident super humans are going to be a little jealous. I’m not, because I’m comfortable with what I was born with, but you know how superheroes can be. Well, genetically enhanced superheroes, anyway.” He holds his hand out, and both Sam and Dean shake it half-heartedly, still confused by what is happening.

“Y/N...is here?”

“Yea, funny story about that. Anyway,” he waves in the general direction of the building, “welcome to Avengers Tower. I’m your host, Tony Stark. Food and beverages will be provided. Now, I think we’ve got some demons to take care of. Shall we?”

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[potato-frenzy]

Keith doesn't know how or why he manages to drag himself to the bridge. The haze of shock and grief makes it hard to focus on anything except the bloody image of Allura's lifeless body in Lance's arms. It's burned into his retinas, blocking out everything around him as he stumbles across the floor. He still tastes iron, jaw aching from how hard it was clenched.

The former paladin can still sense Red and Black at the edges of his awareness. Red's rasping growl ineffectual in soothing her new pilot, he can tell. Blacks clear, steady tone is quiet. He could never hear her like he could hear Red. He's listened to the others talking about their Lion's voices and wonders if they can hear each other's as well. Lance and Shiro were the only ones he knew of that talmed about the ither Lions as if they knew them too. Hunk and Pidge never seemed to understand how the other Lions thought and behaved. He used to think it was just miscommunication and bejng too focused on their own Lions. The other Lion's are usually whispers in the background. Green's curious chirp, Yellow's joyful bellow, Blue's siren song. But for once he hears them as clear as he does Black, Red above them all.

The compulsion to stand where she had is a sudden and unexpected one as he blindly stumbles towards the center. The half galra can barely see anything past the floor in front of his feet, the princess's soulless stare superimposed over everything. The Lion's voices are almost deafening, creating white noise over the hum of the Castle. He can't think, can't feel anything because everything is just too much.

But the moment he stands beneath the Balmera crystal, the moment the noise reaches it's peak, everything suddenly comes into focus. He barely notices the control pillars rise to meet his outstretched hands, settling almost too comfortably against his gloved palms. The cyan colored light surrounds him with an unbearably familiar warmth and there is a moment when he can hear several voices that do not belong to the Lions. One that stands above the others, one that feels terrifyingly familiar.

"Peace, kin'jiyo. It's time to remember."

He can barely question it before his vision suddenly blanks out, the bridge disappearing into blackness for a split second before images of a red, red world flash across it. A city of beauty and art and strength stretching out below a high balcony. He turns to look behind him and a beautiful altean woman is smiling at him, her orange hair braided over her shoulder and purple eyes shining under the sun. She's dressed in an achingly familiar style that reminds him somewhat of a pirate, a sword at her hip. She opens her arms for him, beckoning him to her and there is a burst of knowledge, a name and a relationship and a bundle of heartache. Homesickness.

"Mama...."

He takes a step towards her and suddenly he's in a field of yellow grass as tall as his chest and he's running. Running as if playing a game of tag and laughing until he can't breathe. There's a rustle and a snap and then he's rolling through the dry stalks, still laughing. Coming to rest he looks up at the thing that tackled him and part of his brain supplies a comparison to the Blade he left behind on the Dreadnought. Thace. But he's a galra dressed in altean clothes colored red and gold and there is something about the shape of his fave that feels achingly familiar. He's flushed and chuffing with joy, turning gold eyes full of affection towards Keith. The same spark that rolled through him with his mother leaps up once more. A name, a relationship, moments lost in time.

"Baba.....?"

He reaches for him and suddenly he's running down a hallway, footsteps echoing across a vaulted ceiling as he hurtles towards a grand throne. Standing next to the massive chair is an armored warrior in red and silver broad as a tree and the moment he turns to look towards Keith there is a horrible flash of pain and battle. Memories of fighting the immortal emperor mix with memories far older, creating a bittersweet concoction in the pit of his stomach. Zarkon looks at him now with warmth and fondness, kneeling and holding his arms out with a joyous smile. And when Keith greets him it's with a tackling hug in a body that is far too small. He's lifted in the air above the galra's head, playful hisses being directed at him by this humongous creature.

"You have grown, kin'jihy'o."

The image changes again but there is little warmth in this. He's being held protectively in his Baba's arms and he can hear his mother shouting heinous things at someone. There is venom in her voice and fire in the voice of the man she's shouting at. Arching around his father's shoulder, he can see Allura standing helplessly behind Alfor as he fights with Keith's mother. Coran is all but holding the altean woman back, hand on her wrist to prevent her from drawing her sword on him.

"You forfeited any right to my life when you discarded me for that gral'viic! You touch my son and I'll kill you! You're not my king, you're not my father, you're nothing!"

He sees her draw her sword and suddenly he's being yanked back by his collar and collapsing into Shiro's chest, sobbing and aching all over. He struggles weakly against him, trying to get back to the pillars, wanting to see more. "Let go....need.....need to see....."

"Keith, Keith, no." The japanese man's voice is strained and full of fear. "Stop, stop you looked like you were having a seizure. The Castle was going haywire. We have no idea what was happening. But Keith........"

Coran is suddenly beside them and gently prying him out of Shiro's hands, walking him to one of the chairs silently and helping him sit. He looks so much older than he did yesterquintant, the lines of age and sorrow etched deeper than ever. Not even the perpetual twinkle in his eye could mask it. There is a long moment where they just stare into each other's eyes, purple meeting purple until Keith gasps. Tears welling up and spilling over as that same pain and warmth he felt early returns and he all but tackles the advisor in a tight embrace, feeling like he found a lost piece of home.

".......it hurts"

"I know, little kit. But Abbah's got you now, Kai."

[nightttdreamers]

You’re in the Band! (Klance fic)

Hi guys! Here’s the latest chapter for my fic, You’re in the Band. Hope you like it, feel free to show some love either here or on AO3

You’re in the Band! | 9,000+ words | 3/? Chapters

GUITARIST NEEDED! Join VOLTRON, an upcoming band who’s looking for YOU!

Lance McClain didn't know what to expect the day of auditions for the newest band member of Voltron. But he certainly wasn't expecting Keith Kogane, an enigmatic boy and his guitar, nor was he expecting to fall this hard for him.

“Hunk, Hunk, to the left!”

“I’m moving to the left!”

“Okay, wait, stay right there!” “I’m staying right here!”

“Wait, no, move forward!”

“Moving forward!”

“Aaaand…”

“We died.”

Lance groaned, tilting his head back.”We never survive level 36!” He whined, tossing his controller onto the couch.

Hunk looked up from his spot on the floor, folding his arms. “This game is stupid,” he mumbled.

“Yeah,” Lance agreed, pulling himself up from the couch. “Are there any pizza rolls left?” Bending over, he rummaged through the freezer.

“Don’t bother, you’re not gonna find any.”

Lance perked up, looking towards his friend. “But we got a new box yesterday, how could they all be gone?” The freezer was mostly filled with ice cream and whatever frozen treats were discounted at Target. However, the 2-for-1 pizza rolls Lance had scored yesterday were nowhere to be found.

“Maybe if someone hadn’t eaten my poke bowl…” The Samoan boy mumbled

Lance whipped his head around, cocking it to the side. “Really? You ate two boxes of pizza rolls because I ate a container filled with tuna and lettuce?”

“No!” Hunk exclaimed. “I only ate one! You ate the other yesterday.”

“Come on, man! I’ll buy you another one if it matters that much, jeez.”

“It was from that bowl place uptown! I was saving it!”

With a groan, Lance walked past Hunk, shaking his head. “And I was saving those pizza rolls, douchelamp. Now we’re both suffering. Happy?”

“Quite.”

After making a rather rude hand gesture towards Hunk, Lance grabbed his hoodie from the couch, slipping it on. “C’mon, let’s go meet up with Pidge and Keith.”

“And replenish the pizza roll supply.”

Lance chucks a pillow at the other. “Dick.”

“So, I got a question,” Lance said, looking over to Hunk, who was scrolling on his phone.

“Shoot,” the other replied, tucking the device away.

“Why didn’t you-” he was cut off by the sudden jarring of the subway train the two were in. Hunk stifled a laugh, grabbing a hold of Lance’s arm to keep him upright. “Thanks, man.” This is it, just ask him. “So, uh, why didn’t you tell me you had a date with Shay last week?”

Hunk pressed his lips together, taking his hand back. “I dunno, I just… Figured you’d freak out or something.”

“Freak out?” Lance repeated, quirking a brow.

“It’s stupid, I should’ve just told you.”

“But what do you mean, freak out?”

Hunk was never the best with words, and after years of knowing him, Lance could tell exactly when he was looking for the right ones to say. Hunk would clench a fist a little too tightly and look down, a telltale sign that he had no clue what to say. “I mean, you always get kind of jealous when you see other people in a relationship and you’re single so-”

“You thought I would get jealous?”

“Maybe,” but the forced smile across Hunk’s features said ‘definitely.’ “It was stupid, I should’ve just told you.”

“Yeah, but, it’s cool, man,” Lance said, which caused Hunk to ease, shoulders relaxing. “I get it. But, you can still tell me stuff. Even if you think I’ll get jealous or whatever.”

A smile spread across Hunk’s face as he nodded. “Yeah, totally. Sorry, dude.”

“It’s okay, we cool?” Lance asked, sticking out the universal sign for being cool, a fist. Hunked bumped his.

“Yeah, we cool.”

For once, the band didn’t meet inside the rehearsal space, opting for some hipster cafe instead. Perks of living in the city was that every street had a hipster cafe, most of them had free wifi, and there was always plenty of places to sit. Pidge’s favorite was Kerberos Brews, which was a good mix of 9-5 workers just trying to get along and millennials with too much time on their hands. That meant plenty of room and cool chairs, like bean-bags (Lance loved these that hung from the ceiling there). Plus, the coffee wasn’t too bad.

Lance walked in first, a smile spreading across his face as he inhaled the bitter smell of fresh coffee. Hunk followed behind him, with the same expression, except he spotted some freshly made donuts at the counter.

“I’ll grab you a drink and meet you guys,” he said to Lance, heading towards the counter. With a nod, the Cuban boy stepped towards the back area, which was for hanging around. In the corner was Pidge, hunched over her laptop, headphones in as Keith peered over her shoulder, sipping a drink and- wait,

Is his hair in a ponytail?

A slight turn of his head confirmed, yes, he was wearing a ponytail, and he looked good. Lance couldn’t help but imagine how nice he’d look with his bangs pulled back, maybe he could braid his hair…

“Lance!” He was snapped back to reality by a hand on his shoulder, Hunk, who was trying to balance a cupholder of drinks and snacks. “C’mon, man, they’re right over there.”

Lance nodded, walking over to the other two.

“Hey, guys,” Hunk said, plopping down opposite Pidge. She was at a small table, where her laptop took a good amount of the space, but left enough room for Hunk to set his tray down. Lance grabbed the one with the most whipped cream, assuming it was his, and pulled over a chair, straddling it.

“Whatcha workin’ on there?” He asked, pushing her screen down to have a better look.

Instantly, Pidge swatted his hand away and tilted it back up, greeting him with a slight glare. “I’m sending the final songs to Shay, I finished layering everything.”

“It sounds really good,” Keith said, putting down his beverage. Lance saw a tag sticking out from the side- is he drinking tea?

“Yeah, but we still need an album cover,” Pidge closed her laptop now, resting her headphones on it.

Hunk groaned, toying with the straw in his drink. “Why can’t we just do what we did last time? We never agree on covers.”

“What did you guys do last time?” Asked Keith, who was drinking tea! Who the fuck drinks tea anymore?

Lance, dipping his finger into the whipped cream and licking it, said, “It was a picture of the city at night on a black background, and then it said Voltron. I made it on my phone.” It was hideous, but the only thing they could manage to agree on. Plus, the album (is that one an EP too?) did pretty well, so it wasn’t that bad.

“It was heinous. I wanted to die and burn every copy,” Pidge said, snatching one of Hunk’s donuts. If it was anyone else, there probably would have been a riot. But, as put by Hunk, “tiny Pidge” needed it more than he did.

“You always want to do that,” he quipped instead, rolling his eyes.

“True.”

Lance put his hands on the table, straightening up. “Okay, but this time, it can’t be ugly. It’s gotta be cool, but also give a feel for what we’re about. Who we really are.”

“Lance in those stupid sunglasses, Hunk making out with Gordon Ramsay, I’ll flip everyone off, and Keith is shredding the guitar,” Pidge suggested.

“First of all, they’re clout goggles, you gremlin,” Lance spat, pointing a finger towards the smug Pidge. “Second of all, keep everything else. It’s perfect.” That earned a triumphant smile from the girl.

“What if we, like, made it look like a record? But, make it cool somehow?” Hunk asked, and Lance could practically see the gears working in his brain.

“Boring,” Pidge shot him down. “We need something that’s going to catch people’s attention.”

“A shirtless guy.”

Everyone went silent now, their gazes turning to Keith and causing him to shrink down. “What?” He asked, turning his hands upwards. “Always catches my attention…”

Pidge broke the silence with a loud snort, which then caused everyone to break into laughter. This was to the annoyance of some other patrons in the store, especially since Hunk had a loud, bellowing laugh. It made Lance happy just to hear it, but other people just trying to get their morning drink didn’t care for it. Keith was quiet, a mixed look of confusion and panic across his face. He really needs to stop furrowing his brows so much, he’s gonna get wrinkles.

But, he looked like like a kid who’s being left out a joke, (which is kind of what’s happening, but whatever) and Lance felt pretty bad for him. So, while Pidge cackled between “That’s gay”s, Lance pulled himself together.

“That’s actually a pretty good idea.” Now, it was everyone’s turn to stare at him. But, he did see a small smile tugging at Keith’s lips. “I’m serious. It catches attention. Plus, we could, like, paint ‘Voltron’ on it.”

Hunk nodded, pressing a finger to his lips. Pidge opened up her laptop and started typing away. “Lance,” she said, glancing up from it. “Do you still have body paint?”

He likes music festivals, and he likes letting strangers there paint his chest. Don’t judge.

“Definitely.”

Pidge closed her laptop. “Shirtless guys get a lot of recognition,” Lance doesn’t want to know how she figured that out so fast.

“Okay, but, do we need to hire a model or something? Who’s abs are we gonna use?” Hunk asked, looking around the table.

Simultaneously, both Keith and Lance spoke.

“You can use mine-”

“Mine, duh-”

Both boys stared at each other, then glanced down at the other. Lance felt pretty confident about how he looked shirtless, mostly because he worked hard to specifically look good without a shirt on. Keith was never spotted without a hoodie (seriously, did he own anything else?) so Lance just assumed he had nothing to show off.

Pidge snorted, holding a hand over her mouth. “Sorry, this situation is just too good.”

“Well, I know this rockin’ bod catches the eye of anyone who looks my way, so,” Lance trailed off, folding his arms and delivering his best intimidating look to Keith, who was unphased.

“I mean,” Keith began, looking around at the cafe. “I can’t really pull my shirt off and show y’all, so you can go with Lance.”

Y’all?

“Well, maybe we should, you know, check?” Hunk asked, nervous gaze flickering from Lance to Keith.

“Like, see who looks better without a shirt?” Lance asked, a smirk tugging at his lips. For some reason, he just really wanted to be better than Keith right now.

Keith shoved his hands in the pockets of his hoodie (why was he always in it if he felt so confident about his abs?) and shrugged. “I don’t really care who you pick, I was just offering-”

Lance cut him off, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. “Let’s do it!”

And that’s how they ended up back at Casa Del Hance, Lance and Keith both shirtless in the living room, Pidge wildly snapping pictures with her phone, and Hunk poking Lance’s stomach.

“Hey, buddy,” Lance said, pushing Hunk’s hand away. “It’s solid, no need to test.”

Hunk straightened up, nodding with his nose slightly upturned. They probably should’ve asked Pidge to judge, he took this way too seriously. “Of course.” Hunk cleared his throat. “As the official judge for this hot bod off,” he placed his hands on Keith and Lance’s shoulders. I just want to say both of you have beautiful bodies and you should be very proud of your hard work.”

That was true. Turns out Keith was somewhat of a gym rat, and beneath his hoodie was a torso that could’ve been sculpted by a sexually-frustrated, gay renaissance artist. Lance was lean and slim, with not much visible muscle, but he still looked good. However, Keith had the V. That’s right, those two little lines guys get above their waist when they’re really ripped. Keith fucking had it, and Lance couldn’t help but stare.

“Yeah, yeah, we know,” Lance said, rolling his eyes (partially out of annoyance, partially to pull them away from Keith’s chest).

“However, in my unbiased opinion, Keith should be the album cover.”

“Seriously?” Keith asked, brows raising.

Lance crossed to the couch, picking his shirt up and putting it back on. “It was rigged, anyway.”

“What a sore loser,” Pidge said, crossing towards the kitchen.

“Right?” Keith grabbed his shirt off of the coffee table, looking at Lance. Turns out, beneath the hoodie was also a black tank top, which wasn’t too surprising.

“I’m not a sore loser!” Lance snapped, whipping his head around to meet an image of Keith he will never get out of his head. The fact that he looked good shirtless was already established, but he had the most smug expression on his face- lips curled up in a smirk, one brow quirked as he shook his head. It made Lance very pissed off and mildly turned on. Wait, what?

“Where the fuck are all the pizza rolls?” Pidge shouted from the kitchen, accompanied by the slam of the freezer door.

“Hm, I dunno, maybe SOMEONE ate all of them,” Lance said, glaring at Hunk. He, of course, was not happy to be blamed for this, and instantly went into Petty Hunk Mode. This is when he paces, speaks with his hands a lot, and complains about everything and everyone.

“Really? You’re gonna blame me? Maybe if someone hadn’t eaten my poke bowl that they knew I was saving-”

“How could I have known you were saving it?”

“There was a post-it on it! That means it’s marked specifically for me!”

“Well I’m sorry I came home mildly baked and was hungry!”

“We have a drawer of cheez-its for the munchies! We do not eat expensive raw fish!”

“And we also do not enact revenge by finishing the pizza roll supply!”

“Oh my god, shut up!” Pidge stood between the two, reaching a hand up to cover both of their mouths. “You’re both idiots, we get it. Go make some popcorn or something, I’m fucking hungry.” Keith chuckled, covering his mouth. His shirt was back on (aw man). Pidge plopped down on the couch, and he followed after.

“You’re so petty,” Lance said, still glaring at Hunk as he headed to the kitchen to make some popcorn. Also, to put soap in his eyes to get that image of Keith out of his head.

Keith is hot, that’s a fact.

He pulled out a bag of popcorn, throwing it in the microwave as he heard the rest of the group chatter in the living room.

But I don’t even know him. Also a fact.

The muted rhythms of whatever music mixing program Pidge used could be heard, she was always making beats when she was bored.

So, I can’t catch feelings. Mega fact.

“Lance! Gimme a melody!” She shouted, turning up the volume on the laptop. Waiting for the popcorn to finish, Lance pulled out his phone, searching for some lyrics he had scribbled down earlier (definitely not while thinking about Keith).

“Hold on!” He shouted back, trying to hear the two simple chords Pidge was alternating through. The beat was kind of cute, shouldn’t be too hard to sing along with. The microwave beeped and Lance grabbed the popcorn, walking into the living room.

“Let’s hear this freestyle, Lance,” Keith said, and Lance averted his gaze. Don’t you dare fucking catch feelings now.

Lance took a breath, waiting for a good moment to come in. “Sometimes I feel like I just wanna go back to my old ways. You're telling me I'm silly, ‘it's no fun in the old days,’” he began to sing, glancing up from his phone and tossing the popcorn over to Hunk. “I'm such a romantic, I never remember how things truly happened, I guess you're attractive.” He didn’t even try to hide the side-eye towards Keith. “Or something.

"Boyfriend" or ‘boy, that's a friend’? It's easy just to pretend That we don't have something real, it's just how we feel.”

Pidge continued with the music as Lance vocalized a little bit, now sitting on the couch. Keith had the slightest smile across his lips.

“I'm feeling something, right? I wanna be the one you think about at night. And I wanna be the one that you would put up a fight for. You know that I adore, that even when you're bored I'd buy you anything and everything I can't afford.”

That’s where his lyrics ended, and Pidge noticed, stopping the music. “When did you write that, man? I’ve never heard it before,” Hunk asked. Lance simply shrugged, putting his phone down.

“Yeah, it was really good,” said Keith, and for some reason that meant a lot more than it usually did for Lance.

Okay, maybe just some feelings.

[squaredancing-weston]

para || Braine: A New Path, 1/04/2017

Tagging: @mr-blainderson and @squaredancing-weston

Time: Wednesday Morning, 4 January 2017

Setting: Boarding Facility (and trails), Harrod, OH

Summary:  Brody and Blaine both need to get away from Lima’s crazy, so Brody takes Blaine to learn the basics of horseback riding.

Part 2

"Oh, I'm sure. I mean, he's adorable and tiny, and those type //never// wreak chaos," Brody continued to tease. He was sure that the dog would be fine for a couple hours: probably sleeping on the bed or something, in the lap of luxury that his owner had set up for him. "Well, it sounds like a good size, definitely-- less worries about crushing the poor guy with a wrong step. He certainly looks Blaine-sized anyways. I'm sure the two of you will go out in no time in matching bowties." He chuckled at the idea, then nodded. "Oh, no-- I mean, my family's had a dog. But he was just you know, one of those normal outside mutts that wandered around the ranch and chased cats and stuff. God, Bandit must have died when I was, what? Twelve?" He shook his head and shrugged. "Anyways, we didn't replace him. Four teenagers and half a dozen horses or so, didn't really have time for playing fetch, you know? Same with the cats-- they were all outdoors, and barely had names. Mostly just for pest-control. And I don't think I would've wanted a rodent-- we had enough rats running around the place." He scrunched up his face. Blaine's expression wasn't something Brody was expecting, and he felt suspicious-- did Blaine know? Well, apparently Dani knew something was going on between him and Marley, so he hadn't been as discreet as he thought with her, but they'd just been discussing Bas. He //knew// he hadn't been flaunting any sort of weird thing with him. So why was Blaine looking at him like that? Brody pushed the thought from his mind determinedly-- he did //not// want to think about people knowing his personal business, and he had to be just reading into things because he was upset about the whole situation. It was that easy. Brody scoffed at Blaine's reply, arching an eyebrow at the back of his head, "Somehow I doubt that will be too difficult," he called to the other man. Brody smiled. "Well, next time you should. Or at least send out a text-- it's not like my holiday was that exciting. I would have come out to see. Maybe made a drinking game out of your set if I got bored," he added jokingly. His face fell a little at Blaine's admission: Brody knew about family problems, and his own was a sore spot, so he could definitely sympathize. "Third? Ouch. Okay, you realize that I now have to officially adopt you and take you out for the holidays, because that's a crap draw. Except, you know, the singing bit-- that's okay. Oh! Next year, we'll go caroling," he suggested, although that honestly sounded heinous to him-- not because he hated singing (even though he wasn't especially good), but because Brody despised the cold Ohio weather. But he'd bear it for Blaine-- or at least he would right now when he didn't actually have to do it. "I'm surprised you found someone sober enough to remember the lyrics with you," he remarked with a smirk. Brody didn't really know that song sober, and he had no idea what the crowd would have been like that night. The older man nodded along with Blaine's thoughts: it was really great to hear him sound so passionate about something like that. "Well, I guess it's one of those 'Don't quit your day job, but don't give up' kind of things, right? I mean, there's a lot of opportunities to chase a passion, if you're willing to look." He straightened up in his saddle and threw a smile over at Blaine. "Look, I know I'm not //that// old, but...dancing does have a sort of age cap on it. I know I hit my peak about ten years ago, but at least I still get to mess around now. I don't mind coaching." He shrugged; it hurt, obviously, losing his chance, but he'd had a long time to come to terms with it, and he was generally pretty happy with the way his life had gone, career-wise. He grumbled in faux disappointment, "Fine, fine-- no giant foam finger. Just the big megaphone and banner then."

Brody liked the whole nature aspect of the ride: he imagined that's what drew people to the idea of horses in the first place. It was away from the hustle and bustle and drama of real life, and you got to see things that you normally missed in the suburbs. Like a deer. Blaine's eyes were sweeping the area, possibly trying to search for anything else, and sure enough there was a second half-hidden in the brush. Brody figured that there weren't anymore besides, but hey-- two deer was something. His borrowed horse snorted, apparently bored with the cold and standing around part of the ride, and suddenly the animals sprung into action, bounding off and away from the scary humans staring at them. "And there they go," he commented with a dry laugh, before pushing his heels gently and clicking his tongue to spur the horse onward. "If I could figure out a way to get my kids to pay that kind of attention," he commented, glancing back at Blaine, "I feel like I would have a much higher GPA in my Algebra class, you know?"

"Oh of course not, they're completely perfect angels. Or at least they are in my mind, lest I leave early due to my worry," he replied, smiling. He was starting to get slightly worried, but he shook it off and continued. "For sure, though I have been extra careful with my steps lately, since he's pretty decently small right now. And you're not wrong, I've scouted some dog sized bow ties at Target. I'm beyond excited." He was trying his best to joke about it, but it was honestly an exciting prospect to Blaine to go out to a special occasion, matching bow ties and all. Blaine nodded in understanding. "Gotcha. Bandit, that sounds like a good fit from what I know about your ranch life." Which he would admit, wasn't much, but it was a nice picture; a family ranch with a dog running around. "Well, I'm sad to hear that regardless, Lula might just be the reason I got through some of the things I did, as smoothly as I did." He shrugged and smiled. "But I'm also going to assume that you had enough to keep you busy, I could see where a dog as an actual pet would be hard." He noticed Brody scrunch up his face and internally panicked for a second, but he quickly decided not to dwell on the moment and he moved one. He grinned and shook his head. "Yeah, somehow I have the same feeling." He bowed his head, hiding his blush. "Uh, yeah, I will." His blush quickly subsided as he shot Brody a look and stuck his tongue out at him. "Well, at least you've encouraged me to make sure that my set is so amazing that you can't possibly get bored." He watched Brody ramble, with a small, amused smile on his face. "Well, I don't oppose you adopting me, but I will ask that you don't add caroling for my benefit. To be honest, I hardly like caroling myself." He shivered at the thought. Walking in the cold, having only a few families actually listen and not slam the door upon arrival. Blaine glanced at Brody and grinned. "Yeah, I never said they were sober, but they managed to fight their way through it. It was a good show." He twisted in his saddle to find a position that was even slightly more comfortable than the one he was in, but it was proving a little difficult. "Exactly. I'm not aiming for the 'big shot' by any means, but I'd like to reach a bigger audience if I can. Hell, I may try YouTube or something." He finally settled, realizing that it was a lost cause and defiantly telling himself that it wasn't /that bad/. He smiled back and shrugged.

"If you say so, but I still have faith that you could if you tried. But it's great that you like coaching, at least you're not miserable, regretting your life choices." He noted the shrug, noticing that behind the tough exterior, it may bother him more than he wanted to admit. Blaine rolled his eyes. "If I get the choice, stick with the finger.

 Blaine watched the deer leave, smile still in tact as he watched. He was snapped out of his trance by a laugh, and he looked back at Brody. He laughed and shrugged. "People tend to pay attention to what they havent experienced before. These kids have been sitting in these classes ranging anywhere from 9-13 years, they're over it. I, on the other hand, have only seen a deer when it was standing on the side of the road as I pass it in my car. This was new."

 "Can't have that," Brody agreed, "so yeah-- definitely an angel. Yeah, but I mean, at least right now your eyes are pretty much on him all the time anyways, right? So it shouldn't be too bad until he's bigger." The older man's eyes widened in surprise. "Seriously? They really have dog bow ties?" He could see that that sounded like something Blaine would actually like, so he wanted to be supportive-- and it didn't sound awful, considering he'd be matching his owner-- but he was still floored that some person had made them in the first place and gotten a large-scale retail to sell them. Brody nodded, "Yeah, he fit in pretty well. He probably liked Jeff best if he was going to like one of us, but that's because Jeffy's butt stayed off the horses," he laughed. "Lula was your family's cocker, right?" he asked with a slight frown in thought. He honestly couldn't imagine Blaine having any problems growing up-- the guy was a human puppy, and who would kick a puppy?-- but between a rough family connection and Brody's recollection of Blaine telling him about transferring to Dalton when he was in high school, apparently it wasn't as easy as he imagined. "It's good that you had her. I guess I just didn't have it that rough growing up," he admitted. "Or if I did, I was too tunnel-visioned to notice. I pretty much had dance running in the background all the time unless I was actually doing it, so I might have missed when something important was happening." Brody had had a great childhood, as far as he remembered: not without some drama, but not like the bullying or overall angst that Spencer and some others had referred to. It was starting to make him wonder how much he was actually paying attention in school. "Yeah, I mean, the horses were pets too, so it wasn't like I didn't have anyone to bond with. Star, Bay, Oprah, Mike, St. Pauli, Max, and Chaz, and those were just the ones in high school." He laughed nostalgically, considering how he and his brothers had taken to naming the horses. He'd never really felt deprived without a dog, to be honest. "Damn straight," he laughed, nodding his head stubbornly. He could be an ass, but he knew he was better than Bas.

Brody bobbed his head in understanding, pressing his lips together. "I mean-- do you want to talk about it?" he asked. Families were tricky, and while Brody himself was never keen on discussing his problems, he could see how someone like Blaine might get something out of venting. If he wanted. Brody flashed him a grin. "Good." He leaned over his horse and pushed lightly at Blaine's shoulder, "You better." Blaine's reaction caused the older man's grin to turn impish, "See? I'm helping already," he teased. "Good-- you'll like having D as a mom. She's overprotective as hell, but she's got a cabinet full of Jack and likes Disney movies. Heck, if you tell her you're into jazz, you'll probably become her favorite kid ever. Oh, thank god," he responded with an exaggerated breath of relief. "I freaking hate the cold honestly. I mean, I can handle being out here like this--" he gestured the early morning around them, "but if I'm going to be outside, I'd rather be constantly on the move, you know? Hey, maybe instead of caroling we'll go Karaoking," he offered. "It's warmer, there's more variety in the music, and there's food." Brody laughed. "Well, that actually makes it sound way better-- I want to see your Duet with a Drunk. You could make that a regular thing and put it on YouTube with your normal sets." He leaned back slightly in his saddle, careful to keep his posture correct, because the last thing you wanted was to get caught in a bad position. "Hey, I'm not doing so bad. I like my kids. And yeah, that would kind of suck." Brody regretted a lot of his choices in his life, but coaching dance was actually not one of them. Brody grinned again at Blaine's response. "Yes! Big Red Finger! We're number 1!" Brody chuckled. "I was actually talking about the deer, but yeah-- you were equally enthralled, so good point. Really? You've never seen a deer just out and about?" He arched an eyebrow curiously-- he'd seen deer everywhere growing up. They were like cats in his mind-- just kept popping up in random fields like they belonged there or something. He assumed everyone had had the same experience. "We'll have to get you out here during spring and fall," he added with a smirk. "Make sure you get a full variety-- turkeys and bunnies and squirrels to go with your deer experience. You'll be a regular cub scout."

Blaine nodded and laughed. "Yeah, this is the first time that I've been away from him. So I guess we'll see. I'm putting my faith in him right now." He was bemused by Brody's surprise and he chuckled. "They do, yeah. Not too many options, but they've given me a starting place at least. It probably wouldn't be a constant thing. I'm not one of those monsters that make their dogs stay in clothing year round. But on little outings or such, it'd be cute." He grinned and laughed with Brody. "So is Jeff your...brother, I assume?" Blaine nodded and smiled at the thought of his old family pet, though sadly at the times he was referring to. He had gone through some pretty rough patches in his life, with the bullying and the constant family coldness. It had caused something of a depression in Blaine's early years, and Lula was the only thing that made him feel better. He offered Brody a weak smile. "That's good though, right? I'm glad you didn't have it rough and that you had dance to get you through things like that." He smiled a little more genuinely with a small shrug. "When I transferred to Dalton and joined the Warblers, it helped quite a bit. So it's not like my life was just all bad. Just...different." Blaine's eyes widened at the names of the horses and he tried to hold back his laughter. "Okay, /who/ came up with those names and what's the story behind them because those are fantastic."

 Blaine's smile faltered slightly at the question. He knew that he could trust Brody and confide in him, but it was a lot, and something that even Blaine had been avoiding working through because he thought that he didn't need to. So he just let out a shaky laugh and shook his head, trying to play it off. "I don't want to bore you with that, Brodes. Besides, there's not really too much to tell." At Brody's remarks, Blaine just rolled his eyes with a smile, bringing his hand up to scratch the back of his neck, something that had become a nervous tick for him of sorts. It had been a little over a year since he had heard anyone actually /want/ to hear his music, and he had started getting set in his quiet, hermit ways. So hearing Brody talk like that made him slightly uncomfortable, but in a good way. A way that he could get used to. "Well, it's a good thing that I love Jazz, then. I love being the favorite child." Not that he ever had been, but he liked the prospect. Blaine nodded in understanding. "Yeah, no I completely understand. While I'm not outdoors just all the time, when I am, I'm usually running or being active in some way. I hate just standing out in the cold though. So yes, karaoke sounds like the much better option here." Blaine looked thoughtful for a moment and nodded. "You may be on to something there, my friend. Bring your camera whenever you come to a show; I'm depending on you to catch these moments. So that means no Red Finger." Blaine smiled softly at him and nodded. "I like my kids too, even if I want to stab myself in the eye sometimes. It's good to know that if music doesn't pan out, I'll have them."

Blaine shook his head, shrugging. "It's kind of surprising too, because we lived in a rather large out kind of just on the edge of the woods. Granted, I spent most of my time studying music, watching musicals, writing music, dancing; so I didn't really notice when Bambi showed up in the backyard. Thankfully there were no hunters involved." Blaine shot a pointed look in Brody's direction, but chuckled. "As long as I get one of those cool sashes and your provide me with patches, we can do that."

"Well, better his first time being a couple hours out here then waiting till eight hours of the first day of classes, right?" Brody agreed.  "I'm sure he'll be fine.  Man, well, I mean, really?” The concept floored him for a second, but when Blaine reminded him about literal dog outfits that he’d seen himself, his mind relented on his skepticism, filling in with his own experiences.  “Yeah, I guess I can think of worse things to do with your dog.  I once saw a poor German Shepherd in a tutu, so I hardly think a little bowtie every now and again is anything cruel.  And if you added a little sweater vest for Christmas, I’m sure no one would blame you,” he added, cocking a half grin.  Brody nodded.  “Oh, yeah-- younger brother.  Kind of a puppy, like you, though he’s about 28 now.  I’ve got two older ones too, Mark and Bob.  But they’re all back home in Cali, you know?  Don’t come out here that often.”  Scratch that; his family had never come out to see him, but Brody didn’t want people to notice things like that if he could help it, so he smiled when he talked about his family and played the words easy.  His past was too complicated for the water cooler, and he preferred to keep those cards close to the chest.  Blaine looked a little sad at reminiscing his old dog, and Brody wondered how rough it must have been to lose her-- Blaine already seemed ridiculously attached to this one.  If kid-Blaine was using her as a living diary, so-to-speak, he was probably felt like he’d lost his best friend.  “Yeah, I mean, I’m not the guy that goes searching out drama, so I’m glad I missed it.  But, you know...” he faltered, feeling guilty that he couldn’t really empathize with his friend and coworker.  He wished the guy had just had an easier time and therefore could empathize with him.  When Blaine perked up at the mention of Dalton, Brody smiled.  “They really were something for you, weren’t they?” he asked, recalling their earlier conversation about Blaine’s desire to teach there.  If Brody were guessing, he’d say that place seemed more like home than Blaine’s home had.  “I bet they’ll be lucky to have you-- when you get to transfer, I mean,” he added.  “Do you still keep in touch with any of those guys?”  Brody outright laughed at Blaine’s reaction to his childhood horses.  He didn’t blame the guy-- they were arguably pretty amusing names, although they definitely fit.  “Oh man, we all did, pretty much.  I mean, Oprah was Jeffy’s-- he said it was because she was nice and listened to him, but honestly I think it was because she was black and kind of chubby, but that sounds ridiculously racist and I’d rather you didn’t repeat that.  Um, Bay and Star were Mark’s, which are actually pretty stupid names if you know anything about horses.  Delilah, for example--” he leaned over and pointed to his mare “--is a bay quarterhorse.  Bay just is a shade of brown.  And that white stripe on her head?  Hers is called an ‘irregular blaze’ technically.  A star is what they call it when it’s just kind of a white dot on their forehead.  Because Mark’s dull as dishwater,” he laughed.  “Uh, Mike and St. Pauli are alcohol brand names, so you can tell where Bob’s mind was at, even in middle school.  Max and Chaz are mine-- they just honestly seemed like decent names.  Plus when I got mad at them I could call them Maximillian and Charlotte Ann, which somehow sounds more serious?  I don’t know,” he shook his head-- Brody wasn’t really that original at naming his own things.  His truck was Trixie, for pete’s sake.

Brody understood the value of secrets-- there were a lot of reasons not to talk about things, after all.  And while he and Blaine were friends (or at least friendly), Brody certainly wasn’t the guy’s confidant.  So how badly the guy was trying to play off his past wasn’t Brody’s business-- he just nodded in understanding, respecting his coworker’s privacy.  “Yeah, just, you know, if you want to vent about boring stuff,” he followed up, leaving the door open without forcing Blaine anywhere near it.  He hunched a bit in the saddle, rolling his eyes, but Blaine’s smile didn’t look overly uncomfortable about the idea of Brody seeing him perform-- although if the guy forgot to text him, the older man wouldn’t hold it against him.  Some hobbies were better kept separated from work.  Brody himself laughed, “See?  You fit in already.  Well, just don’t be too good-- you might end up replacing me as her favorite guy period, and then where would I be?  That’s my True Love right there.  You just stay the favorite son, and we’ll be good.  I’ll teach you to ride a bike and everything.  And hey, look!  I’m already putting you on your first horse-- I’ve totally got the hang of this.”  He laughed and smiled.  “Okay, good-- we’re on the same page.  We’ll find a winter-themed karaoke night and go there for the holidays.”   Brody wrinkled his nose, “What?  You’re putting me behind the lens?  You know those people can’t talk, Blaine?  Ruins the quality.  You would silence me just for YouTube hits?  Who’s going to make the weird whooping noises for you?”  He put on a faux pout, although he would definitely help Blaine if he could.  “Hey, though-- I could put you in touch with the AV kid that set up my channel, if you want.  I mean, mine is really simple, but the quality’s got a draw.”  Brody laughed.  “Yeah, they can be a handful, but would you really get so frustrated you’d want to damage your most potent weapons?  I think that’s a horrible thing to threaten Blaine,” he teased lightly.

“Well, at least you were doing something constructive,” Brody consoled him.  “And anyways-- deer kind of all look the same, so you can just take that image right there--” he gestured to the empty field “-superimpose it in your backyard, and bam-- exact same idea.”  He gave a dry laugh, “Yeah, well, you won’t see them on these trails either-- too many people potentially wandering around, plus it would spook the horses.  There’s better areas, I’m sure.  I mean, I don’t waste my time, since I can barely hit the broad side of a barn with a shot, but I hear the kids talk.”  His face broke into a smirk at Blaine’s expression, but he nodded, “Absolutely-- we’ll have a ceremony every time you get a new one.  With cookies and punch.”

Blaine looked thoughtful, figuring that Brody had a point. “Yeah, I guess that’s true; this way he can work up to it. Though I feel that would work better if I was actually going to be gone from home the next couple of days as well.” He couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of a German Shepherd in a tutu. But then he thought about how sad the poor thing must have looked and he quieted down. “Yeah, tutus are a bit much. There’s accessorizing and then there’s overkill. A Christmas vest would be cute, I’ll have to keep an eye out for those this year.” Blaine grinned as he heard that Brody had a puppy in the family. “Well, I guess that means that my ‘puppy’ charm won’t work on you, if you’re used to it.” Blaine nodded in understanding, adding a sigh. “I know how that goes. Well, obviously, not to the same extent, they actually live in Ohio, but even then, they don’t visit too often.” He glanced over at Brody, giving him a small smile. “I’m sorry they don’t get to visit much. It must suck to be so far away from them.”

 He tried to hide his smile as Brody tried to relate to him. He appreciated the attempt, and he would always be grateful for it. Blaine’s life was far from the worst life to possibly live, but he knew he had struggles that were kind of difficult for people to either relate to or understand, and he never held it against them, the few people that he did open up to. He let his smile shine through though when the other asked about Dalton. “They were my family when I desperately needed one, student and teacher alike. It’s where I was able to actively express myself without having to worry about what was waiting around the corner.” Blaine’s smile faded slightly at Brody’s remarks at transferring. He had really started to love McKinley as well, and the friends he was able to establish there. While Dalton had been his home back then, he was starting to see McKinley as his home now. “If I transfer, anyways. Though I wouldn’t say that. I think I’m a good teacher, but I don’t know if I’d be able to keep up with Dalton’s curriculum,” he said, playing it off as much as he could. “You mean, aside from Bas? Every now and then, yeah. There are a couple who stayed around the area that I need to get in touch with again. It’s been ages.” Blaine watched Brody ramble through the list of names and how they came to be and laughed. “Your family sounds amazing. I also support your names; who doesn’t want to use Maximillian in an angry voice?”

Blaine pulled his lips up into a tight smile, genuine but distant. “Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind.” He had had a sudden urge to talk about everything but he kept it to himself. This day was a day to forget and relax, not pull up all the dark clouds that rested in his memory. He knew he wasn’t opposed to telling Brody and letting him in, but it just wasn’t the time. He snorted, listening as Brody rambled on, taking the true role of his adoptive father. “I solemnly swear not to steal your one true love. I’m okay with staying the favorite son. And yes, you’re the best dad ever. I’ll get you a mug and everything.” Blaine shook his head with a smile. “Deal, Christmas Karaoke it is then.” He shot the older male a strange look. “Hopefully no one, I’m hoping for genuine cheers. And you would have the most important job! Making sure that any great moment is captured for the world to see? Your role is almost more crucial than mine.” Blaine looked at him puzzled for a moment. “You have a channel? What do you use it for?” he asked out of genuine curiosity. He chuckled and shook his head. “No, I guess I wouldn’t.”

Blaine smiled and nodded, looking back out into the field. “Yeah, I guess that’ll have to do. I’m glad I won’t have to really worry about hunters here though. I don’t think my little heart could handle it.” Blaine grinned back, giving a short nod in approval. “Good, I expect the good kind as well. A 25 year old man getting his boy scout badges is a special occasion that deserves to be celebrated.”

Brody shrugged-- consistency would make for better routine, yeah.  “I mean, you can keep coming up here, I don’t mind the company.  But I think you’ll be sore enough tomorrow, so maybe not,” he offered dubiously-- Blaine didn’t seem to want to be far from Bing regardless, and riding wasn’t something you just started as a daily thing randomly.  Blaine’s laugh at the poor dog’s misfortune caused Brody to crack a grin as well, although it really had been an unsettling thing to witness.  “Well, it’ll make for a worthwhile Christmas card next year, that’s for sure,” he agreed.  The older man bobbed his head, heart hurting as he thought about his baby brother back home.  “I hope so-- I mean, it Jeffy called me up and asked for something, I’d still probably come running today, so not sure what that says about my resistance.”  Literally-- Brody would jump off a cliff if Jeff would ask for it.  But really, if any of his family was desperate enough to talk to him by now (besides his mom), he’d probably do anything.  Brody’s brow furrowed unhappily at Blaine’s reveal-- what kind of asshole family lived in the same state and still wouldn’t see their kid?  Especially if their kid was Blaine?  “Well, I wouldn’t worry about it.  Me and Dani make enough trouble over the holidays to set off a National response.”  He bit his lip.  “Yeah, well, I mean, between kids and jobs, life just happens.  And, I mean, my mom calls all the time--” every one or two Fridays at dinner, like clockwork “-- so it’s not that big of a deal.”

Brody smiled at Blaine’s brightening when the subject of his old school came up.  “That’s pretty amazing: I mean, not a lot of people have that, you know?  Especially not through school.”  The older man’s lips twitched a little at the amendment. “If?  You don’t think you’ll get in?”  Or maybe he’d actually like to stay?  Brody knew public school had a lot of pitfalls, and McKinley probably more than most, but he really did like the new teacher, and would be glad to see him stick around for a while.  “I mean, you handled it just fine as a student.  I doubt you’d be any less capable as a teacher.  Probably overqualified, since you know the place so well.”  He flashed a grin in encouragement.  Brody wished Bas’ name would stop coming up-- it kept bringing him up short, causing a sort of stutter to the conversation, that, while miniscule externally, felt jarring in his head.  “Bas?  Sebastian went to Dalton?” he echoed.  He’d known the guy went to a private school growing up, but considering his law degree was from New York and his family from France, an Ohio-based school seemed a little baffling.  Brody let out a chuckle.  “Well, we all definitely had our quirks.  I feel for our mom, really.  Right though?  I always liked a good normal name that can be put to good use.”

Blaine’s response felt honest, but also effectively closing the conversation, so Brody respectfully dropped it.  Like he’d said-- he just wanted to put it out.  Just in case.  The older teacher grinned in amusement.  “Good to hear-- you know how hard those things are to come by?  I mean, favorite sons are a little tricky as well, but True Love-- I mean, that only happens with most protagonists of every tv show.  Very rare.  Oh goodie!  I do love a good mug.”  He laughed at the idea of Christmas Karaoke, “It’s a deal.  No one?  Well that’s just disappointing.  I mean genuine cheers come come from anyone, but who will be so supportive that they’ll bring out foam fingers and overly dramatic applause?” he told Blaine, a faux serious expression on his face.  “Oh yeah-- TitanicTexting-11?  The AV Club set it up for me as my little texting box for my kids who can’t follow the No Phones in Class rule,” Brody revealed with a grin.  “We mess around with the audio and do that weird silhouette thing for the faces, and then just mishmash a recording of all the texts I catch them sending that I force them to read in my little Confessional Box in the back of the class.  It’s got a pretty decent subscription, just because kids like to laugh at each other.”  Brody smirked triumphantly.  “Exactly.  You’ll just have to find something else to stab in frustration.”

Brody raised an eyebrow,” Because you’d be afraid of getting shot or because you don’t want to think about them getting shot?” he asked.  “Seriously; we’re going to have to really expand on what sort of knowledge is expected of you.  Like the Drinking Game badge, and the 100 Papers Graded in One Night badge,” he added with a laugh.

Blaine smirked at his friend and nodded a little, the stiffness in his legs already at the forefront of his mind. "Yeah, I think I'd probably refrain from riding again right off the bat. But we could still come give you company. As long as you don't go galloping off into he distance, we could always walk beside you. Or if you needed to work in the barn, I could come hang out, give you someone to talk to lest you become a crazy horse man." His grin didn't falter; he truly wouldn't mind coming and spending time with his friend. Especially when it seemed as though he was pushing the other two away. Blaine nodded, running through possible Christmas card ideas in his head. "You know, I think you're right. I'll send the first draft to you for approval." Blaine glanced over as Brody talked about his brother, sensing that something may be burrowed under the surface, but he refrained from asking further. "Well, it sounds as though he has you wrapped around his finger. He's lucky to have that." Blaine shook his head, a grin toying at his lips. "I can't wait to experience it then." He looked off into the distance as he nodded in understanding, though a tiny bubble of sad jealousy was bubbling within him. Blaine didn't even have he reassurance that it was his family's life that was keeping them from contact from him.

Blaine bobbed his head, still beaming. He knew how fortunate he was to be placed in a private school that not only had a zero-tolerance bullying policy, but was also filling with genuine and loving people that wanted to see him go far. "I'm not much for God, but that school was the closest I've gotten to believing he might actually exist." He knew that might sound strange, and he wasn't meaning to put his previous school on such a pedastal, but he had a lot of gratitude towards it, and he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to show it. Which may be another reason he didn't want to transfer; he didn't want to disappoint the school he came from. He looked at Brody thoughtfully as he shrugged his shoulders. "I don't really know," he smiled briefly, "though you may have a point; I think the fact that I went to school there would work in my favor. I just don't know. I graduated 7 years ago, there's no telling how it's evolved since then." Blaine was taken aback when Brody seemed to go into something of a trance. When his friend asked his question, a wave of realization washed over him. He spoke slowly. "He did, yeah. He was actually the first friend I made there, if you can believe that. Turns out he's not as big of a douchebag that he likes to let people believe he is." He observed Brody and continued carefully. "Is...is everything alright between you two?" Behind his perfect poker face, he knew the true answer, but he needed to attempt to get Brody's side of it. Blaine chuckled and shook his head. "Your mother must be one tough lady to deal with four boys with 'quirks'."

 Blaine laughed outright. "Believe me, I know exactly how hard they are to get." He had to bite his tongue to refrain from being even more of a downer, to admit that it didn't take but five seconds for his father to choose a favorite son. He once again rolled his eyes, this time with affection at his friend. "I guess when you put it that way. Just start it off a little more subtly." His eyes grew in wonder as Brody explained his channel. He felt confident enough to raise his hands from the reigns and clap slowly before grasping them again. "That is absolutely genius and I'm going to need to watch those as soon as possible. If you take submissions, I'll give you some that my students sent; you can just grab volunteers for those, I guess." He stuck his tongue out at the other in mock defeat. "I can probably think of a few people, if I really set my mind to it." Blaine sighed with a small shrug. "Both I guess. Neither are particularly pleasant thoughts to me." Blaine just looked bemused at Brody. "Tell you what. Send me a list and I'll get started. Though I must tell you that I already have those two done."

[above-the-cloudz]

Scared of the Dark

Fear. It’s everywhere these days. In my brain, in the faces of those around me, in the shaking lilt of my father’s voice over the phone as he worries for my safety, in reference to the unknown future we are to embark on against our will. Fear is everywhere, but it shouldn’t be. I remember being a naive little girl, feeling safe and free in my parents’ embrace or running barefoot outside through the grass as the sprinklers coat my body with a blanket of water droplets while the sun beats down upon my smooth skin unmarred by fear. Back then, sure, the world was scary but for no other reason than I was a young girl who was ignorant to the life of adults and who only saw fear if she looked up into the faces of adults who were all too aware of the horrors of grown-up life. All of the children around me shared my sentiments, their smiling faces never faltering for the world was theirs to conquer, or so they thought. However, so much has changed since I was a child. I am now one of those fearful adults that I used to stare at and wonder what was so scary about being older. Now I know. Now I am scared. Fear has taken residence within me, and it shows in the worry lines on my forehead, the strain that comes with bearing a smile when I know people are constantly suffering around me, the grey hairs upon my head that catch the light and peg me as someone much older than I actually am, the way I slouch my shoulders and lower my head to show people that I have fallen prey to fear and have no idea of how to solve the issues that are plunging our world into swirling darkness. How can I, a nineteen-year-old college student with endless hopes and dreams but no idea of how to execute them, fix the world? How could I have protected the numerous innocent lives that were lost at the selfish acts of another that were most-likely driven by fear or desperation of this hateful world? How can I keep this from happening again? I try to be open-minded, really I do. However, as much as I try to understand how people can be filled with so much animosity and judgment towards others, I truly cannot come up with a viable reason as to why we must act so savagely when we are all human beings, we all have goals and dreams, we all have a reason for being on this earth, we are all fearful for what is to come. Now, I know I cannot bunch everyone together, we all come from different backgrounds and have experienced different things, but I do know that we should all have a basic respect for human life, yet I see heinous acts committed everyday that display a lack of respect for life itself. All I truly want is to not fear living. I’m sitting here, waiting to find a light amongst all the dark.