today. i have experienced the HORRORS (opened laptop for morning meeting while seated between boss and coworker; was greeted with ao3 page i forgot to close last night)

A Difficult Question

Word count: 3000

Warnings: continued second-hand embarrassment? 😉 tickling, fluff as always

This is in response to a prompt from @sigyn-laufeyson0609 for a sequel to An Embarrassing Secret. Thanks for the idea friend! 😊 I snuck in a little soft Loki toward the end, just to switch things up a little!

* * *

You had avoided Loki for a solid week after he had revealed he knew about your blog. Although he didn’t seem to find it as strange as you’d have expected him to, you couldn’t help but feel a little exposed. Your writing wasn’t something you’d intended to show anyone, much less the tall, handsome, alien god who made you feel giddy every time he said your name.

Despite your concern that he would tell the others, no one else so much as breathed a word about your little secret. Either they were too kind to say anything for fear of embarrassing you, or he truly hadn’t told anyone else. You hoped it was the latter, although you supposed it couldn’t get any worse than Loki finding out.

You couldn’t avoid him forever, though. The first time you ran into him, other than those brief moments in passing where you ducked your head or turned the other way, you were sitting in the library again, this time actually reading something rather than typing on your laptop. (No way were you risking leaving that out in public again…) Loki had entered the library without your knowledge, having been engrossed in the novel you were reading while sitting in one of the comfortable armchairs. A sudden squeeze to your side alerted you to his presence, causing you to jolt and whip your head around to find the god smirking down at you. He shot you a wink before continuing on to browse the shelves.

Somehow, that brief interaction had eased your anxiety around him. You didn’t really want to stay away from him, after all. And it seemed like he was going to treat the whole situation as a game, which in a strange way made you feel better about the whole situation. You would much rather he use this little secret for some lighthearted flirting versus making a big show about it.

So, you went back to your usual routines, no longer trying to shy away from him. He rewarded you with the occasional poke to the side while passing by you in the hallway, or a quick pinch to the soft skin above your knee during movie night with the team. And, maybe, you started trying to provoke him a little more. Doing little irritating things like stealing the last cookie right from under his nose or changing the channel during one of the rare moments he was actually watching something on the television usually earned you a couple extra scribbles to the belly, or a fluttering of fingers to the neck.

It never lasted longer than a couple seconds at most, though. Most of the time that was plenty for you, just long enough to make your heart beat faster with adrenaline and for heat to prickle in your cheeks.

But not today.

No, today you were really in the mood to be tickled senseless. You were even making sarcastic comments to some of the other Avengers, hoping that someone might just decide they’d had enough of your sass. Although no one else knew you actually enjoyed it, everyone was aware that you were more ticklish than the average person. It was uncommon for the others to take advantage of it, but on rare occasions Thor or Tony would dig their fingers into your ribs to get you to stop talking if you were being particularly annoying. Today, though, no one was getting the hint.

You didn’t see Loki until later that evening, when you stumbled across him in the common room. He was alone, sitting on the couch with his back leaned up against the cushions and his feet up on the coffee table. He had a book in his hand, which he seemed pretty focused on, turning a page every few seconds as his eyes skimmed across the aging pages.

“You’re hovering again,” he observed suddenly, never once lifting his gaze from his book. Startled, you left your position from the doorway and entered the room, taking a seat on the other side of the couch.

“I’ll never understand how you know people are there without even seeing them,” you marveled.

“I’ve told you before – it’s impossible to sneak up on me.”

“Well maybe I’ll be the first someday.” You sat back against the couch, and silence blanketed the room, save for the occasional crinkling of the pages of Loki’s book as he continued to read. You realized that this would be the perfect opportunity to try to provoke the Asgardian to tickle you – you were alone in the common room, and he seemed to be in a state of focus where he would be pretty irritated if you broke his concentration.

You wanted to be subtle, though. You wouldn’t want him to think you were asking for it, after all, and as he was the only person who knew about your secret, you figured he would see through you pretty quickly if you tried too hard. So, you started simple by leaning forward and picking up the remote from the coffee table, turning on the television. You found a program he had previously expressed disinterest in and set the channel to that, settling back against the couch cushions, and turning up the volume.

Loki was silent despite all of this, so you stole a glance in his direction. His brow was furrowed a little, but his gaze was still fixed on the pages of his novel. Need to try harder, you thought to yourself. You cranked up the volume a little more and laughed a little extra loud at every joke. After trying this for a few minutes, you risked another glance in his direction.

Nothing. Not even a flinch.

You were starting to get a little desperate. The desire for someone to tickle you had settled itself like a flame in your belly, and it had been slowly building all day long. But you were too proud, too embarrassed to just come out and ask for it. You had to find another way.

You turned your body so you were leaning back against the arm of the couch and stretched your legs out across the couch cushions, your feet only inches away from Loki’s leg. This time, you didn’t even chance looking over at him, knowing he wouldn’t try anything if he thought you were expecting it. You sat still for a maddening amount of time without finding any success in your attempts. You stretched one leg out a little further and tapped his leg with your foot.

Nothing.

You tried again, this time with a little more force. At long last, the trickster looked up from his book to glare at you.

“Can I help you?” he asked, his tone flat.

“Uhh… no, sorry,” you replied quickly. He turned his attention back to his book, and you turned back to the TV, feeling a bit deflated. Your mood was still gnawing at your insides, though, and you weren’t quite ready to give up just yet.

You waited a few moments, trying to think of another way to get on his nerves. Maybe you just needed to try a different angle.

“So… watcha reading?” you inquired.

“Shakespeare,” he stated without looking up.

“Oh. That’s really old though, isn’t it?”

“’Old’ is a relative term. What you consider ‘old’ is actually quite new for someone my age.”

“Right. Because you’re old too,” you snickered. This got him to look up at you again finally.

“Pardon?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Well, like you said, ‘old’ is relative. So, compared to me, you’re really old.” You held his gaze, a triumphant grin threatening to spread across your face.

“Yes, I am ‘old’ compared to you I suppose. And yet, you still seem to like what you see.”

Your face flushed hot.

“I- well- that’s not… never mind,” you huffed, turning away from him once again. You heard his book snap shut, the cover making a small thumping sound as he set it down on the table.

“You seem a bit off today. Is there something with which you require assistance?” You glanced up to find his blue-green eyes fixed on you. It was difficult to read his expression – he wasn’t annoyed, but he wasn’t overtly amused, either.

“What? No. Why do you ask?”

“Well, you’re watching a television show you and I both know you hate, laughing loudly and turning the volume up, and just generally trying to capture my attention,” he listed. “If I didn’t know any better, I would assume you were trying to get me to tickle you.”

“W-what!? Pshh. That’s… that’s ridiculous,” you stammered, folding your arms defiantly across your chest. “Just because I don’t mind it doesn’t mean I would ask for it.”

“I see.” Loki sat back against the couch again, picking up his novel and reopening it to his bookmarked page. “So, you won’t mind if I go back to reading in peace, then?”

“Nope,” you affirmed, popping the P for emphasis. You leaned back into your seat once again, your arms still crossed. You changed the channel to another show you were more interested in so you could try to forget about this whole thing by distracting yourself.

Once again, the room fell silent, with the exception of the voices on the television and the flipping of Loki’s book pages. Your heart sank deeper in your chest in disappointment. You almost had him there – why did he have to go and ruin it by observing out loud that you wanted to be tickled?

“Honestly, y/n, you look as if someone put something sour in your drink,” Loki said finally, placing his book back on the coffee table.

“I’m fine,” you insisted flatly, refusing to look at him.

“I’ve told you before – if you want me to tickle you, all you have to do is ask.” You observed him in your peripheral vision, your stomach swooping at the mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“No,” you stated.

“No? No what? No, you don’t want me to tickle you? Or no, you refuse to ask?”

“Just… no.” You pulled your feet closer to your body, sitting crisscross on the couch with your arms still folded across your torso. Loki chuckled, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“You sound like a petulant child.”

“Do not!” you argued. Loki didn’t respond – he merely held his hand out at you, silently noting that you’d proven his point. You huffed and turned away from him, pretending to turn your focus back to the television.

“I know exactly what you’re trying to do, darling,” he sang, scooting closer to you on the couch. “You are hoping to provoke me sufficiently to make me retaliate and tickle you. You’ve been doing so since you saw me from the doorway. Don’t try to deny it.”

Heat was crawling up your neck into your cheeks again, and you squeezed your mouth shut, shaking your head defiantly. He shuffled a bit closer, now only inches away from you. “I’m sorry to tell you, dear, but you’re going to have to ask me properly.” You let out an involuntary groan at that, your heart pounding at the sheer proximity of the god beside you. “Use your words, darling. What is it that you want?”

Your resolve was breaking. This whole exchange was only enhancing your lee mood, and he’d made it clear that you wouldn’t get anything out of him without actually coming out and asking for it bluntly. It was difficult to form the words in your mouth.

“I… erm… could you… uh…”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” he teased, his smirk broadening.

“Could you… would you, maybe… couldyoutickleme?” The words finally came tumbling out of your mouth, and as soon as you said it you found yourself pinned down on the couch, the god of mischief hovering over you with a victorious smirk on his face.

“Now, y/n, was that really so difficult?” Before you had the chance to tell him exactly how difficult it was, he cut you off by digging his fingers into your ribcage. He knew it was a weaker spot, drawing rambunctious laughter from you as you grasped his wrists. You weren’t really making any effort to try to push him away, of course, but it gave you something to do with your hands. “For someone who wanted this so badly, you’re making it exceedingly difficult with your incessant squirming.”

“I cahahan’t help ihihit!!” you exclaimed, arching your back as his fingers darted down to your belly. He wouldn’t give you the chance to get accustomed to one spot, quickly moving to scribble into your sides or drill his thumbs into your hips. It was exactly what you’d been hoping would happen all day today, and yet still you could barely handle it as ticklish shocks wracked through your body.

“Let’s see, now – where else are you ticklish? I don’t have your little narratives open for reference this time, so I suppose I’m going to have to find out for myself,” he pondered aloud, tone laced with mischief. “Ah! How about here?” Loki slipped his fingers under your arms, causing you to clamp them down to your sides. That didn’t stop him, though, continuing to vibrate his fingers into your uppermost ribs. The sensation made you shriek, throwing your head back and laughing with abandon.

“Nohoho Loki! Not there!” you cried, feebly pulling at his wrists as much as you could with your arms pressed to your sides.

“No? On the contrary, dear, I think it’s a perfectly effective spot.” You twisted involuntarily, accidentally rolling off the couch and face first onto the floor with a thud. Loki was at your side in a flash, kneeling beside you with a hand on your shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“Y-yehehes,” you giggled, heart fluttering at the idea that he was so concerned about you possibly being hurt. You turned to roll onto your back to look up at him, but he pressed down on your shoulder, holding you in place.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked ominously, his fingers moving to dig into your ribcage with renewed vigor. Not being able to see his hands was so much better worse. You tried desperately to roll onto your side but each time he would shift both hands to the newly exposed side, forcing you to roll back onto your stomach to protect the sensitive skin there. “Shall I ‘go in for the kill’ as they say?”

“No! Don’t! Anything but that!” you pleaded, although you both knew your heart wasn’t really in it.

“Sorry, darling, but as I recall, you did ask for this.” With that, his fingertips scribbled into that wretched spot on the back of your upper ribs. You kicked your feet against the floor in ticklish agony, your laughter pitching up an octave. Before long, your laughter grew silent, prompting him to ease up on you and scratch lightly at your sides. You turned to roll onto your back, and he allowed it this time, chuckling at your disheveled state. You took a moment to catch your breath, chest heaving with exertion, and you twitched occasionally when his fingertips found an extra sensitive spot on your side.

Loki’s fingers stilled against your sides, and you frowned up at him, feeling a sense of loss without his touch. He laughed heartily at that, a genuine smile spreading across his lips.

“Silly girl, was that not enough for you? Do you need me to continue?” Before waiting for your answer, he reached down and fluttered his fingers behind both knees. You squealed in surprise, giggles spilling from your lips. Loki sat on your shins to avoid any accidental kicks to the face, shifting to knead at the soft skin just above your knee on your inner thigh. You hadn’t anticipated just how unbearably ticklish that spot could be.

“Wait wait wahahait!! Stahahap!!” you cried, trying desperately to yank your legs out from under the Asgardian.

“Ah, I see I’ve identified a new– what do you call it? ‘Death spot’?”

Your laughter was growing hoarse, and Loki took this as his cue to let up again, getting up off your legs and kneeling beside you. You were exhausted, but the endorphins coursing through your veins made you feel giddy.

“That… that was mean,” you said breathlessly.

“I’ll remind you once again, you asked for it,” he retorted.

Loki stood up and offered you a hand to help you off the floor, which you gratefully accepted. You stood there awkwardly for a moment, not certain what to say. For the first time, you noticed Loki was also at a loss for words; his hand moved to the back of his neck, and he glanced around the room, uncertainty in his eyes.

On a whim (or maybe it was just the residual adrenaline, you’ll never know) you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around the bewildered god in front of you.

“Thanks, Loki,” you whispered into his shoulder. He stood frozen for a moment before finally sliding his arms around you as well, squeezing you tight.

“Anytime, love,” he replied, his voice low and gruff, softer than you’d ever heard him speak. You hugged him for another moment before releasing the trickster and hurrying off to your room, hoping to hide away before you could say anything to ruin things.

And, you can bet, you would be doing some more writing tonight.

Part 3: A Cozy Evening

Maybe There’s Hope: chpt 1 Stop and Breathe

Starting from the final events of 09x20 The Truth, Mulder and Scully tackle their new reality as fugitives. When they finally settle into things, Scully finds out she is pregnant again. A canon divergent AU where I thought, what if Scully got pregnant whilst on the run instead of at the end of season 11?

4k words; rated t; tagging @today-in-fic; read on ao3

The long desert roads seemed to stretch light-years ahead, no scenery, no landmarks, just flat, arid land in all directions. The baked earth was cool in the grey hue of the early morning. Far out, somewhere along the horizon, the sun started to reach up its first fingers to claw at the dawn sky. Chasing those pale blues and purples, the day would soon bleed bright oranges and yellows and colour the earth below. Daybreak felt like an answer to a prayer; the dawn light lifted the oppressive, starless night sky and had cloaked them. Daybreak filled Mulder with a sense of liberty and overwhelming hope for a second chance as invigorating as the breeze outside. It was a miracle that they had made it this far. Mulder was beginning to think he had been executed after all and was caught in limbo, forever driving towards the end of the cold, dark sky. A lost soul wandering aimlessly as punishment for his crimes.

In his mind, he kept hearing the explosions ring through his hears and the flashes of flame in the rear-view mirror. Always in his peripheral, snapshots of the ruins hurtling his way took him by surprise. He glanced at them but as soon as he chased their sight, the apparitions disappeared.

His father was dead. The smoking son-of-a-bitch should have died a long time ago. Mulder tightened his grip on the staring wheel. Now He haunted his peripheral vision as well, the ghost of his smoke sickly uncurling in the back seats of the stolen car. His fathers, his sister, his mother, Emily, the Gunmen: all dead. How many did he have left to lose?

He swallowed thickly and looked over at Scully in the passenger seat, her head lolled to one side and her lips parted to utter the tiniest of snores. A tiny damp patch on her shoulder marked where she had drooled throughout the night– something she most adamantly didn't do. Caught in the first glowing rays of the sun, Mulder had never seen her so beautiful, frizzy hair and all. He placed a hand upon her knee, a poor substitute for all the embraces he wished to share with her.

Scully stirred from her light sleep, groaning and stretching like old wood as she straightened herself. Her blinks were laboriously heavy, weighed down by the stress of the last twenty-four hours. Mulder hadn't meant to wake her but didn't miss the opportunity to share the day with her. "Hey, Scully, look at the sunrise," he whispered.

She groggily hummed, appreciating the myriad of colours. Voice still thick with sleep, she asked, "Where are we?"

"Not sure," he answered, tapping the dial for the gas to see if the needle was lying.

Scully curled up as much as she could in the seat and turned to gaze out of the window, watching the little rocks and pebbles flew past in a blur along the roadside. "Where are we going?"

He glanced at her, then back towards the horizon racing as quickly away from them as they chased after it. "Don't know. But if we don't know, at least nobody else knows either." It was meant to make her smile, but all she did was frown. With no one and nothing around them, the faux safety of the nowhere between lands scared Scully. As if somehow it was a trap they were being lulled into; a false sense of security. She knew they needed to be wary at all hours, every ticking second of the day and every tock of the clock at night. She reminded herself there was no safe place to hide and no time to catch their breath. But it was all so exhausting.

"How long have you been driving?" She craned her neck to see the bags under his eyes. Mulder had pulled all-nighters before, and it wasn't like he was never subject to bouts of insomnia, but the restless worry was the worst thing. She could see it was eating him up from the inside, not fear for himself but for her, that she had chosen this life with him again. And now he could barely offer her an existence. She wanted to tell him that it didn't matter– she'd make the same decision twice, a thousand times, but that wouldn't allay the worry. Reality had punched him in the face and marked him with two shiners.

"Ten hours or so," he said as if it was still the first half an hour.

Scully sat up in her seat. "You should take a rest. Let me drive."

"No." Mulder shook his head with pursed lips and then chuckled. "You should sleep while you can. We both know me resting is pointless."

She smiled sorrowfully, looking at her hands rested in her lap. She sighed. "None of this feels real does it?"

Squeezing her knee, Mulder spoke honestly, as soft and as mellow as the sunlight on the horizon. "You are real to me right here and now. That's all I need to get through this."

But Scully didn't ask what this was and when it would be over. She only knew she was already counting down the days. But the end was intangible and far out of sight, and counting was hopeless when it felt like starting at infinity. The one thing Scully knew for certain was that an irrevocable change had already occurred and she blinked and she missed it. She had been fighting for them, pleading for them. Just her and Mulder: that was all she wanted. And then this shift they had taken on in the last couple of days– such a short time– and she was not sure she wanted it anymore. She was beginning to get that tangy taste in her mouth like she was mourning the past and who they used to be.

Scully took a deep breath. Willing the sting away from her eyes, she expelled the air caught in her lungs, imagining the ache in her body fused to the carbon dioxide molecules and expelled also. Focusing on the sunrise, she found beauty in its nature, reminding herself of the beauty of them; all the times he had made her giggle, made her cry, made her roll her eyes.

Mulder could see Scully thinking, the lost look in her eye more familiar to him than the back of his own hand. Her silence spoke louder than any response; it whispered to him exactly what was on her mind. He knew it because he felt it too. He gently took one of the hands from her lap and held it.

The touch made Scully gasp softly, breaking her from the melody of her thoughts. It was as if he had somehow heard them. Of course, he had; they might have changed but somethings always stayed the same. Scully realised she needed him close now more than ever if she was to stand a chance of surviving. Squeezing his hand, she let him in. She missed this telepathy of theirs; messages like electricity passed through their neurons and chemically encoded between the synapse of their touch. They operated on the same electromagnetic wavelength. She smiled and squeezed his hand again.

Mulder glanced back to the gas needle, edging steadily lower. "How much money did Walter manage to get for us?"

"I haven't counted, but it won't last long anyway."

Fortunately, Scully had had the sensibility to keep the cash on her person. It was all they had left aside the clothes on their backs. Their coats and the change of clothes that were hastily packed were still in the car that Monica and Doggett had driven away and they all knew it was too dangerous now to risk meeting up.

"The next motel we come across, we'll book in–"

She looked at him cautiously.

"– Just for the night. We won't stay long, just so we can sleep on a proper bed."

"So we can stop and catch our breath," she concluded, though doubtful, running her thumb over every hill and valley of his knuckles.

"So we can catch our breath," he agreed.

The hum of the tires picking up dust and the voice of the engine marked their silence. Their long, drawn-out breaths were comforting, yet the quiet was ominous, allowing thoughts to grow like tumours, hanging uneasily between them. They had each other but what if they weren't strong enough? Mulder would have said something– anything to break the tension, but all his thoughts were made of what-ifs, and voicing them, he feared, would make them real.

Scully curled up again, protecting herself against the miasma of the silence. Concentrating on the tide of Mulder's breathing, she found a calming rhythm, watching his chest rise and fall. Knowing he was there, she managed to find peace enough to steal an hour or so more sleep.

Over the horizon came a small, dark dot, growing in size and detail. Mulder leaned forward, squinting through the dust on the windscreen. As it came approached, he thanked Scully's God for gifting an oasis. The gas station looked beaten and worn down but promised life and provisions. He made the quick decision to stop and top up on gas, water, and something for breakfast. Looking at Scully one last time, he saw her sleeping; the quiver of her eyelashes somehow anxious even during sleep. He killed the engine and got out to check the store.

It was still: quieter than Scully remembered it being. Blinking tiredly, she picked the sleepy dust from her eyes and groaned. She gasped sharply, the sight of the empty seat next to her sending her heart aflutter. She grappled at her belt for the gun she no longer had. Cursing, she ran out of the car. The beat of her feet on the ground rivaled the pound of the war drum on her chest. "Mulder?" she called but was met with no reply. "Mulder!"

Mulder came quickly through the door, a finger pressed to his lips and a brown bag in his hand. "Shh, Scully," he whispered. "It's alright. I was just getting some gas."

It was then that Scully noticed the row of pumps they were parked next to. She looked away and licked the corner of her mouth, embarrassed that she had failed to correctly assess the situation before leaping to conclusions. It was so unlike her. She was frustrated she had let fatigue and worry manipulate her so easily. It had been less than two days.

"I could have got us caught," she breathed, shaking her head in disbelief. "How could I have been so stupid?"

"Hey, none of that now." Mulder rubbed her shoulder reassuringly. He guided her back towards the car, his palm at the small of her back like a steady rudder. "We're in the middle of nowhere, nobody is going to find us out here," he calmed her, even though his heart was still racing; the fright in her shouts had shot ice through his spine.

Scully slumped into her seat, the faux safety of no-man's-land nagging at her still. "Mulder, you know better than anybody they have eyes and ears everywhere."

"Let me do the worrying for once, Scully. This one's on me."

She shook her head– she wouldn't let him bare this on his own; they were in this together. It made a small smile creep across Mulder's lips and in return Scully's brow furrowed in confusion.

"How can either of us win when we are both so stubborn?" he laughed, and Scully chuckled too. "I spoke to the owner and he said that if we head southwest, sorta back along the trail, we will end up in Rosswell by nightfall. They'll have a motel–"

"And we can breathe," she nodded, then smirked. "You just wanted to see the UFO sight, didn't you?"

"Maybe," he sheepishly replied. "I got you some of that fat-free yogurt you like for breakfast. And some bagels. You should eat something; we didn't eat all day yesterday."

Scully hadn't noticed. The gnawing of worry in her stomach had sated any appetite she might have had. She still wasn't hungry now, but the doctor in her knew she had to eat something, however hard it was going to be.

Much of the day was spent watching the sun rise overhead and munching on bagels. Scully scolded Mulder when he dipped one of his into the yogurt she had barely touched and Mulder lectured Scully about eating enough. By the time the sun began to set, they had arrived in Roswell and found a motel to stay the night. Clouds were rolling in, covering the skies from the farthest corners, and the threat of rain could be smelt on the air.

Unlocking the door, they both stepped inside a minimal, but pleasant room. Scully clenched her hands around phantom luggage itching her palms. She had the urge to unpack everything into the dresser like she always did, like on their very first case together. She peered around the door to the ensuite, seeing rows of tiny bottles and an inviting robe hung elegantly, yet groaned.

"Mulder, we are going to have to go back out for toothbrushes."

"Oh, hang on..." He rummaged through the paper bag, producing two brushes and a tube of paste. "I picked some up earlier. Sorry, they might have some bagel crumbs on."

She took them with a grin, standing on her tiptoes to press a grateful kiss to his cheek. "You're a lifesaver."

Mulder watched her disappear into the bathroom, giving her some privacy and himself some time to think. He sat on the floor, watching the rain begin to fall and the wind pick up, whipping the trees outside. Gazing out of the window, he imagined the brewing storm an omen, but one of hope. All the good things that had happened to him had been christened by torrents of rain and swirls of wind and wisps of Scully stealing small pieces of his heart: their first assignment together; their first night spent together. The weather brought the ships to port and Scully to him. Beyond the clouds he pictured his sister in the starlight twinkling brightly. He hoped his mother was up there too, keeping a watch over them both.

Suddenly, he smelt the smoke, saw it plume from the chair in the corner. He gritted his teeth. Of all the people that could appear to him...

 She's been up there for a long time, you know. I thought you would have figured it out sooner.

Mulder dug his fingernails into his palms, sure the pain would snap him awake.

 She saw the world for what it truly was: there's no justice... there's no cruelty either. There's simply survival. In the end, she chose not to survive. She had a choice, Mulder, what do you get?

Maybe it was all in his head. If he tried hard enough, he could make the nightmare disappear.

What did your crusade reap you? The Truth? he chuckled. Was it the truth you wanted; expected? He leaned forward out of the shadow, his dead eyes gleaming in the light. Truth is not power, in fact, it's quite the opposite: truth makes you powerless. It's been quite the burden on me; perhaps that's why I smoke so many. He slyly smiled around a wreath of white cloud. You should try it.

In the end, we all lose. That's the beauty of survival: it's only ever a temporary thing. The date is set, son. Nothing, not even you, can change that.

Fury burning through him, Mulder lept up like a lit match to a gas lamp. "And what would you know?! What did you ever try to do about it?!"

He lunged for the man, desperate to squeeze the last, dying breaths from his corpse once and for all. But as he was about to lay his hands on his sickly throat, the son-of-a-bitch dissipated as thin as the smoke he breathed, elusive in death as he had been in life. It seemed fitting. Curling his fingers through nothing but cool air, Mulder slumped back in defeat. Biting his fingernail, he thought about the truth about who he was. It occurred to him that he was lost without purpose. Although he didn't feel it yet, he recognised the impending dawn of realisation and feared it. He threw his hand out in frustration.

The truth was he had failed.

He hadn't exposed the conspiracy or brought down its organisations. He hadn't found Samantha. He hadn't been a father to William. And he hadn't been there for Scully.

The trees shook their disapproval, condemning the guilty man.

Mulder rested his head back on the mattress like he was treading dangerous waters, but his arms were limp over his knees, merely reticent about his fate. Looking back across the room, he saw Scully walk in smelling sweetly of lavender soap and looking angelic in the pale, dilapidated light. She sat on the edge of the bed, gently running her fingers through his hair and watching the storm in unison. He moved into her touch, shifting to rest his cheek against her thigh. They sat like for a while in companionable silence, reassuring one another through their touches.

When Scully crawled up the bed to lie down, she expected him to follow. When he didn't she asked, "what are you thinking? Mulder?"

"I'm thinking... I'm a guilty man. I've failed in every respect. I deserve the harshest punishment for my crimes."

Hearing the echo, Scully was thrown back to the concrete cell when he first said those words. She could tell, then, there had been a hollow complacency to his tone. Now, she only heard a conviction in his voice. It terrified her. Scully had only just broken him free of where he was being tortured, she couldn't let it live on inside of him. So, she did what she always did: countered Mulder with any sane argument she could think of.

"You don't believe that."

He was sure that he had failed as he was sure of anything. If he told Scully that it was her he had failed, she would refuse to believe him and refuse to let him believe it too. But it was true. And he dared not mention all the ways he had failed their child. Mulder sighed. "I believe that I sat in a motel room like this with you when we first met, and I tried to convince you of the truth. And in that respect, I succeeded, but... in every other way..." He thought of William swaddled in his arms when he held him for the first time– only time. He swallowed the burgeoning lump in his throat. "I've failed."

"You don't believe that either."

"Mm," he disagreed. His jaw was set. Thoughts pounded in his chest but every time he chose something to say it died a whisper caught in his throat. He finally settled for something unimportant, yet still a truth neither of them could refute. "I've been chasing after monsters with a butterfly net." He took a breath and tried again "You heard the man– the date's set. I can't change that." I can't save us. I can't make the world a better place for our son, he didn't say.

Scully wanted to shout at him that this wasn't who he was, he didn't quit so easily, he always found something worth fighting for, but she knew if she did that she would lose him forever. Taking a steadying breath, she composed herself. Keeping her voice measured, she told him what she wanted to be true. "You wouldn't tell me. Not because you were afraid or broken... but because you didn't want to accept defeat."

"Well... I was afraid of what knowing would do to you. I was afraid that it would crush your spirit." He looked into her eyes and saw a pained, mirrored reflection. In some ways, he was glad Cancer-man had told her because he could never bring himself to trample her hope, not when things were already so dire. It would break his heart.

Mulder's gaze held her fast and was as deep and cutting as the love she felt. He looked young and small and innocent like he was clutching those cloth hearts. Even then he was undeterred, never willing to give up hope.

"Why would I accept defeat? Why would I accept it if you won't?" Scully needed him to keep fighting. If he didn't, she would surely give in. "Mulder, you say that you've failed, but you only fail if you give up. And I know you-- you can't give up... It's what I saw in you when we first met. It's why I followed you. Why I'd do it all over again."

"And look what it's gotten you," he murmured.

"And what has it gotten you? Not your sister. Nothing that you've set out for. But you won't give up, even now." She took his hand, gently squeezing, hoping their neurons would connect and renew their telepathy. "You've always said that you want to believe. But believe in what, Mulder? If this is the truth you've been looking for, then what is there left to believe in?"

He glanced at the chair still coiled in that foul aroma, thought of his sister living on as bright starlight, or else he had become the thing he feared: delusional, proving all the whispered rumours true. He suspected it was the trauma or remnants from his brain disease that caused the visions, but that's not what he wanted to believe.

"I believe that... the dead are not lost to us. That they speak to us as part of something greater than us– greater than any alien force." He thought of Byers, Langley, Frohike, even Krycek. "And if you and I are powerless now, I want to believe that if we listen to what's speaking, it can give us the power to save ourselves."

"Then we believe the same thing."

Taking her cross between his finger and thumb, Mulder examined it twinkling in the streetlight made shadowy by rain. He never considered himself a religious man, could never find any divine meaning to all the heartache he had suffered. Then life had brought him Scully with her science and her faith and her love. Maybe he could believe. His thumb traveled to her lips, marveling in the warmth of her; how alive they were. When she pressed the smallest of kisses to his digit, his world shattered with clarity. He joined her like a moth to a flame, helplessly wrapping himself around her like a life ring. She lay under the crook of his nose and he anchored them together with his knee over her hip.

"Maybe there's hope," he breathed.

Scully brushed her nose along his, nuzzling like she was nodding in agreement. The hand that Mulder had nestled in the hollow of her waist repeated the motion, climbing up the side of her ribs and abseiling down, friction warming the embers of their affection. Trailing his fingers higher, he followed the swoop of her hair behind her ear, tucking the locks into place. The edge of her jaw now held delicately beneath his fingertips, he looked to her eyes, the clear crystal blue pulling that familiar tug on his heartstrings. If it was possible, Scully shifted closer. She tilted her head, lips locking onto his once, chastely making herself known to him again. And then again, he searched her out to reply with his own tender kiss. Settling into one another's arms, their gazes fell upon the smile in each's eyes, finding an easy lull.

Scully witnessed the universe turn around in his beautiful mind. The flick of his eyes now quieter, softening from tiredness and tranquility, belayed newfound contentment. Staving off her own sleep, she saw his heavy eyelids droop and close, his breathing even out, and his form relax. She pulled him closer, buried herself in his comforting smell, watched over him– his protector.

The relentless pellets of rain struck percussion against the thin roof above them. Outside, the wind picked up in moaning gale. Inside, Scully breathed, sinking further into the hold of her partner and into the grips of sleep.

You can count on me (I will be there for you)

Another week, another YCCOM chapter! It’s a long update as well, feat Alya, fake-Adrien, oblivious and melodramatic Marinette, and Chat Noir (who is also a little oblivious because it’s fun) 👀

Hope you enjoy! xx

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | AO3

---

Chapter 5

Marinette doesn’t really pay attention during the bridal party toasts. She’s lost in her thoughts, giggles when others seem to, and drowns the very present realisation that she might be sitting two chairs away from her blackmailer in champagne.

She doesn’t notice how fidgety Alya is during her Maid of Honour speech, or her sideway glances when she makes puns that earn her eye squints from Adrien. Those go unnoticed, too.

She temporarily jolts back to reality when Adrien wraps an arm around her waist and leans his head on her shoulder during a very emotional part of Nino’s speech (or so she assumes, from the audience’s aws). And then, again, when the warmth leaves, as he stands up and takes the mic.

At that moment, she can’t help but look up to him and his hypnotising smile. He’s holding her hand as he speaks, and it feels like he’s talking exclusively to her as his eyes bore into hers. Unfortunately, she’s too lost in his green glittering gaze to make out what he’s saying.

She can tell it must be beautiful from the oohs and aahs she hears in the crowd (out of her peripheral vision, Sabine wipes her tears away, and so does Tom - there is no such emotional scene on the Agreste side), but as much as she tries to, she just cannot bring herself to listen. There’s something about Adrien's eyes that’s so familiar. She drowns in their tenderness. She can’t put her finger on it, but something hurts a little inside of her at that moment, there’s a yearning for something that she can’t deny. So much so, that it pulls tears out of her eyes as Adrien tells her, for the whole country, perhaps the whole world, to hear “I love you, Marinette Agreste. As Chat Noir and Ladybug say, it’s you and me against the world. And I am beyond honoured to be on your team.”

She isn’t sure if it counts as bad taste.

At the end of his speech, she gets up, pulls him into a hug, and nuzzles against his neck, the tears still streaming down her cheeks. He tilts her chin up gently to check on her, smiling lovingly at her, and she kisses him.

It’s what a good wife would do.

And that’s what she’s supposed to be today. Not a scheming superhero, waiting for the right opportunity to bolt bad guys behind jail bars, instead of making the most of her wedding day. Not a woman who sees the almost-too-perfect execution of a play she helped stage, which makes her question if the male lead won’t end up broken-hearted by the end of it.

After they’re done eating the delicious lunch, the catering of which was supervised by none other than Tom and Sabine, she drags Adrien off towards a balcony with a very convincing giggle (the champagne, she supposes). Adrien follows her eagerly before he notices that he forgot his phone at the table. She tells him to hurry as she steps outside. The cool air does wonders to sober her up.

Chat Noir makes it to their meeting point before Adrien does, a little out of breath. Marinette smiles at him. This will be quick. It has to be, for Adrien’s sake.

“Hey, guys, sorry to keep you waiting.” The groom says as he carefully closes the door behind him.

“No worries, dude.” Chat Noir smiles warmly. “Well done on the speech, it was really beautiful.”

“Well, anything for Marinette, right?” Adrien turns towards her and she blushes.

“Beautiful speech indeed.” She clears her throat. “Unfortunately,” well, maybe not for me, since I couldn't highlight any phrase to save my life she thinks, “we’re not here to delve into it right now.”

“Is everything alright?” Adrien frowns.

“Well…” Marinette scrunches her nose and shares a glance with Chat Noir. “We’ve had news on the blackmail situation.” Better to bite the bullet now. They’ll have plenty of time to chat later.

“Oh. Bad?” Adrien bites his lip.

“It’s really too early to tell,” Chat Noir replies. “But we have a lead, and we have to act fast.”

“I see.” Adrien nods. “How fast, exactly?”

“We have to take a quick trip somewhere. We’ll be back before you know it, don’t worry.” Marinette says. “Perks of having a Miraculous.”

“Then that’s no problem, girl!” Adrien smiles. “I’ll hold down the fort while you two are gone.”

Marinette frowns. He doesn’t usually call her “girl”. That’s more of an Alya thing.

She doesn’t catch Chat Noir shooting a thunderous stare at Rena Rouge, hiding behind curtains two windows down. The foxy lady grimaces sheepishly and mouths a “sorry” in his direction.

“Er… Sorry, I think my conversation with Alya, and then her speech, rubbed off on me.” Adrien scratches the back of his neck.

“Oh, right. Yeah, that happens to me too, sometimes.” Marinette shakes her head with a small smile, and both Chat and Rena let out a small sigh of relief as she changes the subject. “Anyway, our goal is to make it back before the first dance, so you won’t be alone for too long. I’m going to get Rena Rouge to join you, to make my absence more inconspicuous.”

“Sounds good.” Adrien and Chat Noir nod.

“So I just need to speak to Alya, and then Max before we go.” Marinette strokes her chin.

“I can go and get Alya!” Adrien’s hand shoots up, almost brushing against Chat Noir’s. The latter jumps away, afraid that the illusion might break.

“That would be great, thanks.” Marinette smiles softly.

He disappears off before she can tell him how grateful she is that he is so understanding, but not before he can shoot her a very longing look, one that reminds her of the way he used to look at her sometimes back in collège.

She sits down on the bannister, breathing in and out deeply as her fear of breaking his heart strikes again. Chat Noir joins her, taking her right hand in his.

“Hey, how are you holding up?” He asks, gently tracing circles on the back of her hand.

“Okay, I guess.” She shrugs. “Just getting a little antsy about all this. You have the Miraculouses?”

“Yep.” He pats his pocket, making it jingle slightly.

“Good.”

Her leg bounces as they wait. She seems more on edge than her partner had anticipated, but it could be because of the great performance Alya provided. As perfect as fake-Adrien’s way of looking at Marinette would have been in public, he thought it was a little over the top in this instance. And anyway, when had Alya ever seen him look so love-struck?

“Hey Chaton?” Marinette breaks her tense silence and his thoughts.

“Yes?”

“You don’t suppose Adrien might… love me, do you?” Her eyes are wide with worry, and Chat doesn’t know whether to burst out laughing, hug her, or let the melt-inducing smile he can feel coming on invade his face. None of this transpires as he stares back at her blankly, lips only slightly twitching.

“It’s just… the toasts. I didn’t catch most of it, but his feelings looked so… real.” She breathes out.

Chat Noir lets himself laugh. “You do realise that a couple of hours ago, you were worried he would bail, and now you’ve done a full 180° by thinking he might be too invested, right?” He teases.

“I know, I know, it’s stupid, right?” She lets out a tense chuckle as she shakes her head. “You’d think I could read my husband better than that.” The cheekiness of her small smile isn’t as strong as it could be, but Chat Noir will take it all the same.

“He’ll be fine, I paw-mise.” He smiles tenderly, considering whether telling her that her second reading isn’t far off at all would be saying a little too much, or if he could get away with it.

He doesn’t have time to reach a conclusion. There’s a small knock on the window pane, and Alya lets herself out on the balcony. Marinette gets up and he follows suit.

“Hey, girl! Adrien said you were looking for me?” Alya’s pace is breezy as she walks towards them, until her eyes land on him. She stops in her tracks with an audible gasp. “Chat Noir? What are you doing here?”

He rolls his eyes at her dramatic entrance, but smirks as she comes to stand beside him. “Hi, Ladyblogger.”

“Hey Alya, thanks for joining us.” Marinette clears her throat. “I’m going to cut to the chase. We’ve got a bit of a situation, which is why you and Chat are here.”

“Is that so?” Alya crosses her arms behind her back. She gently nudges Chat, who discreetly extends a hand towards her. Alya places the necklace in it, and he subtly slides it back into his pocket.

“Yes.” Marinette takes a deep breath and wrings her hands as she mentally prepares herself to give her best friend the information she’s been looking for for almost as long as she’s known her, completely oblivious to the silent hand off taking place in front of her. “Alya, I have something important to tell you. I’m really sorry for not telling you earlier, but I swore not to tell anyone. I promise that I really didn’t want to keep this secret from you, I-”

“This sounds serious, are you ill, or something?” Alya cuts her in her rambling, doing her best to act clueless and concerned, even though Chat Noir can tell that she’s practically buzzing with excitement.

“No, it’s nothing like that, don’t worry. It’s pretty small, all things considered.” She pauses. “I’m… I’m Ladybug.” She whispers gently, wincing as she anticipates her best friend’s reaction.

“WHAT?!” Alya’s exclamation is a little too loud, her smile a little too wide for it to be completely genuine. Chat Noir elbows her ribs to remind her to tone it down. She makes up for the lack of volume with extra theatrics. “You mean, all this time, I was so close, and you never even gave me a hint?” She clutches her chest. “You watched me dig around, for years, knowing that I was going in a completely wrong direction?” She gasps. “You even mislead me on some of my paths!”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry!” Marinette grimaces.

“I feel so stupid!” Alya fake sobs, bringing a hand to her forehead. “What else have you been hiding from me all this time? That Chat Noir is actually Adrien?”

Marinette stares at her blankly for a second, before bursting out laughing. Chat Noir knows it must be nerves, but he can’t help but feel a little offended that the thought has tears streaming down her face, struggling to catch her breath. He shoots another death glare at Alya (what are you playing at?), to which she answers by a shrug and a smirk (sometimes things are best hidden in plain sight).

“No, I’ve seen them together, so it isn't possible.” Marinette wheezes, standing straight and nudging Chat Noir. “Can you imagine, though? That would have made everything so much easier.” She wipes her tears and takes Chat Noir’s hand in hers. “I don’t know who Chaton is. We’re waiting until Hawkmoth is defeated to drop his mask. Which actually might come about a lot faster than we thought it would.”

“I see.” Alya squints suspiciously. “By the way, you two seem pretty chummy, care to explain yourself, Mrs. Agreste?”

Marinette winces. It’s one thing being called Marinette Agreste, but it feels a lot weirder being called Mrs Agreste. “Well, see, Adrien and I are just a temporary arrangement.” She pauses. “He knows, and he's fine with it, though. I think. Anyway, you would’ve found out eventually, but I’m telling you now because I actually need you for something.” She changes the subject to escape further inquiry.

She quickly goes over the circumstances of their speedy wedding, leaving out none of the details regarding the blackmail and her suspicions. Alya regularly peppers in some gasps and “no!”s, convincingly pretending all of it is brand new information to her. Her reactions become more genuine as Marinette talks her through their plan to go and investigate the Agreste Mansion while the coast is clear.

“We haven’t told Adrien where we’re going, so he’ll be staying here.” Marinette exposes.

“Shocker.”

“But we’d need you to make sure my absence goes unnoticed. I’m giving you free rein, you can do whatever you feel necessary.” She nods towards Chat Noir, who takes out the Fox necklace and gives it ceremoniously to Alya.

“Adrien is going to be hiding out in a room and I can do anything to make it credible that you two are together?” She waggles her eyebrows suggestively. “I thought I was supposed to give you a gift today.” She grins.

Marinette’s cheeks heat up at the insinuation.

“Just remember our- THEIR parents are around, as well as the press so… Saying Marinette and Adrien are off for a nap might be sufficient, no need to be over the top.” Chat winks.

Alya looks at him inquisitively, and mouths “our?”. He shakes his head. He can slip up, too. Marinette doesn’t pick up on any of this, again. Chat isn’t sure how he feels about her being so absentminded. If the situation wasn’t as urgent as it was, he’d probably make his identity one of her wedding presents. It would relieve the stress, no doubt.

Unfortunately, the situation is what it is, and they can’t afford to lose any time when they're running on such a tight schedule. Besides, he’s afraid the revelation might put her off her game even more, at this point.

“Wait, so if I’m in your room with Adrien,” Alya puts her hand up like they’re still in school, “and you’re at the Agreste Mansion… Who’s watching our pals Gabe and Nath?”

“Nobody, why?” Marinette frowns.

“I just think it might be a good idea to have them surveilled in case they try to make a getaway. You never know what you might find.” She rubs her chin pensively. “Something in your whole blackmail story smells kind of fishy.”

“You think so?”

“Well, let’s put it this way; what could Gabriel Agreste possibly gain from blackmailing you?”

Her question is met by silence. Marinette shares a glance with Chat Noir, before looking at her feet. Once again, she regrets how quickly the events have taken place since she received the first letters. Had it not been so rushed, maybe Chat and her would have settled down for a minute, to consider that question. Whoever the blackmailer was, he must have wanted something.

“Do you think he might be in contact with Hawkmoth?” Chat Noir’s voice comes out as a strained whisper.

“I wouldn’t rule out that possibility.” Alya continues carefully. “I mean, if he leaked your identity to the press, or used any public communication to get the info out to Hawkmoth and Mayura, then I assume you’d give up your Miraculous, right? And the city would probably grant you some kind of protection for your outstanding services during the years; if not the Mayor himself, then at least the citizens. You saw how quick they were to help on Heroes’ Day, all those years ago.”

“Right.” Marinette mutters.

Seeing that her friend is not going to elaborate more, Alya continues. “So, my bet is that whoever’s blackmailing you, be it Gabriel or somebody else, is somehow in contact with Hawkmoth, and is standing by to send him your identity if you don’t cooperate. Hand him the element of surprise on a silver plate. What does the bastard want?”

“Nothing.” Marinette whispers, hiding her head in her hands. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice earlier.”

She takes a deep, shaky breath as her heart rate picks up.

This is taking proportions she didn’t foresee. Part of her feels like panicking, what a disaster of a wedding, the other reminds her that even if everything had gone differently, she probably still wouldn’t have felt ready.

She feels Chat Noir stroking her back soothingly, and she straightens up. She’s not alone. She’s got him, Alya, Adrien, and a whole dormant team of superheroes a few feet away. They can do it, together.

“Thanks for your insight, Alya.” She takes her hand and squeezes it. “I think I- we" she glances at Chat Noir, "were a little too close to the board to see the whole situation.”

“Always happy to help, girl.” Alya smiles back.

“Chaton? We’re going to need back up.” Marinette turns towards Chat Noir.

“One step ahead of you, my Lady.” He grins as he holds up the Turtle bracelet and the Dragon necklace.

Marinette smiles at him gratefully. He sees her face change as the plan she'd come up with earlier shifted in her head to take the new elements into account, her eyes squinting to see inside the room, nose scrunched what he likes to call the Lucky Charm way.

His Lady is back, and if her confident smile as she explains the first steps of the plan says anything, she’s ready to kick some butt.

Internship Chapter 9: Day 4 - Emira

Author Note: Here comes the last NaNo update, since November is about to end. I’m at 48 thousand words and am halfway through writing chapter 23 out of the 35 expected. I’ll let you know when the whole thing is done.

First Chapter Previous Chapter

________________________________________________________

As Emira arrived at the Illusion Coven building, she was glad that the week was almost over.

Surprisingly, Emira beat Jen to her office. She hadn’t come any earlier than usual, if four days of trends were enough to say it was as usual, but Jen’s office was empty when she arrived.

Emira had been there a couple times at that point, but never for long enough to look around. Now that she had the opportunity, she wasn’t going to pass it up.

When Emira sat down in the chair on the other side of the desk, she could finally see what all of the clutter was on her desk.

The papers, it turned out, were full of illusion spell theory. They were scribbled across uneven lines and included drawings of what the spells might look like. The diagrams listed layers together and formed complicated spells. From these, it seemed like Jen was studying complex illusion magic, far more complex that what Emira was learning at Hexside. Either she was researching it herself or someone else had given these to her.

There were also a couple picture frames on the desk, showing a small dog beast. Its image had been captured from numerous angles and was displayed prominently. As for the trinkets, they seemed to be various items. One was a deck of cards, another a set of small red balls in metal cups. There was a coin as well. Emira wasn’t sure what they were for, or what they even were.

Emira wondered what was in the drawers, but was interrupted from her snooping by Jen’s voice. “That desk suits you.” She called from the door, causing Emira to snap her eyes up to her. Jen looked at ease, like she didn’t suspect anything was amiss.

“Oh, hey.” Emira stood slowly from the chair, playing it cool and pretending she hadn’t been about to look through Jen’s things. “Good morning.”

Jen nodded at her, leaving the door to the office open as she fully entered. “Good morning.” She returned the greeting. “I was just getting our job briefing, it’s a good one.”

Emira thought that her definition of a good job was very different than Jen’s. “What are we doing?” She still asked; maybe things would be different today.

“There’s a play being performed today and tomorrow that needs help with special effects and lighting. It’s going to require some complex magic, but I’m confident that you can handle it.” Jen said with a smile, bringing a spark of hope to Emira. Maybe this job would be good, she hoped it would be. “We have to go, so we can practice during rehearsal.” She turned to leave the office, waiting outside the door to Emira to follow.

They shut the door and weaved back through the hallways to reach the front of the building, exiting out to the city streets. Jen said it was nearby, so they would walk instead of flying. Emira didn’t mind that, as long as the weather was good.

While they walked, Emira wondered what kind of magic she’d get to do. It could be pyrotechnics, like fireballs. Another option was large colored or flashing lights, those would be fun to make. Oh but maybe it would be some subtler magic, like making something invisible and then have it appear on stage at just the right moment. All of them sounded fun; there were so many possibilities.

By the time they reached their location, a medium sized building with the word “Theater” plastered on the front of it, Emira was almost excited for the job. She followed Jen in, looking around the space as they walked through. Emira hadn’t been to this theater before, but she had passed by it numerous times.

It seemed like Jen had been there before, since she walked through the lobby and into the back of the building like she knew where she was going. They passed through the hallway to a backstage area, where Jen found a witch with a clipboard.

In both construction and in theater, the witch with the clipboard was in charge. Emira mentally chuckled at that while Jen introduced them to the witch, who turned out to be the director of the play.

“I’m glad there’s two of you, we need a lot of illusions.” The director said, scribbling something down on her clipboard. “We need some fire in act 1, not real fire just an illusion,” She clarified that like it had been an issue before. “Some confetti in act 2, and spotlight work throughout the performance.” Behind the director, witches were scurrying around with set pieces and wearing partial costumes.

Jen thought about it for a moment, glancing at Emira. “I’ll take the fire and the confetti; my coworker will handle the spotlight.” What, no that was the opposite of what Emira wanted. She wanted to make the fire, not the spotlight. She didn’t have a chance to protest before Jen continued. “Does she need to learn the movement for it?” Jen asked, which, despite being annoyed, Emira knew was a good question.

“No, we have a stage technician back there to do that. He’ll cue her with the timing too.” The director didn’t look up from her clipboard while she spoke.

Once again, it sounded like Emira was getting the worse part of the job. Doing the lighting was not nearly as impressive as special effects on stage. It would probably be super simple magic too, any illusion witch could do it.

“Alright, thank you.” Jen replied, then turned to Emira. “You should head up to the lighting, I’ll show you how to get there.” She turned back towards the front of the building, walking back the way they came. Emira followed behind sullenly, with her arms crossed.

They went all the way back to the lobby, where Jen stopped at a closed door. She pulled it open, holding it for Emira to pass. There was a winding stairwell ahead.

“It’s just up these stairs, I’ll meet you out front for lunch after rehearsal.” Jen said, waving Emira inside.

Emira entered the door with a sigh. “See you later.” She muttered, before starting her ascent up the stairs. Once the door was shut behind her, all of the light faded from the room. Emira cast a quick light spell to carry with her, illuminating each step in turn.

When she reached the top, she estimated that it had been about three floors of stairs. She didn’t know for sure though, with the way they spiraled. At the top there was another door, which luckily was unlocked when Emira tried to open it.

On the other side was a small room, maybe ten feet across, with a witch sitting inside who didn’t seem much older than Emira. He had a candle lit in the room for light, and was reading from a book that was basically just a stack of paper bound together. His head popped up at the sound of the door opening.

“I’m here to power the lights.” Emira said before he could open his mouth, looking around the room as she did. Three of the walls were solid, but one had an opening. It was door sized and seemed to lead out onto some kind of rigging.

The witch popped out of his seat, shutting his book as he did. “Great, I’ve been expecting you.” He had a cute smile, but even if he’d been closer to her age Emira wouldn’t have been interested. “The name’s Kyle.”

“Mine’s Emira.” Emira tried to put her earlier irritation aside and be polite. It wasn’t his fault she was trapped here. “I think we’ll be working together for the next couple days.”

“I expect so.” Kyle replied, stepping towards the opening in the wall. “Let me show you what we’ll be doing.” He then stepped out onto the rigging. Emira trailed behind, more cautious about going out there. It wasn’t that she was afraid of heights, but falling was not an exciting prospect. When she looked out the opening, she could see the stage and the seats below them. Maybe it had been four flights of stairs instead of three; it certainly looked like it from this height.

That was just another thing to push aside as she stepped out onto the rigging. It only extended about five feet out. Once out there, she could see one large spotlight to the left and the right. Kyle had gone right and lifted his hand to the spotlight.

“These are the lights we’ll be using.” He said, moving his hand away from the device and casting a spell. The spell caused the light to turn, changing the direction it was pointing. “I’ll tell you when to turn them on and off. The focus of the spell is these devices here.”

“Got it.” Emira replied, unable to keep the dryness out of her tone. As she suspected, this magic was almost trivial. A simple light spell would be super easy to cast and even easier to maintain. She looked down at the stage, where the stage crew was moving set pieces around. She couldn’t spot Jen, probably she was still back stage.

Kyle inched past Emira to adjust the other light. “We’ll be doing the rehearsal soon. For now, want to try the spell?”

If she was being honest, Emira would’ve said no, she did not want to try the spell. Unfortunately, now was not the time for honesty and she had already committed to being polite. She lifted her right hand to cast it, quickly drawing two spell circles. When they activated, both spotlights lit up with bright beams.

Kyle whistled, seeming to indicate that he was impressed, and redirected them around the stage. The light moved well and didn’t waver, likely due to some part of the device. “This is perfect.” Kyle said, flashing her a thumbs up.

Great, wonderful, fantastic, at least he was happy. On the stage, the crew members were looking up at the spotlights, squinting against them.

A few minutes later Kyle told her to drop the spell, so she did. They were getting ready to start the rehearsal.

Once it started, Emira didn’t pay much attention to the play. She also didn’t take special care for the lights. She just turned them on or off when told, wondering when all of this would end.

She saw Jen’s fire magic in her peripheral vision, but didn’t pay it any mind.

Next Chapter

hope // bobby x mc

a/n: continuation of ‘tired’. there are various “jump cuts” or time skips in this so be aware of that. also bobby’s last name in my works is Campbell.

time skip: one year after your third miscarriage.

requests: OPEN

word count: 2974

summary: after being disappointed countless of times with trying to have your own child, you and your husband decide it’s time to take a different route.

You sat on your bed, laptop resting snuggly in your lap. You sighed heavily and typed in the google search bar;

How to adopt a child?

Step 1: Decide that Adoption is the Right Choice for You

You kept true to you word when you said that you were done trying to have a baby. Bobby was upset but he respected your decision in the end. Although he respected your choice, doesn’t mean he liked it. It definitely put a damper on your marriage and relationship as a whole. But nevertheless you both still loved and cared for each other deeply. You both decided a couple months back to start looking into adoption. But Bobby was then recruited to be a pastry chef at a world renowned restaurant. So the option of adoption had to be put on the back burner for a while. Now that he was settled into his new job, and could probably get a couple of days off if he needed to, it was time to start this process again.

Step 2: Select the Type of Adoption

- Adopt a baby or older child?

- Adopt domestically or internationally?

- Adopt privately or through the state foster

care system?

- Have any sort of communication with the

birth parents?

Both you and Bobby have spoken about what age range you two were looking for when it came to adoption. You guys settled on infant-toddler, so around zero-three years old. Although you personally wanted a newborn that was fresh out the womb, you had to be realistic with yourself and the chances of that happening was slim to none. You guys also decided that you wanted to stay in contact with the birth parents if possible just in case, when you both do tell your child that they are adopted, they would be able to reach out to their birth parents if they wanted.

Step 3: Choose an Adoption Professional

Bobby held open the door for you as you guys entered the building. Today was the day you two were meeting with an agency that would guide you both through this long process. To be honest, you were giddy and so happy. Although you knew all the downsides of this process, you knew it would be worth in the end. Your happiness seemed to rub off on Bobby as he smiled slightly and held your hand. He hasn’t been the same since the last miscarriage and reasonably so but you were glad it didn’t change him completely. He still told the corniest jokes that never failed to put a smile on your face and cheer you up whenever you were feeling down. The only thing was that he wasn’t as… happy as before. You noticed he definitely smiled less and always seemed to be lost in thought, he definitely changed but you weren’t so sure if it was for better or for worse.

The adoption agent, who had introduced herself as Kelly Kleinman, invited you both into her office as she started to go over the whole process. You and Bobby knew the gist of the information she was telling you but just polity nodded along. However when she got to the cons of this process you both were a bit shocked;

Cons:

- Wait times

- Disruption rates

- Hidden fees

- Financial protection

- Along with many more

As she finished speaking and pulled out a bit of paperwork from her desk, you saw Bobby glance at you through your peripheral vision. He held your hand and squeezed it gently, “Are you sure about this Darling? I’m with you 100% no matter what you choose” He asked, bringing your hand up to his lips and kissing it tenderly. You turned to him and smiled softly, “Thank you babe. But I want to do this… it’s the least I can do since I couldn’t give you any biological-“ You started, but Bobby was quick to stop you. “No. We tried and failed but that’s okay. This isn’t just on you, it’s on me too. Let me share that blame with you” He stated, staring at you seriously. You nodded slightly and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. You both turned back to the agent and began to sign the paperwork.

Step 4: Become an Active Waiting Family

It’s been about a month since you and Bobby became an active waiting family. Meaning you guys had to go through three steps in order to be an “active family” with your agency.

1. Home Study: A social worker dropped by your house one day after Bobby had just gotten back from work and said they were there to interview both of you. You guys were informed that they already performed extensive background checks on you both so any lying that may occur can and will be held against you two. Bobby gave the social worker a tour through your guys small three bedroom house. After that you guided the worker to the living room so he could interview you guys. Bobby held your hand the whole time, even though he knew you guys were more than capable to care for a child, he was nervous nevertheless. Once the interview was over the social worker told you guys that they would contact you in a couple of weeks, after the other two steps, to confirm whether you two were ready to become an active family.

2. APQ: Adoption Planning Questionnaire. This was another interview sort of spiel, an adoption specialist came to your home to help you guys fully understand the types of adoption opportunities that was available to you. As well as the ones you guys might be interested in perusing. It was just a series of confidential questions ranging from the cultural background of babies/toddlers you might be interested in to the amount of contact you’re willing to have with the birth parents to the medical conditions you both were willing to accept in the birth parents’ background etc etc.

3. Adoption Profiles: This was just a profile you and Bobby had to make for any potential birth mothers to view before they send their child off to you. This profile consisted of text and pictures about you and Bobby as well as a video profile. You both decided to include your story of having three failed pregnancies since your agent said it might speed up the process because of sympathy.

Approximately one week after you guys summited your adoption profile, you got a letter in a mail from your agency saying that you both were now an active family. You could help but scream with delight and rush upstairs to tell Bobby the good news. He was just as happy as you, if not more as he picked you up and twirled you around with joy. Let’s just say you two celebrated in your own special way that night.

Step 5: Wait for an Adoption Opportunity

One month turned to two and two months turned into three. It’s been three months since you guys became an active family, all that was left was for you two to wait for the right opportunity to come along. You were getting impatient but Bobby assured you that your time was coming and that it will be worth the wait. You noticed during this whole process that the old Bobby started to come back. He smiled more, told more jokes and was just being the goofball you knew him to be. The idea of finally having a child must’ve cheered him up tremendously. Kelly told both of you that patience was not only the key in this step of the process, but it was also crucial. She also told you that she is doing the best she can to minimize the wait time but it can probably take about one to twelve months for an opportunity.

Step 6: Communicate with Prospective Birth Parents Before the Adoption

Bobby heard glass break in the kitchen and rushed downstairs to see what was wrong. He saw you on the phone tears in your eyes as shards of your mug was scattered on the floor. “Darling, what’s wrong?” He asked, rushing to you, avoiding the glass on the floor. “A birth mother pick us… we have a birth parent babe! Isn’t that great?” You exclaimed, laughing as tears of joy slipped from your eyes. Bobby stared at you for a moment, “A-Are you serious?” He asked rhetorically, before holding your cheeks and kissing you deeply. Once you both parted from the kiss, his forehead rested on yours and he laughed slightly, “See? I told you our opportunity would come”.

The birth parent that picked you guys was a seventeen year old girl. She had a one year old son but just couldn’t care for him anymore. Juggling high school, getting ready for college, and having an extremely religious family was taking its toll on her. She just wanted her son to have a good life and family who would have time to be there and take care of him. You and Bobby met her on multiple occasions to get to know one another as well as her son, Mateo. She was really nice and so thankful to you both for not judging her for her past choices. You guys continuously met each other for the next three months in which you two gained a good relationship with the mother. You both actually became sort of protective of her, she even admitted that two of you were better parents than hers would ever be.

Step 7: Meet the Baby/Toddler

After months of conversing you, Bobby and the birth mother scheduled a date for you two to go and meet little Mateo. Once that day came you were so excited, you and Bobby were finally getting the baby you wanted. You guys decided to meet at a playground so Mateo could play if he wanted to, despite not being able to walk just yet. The minute you laid your eyes on Mateo you were in love. Of course you had seen pictures and such but this little boy was just so precious in person, as you glanced at Bobby you saw that he was just as attached as you were. Mateo on the other hand was super shy and hid his face in his mothers chest. His mother, Victoria, tried to coax him out of his shell by singing to him softly. After a few minutes of that, Mateo was all warmed up and ready to meet you both.

Bobby and Mateo clicked automatically, they were the best of buds in the span of an hour. But Mateo seemed to like you the best, he kept whining and reaching out to you whenever you tried to give him back to his mother. He actually fell asleep in your arms without a fuss and cuddled into your chest adorably. Victoria was saddened to see her son warming up to you guys but she knew it was for the best. As if he could sense her sadness, Bobby reassured her that she would be able visit Mateo whenever she wanted to, after he got settled in. Eventually you guys had to part ways, you put Mateo in his stroller and subconsciously gave him a kiss on the forehead. Bobby could tell from today and that interaction that Mateo was the one. You were completely attached to this toddler and was ready to bring him home as soon as you could. And he couldn’t lie; he felt the exact same way.

Step 8: Finalize the Adoption

After a whole year and a half of waiting the day was finally here. Today was the day you and Bobby finalized the adoption of Mateo. You were honestly so happy you could cry… and you did. As you and your husband sat in the courtroom in front of a judge who was reading over your case, you were bawling your eyes out. Mateo, who was now two, looked at you confused. “Mama, why crying? Sad?” He asked, as he placed his small hands on your cheeks. Mateo had lived with you guys for the past seven months and he was already calling you and Bobby; mama and daddy. Although he couldn’t make full sentences you found it cute anyways. You sniffed and wiped the tears from your eyes, “No baby, Mama’s happy… I’m so happy” You stated, as more tears came. You kissed Mateo’s cheek and held him close.

You glanced at Bobby and saw him smiling to himself while looking at the adoption certificate. He looked up at you, “This is really happening.. Mateo is officially ours. We finally have our child” He spoke, his voice wavering at the end. You nodded and kissed him on the cheek as well, “Yeah, we’re finally parents babe”.

“Let’s get a picture of the new family!”

You and Bobby looked up and saw a friendly photographer waving you guys over. You laughed slightly and got up along with Bobby. You passed Mateo to Bobby as you started to wipe your face for any stray tears. “Hey buddy, look at the camera” Bobby said, as he snapped his fingers in front of Mateo to direct his attention to the camera. Mateo looked at the camera, “CHEESY” He squealed, while breaking out the most adorable smile. Your heart swelled with love, you couldn’t have been happier. Your journey with Bobby since the Villa has been a non-stop roller coaster and you couldn’t wait for what would happen next.

-3 years later-

“I’m sorry… what?”

You stared at your doctor in utter disbelief, you came to the doctor because you weren’t feeling well for the past week or so and the news she told you was a bit shocking to say the least. “Mrs. Campbell, you’re pregnant” Your doctor repeated. You felt sick, you haven’t been pregnant since… since your last miscarriage. You could’ve sworn you and Bobby used every bit of protection out there. Even as going as far as having sex on the days you were the least fertile. Your doctor noticed your discomfort and placed a hand gently on your shoulder.

“I know given your past this may seem like a bad thing but don’t give up hope yet. This might be the one that pulls through” She reassured. You nodded slightly, still in a state of shock. “U-Um, how far along am I?” You asked timidity. The doctor glanced at her chart before looking back at you, “Two and a half months, and I’m quite surprised how little your showing. Most mothers have a small bump by now” Your doctor stated, examining your stomach.

This alone planted a seed of doubt in your head but before those thoughts could fester your doctor spoke up. “But it’s not uncommon, everyone’s body is different. Congratulations by the way, are you ready to set your next appointment?” She asked, sitting at the computer. You swallowed hard and made your next appointment.

~

You sat the dining table, lost in thought. It’s been two weeks since you found out you were pregnant and now you were officially three months along. You haven’t told Bobby yet or anyone for that matter, with the exception of your mom, you told her everything. You knew you couldn’t keep this a secret forever especially since you were starting to show. Your bump was somewhat small but definitely noticeable if you looked close enough, Bobby would figure it out sooner or later. You just didn’t want to get his hopes up just in case.. it happened again.

“Mommy. Mommyyyyy”

And then there was Mateo. You loved to kid to death, the last thing you wanted to do was get him all happy for a new sibling just for it to get snatched away. You blinked away your thoughts and turned to Mateo, “Yes sweetie?” You asked. “Can you help me with this? I don’t understand” He asked, holding out his notebook to you. Ah, first grade, you remembered being in this grade and how simple the work was. You gestured for Mateo to sit down and helped him with his homework. “Oh mommy, can I ask you something?” Mateo inquired, looking at you with those adorable brown eyes. “Sure, go ahead” You hummed as you read over the directions to his work.

“Did you get fatter?”

You froze in place, given any other circumstance you would probably be mad but that wasn’t the case here. He knew, Mateo picked up on something you thought he would never would notice. You were bought back to reality by Bobby’s heartwarming laugh. “Mateo! That’s not a nice thing to ask” He half scolded while he laughed his ass off. “Oh ha ha. Focus on dinner before you burn the house down” You said with fake animosity. “Yes ma’am!” Bobby shouted, pretending to a solider. You rolled your eyes playfully and turned back to Mateo, “Baby. That’s not very nice thing to ask. You could hurt someone’s feelings like that” You reprimanded. Mateo shrugged, “Sorry mommy. But why do you always throw up in the morning? Do you have the flu?” He asked.

Damn, this kid was just spilling all your secrets. But these questions seemed to pique Bobby’s interest. He did notice that you seemed a bit more “bigger” than usual but he just thought you were bloated. But you were apparently getting sick in the morning? Why didn’t you tell him? …unless? It was like a light bulb went off in his head. Bobby ran to the dining room and slammed his hands on the table, looking you right in the eyes. “You’re pregnant!” He half asked, half stated. And here you thought you did a good job at hiding your little secret. You laughed sheepishly,

“Ha ha… surprise?”

a/n: holy sh!t this was long. sorry for the long wait, i know a lot of you were waiting for this. i don’t want to drag this out too much but… part 3 anyone? likes, comments, reblogs and requests are appreciated !!

Bound By Pledge

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Kim Seokjin x Reader

✂ Word Count: 3,3k

✂ Trigger Warning: Hints of domestic abuse, obsessive and possessive behaviors, slight angst, yandere theme.

✂ This story is fictional and for amusement only. I don't believe any of the members would do this in real life. As always, thank you for reading and I hope you have a good day!

Do not re-upload my writing to another website or use it without my permission.

[Edited]

***

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

"Look into my eyes, you know I care. My heart is set. You are the one for me, but I need your loyalty." - Faithful [Ibeyi]

          To fall in love is easy.

          To stay in love is a challenge.

          To let go is the hardest part.

          Jin was a perfect boyfriend anyone could ever ask for. A whole package, you'd say. He was funny, kind, handsome, a pro in the kitchen, romantic, mature, and supportive.

          Never once did he try to downgrade your worth, or raise a hand during your increasingly frequent arguments. He was very patient and understanding; listening to everything you wanted to say without any interruption or dismissing them as unimportant. He cheered you up with his corny jokes and bad puns and supported you in every endeavor.

          In short, he was the kind of man that accepted his partner as a whole and brought them up. And if it wasn't a dream guy, then you didn't know what to call him.

          You wondered if there was ever a time where his patience would reach its end because surely nobody could be that tolerant, right? Everyone had a breaking point, you were sure of it. And with how you usually react, he was bound to reach his very soon.

          Well, you were wrong, but you weren’t correct either.

          You were the polar opposite of him in terms of personalities. You possessed dry humor, lacked in the cooking department, sometimes childish, stubborn, moody, and plain.

          There was absolutely nothing attractive to you. At least that’s what you always told yourself to the point of believing it.

          And yet, with a stroke of luck - or was it misfortune? Then again, who cares? - he fell in love with your ordinariness. The freckles that littered your face, the extra fat that you so desperately hid from seeing eyes, the grin that you often concealed because you weren't confident with your teeth. He adored it all.

          Every time you stood in front of a mirror, examining every flaw in your body because there was always something that you disliked, Jin would suddenly hug you from behind and proclaim strings of compliments. The way he did them, with that proud yet love-struck smile, as if you were the prettiest being he ever laid his eyes on. Although it boosted your confidence for only a few percents before it would drop again, you still appreciated the efforts.

          Not to mention, you'd never dreamed that you would hear such praise from such a handsome man.

          Aside from that, he also liked to bring home some gifts that reminded him of you despite your begging to stop. The presents weren’t cheap either, and usually contained things that you could only wish in a passing or sent a longing look towards. Nobody knew how he bought them when some of the items were clearly limited editions, or how he managed to know by any means when you never told him before, but it was the least of your worries.

          Stupid you. Always ignoring the red flags.

          The only thing you feared was the fact that he could go into a premature bankruptcy with the number of gifts he'd presented to you. He always laughed – that windshield laughter that you used to love yet irked you at the same time because how could he laugh so carelessly when the threat was looming over his head?! – and assured you that he had enough money for his future.

          “Our future,” he'd corrected himself.

          You remembered the way his eyes lit up like a pair of dazzling jewels; the way his lips stretched wider than you've ever seen before as he began to imagine the actuality of those words.

          The words that held the utmost sincerity.

          The words that contained hope of a happy ending.

          The words that should have brought you joy and relief.

          And most of all, the words that established everything.

          You should've known that happy endings only exist in fairy tales because not all people would stay with the same person until their deaths. The reasons varied; from cheating, boredom, forced to be separated, etc. And in your case, it would be fall out of love.

          Sometimes you questioned yourself how many people have felt the same way as you. How high was the percentage or maybe you were the only who experienced this? But it was impossible, right? Humans are different yet similar to each other. Just like basic feelings such as sadness, happiness, and the like, this sentiment wasn't alien too. You just hadn't found the same victim yet.

          However, if there was one thing you didn't know about Jin, it was that he was a true believer of a happy ending.

          If love at first sight existed, then surely happy ending exist too, right? At least, he could try to create it. Little by little.

          With a bit of hard work, nothing can't be achieved.

          Jin was so confident that you would marry him and have a couple of children. That you would get old together and watch your grandchildren running around. That you both would dance around under the moonlight until the chilly breeze was the only thing that remained in your place. That you would die together and end up in the same graves adjacent to each other.

          You supposed that you should be flattered that he already thought forward, even though it sounded a bit of a stretch. Unlike some of your exes who were still wishy-washy with their lives. After all, anyone would kill to have such an attractive boyfriend like him, as seen from the countless glances you often caught whenever you two go out on a date.

          But you didn’t. Instead, you felt as if you were leading him on.

          It wasn’t like you didn’t love him – you did. The love had burned bright like a blaze before it eventually grew dimmer into charcoal and embers.

          And just like how the curtains were lifted, the closing was a gradual process too; the once long texts began to shorten and scarce, the calls went missing, the frequent kisses became dull pecks, and the hugs lacked their warmth. You couldn't even remember the last time you've shared an intimate moment together.

          You didn't know if he noticed these signs, and frankly it hurt to envision his reaction. Imagine spending years with a lover - laughing and crying and venting as if it was their last day on earth - only to part ways just because one of them has fallen out of love.

          But it wasn't your fault, right? Life just didn't want you to be together, is all. Sure, it would leave a scar in your already fragile heart, but you would manage. You would move on like a strong, independent woman you were.

          If only it was that easy.

          Despite your impatient nature, you couldn’t find it in yourself to break up with him. The opportunity was there - it was always there, tempting you to take it like the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden - yet your fear of disappointing him hindered you to do so.

          But you needed to do it; for the sake of him and your conscience. You couldn't live with the regret of stringing him along when he could have someone better at his side. Someone that would give him the love and affection he deserved. Someone that he could marry and grow old later. Someone that would bear his children and, eventually, grandchildren.

          You might not love him anymore, but you weren’t cruel enough to keep him when you didn’t have the right to.

          “Jin,” you whispered once you broke the threshold of the living room. You had rushed home from work after hours of pondering, frustrations, and annoying colleagues that repeatedly asked your condition. You knew they were merely being nice, as you looked like you'd gone through a storm, but you weren't in the mood to speak. Unfortunately, some of them just couldn't take a fucking hint.

          Not to mention, there was always an obstacle during your supposedly short trip somehow.

          From bumping against a man and being scolded by him, the train took longer than usual, a crowd blocking your way to watch the police apprehended a thief, and nearly crashed into a car. It was as though the world had taken pity on Jin and conspired to prevent you from dropping the bombshell.

          Yet, you were determined. More than ever. You just hoped it would be a quick breakup.

          Of course, reality rarely aligns with expectations.

          Jin snapped his head up and beamed.

          “[Name]!” He dropped the magazine on his hands and bounced up to you like an excited puppy. You clenched your hands, forcing a smile. Why did he have to look so happy? It was as if seeing you bring all the joy into his gloomy world.

          You clearly didn’t deserve him, did you? Not when he greeted you so cheerfully, unaware of the bad news that you’d brought for him.

          Was this the right choice? Was it too late to back out now? Maybe this feeling was temporary. Maybe you still loved him.

          ... Did you?

          When he opened his arms to scoop you into a bear hug like he usually did, tears stung your eyes. He felt... warm. You exhaled shakily, cherishing the heat that radiated from his big body whilst controlling your breath. It was crushing to think that this would be the last embrace you received from him.

          The last time that he’d get to hold you like this.

          God, why did everything have to feel depressing once you finally reached the end? Why couldn’t you just break things off without these... these unnecessary affections? Why couldn’t you just say goodbye and be done with it?

          You reluctantly withdrew, discerning his frown from your peripheral vision.

          “Jin, I...” You gaped, struggling to get the words out without stuttering. Blinking the tears away, you cleared your clogged throat. “I don’t think we can continue with this anymore.”

          “What do you mean?” The response was spontaneous, and you noted – with a heavy chest – the slight panic on his voice. You silently ground your teeth, prepping yourself up, to tell the truth.

          “You know what I mean.”

          “Stop beating around the bush, jagi.”

          He was right; you should be straightforward if you wanted to end this quickly. What was wrong with you? Since when you've been this cowardly? You took a deep breath and squeezed your eyes shut.

          “I’ve fallen out of love.”

          The world froze for a moment. Soft, almost inaudible, breaths cracked the thick silence. Jin opened before closing his mouth again like a fish out of the water. It continued for a minute until he whispered a question.

          A question that you wished he hadn't uttered. But who were you to control what he said?

          Oh, that's right. An ex.

          “You’re lying, right...?”

          You shook your head, a few tears flying around. If there was one thing that you hated, it’d be crying in front of him. You wanted him to know that you were strong, but you couldn’t. Your feelings have betrayed you long ago, and now you had to suffer the consequences.

          “N-no,” you croaked out. “I really, really have fallen out of love with you.”

          “But we can still be together, right?” Jin stepped forward and took your hands gently, eyes glistened with tears.

          God, you hated that look. The look that told you that he was hopeful. The look that told you that he wanted to change things to the way they used to. But bringing back a perished feeling was no easy task.

          Then again, what he wouldn't do for you?

          “I swear, I’ll do anything," he begged, already on the verge of breaking down. His knees trembled underneath his blue jeans, and Jin wasn't sure if he could stand any longer. "I’ll even kill for you.”

          You gasped, completely thrown off guard with his statement. How could he say that so readily? So... willing to go through that process for the sake of you. Didn't he know the consequences of killing?

          No, he knew. Of course, he knew. Jin wasn't stupid. Yet, it still didn't make it any easier for you to digest.

          Breaking up with him was one thing, but to see him behind the bars was another thing. You couldn't, and totally refused, to imagine that. What would you explain to his family should something like that ever happened? It would ruin your relationship with them and your image as well.

          “God, no! You can’t. It’s illegal, Jin! You can go to prison!”

          “Who cares?!” he exclaimed. This was the first time he ever came close to yelling, and the context wasn't something you had initially planned.

          “No, Jin. You can’t just-” you flailed your hands around, unable to put the frustration into words. “You know what? I think it’s best if I go now. You obviously need to calm down and stop talking about killing because it's starting to freak me out.”

          You moved to leave, but Jin was quick to seize your wrist.

          “Don't go, please.” he pleaded, voice cracking along with your heart. “I swear, I’ll stop talking about killing if you just... stay. With me. I need you so much. I can't live without you.”

          It was poetic and had it occur some other time, you'd roll your eyes for its cheesiness.

          But now?

          Now, you just wanted to curl up and cried until there were no more tears left.

          “We’re over now, Jin. I can’t just hang around like we used to. It’ll be awkward for the both of us, knowing that we’re no longer a couple. And yes, you absolutely can live without me. I'm not your lifeline, Jin. You're an adult, so start acting like one.”

          It was harsh, and you admitted it wasn't really necessary. But you needed an outlet to release all this stress that built up inside of you because you didn't want to end up yelling at him. You already broke up with him, his girlfriend of five years. He didn't need another scar to decorate his delicate heart.

          You snatched your hand from his hold and opened the front door. “Thank you for all the memories we’ve shared together. I hope you find a better girlfriend than me.”

          “... What if I say that I only want you?”

          Jin was bowing his head when he whispered that, and you - stupid you - chose to stop and strain your ears to hear him a little clearer. “What...?”

          Bad mistake.

          Without further ado, a metal abruptly struck the back of your head. You collapsed on to the floor, discerning Jin's tall stature looming over you through the blurred gaze. It was a few moments of consciousness that you appreciated because you could see his expression before you fully passed out.

          He bore no emotions whatsoever, not even when he approached your limp body and started dragging you to God knows where.

          You fluttered your eyes open, staring at the familiar plain ceiling. How could you not recognize it right away, when you've stayed in this room for years? It was arguably one of the most memorable places in Jin's apartment aside from the kitchen.

          With a tired yet pained groan, you slowly sat up and froze when you heard something tinkling. Peering down, you noticed a pair of chains bounded your legs around the feet of the bed.

          “Those are the only thing I got from him.” A manly voice alerted you with another presence in the room. Your captor.

          You never thought you'd live up to the day where you would call him that.

          “Jin, you bastard!” you growled, forgetting all about his sensitivity because who the fuck cares? Not you anymore, definitely. “Let me go!”

          “Hoseok told me that if your partner refuses to be with you, then the only way is to tie them up.” Jin rambled, straight up ignoring your demand.

          Not that you expected him to. No kidnappers would release their victims without any reward or ulterior motives. Yet, it was nice to hope.

          “He did that too, you know. With his girlfriend and her older brother. Apparently, he was planning to get her out of the house because he felt that Hoseok was ‘too possessive for her own good’.”

          Jin huffed out an incredulous chuckle, combing back the brown bangs with his hand. “I mean, how silly is that? She’s his girlfriend, and yet that jerk had the audacity to separate them. He’s really blind to true love, don’t you think?”

          Silly for him, creepy for you. However, stubborn people rarely change their minds. This trait - which had eventually become his downfall - was what connected you two in the first place.

          “I don’t give a shit about your crazy friend’s story, Jin. Now let me go!”

          Sighing, he got up from the creaky chair that was a bit too small for his broad physique and approached you. You flinched when you saw his hand reach out to stroke your face.

          You might have held that hand before, but you'd be damned if you let it touch even a strand of your hair. Everything about him was pure toxic now.

          “Jagi, don’t be like that. I’m your boyfriend, aren’t I? Why won’t you let me touch you?”

          “Because we fucking broke up, Jin! Get it through that thick skull of yours that we’re over. Over!”

          “Just because we're over, doesn't mean I can't touch you." he retorted, tugging a lock of your messy hair. You cried out in pain as you clawed at his hand to ease the grip. "And you’re always like this. Swearing. I don’t like it.”

          “I don’t fucking care!” You gritted your teeth, trying to lessen the pain somehow. Although your attempt was futile, just as you predicted. You always knew that Jin had a bigger advantage than you, and yet you never expected him to resort to violence. Did the breakup mess him up that badly?

          “Seems that I need to give you a lesson, then.”

          Jin opened the drawer in one of the nightstands and pulled out a dark whip. Your eyes immediately widened as you backed away, already dreading the 'lesson' despite not having experienced it yet. Alas, the chains prevented you from avoiding the inevitable.

          Well, shit.

          “You know, jagi,” he said softly and had it occur on other times, you would’ve mistaken him for comforting you. You couldn't believe this was the same voice that you used to love to listen, especially in the early mornings. “I admit, I wasn’t expecting to use this so soon. I didn’t want to accept this at first, but Hoseok insisted. Saying that you’d surely struggle and I have to be able to discipline you like a good boyfriend I am. So, I hope you forgive me for my cruel method. I hate to do this, but you need to learn your lesson.”

          You shook your head frantically when he advanced towards you, caressing the whip. “No, no, no. Please don’t do this, Jin. You’re better than this, I swear.”

          “I know.”

          “Just let me go and I promise you that I won’t tell anyone. Just- please...”

          Lie.

          Of course, you'd tell the police. There was no way you'd let this crazy man roam free and take you back to this familiar prison. But telling the truth seemed less than ideal, especially in this kind of predicament. When Jin set his eyes for something, he wouldn't stop going no matter what hardships that were thrown. You hated and admired this side of him.

          “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, jagi.” Jin unceremoniously cracked the whip against your leg, relishing in the agonized cry from your trembling lips. The skin reddened, yet he was far more distracted with the tears that trickled down your face. “I don’t want you to leave. You’re stuck here, with me, just like we always do. Just like what we've promised beforehand.”

          He lifted your chin and slowly licked the tears. They tasted salty, but everything from you was sweet anyway.

          Even your pain.

          “I love you, [Name].”

class mates | brian may

CHAPTER ONE

Brian May x Reader College AU

Summary: First time for anything is usually hard, so when you start your first year of undergrad, you begin to second guess your decisions. What may seem to be a tiny nerdy club to get your mind off of the stresses brough to you by your major, might soon transform into something more meaningful in the long run.

Warnings: Nothing bad in this chapter, cheek blushing, akwardsness, that it! No smut or angst... yet!

Word Count: 2.1k

Author’s Note: I am terribly sorry if this seems like a boring, textual chapter. I felt the need to explain everything as thoroughly as possible in order to understand the context of everything. Future chapters won’t have lengthy, boring starts like this one! But, nervertheless, I still hope you enjoy this first chapter!

Trying to mind your own business while walking down the sidewalk, multiple shoulders continued to brush your own as you made your way down the busy London street. You had recently moved to the lively area of Kensington to pursue the next step in your life- completing your undergraduate degree. 

Renting a small loft located on the outskirts of the heart of London city, you decided it would be best to live closer to the place you would be spending majority of your time throughout the months to come. Being your first year starting university, a unviersity filled with people you had never met, located in an area you hadn’t grown up in, you knew living in the area would save you the additional first year stress of commuting.

With a sticky note in hand, you had written down your destination prior to leaving your apartment knowing you would most likely get lost without it; and of course, you were right. Your vision was exchanging between your note and the street signs attempting to find the location of the university itself. 

Bringing a hand up to readjust the sunglasses perched on your nose, you continued on your journey down the sidewalk until letters spelling out Imperial College London filled your peripherals assuring you that you were so far walking in the correct direction. Breathing out a dramatic sigh of relief, you mentally prepared yourself for finding the next location, the location that happened to be the destination of your first lecture.

With what took only a few left and rights, you arrived at the front doors of the building where your Intro to Biology lecture would be held. Yes, you were evidently about to major in Biological Sciences. Taking one last glance at your note to memorize the number of the lecture hall, you shoved the piece of paper into your pocket upon embarking into the large brick building. 

You found yourself mesmerized at the many posters plastered across the walls, advertising for the various clubs and events located on the campus. To be quite frank, your nerves were bubbling inside of you as you started to question whether going to post-secondary was the right step for you. I mean, what student doesn’t second guess their educational choices?

With your nerves subsiding within, you found yourself walking into your first lecture hall lined, or should I say crammed, with over a hundred seats and tiny desks. It was pretty intimidating. With desks already occupied with students, you decided to pick a seat near the back corner of the room in hopes of avoiding interaction with the others who were enrolled in the class. It was only your first day, and although making friends seemed to be a go-to idea, it wasn’t exactly your main priority.

Getting out a few pens and a notepad with a few minutes to spare, you tapped your foot anxiously against the floor as you watched the class fill up. With nearly every seat occupied, class soon began right on time. 

Even though the professor was only going over the syllabus and not the hard-core material, you found yourself zoning in and out of attention, something surely other kids were doing. After what felt like an eternity but more realistically around an hour, the professor bid the class farewell till the following week and let you free.

Packing your stuff while making slight glances to the people situated around you, you mentally cursed at yourself for being too socially awkward and too shy, which ultimately  hindered the starting of conversations. Walking out of the hall, intro to biologywas your only class that day meaning you would most likely be on your way back to your loft.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, you stopped yourself as a particular poster taped to the hallway wall grabbed your attention. Referring to a club dealing with astronomy, inviting those majoring and not majoring in physics. You were quick to pull out a pen from your material carrier bag alongside your crumpled sticky note that you had previously shoved into your pocket to drought down the place and time of meeting. 

The topic of astronomy had always seemed to fascinate you, and not having room in your course schedule for electives dealing with astronomical related matter meant joining a club would be in your best interest.

With the first club meeting taking place that night, you continued on your walk back to your flat where you proceeded to take a power nap and cook yourself a quick dinner. Sorting through your clothes, an audible string of shit’sand hurry upcame out of your mouth repeatedly as your frantically rushed around your room looking for something to wear. You could not, I stress could not, be late to the first meeting.

Yeah, you could've just worn what you were wearing earlier that day, but, you wanted to look a touch more presentable knowing that you would be having no choice but to interact with the other goers of the club. Slipping on a pair of jeans paired with a collared shirt that popped out from under a knit shirt, you once again were back to walking down the London sidewalks with the same note in hand. Only this time, the streets weren’t as crowded with pedestrians compared to the morning due to it being a later time in the evening.

Finding the building at a quicker pace then your first lecture, most likely a factor of not many students creating a hassle around the campus, you braced yourself as you stood in front of the door to the club meeting destination. Once again, you found yourself second-guessing your decisions. Was it really a smart idea to join a club dealing with a subject you weren’t solely studying?

As your mind juggled between the opportunities of making friends with the juxtaposing idea of possible humiliation, you were taken out of your thoughts when a soft tap was felt on your shoulder.

“Will you be going in?”

The question was soft yet mixed with slight confusion.

Noticing you were standing in front of the door and blocking the entrance for others, you quickly reached out your hand to grab the door knob, turning your head to get a brief view of the person.

“Sorry.”

That was all you managed to get out, opening the door before walking away quickly to avoid any response from the person. With this being a smaller room compared to your lecture hall, a few desks and chairs were scattered around, facing a black board that was mounted at the front of the room.

Taking a seat at the back of the less intimidating room, you placed your bag on the floor beside you as you rested your elbows on the desk, scoping out the room. There were around fifteen students, including yourself, looking eager as ever to participate in whatever this club had to offer.

The walls, similar to the ones in the hallways, were filled with posters strictly relating to astronomy, picturing different diagrams and layouts of the solar system, milky way, you name it.

“Alright,” a familiar soft voice filled the room at a volume raised just enough for everyone to distinctly hear.

Drawing your attention towards the front of the class, you found yourself eyeing the person that you had minutes before made conversation with, if that could even be classified as a conversation. Giving a slight clear of his throat, he continued.

“Welcome, and I guess thank you for dropping in to today’s first club meeting,” the man spoke with a small smile spread across his face while his hands were held in front of him, fiddling with his fingers.

Taking in the boy’s presence, you couldn't help yourself but aimlessly graze your eyes over his lanky figure. Maybe this club wasn’t going to be as bad as you thought.

“If you were unaware, which I’m sure you guys aren’t,” he said with brief chuckle, earning small giggles from the few students scattered around the room, “we are going to be discussing things in relation to astronomy.” With that, he gestured to the posters covering the walls of the room. The posters that gave the room much more life.  

As he continued to talk, the boy would switch between slight swaying of his body, to quiet finger tapping on the desk closest to him, as he explained the various activities and mini field trips the club would engage in. Taking only twenty minutes to do so, you were more intrigued with what the club had to offer than your mandatory biology course that morning.

“Being a student like you guys, only in my second year of majoring in physics, I am going to make this as fun and interesting as possible,” the boys said with a nod at the end of his sentence, almost as if he were reassuring himself.

“Any questions?”

With a few students asking questions pertaining to missing club meetings and confirming the date of certain events the boy had already planned, you decided it would be better to just listen in and save questions, if any were to arise, for later on during the term.

“Before you guys leave,” the boy spoke after answering the student questions, “if you wouldn’t mind writing a tiny paragraph about what you hope to learn from this club, that would be great.”

He gave a few lose leaf pages of lined paper and a tiny box of pencils to a student sitting at the front of the class, telling them to take one of each and pass them around in case anyone forgot their writing materials.

“Be sure to write your name at the top of the paper along with your major and year just so I get to know you all better.”

With the hint of nervousness lacing his tone, you were getting the feeling this may have been his first time instructing a club as such.

“If you’ve decided, after my short spiel, that this club isn’t for you, no hard feelings but do feel free to leave without writing a reflection,” he spoke, smile failing to fall from his face. The boy did seem passionate about the this branch of physics.

Turning around to grab his own notepad and pencil from his bag, he started to write down his own notes.

“Oh, and not to forget,” he spoke, looking up from his piece of paper, “my name is Brian.”

After his final remarks, he left the students to work on a small reflection as he continued to stand at the front of the class, writing notes of the front pedestal. A few students trickled out without writing anything, most likely indicating that this wasn’t the club for them, though, that wasn’t the case for you.

Taking out your own notepad and a pen, you wrote your name at the top of the paper followed by a few lines of what you were excited to learn about during your time in the club. After a couple of minutes, you tore out the sheet from your notebook, putting your stuff in your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. Walking to the front of the class, you approached the so-called Brian, holding out your paper for him to take.

Looking up from his writing, he held his hand out to take the page from you, the smile that had been presented all class, now being presented to you personally “thank you… y/n,” said with a brief pause as he located your name on the sheet.

Giving him a smile and a small bob of the head as a substitute for ‘you’re welcome,’ you were about to turn away when his words stopped you.

“First year in biological sciences?” Brian questions, clearly already reading through your written response. He too was eager like the remained of the club.

“It is,” you nod, looking up to examine his face as his eyes scanned over your paper. He was sudden to look up from your writing to you.

“I’m taking a few entry level biology courses as my electives,” he acknowledges, placing your sheet down on the pile that was already accumulated from the other student responses, “maybe I’ll see you around!”

He was so soft-spoken that it made you gush inside, a burning heat rushing to your cheeks. Yes, this was only a simple gesture, a simple statement, but it gave you some hope that your first year could turn out to be enjoyable.

“For sure,” you try to contain yourself, refraining from tugging your lips into a smile wider than the one you were already showing, “have a good one, Brian.”

“You as well, y/n!”

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST

@brianmayswifey @caborhapch @mishago @obsessedwithrogertaylor @doyourememberthelaughter @readinghorn @leah-halliwell92 @cheepygirl @shishterfackisback @fatheadtheroger

If you would like to be added to the tag list, feel free to let me know!

- Yours truly, R. 

Tabulae Anatomicae

A/N: Art College AU, based on a thought by the lovely @settle-down-frohike. Shameless objectification within. Standalone, MSR, M.

Dana at her easel, hair pulled back, lining up crisp stalks of willow charcoal on the ledge. 

She clipped up a fresh stack of flecked newsprint and kneaded a glob of gray rubber into submission, interlocked her fingers and eased a stretch into her palms. Rain slapped against the skylight in the basement studio, the silvery November light streaming softly in, illuminating the plaster and brick. All around her, the smell of coffee, sweat, and turpentine. She was close to something. She could feel it. 

She thought back to the book her father had recently sent her, a peace offering after months of tension. A leather-bound volume of 18th century anatomy etchings; macabre, dreamlike, deeply unsettling. Very much unlike anything she would have expected from him, especially after he’d made his views on her educational choices so abundantly clear. The pages were filled with women peeling back the layers of their abdominal muscles to reveal cramped and grinning fetuses, or slicing off fatty sheets of their own skin to wave in the wind. Men with their ribs cracked open and unfurled like the petals of a moonflower. Something about them excited her beyond reason. It was exactly the inspiration she hadn’t realized she needed.

No more sombre seascapes or finely-wrought traditional portraiture. Dana was, for the first time, producing work she could call interesting. Mangy rats with pomegranate seeds spilling from their mouths. A blue-shrouded woman with a strange, gray, unearthly babe at her breast. A couple locked in a passionate embrace, speckled with black boils, worms crawling from their ears. Her new work was a marriage of science and surrealism, rife with the poetics and mechanics of life, disease, and death. 

Over the past few weeks, she’d spent countless hours studying rotting fruit and roadkill, and was moving into an obsessive meditation on the human form. She was captivated by the origami of how muscles folded themselves around bone, the topography of veins rivering through the body. Ideally, she’d have preferred to study cadavers, but that class was one of the most notoriously difficult to get into. So FIG-252 with Walter Skinner it was. 

Walter ran a tight ship. It was always the same: two ten minute sketches, a quick break, and then a forty minute study. Dvořák on the portable stereo, no conversation permitted during draw time. He’d lock you out if you were late. His models were wonderfully varied. This semester alone, Dana had sat with an elderly ballerina, an obese stockbroker, a pregnant woman, an amputee, and a bodybuilder. Walter was commanding, old-fashioned, and took great pride in his own work as a sculptor. And if he walked a little too close as he passed behind Dana in his rounds, if he lingered a little too long at her easel... well, she couldn’t exactly say she minded it. She liked his attention. His interest in her. Being the object of someone’s restraint. Dana looked for Walter over the heads of the students setting up around her. It was a small class today, probably because of the rain, maybe ten or eleven people instead of the usual 25. She recognized a few of them - Alex, a photography major, pale from all that time spent sloshing chemicals around in darkrooms. Monica in oversized headphones and paint-splattered overalls. Walter was speaking in low tones to who she presumed was today’s model, a tall, good-looking guy in a carmine-coloured robe. She hadn’t seen him come in. His thick chestnut hair was pushed back, a few unruly strands falling over his forehead. His bare feet were long and brown against the pockmarked cement floor, and he had his hands planted on his hips, eyes darting around the room. He was nervous, Dana realized, and she found herself inexplicably charmed. The model turned his head in her direction, as if he could feel the weight of her gaze. He scanned the half-empty row of easels, chewing his lip. And then his eyes fell into hers, and oh - Oh. Something sweet and dangerous fluttered deep in her belly, but she shook it off and pressed her lips together in a polite smile. He blinked slowly at her, then tossed her a crooked, hesitant grin.   “Alright, everyone, settle in -” Walter’s powerful voice rang over the murmur of students, breaking the spell. Dana wrenched her eyes back to her paper. Her cheeks felt very warm. “Our scheduled model for today couldn’t make it in, so we have a student volunteer from another one of my classes. This is Fox Mulder -” the model waved self-consciously, rocking on his heels. “- he’s a painting major, he’s 22, and he’s a competitive swimmer, so we have a good opportunity today to pay particular attention to the musculature of the shoulders, arms, and back, alright? Mr. Mulder, if you’re ready -” He bobbed his head and padded over to the platform in the middle of the room, shrugging off his robe. Dana had the distinct impression of a sacrificial lamb approaching the altar. She swallowed, and busied herself with selecting a length of charcoal, determined to remain objective. She’d seen dozens of people naked. Why should this guy be any different?

Fox? What kind of a name was Fox? “Alright guys, you know the drill. Ten minutes. No erasers for the first two exercises, please. Linework takes priority. Loose and free. Work from your shoulder, not your wrist.” She heard Walter click a button on the stereo, and a requiem swelled to life and filled the room. “And... go.” Dana flicked her eyes upwards again. Fox was facing away from her, leaning one hand against the lone stool, slouching, slightly twisted. He was tanned and smooth, long and lean, the broad landscape of his shoulders tapering to a round, compact ass. Her tongue darted out to draw her bottom lip between her teeth, and she forced herself into movement. She drew quickly, tracing the curve of his deltoid, the gentle arc of his tricep. The milky light from overhead seemed to illuminate his skin from within. If she could touch him, she thought, he would be as soft and solid and earthy as clay. There was a rustle of paper as someone started over, a distant roll of thunder. Line and shadow, Dana, that’s all he is. A specimen. Light and form and mass. Breath and heat and blood… Jesus, what was wrong with her? To her great relief, Walter called the time. She exhaled and dropped the charcoal into the ledge, flicking a leaf of paper over the top of the easel for the next exercise. In her peripheral vision, she could see Fox adjusting his position, so that he was standing at a three-quarter angle to her, his knee bent to conceal his crotch from her line of sight. She glanced up, and discovered him looking right back down at her, obvious interest alight in his eyes.

Heat crept up her neck, but she stared right back. If he thought he could intimidate her, he had another thing coming…

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards. Stretching one of his arms up, he clasped the back of his neck with a wide hand, skin and muscle shifting over his ribs, vibrant, alive, utterly provocative. Dana arched an eyebrow, silently appraising him, letting him watch her rake her eyes over his body. That’s right. I’m the one in control here.

She thought she saw a flush ripen over his chest, and he broke contact, casting his face downwards, trying to hide a smile. A thrill of victory ran through her.

“Alright, second position, everyone,” Walter barked, strolling through the easels like a general. “Movement. That’s the key. Don’t get hung up on detail. Ten minutes. Three… two… one… and go.”

The class went silent. Dana picked up her charcoal to begin, but found herself distracted by the subtle rise and fall of Fox’s toned belly, the dark scrub of hair trailing down from his navel. With hands and feet like that… a girl had to wonder. If she leaned just a little bit to the right, she might be able…

Walter passed behind her, close enough that she could feel warmth radiating from him. “Miss Scully,” he grumbled, “the point of a drawing class is to draw.”  

Fuck. Thoroughly embarrassed, she went to work, and after a few tense moments, Walter continued on his way.

A figure began to emerge from the page. The blade of a clavicle anchoring a splendid trapezius, rounded pectorals. A small, simple tattoo of an eye over his heart. The tendons of his neck, his curved jaw, that captivating mole.

He really was quite beautiful. Physically, yes, but there was something else there, too. Something almost preternatural. Something untamed. She smudged her thumb over a line, creating a soft shadow, trying to replicate his glow.

Just as she was really beginning to sink into the exercise, Walter entered the inner sanctum and draped Fox’s red robe over his shoulders. “Alright guys, fifteen minute break.” The students around her leapt into action, some of them putting frantic finishing touches on their work, some of them making a beeline for the door for more coffee or a cigarette. Dana sat back and studied the page in front of her. It was a surprisingly well-rendered image, especially considering she’d spent the first two minutes shamelessly ogling the subject. Images began to form in her head. This pose could be the start of her next piece. She could peel him back here… open his chest, or his skull. He’d be full of something hot, something lush, something vast.

Fox meandered around the perimeter of empty easels, his arms crossed, thoughtfully considering the various works. Dana was determined not to look at him, and picked up her white chalk to flesh out the highlights. Closer, closer. And then there was a presence over her shoulder, and a soft, gravelly monotone.

“Your, uh, command of light and shadow is really wonderful.”

She turned to find him looming over her, like he was sharing a secret, a conspiratorial intimacy that took her breath away. He reached over her and ghosted his fingers down a line. He smelled faintly of chlorine. “This is great. Lots of life.”

“Thank you,” she managed, blinking up at him. He returned her gaze, and they looked at each other quietly, boldly, something sumptuous rolling between them. Up close, his eyes were mellow and warm, juniper green.

“Um. It’s Fox, right? I’m Dana,” she said, dropping her chalk and wiping a blackened hand on her jeans before offering it to him.

He chuffed, his eyes wrinkling, and took it in his own. “I, uh, prefer my last name, actually. I, I… even made my parents call me Mulder. So… Mulder.” She couldn’t help but smile. “Well. In that case, I guess you can call me Scully.” “...Scully.” Her last name in his mouth was lyrical. He still had her hand, and was stroking it absentmindedly with the pad of his thumb. He realized what he was doing, and pulled away with a jerk, laughing sheepishly. “Um.”

A long, delicious moment of silence. Dana noticed Walter glowering from across the room.

“I like your tattoo,” she offered, hoping to prolong the conversation in any way possible. “What does it mean?”

He regarded her playfully. “Do tattoos always have to have a meaning?” It didn’t feel as though he was trying to put her down, or assert his dominance. He wasn’t pulling her ponytail, although she would later fantasize about him doing that exact thing. He was issuing her a challenge, one he fully expected her to rise to and overcome. She stared him down, relishing the peculiar energy between them, the push and pull of it, the tug-of-war tension.

He broke first. “It’s um. A reminder. A promise.” A momentary wash of tragedy moved over his features, a rawness in his voice that took her off guard and touched her deeply. “To never stop looking.” Students started to filter back into the classroom. Alex glared at them as he passed, hair plastered to his skull, stinking of smoke and wet leather. She leaned in closer. “And… what is it, exactly, that you’re looking for?” she asked, just above a whisper.

“- Mr. Mulder? Time,” Walter interrupted from over by the stereo. “Um. Gotta go drop trou again,” Fox - Mulder - said, chuckling. “Not that I’m, uh, wearing trou, exactly.” Dana tilted her chin up at him, and he mirrored her, walking backwards a few paces before turning and stepping back up onto the platform. Oh, this was not good. She thought about Marcus back home, perfectly normal Marcus with his perfectly normal CFA degree and his perfectly normal face. Mulder didn’t have a perfectly normal face. He had the most interesting face she’d ever seen. He was off-kilter, masculine, soft. A rocky nose that reminded her of an Easter Island mo’ai. He had an Adonis jawline, bedroom eyes, and plush, notched lips. And not only was his face aesthetically interesting, but it was animated by what was certainly a profoundly intelligent, sensitive inner life.

Dana took a deep breath and composed her thoughts. He was just some guy. There were plenty of attractive men in the world. She was just missing getting laid on a regular basis. That was all.

So why did it it feel as though the trajectory of her life was coming into focus?

Suddenly thirsty, she unearthed her water bottle from her knapsack and took a long swig. Walter was speaking quietly with Mulder on the platform, instructing him, going through a few positions. The bustle died down as students settled in for the longer session.

There was a swish of colour, like a bird’s wing in flight, as Mulder swept off his robe and handed it to Walter. And then there he was. He eased himself back so that he was sitting on the stool, facing her full-frontal, extending one of his long legs down to the floor and bending the other at the knee to balance his toes on a rung. A hand spread wide on his thigh, the other hanging loose by his side. Before she could stop herself, her gaze was drawn magnetically downwards - and oh, he was lovely there too, even in the cool air of the studio. He shifted his hips a little, clearly for her benefit, and she glanced up at his face. A wonderful, complicated look in his eyes. Provocateur, supplicant; completely at her mercy, but bold and dauntless as a god. A shiver ran across her back, down into her arms.

“Alright, class,” Walter barked. “Forty minutes. We’re gonna do a simple pose here, so really sink into the details. And I know you all have been dying to, so you can use your erasers for this one. Ready? Aaaand. Start.”

She took a deep breath. Put charcoal to paper.

She began at his shoulders, gently laying down the angles and lines and curves of his body. His muscular chest, the tattoo of the eye. His biceps, forearms, the knobs of his knuckles, his long fingers, square nails. She could still feel where his thumb had grazed her, as if he’d scalded the nerve endings there. Heat swirling, ignored between her hipbones.

The soft crease of an oblique. The heavy, dark mass of his cock. The elegant slope of a calf. She tried again to reduce him to an object to be rendered, a collection of muscle and bone, but it was impossible. Something about him moved her. He seemed more alive, more real, more essential than anyone she’d ever met. Back up, over the column of his neck, his pulse point thrumming, almost imperceptible. Her hands moved over the paper, trying to touch him by creating him, to own a bit of his soul. A small, sweet ache, a slow ferment…

“Twenty minutes,” Walter said. Violins keened. The sky groaned. The lure of Mulder’s face was too much to bear, and she looked up to find him watching her. His eyes burned through her like wildfire. A question… an answer. Colour rising in his cheeks. Some old tide, some primitive pull. She knew him. Something in her knew him, damn it.  He blinked deliriously, as if in a trance, and she went to work on his face. This is bondage, she thought. Submission. Surrender. He was offering himself. Opening himself. Trusting her. The realization that she was getting wet took her by surprise. Oh, God. Drawing, Dana. Finish the drawing. She looked him over, picking out little details to capture. The hair on his forearms, the mole on his stomach… his half-hard cock.

Oh. She ripped her eyes to his, but he made no indication of any intention to adjust himself, or hide it. Perhaps it was professionalism, perhaps it was embarrassment. But the way he was looking at her… there was nobody else in the room.  

“Five minutes.” Mulder’s chest was heaving now, but slowly, controlled. His adam’s apple danced as he swallowed. He was fighting to keep his face neutral, and failing miserably. Dana, hot beneath her ears, barely contained, turned her attention to his tattoo, working to get it perfect. “One minute, final touches, everyone… aaaand time. Take that last piece home, rework it, flesh it out. Thanks for braving the weather, guys. See you Thursday.”

Dana pressed the heels of her palms into her eye sockets, taking deep breaths. Alex, closest to her, practically ripped his pad of paper off the easel, threw his supplies into his bag, and stormed past. “What the fuck was that?” he spat at her, and Dana suppressed the urge to leap up and punch him in the face. God, she needed a release. Her next class was in half an hour, her dorm was a 10 minute walk… if she was quick….

She looked around the room, and Mulder was nowhere to be found. A stab of panic in her belly, and then a great surge of humiliation. God, she was foolish. What had she been thinking would happen? He probably had a girlfriend, or a boyfriend, and besides, she had a boyfriend too, even if he lived halfway across the country. Even if she hadn’t seen him in two months. You’re an asshole, Dana. One hot guy gets off on being watched, and you think it’s true love. Stupid, stupid… She covered the drawing without looking at it, and tucked the pad into her portfolio bag. Tossed her charcoal carelessly into her knapsack, not caring that it would crumble and coat everything in soot. What a fucking idiot. I’m so stupid. She was almost out the door when a hand gripped her by the elbow. “Scully, wait.” Mulder, in jeans and a rumpled, fraying t-shirt. She swallowed, biting back the flood of relief. Thank God. Thank fucking God. “Um. I didn’t feel right doing this in my roommate’s bathrobe,” he laughed, running a hand through his hair. “But I, um. I really need to see you again.” She ducked her chin, thinking of Marcus. And then she reached into her bag, tore off a scrap of newsprint, and jotted her number down. Folded it loosely, reached for the front of his jeans, and tucked it into his pocket.

“Don’t lose that,” she said. “Oh. I won’t.”

i’m going to make this place your home

this is a gift for @bluetheking as part of the winter @aftgexchange. you mentioned mary coming back and i was all too happy to comply (albeit with a significantly longer and angstier fic than i intended). i hope you enjoy it, and happy holidays!

canon-typical warnings apply, namely violence, abuse (specifically parental), alcohol, and mentions of past torture

read it on ao3!

Neil Josten, starting striker for the Palmetto State Foxes and reluctant protégé of one of the country’s most notorious mob bosses, had given larger men than himself reason to quiver in their boots. (Not that larger men than himself were all that unusual to come by, but Neil wasn’t ashamed to appraise himself for the several six-foot-something would-be-giants who knew from experience not to turn their backs on him.) It wasn’t so much that his history of violence preceded him—probably a good thing too, as Neil rarely came out on top of his spats once they turned to fist and flesh—but it was hardly considered confidential that what he lacked in muscular finesse, he made up for in guts and a somewhat slow brain-to-mouth filter. The point being, Neil had a handful of subjugated bullies (to use a term that wouldn’t leave his grandmother rolling in her grave) under his belt, a team of short-tempered and overprotective ruffians at his back, and almost nothing to worry about. Or so he would have attempted to reassure himself had he known who was eagerly awaiting his return to Fox Tower.

Vacation was difficult to manage when you were a Fox. Especially when your makeshift family consisted of two progenies of a nationwide crime empire, one legally recognised psychopath, a murderer (or two), and their legal guardian. Especially when Kevin Day and Andrew Minyard were involved. Because Kevin Day refused to let an exy court out of his sight for more than twenty-four hours and Andrew Minyard refused to let Kevin out of his sight for more than maybe one hour tops. So they were a little restricted on holiday destinations and the house in Columbia was more of a second home than anything, but none of them were complaining when it meant easy access to Eden’s Twilight at a moment’s notice and radio silence from Coach Wymack who was usually not hesitant to hound them into extra practice over break. (Plus, Neil wasn’t exactly averse to having Andrew, a double bed, and a door with a lock all to himself for a whole weekend.)

But the break came to an end, as it always seems to, and they were several hours overdue their agreed return to campus by the time they managed to drag themselves and their bags—now severely lighter than they had been five days prior, what with the copious consumption of alcohol they had partaken in—out to the Maserati. Erik, having spent most of Thanksgiving holed up in Nicky’s room with a metaphorical sock on the doorknob, had seen them off at the kerb before heading his own direction to the airport, so Nicky’s demeanour was somewhat subdued during their ride back. They spent the journey in formulaic silence, but Neil was still riding a vacation high and had successfully relegated Kevin to the backseat, giving Neil ample opportunity to admire the set of Andrew’s jaw and the clench of his knuckles over the wheel from the corner of his eye. A good end to a weekend of good beginnings, Neil thought. So, naturally, the universe threw a little English on the ball as they pulled into the Fox Tower parking lot.

The first sign of trouble came in the form of Dan Wilds standing outside the entrance; arms crossed, teeth clenched, and foot tapping an unsteady rhythm into the paving stones.

“You’re late,” she said, with unnatural terseness. Nicky shrugged as he scrambled out, bouncing back from his Erik-induced mourning with practised ease.

“It’s Thanksgiving. Forgive us for getting a little carried away,” he offered by way of explanation, but Dan barely spared him a second glance. Her gaze fell instead to Neil, cracking his back as he made his way slowly round the hood of the car.

“Neil. Inside. Now. The rest of you stay.”

In his peripheral, Neil caught Nicky grabbing at Kevin’s wrist before he could move to follow but no one raised a finger to stop Andrew as he shouldered his way through the doors behind them. Neil considered telling him to wait, but dismissed the thought almost immediately. Whatever he was about to walk into (and no doubt it was bad, if it had Dan as tense as she was), he didn’t much fancy going in alone.

“There’s someone here to see you,” Dan said, as the elevator rattled to a halt on the third floor. “And then I want an explanation.”

Neil could have paused to assess the situation, but Dan sidestepped the opening elevator doors in a clear invitation for Neil to lead the way, so he bit the bullet and moved forwards. Matt was leaning stiffly against the wall outside the room he shared with Aaron and Nicky, the same tenseness lacing his frame as Dan’s. Neil thought there was a greeting somewhere on his tongue ready to spill, but it died the second his gaze flitted to the woman standing alongside. Though years had etched wrinkles into her skin and a new stoop to her shoulders, the long, curly hair and dark, weathered skin was unmistakeable. Neil traced the outline of her figure, familiar yet unrecognisable in places where time had broken her back, until his eyes caught hers and Mary Hatford—she of the false identities and paranoid promises, of hotel rooms and guns under unfamiliar pillows, of firm love and firmer bruises—blinked back at him.

Seconds passed. Minutes stole the breath from Neil’s lungs. Days melted their surroundings into shadows until Neil knew nothing, nothing, nothing but the slit-eyed stare cradling him in arms like vices. He was walking, maybe, though he couldn’t see far enough to check his feet were actually stepping one in front of the other. The whole world became a tightrope; his past at one end, his present and future at the other, and him—a weightless body in between, two gusts away from blowing off into the horizon.

Everything tilted back into sharp colour with the slide of a hand into Neil’s hair. Pain jolted through his scalp, familiar and welcoming, with a tug to drag him forwards.

“Abram.”

He hadn’t thought he’d hear that voice again, like knives and blood and running running running, but Mary pressed her cheek to his, her lips a weight at the lobe of his ear, and whispered his name twice more like he might disappear if she didn’t give him solidity enough to stay. He had an inch on her now—the product of sunshine and full meals, while she tucked herself into dampened corners—but he shrank under her fist, shedding years of his life until eight-year-old Abram stared at her wide-eyed, knowing nothing but hurt and losing.

This was coming home after a lifetime of leaving, and Neil felt sick to his stomach.

“Neil,” Andrew said, a million miles away but hurtling towards them at breakneck speed. Neil twisted, searching for a different kind of home, a different kind of family that didn’t leave the taste of bile heavy in his mouth, but Mary held him in place with a sharp tug that sent lightning down his spine. She gave enough leeway for him to pull back just slightly, to watch the way her gaze pierced through Andrew and saw everything Neil didn’t have words for yet.

“Your father is dead. We have a lot to discuss,” she said at length, relinquishing her hold with a jerk and making uniform steps towards the stairs. It took no thought for Neil to follow—his feet knew their place even if his brain didn’t.

“Neil, who—” Dan started, a hand out as if to stop him. He gave her a rueful smile, gaze flitting between her and Matt, and ignoring Andrew with calculated difficulty.

“My mother,” he said honestly, because there was nothing left to lie about. “Team meeting when I get back?”

And he left them, stranded aimlessly on the third floor with their thoughts in utter turmoil.

Mary waited for him in the stairwell and set off again the second he made an appearance, light and quick on her feet as ever despite the age lining deep frown lines on her brow. The rest of Andrew’s lot were leant up against the Maserati, waiting obediently for a signal to enter. Nicky made to call out, but a curt shake of Neil’s head and the unfamiliar presence stepping out into the open seemed to cut him off short.

“Take me somewhere,” Mary said, without sparing a glance at the three blatantly obvious onlookers. “Somewhere we can talk.”

Neil took the lead, trailing Perimeter Road down to the campus green. It was empty enough in the early evening, the frosty edge of winter riding in on the skirts of autumn, that they could talk without fear of eavesdroppers, but open and close to home still so Neil could squash the urge to seek out every possible escape route. It was old habit buried under months of safety and security, but it came rushing back with the furtive twitch of Mary’s eye that brought his past knocking no matter how desperately he tried to bar up the door.

They stared each other down with clenched fists and tight jaws, an insurmountable rift and three feet of grass between them. Time was nothing when Mary held him in her eyes—minutes passed unchallenged and he let them wash over him. How long they stood there, he did not know, but one minute Mary watched him like a dark cloud hovering just out of reach and the next, something cleared in her vision. Thunderclouds still claimed the corners of Neil’s eyes; else, he might have ducked before his cheek began to sting. (It would have been futile. Submit, his body screamed, it’s the only thing you know how to do.) He could feel every inch of Mary’s open palm imprint itself onto mottled skin, leaving bruises further than skin deep on parts of him that he didn’t know how to bandage up. It felt like home and fear, and tasted just bittersweet enough for Neil to know this was where he belonged.

“You idiot,” Mary hissed, grafting a hand to his scalp again and pressing the thumb of her other into the base of his throat, pushing down down down until breathing was nothing but a distant memory. “You never learn, do you?”

Neil closed his eyes, took a shallow breath through his nose, and let himself relax in her grip. This was familiarity, was comfort. Above all else, he knew how to be Mary Hatford’s son.

The pressure at his throat disappeared but the hand remained in his hair, nails digging just deep enough to make him wince if he moved. He could feel his cheek spasm where the phantom weight of her slap still rested and his nerves ran dead ends across scarred flesh. Every movement, every brush of her skin against his, was magnified, electrifying him from head to toe.

“Did you keep any of your promises?” she said, her voice a whisper one hundred decibels too loud for the quiet atmosphere.

“I did.”

The first words Neil had spoken to her since her supposed death three years ago. They tasted like gasoline and sand in his mouth.

“Liar.” Mary’s hand tightened in his hair and Neil could feel the tug of each separate strand like a thousand tiny needles biting into his skin. He gasped softly, just short of a keening whine, and let his eyes roll closed again. The pain had a grasp on his brain but through the fuzziness, he could feel her warmth where she was almost brushing against his chest. She was right here despite everything, despite Neil’s incompetence and his brashness and his breaking, always breaking. She had come back for him. He always knew she would.

“It’s not a lie,” he said, teeth gritted against a plea that he would never let her hear. “You. I never told them about you.”

Her hand disappeared, slipping away so quickly he stumbled under the weight of having to hold himself up. There was a foot of air between them before he managed to catch himself, and it felt like losing all over again, like reaching desperately for something—someone—already gone. Neil watched his mother step away from him as eagerly as she’d moved closer. Little Abram watched a car go up in flames.

“They thought you were dead,” Neil said. There was no squeeze at his throat, no yank in his hair, but the words came out a gasp anyway. He had lost his breath three years ago on a beach in California and had failed to catch it ever since. “I told them you were.”

Mary held her glare a few seconds longer, expression unreadable as it always had been. Neil had long since given up searching for telling in her eyes. She had always been the better liar of the two.

“I wasn’t good enough for this life? You gave them everything, but you left me behind?”

And this—this was familiar. There was no winning against Mary Hatford. Neil could play all his cards right, but it wouldn’t change the fact he’d been dealt a duff hand. Losing was easy; boys like Neil Josten were not built to be winners.

“They let me be a part of their family. I didn’t want to screw it up,” he said anyway, because, despite a year of healing and learning, there was a death wish under his tongue and violence ingrained in his bones. He didn’t know how to survive when he wasn’t putting himself in danger.

Mary’s fist cracking against Neil’s jaw was a new sensation. Her open palm he knew as well as his own—every splay of her fingers, every crease of her skin. There was the weight of a golf club imprinted to his torso, far more permanent than any bruise or scar. The bite of her nails into his flesh until they drew blood was a fresh reminder on every inch of his body. She had been tough love, hurting and healing on repeat until he learnt his place, tearing him apart herself so that no one else got the chance to. But the clench of her fist was unfamiliar—a weight he did not carry in the back of his mind. He felt it now as she collided with his chin, tectonic plates meeting in a rupture of the skies. Neil was mountains, and earthquakes, and crumbling under weights unknown. After all this time, Mary knew best how to pick him undone.

“I am your family.”

Her voice was dangerously quiet and leaking venom from places where her resolve cracked through, but the words were honey to Neil’s tongue and nothing had ever tasted sweeter.

“Abram, we’re all we have. You won’t leave me again, okay?”

Neil could have screamed; could have reminded her it was she who left him stranded on California’s coastline with hands that smelled like burning metal. He could have turned his back and slipped easily into the life he had made in her absence. He could have. He didn’t.

“We’re all we have,” he echoed, and when she reached to cup his face between her rough palms, he tilted into the touch. She was his family. She would not leave again.

“Come home with me. The season is almost over. We’ll do Christmas,” Mary said.

“Home?” he asked. The word sounded like Foxes, like court walls and keyrings and Columbia and Andrew’s thigh pressed to his on the couch. Andrew. The word sounded like Andrew.

“England. Your uncle has given us a place to stay. We’ll be safe at last.”

Safety would always be a novelty to Neil, a luxury he could not afford to indulge. He thought of Wymack picking him up from the airport, of Allison smoothing foundation over his skin, of Andrew holding him together in hotel rooms and bathroom showers and at the end of the world. And he thought of his mother drying his tears and holding his hand, of unfamiliar faces blinking out of cracked mirrors, of bandages and alcohol and smoke. And maybe he already knew what it was to feel safe. Maybe he always had.

“Okay. Let’s go home.”

***

The journey back to Fox Tower passed in relative silence, but Neil’s thoughts were buzzing into overdrive. He didn’t need to imagine the look on his teammates’ faces when he told them what he had agreed to—he had seen it too many times already. But he had only promised to go home, not to stay. He would spend Christmas in England with Mary and Stuart, and would be back before the season started up again. They would hardly notice his absence.

Mary left him in the parking lot, promising her hotel was nearby and she would come back for him soon. Neil’s apprehension heightened as he took the stairs up to their floor, prolonging the inevitable as indefinitely as he could.

He wasn’t remotely surprised when he let himself into his dorm to find more than just Kevin and Andrew awaiting his return. The Foxes (minus the freshmen) were spread across the couches and floor, silence and concern tense in the air. The click of the door shutting behind Neil was enough to rouse them from their vigil, and he paused just inside the doorway as eight heads turned to meet him.

There were several sharp intakes of breath and Renee’s quiet “Oh Neil”, but Neil’s focus was on Andrew, who had risen almost instantly and was pacing steadily towards the door. Neil didn’t miss the way he fingered the edge of his armbands carefully, as if double checking the presence of his knives.

“Andrew,” he said warningly, taking a shuffled step back towards the door in a feeble attempt to block it from Andrew’s sight. It did nothing to deter him.

“I’m going to kill her.”

Andrew sounded about as cheerful as Neil had ever heard him off-medication, but it hardly masked the ferocity behind his words. Neil may not have wanted to admit it, but he knew Andrew meant every syllable. He backed up fully against the door, pressing himself flush against the wooden frame.

“No,” Neil said, loudly enough for someone to flinch across the room, but his eyes stayed fixated on the way Andrew’s arm stilled a hair’s breadth from jostling Neil out of the way. “We don’t have a deal anymore and I’m not in danger anyway. I’m asking you to stay out of it.”

His voice left a heavy silence in the air, tight with levelled stares and held breaths. The room was still clustered with bodies, but they might have melted into nonexistence for all Neil noticed their presence, because Andrew wasn’t retreating, wasn’t blinking, was there but wasn’t there there and Neil needed so desperately to bring him back before things turned nasty.

“Someone needs to tell her what happens when she touches my things.”

The words were careful, like bow to string; dangerous, like match to flame; deadly, like blade to heart. Neil heard the venom laced through them and knew it meant Andrew was only backing down, not off.

“Let me.”

Andrew’s hand dropped like a weight at that, falling heavily to his side. He turned away before Neil caught his expression, but couldn’t mask the way his hand curled a fist into the hem of his shirt. He settled wordlessly back into the couch, the space between him and Kevin an open invitation. Andrew would wait. The other Foxes deserved an explanation first.

Neil took the proffered seat, wincing at the five sets of eyes that tracked his bruised jaw. They had gathered to hear him spill secrets around worse injuries, but he was rough edges and raw interior, and every cut and bruise would always leave them on edge.

Neil cast his eyes to the cornice where the wall met the ceiling and spread his hands open, palm-up in his lap, searching for a place to start. The freshmen were spared this impromptu team gathering, and he was stupidly grateful. They knew of the history that undermined Neil Josten as Nathaniel Wesninski, because they were Foxes and reserved the right to know who they were playing for, but there were parts of him they’d never understand. They hadn’t seen him disappear into the shadows at the edge of his home state; hadn’t seen him spill himself all over the floor in a mad rush to let out everything he should never have kept hidden; hadn’t seen him return time and again a bloodied, broken mess just to let his family patch him back up from loose threads and gentle touches between them. And, for everything they knew and everything they couldn’t understand, this was something they didn’t need to be privy to.

“Mary Hatford didn’t die from internal bleeding on a beach in California. And when I burned the car, she wasn’t inside it.”

Neil could almost hear the sound of eight brains whirring to keep up with this new information. No one prompted him further. He thought it would be easier to speak once he got the first sentence out, but something stuck in the back of his throat, making it difficult to swallow or breathe or find words enough to explain himself.

When he hadn’t heard from her after a year in Millport, he figured that was it. He had never intended to tell the Foxes about her—it was the one promise he couldn’t bring himself to break. But nor had he thought she would come back for him. Hoped, yes, but it seemed nothing more than childish dreams. Suffice to say, he was not prepared for this conversation.

“It was safer if we weren’t together. My father’s people—they were looking for a woman and a boy. They never expected us to separate.”

“She abandoned you?” Allison said furiously, unable to stop herself from breaking the silence of Neil’s audience.

“She waited until I was eighteen,” Neil said before he could bite the words back. It was old habit to jump to her defence. There was no way to make them understand that everything Mary had done had been in his best interest. “I was an adult.”

“Barely,” Matt said, a look in his eye like he was remembering the Neil who had showed up to Palmetto State University with a duffel bag and a bubble of lies.

“She gave me money, and contacts if I ran into trouble. It was only temporary. We were supposed to find each other when it was safe, but…” Neil let his voice trail off but he was sure they knew where his words were headed. But it’s never safe. But Nathan has eyes everywhere. But I am a burden and a threat to her survival.

“When I left Millport to come here, I didn’t think she would ever come looking for me. I never told you because I never thought it would come up.”

It sounded like a cheap excuse. He had promised them he wasn’t going to lie anymore, but it was too easy to fall back on the same old stories. As long as she was dead, Neil didn’t have to think about her. Some days he convinced even himself that she had met a quick death at the barrel of a gun; that she had been on her way back to him when a bullet lodged itself in her brain. It was easier than accepting that she just hadn’t cared enough to find him.

“Les Moriyamas savent-ils qu’elle est encore en vie ?” Kevin said, finally. His knuckles were taut where they clenched over his knee and his gaze a weight on Neil’s profile. Neil flicked a glance up to meet Kevin’s, before refocusing on the entire room.

“I don’t know how much the Moriyamas know,” he said, ignoring Kevin’s disapproving huff at the switch to English, “but if they knew she was alive, I doubt she would be for much longer.”

No one had a response to that. It was nothing but the bitter truth, distasteful and heavy on the tongue as honesty so often is. Mary was as much a loose end as Neil, and she didn’t have the benefit of a deal cut with Ichirou. If her survival was discovered, it would not last. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, sitting uncomfortably in the air between them, but nor was it a sad one. It was just the truth.

“Your face,” Nicky said, gesturing to the corresponding spot on his own jawline that bloomed purple on Neil’s. There was question in there somewhere, though it didn’t quite sound like one. Neil answered anyway.

“My fault. I provoked her.”

Dan stood abruptly, Matt’s hand falling limply from her lap in the process. The tense set of her shoulders was mirrored in each of the Foxes as they pierced glares into the bruise at Neil’s chin. Neil twisted his head to Andrew, expecting to find comfort in casual indifference, but Andrew had stilled beside him. He wasn’t looking at Neil, but there was violence in his eyes—the reflection of blades, and car crashes, and the cold metal of a gun. His fist still creased the fabric of his shirt in a desperate attempt to hide the shake of his fingers, or to deter the anger claiming his muscles, Neil wasn’t sure which. Neil had seen his Foxes through thick and thin; had seen them throw fury between one another like exy balls; had seen them come together as he fell apart. He had seen them in pain and sorrow, and in honey-sweet triumph, but he had not seen them like this. With electricity crackling through the air between them. With clenched fists and grit teeth and anger so palpable Neil could feel it burning his skin.

“You know this isn’t okay, don’t you?” Renee asked softly, uncertainly. Her voice stole the tension from the room, leaching it from tight shoulders and bitten lips. Dan collapsed back onto the couch, as if the anger had been the only thing keeping her together, but she ignored the inviting hand Matt laid in the gap between them. Neil tried not to think too much of it.

“She’s just doing what’s best—”

“Don’t be so obtuse.”

Renee pressed her fingertips to Allison’s knee before she could say more, but Neil knew it did nothing to subside her fury. He couldn’t explain it—not in a way they would understand. They didn’t know how much of a nuisance Neil had been growing up, how often he had complained when they went without meals or when his feet were too blistered to walk further, how distracted he got by the little things like the local sports team or the soaps on hotel TVs. They didn’t know Mary had taught him the only way he would listen: with bruises and burns.

“You don’t understand,” he said, buying himself time as he searched for words to explain himself.

“I do,” Aaron said, before Neil could find what he was looking for. He didn’t offer anything further, but he caught Neil’s eye contact for the briefest of moments. It wasn’t warmth or comfort or even the vaguest essence of friendliness, but nor was it the cold, angry stare he usually reserved for Neil. It was just understanding. Support came in the strangest of forms.

“She won’t see you anymore. She isn’t welcome here,” Dan said, when it became apparent no one was chasing the thread Aaron left dangling in the air. She looked small and scared, anger brittle in the tremor of her fingers, but her voice didn’t shake once. Neil felt at once grateful and saddened, because he knew he had to let her down just once more.

“I’m staying with her for Christmas.”

“You’re what?” Nicky squawked. Several voices clamoured over one another, and Neil only caught fragments of each of them. You’re not— She’ll kill— We won’t let— You can’t be serious. It didn’t matter what they said. He had made up his mind. Because Neil knew what the others didn’t—couldn’t—understand. He knew that Mary and he were a unit, two parts of a whole that would always find their way back to each other. Mary was no worse a person than Neil himself and, against all odds, she had risked everything to find him again. He wouldn’t let that be in vain.

***

(Two silhouettes and an empty rooftop. Forgotten cigarettes burning to the filter. A hand on the back of his neck instead of around his chin. It’s your choice.

Two hearts chasing circles around one another. Air dirty with mislaid secrets. Fingers in his hair to keep him steady, or keep him close, or keep him whole. I’ll come back to you.

Their lips were gentle when they touched, fire and fury as always, but only softness over bruised jaws. It hurt, it hurt—it healed.)

***

Neil left one family frowning after him in Upstate Regional Airport, and boarded a plane to his other. Mary had returned to England without him, but she swore black and blue she wouldn’t hesitate to show up on his doorstep again if Christmas came and went without delivering him to her. Despite his teammates’ concern, Neil wasn’t worried. He had lived with Mary for eighteen years. He had to believe she had already done her worst to him.

“It’s only two weeks,” Neil had said, when Matt squeezed his arm so hard he might have snapped it clean in two. There were worse ways to spend Christmas break. Neil would know—he had experienced them.

Mary was nothing short of sunshine and smiles when she picked Neil up from the airport. The radio played in the car on the drive to Stuart’s house, but she talked over it. She told him about her plans for Christmas—about dinner and movies and her special hot chocolate.

Neil could almost forget the last ten years of his life had happened. When he looked at Mary, he was nine years old and they were planning secret Christmas celebrations behind his father’s back. They could never do anything big with roast turkeys and stockings, but Mary made two mugs of hot chocolate every year and turned a blind eye when Neil snuck extra marshmallows from the bag. Their first year on the run, she had wasted their weekly expenses buying cocoa and marshmallows and made cheap hot chocolate in paper cups on Christmas Day. Neil remembered wrapping his small fingers around the cup long after its contents were gone and it was cold against his palm. Mary had had to pry it from him when they moved on the next morning.

Stuart’s house was a four-bedroomed affair on the outskirts of Brighton with six northward windows and a rooftop fire escape. Neil took all of this in as they stalled in the driveway, his relived memories leaving him raw and vulnerable, falling into abandoned routines. He had brought only his duffel with him, to avoid baggage claim at the airport, so he had no excuse to linger by the car after Mary stepped out. Walking up to the front door felt like a march to the gallows, and stepping over the threshold was putting the noose around his own neck. Neil spared a thought for his Foxes, hoped they would enjoy their respective Christmases, and sealed his fate.

Mary kept the household busy over the week leading up to the big day. They were doing Christmas properly this year, she insisted, since they were finally a family at last. There was only three of them in the house, but the meal they prepared in advance would have fed a professional exy team twice over. Neil found the methodical chopping, boiling, and calling to one another across the messy kitchen became a comfort after the first few days, but he could never quite relax. He locked the door to his room overnight and slept with one of Andrew’s knives under his pillow. It was less reassuring than a gun, but comforting nonetheless.

Whenever he wasn’t needed for preparations, Neil snuck out the fire escape and burned cigarettes on the roof. He had taken to buying Andrew’s brand out of habit, and the smoke smelled less like burning metal and more like the Foxhole Court. He thought more and more every day that he would survive this. Mary was playing at the mother he had always wanted her to be, and Stuart was as distant as Nathan but not nearly as dangerous. And Neil had a ticket to South Carolina tucked in the pocket of his duffel. He would make it home.

Christmas Eve brought the first inkling of the old Mary Hatford blinking back into existence. Neil’s defences were weakened, his thoughts muddled by the easy routine they had fallen into. He was standing in Stuart’s cosy sitting room, watching Mary stoke the fire and waiting for Nicky to text back with an update, when she made her move.

“You’ve grown soft, Abram. Too fond. Too trusting,” she said without looking up. Neil snapped his phone shut abruptly, focusing his attention on the muscles shifting in her shoulders as she jabbed the poker at the coals. He had known it was coming, long before he even arrived, but he’d let himself be lulled into a sense of security. Stupid. Reckless.

“The blond one. You need to let him go,” Mary continued. Neil’s fist tightened around his phone. He wouldn’t fight her here—not in her own home, not on Christmas Eve.

“I can’t,” was all he said. It was the truth, plain and open like Mary had taught him never to tell it. He would not fight her. But he would let her know he wouldn’t break so easily these days.

“He isn’t good for you. He makes you weak.”

“He doesn’t,” Neil said, the defiance like copper on his tongue but still honest in ways he was learning to be. “He is my family.”

Neil Josten was the fastest striker in collegiate exy. He spent half his time dodging stray balls and hefty rackets. But even he wasn’t quick enough to avoid the poker that flew from his mother’s hands at those words. It glanced off his cheek before he could think to duck and, by instinct, he drew his arm up to force it away from his body, sending a searing pain all through his wrist. He crumpled, cradling his face with one hand and curling his body around the other in a measly form of protection. In the blink of an eye, he was tied to the passenger seat of a car, a dashboard lighter licking scars into his cheek. He was handcuffed to Kevin’s Evermore bed, a burning wire slowly peeling the skin from the palm of his hand. He was on the floor in his father’s Baltimore house, a heated iron discarded beside him and the sensation of every nerve in his shoulder being ripped one by one from his body.

“Oh, Abram. Silly Abram. Haven’t I always told you not to play with fire?”

Mary knelt at his side, pushing his hand away to tilt his face into her line of sight. Her cool fingers were a salve to his flaming cheek, and she held him together gently with a palm cupping his chin. Neil would fall apart without her—it was a wonder he hadn’t already. She knew how to treat burns, how to clean wounds, how to stitch him back together piece by careful piece.

“I know what’s best, remember? He is not good for you,” she said, her eyes full of concern as though she couldn’t have predicted the burning poker slipping from her own fingertips. She brushed his hair back with one hand and used the other to draw him close enough to kiss his forehead, all sense of anger stolen from her limbs. She had never been wrong before. Neil needed no further incentive to trust her.

“Okay, Mama,” he said, leaning into her touch like he was chasing the last breath of oxygen left on the planet. “Okay.”

***

Mary Hatford was a mother, not a gaoler. She didn’t lock doors or bar windows, because she didn’t need to. Because she was keeping only those who wished to be kept. This would be her downfall.

In lieu of a goodnight, Neil had received a rolling pin to the stomach for mentioning holiday meals with the Foxes, and a handful of painkillers by way of apology. The rolling pin had been wooden and flimsy, but Mary knew force if nothing else. As the evening wore on, breathing became a chore and movement nigh on impossible. Neil could feel the cracked rib worse than ever as he contorted his body to shimmy out the bathroom window, but he gritted his teeth against the pain and tugged himself out onto the window ledge. He dropped softly to the grassy outcrop framing the side of the house, spared a glance for the dark window of his second-storey bedroom, and was grateful the bathroom had been built a floor below. As soon as he was clear of the garden, Neil picked up speed, his instincts leading him towards the sound of buzzing traffic where he would hopefully be opportune enough to hitch a ride. His chest throbbed dully under the fissure in his ribs and his lungs ached for a break far earlier than he would usually need one, but not once did he glance back at the house he had left behind. There was no family for him there any longer.

Last minute tickets to the States weren’t cheap, but Neil had the luxury of having spent almost three years under one identity and the money saved was a godsend. The flight passed in mild discomfort, and Neil took to reciting exy stats to distract himself from the pain in his lower chest. Somehow, it kept him sane.

By the time he stepped out of Upstate Regional Airport into the chilly air of South Carolina’s winter, it was mid-morning on Christmas Day. Activity was sparse in the airport, but not entirely dead. Neil switched on his phone, his thumb automatically hovering over the speed dial. Andrew’s name was first, Wymack’s blinking just underneath, followed by the other Foxes one by one. He flicked the phone shut before he could tap any of them and moved off to hail a taxi. It was Christmas, after all. They were probably busy.

Fox Tower was empty when Neil let himself into the dorms to drop off his duffel, but he knew the way to Abby’s house by memory. It was a longer trek by foot than he had imagined—he started out at a jog but his ribcage screamed bloody murder until he relaxed into a casual stroll—and his injuries were a little worse for wear by the time he arrived. He paused in the driveway, an attempt to collect his composure from where it dragged at his heels masked under his need to catch a breath. The sitting room curtains were pulled wide and, through the bay windows, Neil could make out Andrew’s lot splayed across the room. He watched them for several precious minutes, a softness growing in his stomach, forcing its way through his chest, and cascading up his throat in a bubbling urge to tear up. They five of them (Neil included) had been planning to spend the holidays in Germany with Erik’s family, but had pulled out last minute to stay in South Carolina with Abby and Wymack. They never spoke about it, but they didn’t have to for Neil to know it was because of him. Because this is where he would come if things fell apart. Because he had returned alone from a broken Christmas once before and they would not let history repeat itself.

It took more effort than it was worth for Neil to force his gaze away from them and make the final few steps to the front door. He rang the doorbell, though he knew it would be unlocked, in a sudden bout of self-consciousness. He would always be welcome, he knew that, but it was too much to expect them to open their arms when he let himself be torn open time and time again. He would not walk in unannounced, and if they wanted him gone he would go.

It was Wymack who answered the door, half turned over his shoulder as the tail end of an insult left his lips. His smile was good-natured, fond even, and Neil felt all the worse for forcing his inconvenience upon it. The expression slipped as Wymack turned his full attention to the doorway, replaced by rigid fury and barely-visible concern concealed under a glare.

“Christ, Neil. Not again.”

Neil knew the others were listening in, because the house went still the second his name was thrown into open air. Wymack dragged Neil inside with a firm grip on his shoulder the same instant as Andrew barged into the hallway, Nicky, Kevin, and Abby hard on his heels with Aaron trailing behind. Wymack was smart enough to drop his hold on Neil when Andrew approached and moved to hang back with the others. Neil barely noticed them out the corner of his vision—he was caught in the webs Andrew was spinning with furious eyes. They stared each other down, neither moving nor speaking. Andrew lifted a hand to hover over the burn on Neil’s cheek, but didn’t touch the tender flesh. His eyes flicked over Neil’s body, searching for further impairments.

“Where else?”

Neil raised his right arm, displaying the matching scar still fresh on his wrist.

“My ribs too. Something might be broken.”

“Shit,” Nicky breathed, somewhere to the right. Nobody else spoke. Andrew’s gaze continued to set itself on fire.

“Abby,” Andrew finally said into the thickened air. Abby squealed at the abrupt mention of her name but disappeared almost instantly in search of a First-Aid kit. Andrew lifted his arm again, brought it this time to hover over the back of Neil’s neck.

“Can I—?” he asked. Neil nodded—a little too quickly, a little too eagerly—and Andrew dropped the weight of it onto the juncture between Neil’s shoulders. For the first time since Mary’s unexpected appearance, Neil discovered that he still remembered how to breathe. All his jagged edges flowed out of him as Andrew steered him into the sitting room, leaving him raw and empty but finally with enough space to fill his lungs.

Andrew climbed onto the back of the couch and forced Neil down in front of him, his knees pressed just beneath Neil’s shoulder blades and his hand a constant presence pressing on Neil’s neck. Abby shooed the crowded Foxes out of her way as she hustled back through with the First-Aid kit in hand. She started with his burns, methodically dressing and wrapping them with gentle fingers. She was too familiar, had patched him up like this too many times. Neil watched the grey clouds passing over her face as she worked, and thought she did not deserve to look so grim. He hated himself all the worse for causing that expression too often to count.

When she moved on to press a gentle hand over his ribcage, the others mysteriously drifted out of the room, murmuring something about checking on the roast. Neil let Andrew tug his shirt up over his head, gasping a little at the pain it took to lift his arms so high, and Abby carefully prodded at the points where it hurt to breathe. Neil didn’t think about his mother’s smile when she saw him in Heathrow Airport, her hips swaying as she chopped potatoes in the kitchen, her eyes darkening as she slammed a rolling pin between his ribs and hissed at his mentions of family other than her. He focused instead on Andrew’s palm, flat and hot against his skin, and on the repetitive nature of his breaths. In. He was here, in this moment, in this house, not there in another. Out. He would not have to see Mary’s twisted scowl ever again. In. He was safe as long as he had this roof over his head, as long as he had this hand on his neck. Out. He was a Fox and he had a family who would always welcome him home.

Once Neil was fully clothed once again, the others crowded the room with platters of food and cheer just a little too buoyant to be believable. Wymack cast a cursory glance over Neil’s bandages, searching out answers in a silence that he knew better than to break.

“We will talk about your necessity to put yourself in unpleasant situations,” he said at length, “but right now, it’s Christmas. Let’s eat.”

They tucked into Abby’s usual spread, chatting around mouthfuls of food and swigs of wine. The elephant in the room that was Neil’s past was left untouched, but Andrew didn’t move from his position at Neil’s back and, bit by bit, Neil found his breath returning to him.

***

Boxing Day saw the two of them bundled in their matching coats, legs dangling off the side of the rooftop and breaths clouded around puffs of smoke. They had spent the morning at Abby’s, lazily cleaning the previous day’s messes and forcing Neil into another check-up, before they were released back to the Tower.

Now, they sat in silence and watched the sun disappear behind the hazy sea of buildings laid out in front of them. There was a question somewhere between them, unvoiced and ignored but it disrupted the air with its awkward presence. Neil watched Andrew smoke his cigarette to a stub, crushed his own into ash, and stared out at the rapidly vanishing horizon.

“I just wanted to go home.”

Andrew gave him a funny look at that, pressing the cherry of his cigarette into the roof beneath them absentmindedly. The whole world felt a million miles away when he shifted to face Neil properly. And Neil would climb through a thousand bathroom windows with a thousand broken ribs from a thousand jealous mothers for this moment. When it was just him, and Andrew, and the ground four storeys below.

“You are home,” Andrew said, then grabbed his chin in both hands and kissed him into the dying sunlight.

Glanceable

A new beginning once again. This time we will focus on ‘Tangible and Embodied Interactions’ and all it comes with. The first part of this course is divided into four small one week projects with focus on four different topics. These topics are: Glanceability, Smell, AI in IXD and Data physicalization. The first topic on which we will tackle is Glanceability. 

What is Glanceability? In order to get an understanding of what this is we got provided with 3 papers which in different ways explores the concept of Glanceability. Down under is my take on writing a summary of the first text provided. 

The goal of this paper is to study the existing work of glanceability but also to conduct fieldwork in the form of interviews in order to come up with a set of guidelines for others to use when designing glanceable work. This text is quantitative since it only talks about the technicalities of the work they have done and the work that will come. I don't see much reflection of the facts that they bring up. The peripheral displays that they referred to in this text is not a secondary artifact but rather a UI element used for multitasking between ongoing tasks. Examples of this might be the small popup on your computer that lets you know that there is a new email in your inbox that you might want to have a look at. 

The importance of glanceable information does not have to be purely based on multitasking but also about saving time for the user. Being able to take part of information with a quick glance and decide if it is worth switching tasks or it can wait. This is most important today when the workload increases and time gets more valuable. 

“[...] literature on signal detection suggests that distinctness is key to absolute judgement of stimuli [...]” I believe with this sentence the author wants to stress the growing importance of symbolic representations within the concept of glanceable information, and the importance of these symbols being recognized with a quick glance.

The difference between glancing and peripheral vision is that the peripheral vision lets the user know that something is happening outside the vision of the user. The glancing must have some effort put into it. In order to glance, the user must actively take a look at the information being displayed and be able to see what kind of information, what information as well as what affordabilities the user has with that information.

Beside writing this summary I also wrote a comment on two separate summaries written by fellow students. This is a completely new and different way of ‘analysing’ the texts than I’m used to. Given the time to complete the task it is quite effective when a deeper understanding of a text is expected. Unfortunately I was not quite prepared for this new way of working with texts which resulted in me not spending the time necessary for gaining a deeper understanding of the texts. Next week I now know what to expect and how to tackle the texts in an efficient manner.

The rest of the week we have so far paid all of our focus on creating the concept that we will have to show on friday but also plan and film this concept since we are expected to show off our concept with a video prototype. In the first stage where we will come up with a concept we started with a quick brainstorming session where we came up with a couple of ideas that we thought were worth interating on. some of these ideas were:

Something within a car. Could be a way of being aware of what is happening in the backseat instead of looking into the back view mirror.

Something to do with pre planning in order to reduce stress, for instance, in trafic.

Something that we can gameficate and build up a reward system for doing tasks.

A clock connected to your calendar that will show when it is time to leave the house in order to be on time depending on the type of transportation.

After some discussion we choose to move on with the last idea of the clock that shows when it is time to leave home. We went with these since we wanted to focus on improving the quality of life by reducing stress in the morning but also in general when moving from point A to point B. We also wanted to make the user aware of the environmental consequences of choosing public transportation vs walking. 

Taking inspiration from the paper written by Gouveia et.al. [1] where they explore and test different watch faces on users we will try to use an abstract visualisation on the wearable device. The approach we find the most appealing to us to use in our project is the watch face that they call SocialWalk. We had different ideas of how to use this watch face on our wearable/ glanceable display.

Seen in image one we had the idea of the circle being divided into the different timestamps the user has to leave home if he/she would like to use the displayed way of transportation and the image in the middle changes from walking -> cycling -> public transportation -> car.

With this design we wanted to show the user all the options and when the different ways of transportation lo longer is a viable option if he/she wishes to arrive on time.

In the second image we were thinking of the circles as individual countdown circles for the different ways of transportation. This would result in the first circle being the countdown for when you have to leave home in order to walk to your destination and if you had not managed to leave home within that time slot the circle would start over but this time show another way of transport i.e a bicycle. And this would go from the most healthy and with least environmental impact transportation to the more dirty ones.

Between these two we went with the second sketch since we thought that booth managed to convey our intended message but the second one did have that extra layer of abstraction and showed only the necessary information at the moment. By committing to this abstract clock face with no numbers and just a circle counting down to the time on which you have to leave we hope will allow for a more stress free morning routine that is not counted in minutes but rather on feeling of time. This is a bold assumption and hope which in a ‘real’ project would have to be tested in order to see if it makes the user less stressed or maybe the opposite. Since this is the definition of a quick and dirty prototyping session/project I believe that this is an opportunity for us to take these fun and bold assumptions and play with the thought of a more stress free morning. 

(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L7UifmxM0-w&list=PLvu3M6mFL1dgMsm0d7VEmgxl7_abjAOpG&index=4&ab_channel=JohanFranz%C3%A9n)

The final result which can be seen here shows the morning routine of a girl that has to be at work at a certain time. The morning starts with her visiting the bathroom where the glanceable display embedded in the mirror greets her with ‘Good Morning’ and she decides to tap the mirror and the screen switches over to an overview of the time to when it is time to leave home if she would like to walk to work. She then goes on with her morning routine and with the help of her wrist watch she can easily glance on the display and get an indication of how much she got left before she has to leave home. The choice to embed the glanceable content in the mirror was that we thought of where we could add a glanceable display and it not being disturbing for the user. The mirror is a place where most of us use and pass by a couple of times during our morning routine and therefore, according to us, is a genius place to place a glanceable display. 

Presentation

The presentation went really well and we did receive some critique which unfortunately was mainly aimed towards our design choices rather our idea and concept. I feel this is sad since the only way we could improve and learn is to see what we did wrongly or what we could have done differently. Some of the critique we did receive was why we chose to count down the time anticlockwise instead of clockwise. At the moment we did not know exactly why we did go anticlockwise but now when I think of it I believe that we went with this direction since when counting upwards in numbers it goes clockwise like a clock or even the activity tracker on the apple watch goes clockwise the bigger the numbers get. 

Therefore, I believe that we went with the anticlockwise movement since it is the opposite of these things that counts upwards. Another question that we received was “What is there to motivate the user to be in time?”. Due to the time constraints we had during this project we did unfortunately not have time to show the different stages of the circles that might have made it clearer to our classmates what we wanted to achieve. Then again, is there anything that motivates the user to be on time? I don’t think that our concept aims to motivate the user to be on time but rather to help the user to reduce the morning stress by providing a non numeric visualization of the time remaining for a specific method of transportation.

Phase 8: Mixed Signals, Mixed Feelings

Tuesday - I decide last minute that I’m going to greet Scott in the morning, just not at my usual spot at the printer. Instead, I make some coffee around the time he usually comes in, this way he won’t even know I’m there till he rounds the corner. I am trying to gauge his reaction. He sees me and says, “Hey, Dana. Good Morning.” All I say in return is a quiet “Hey.” His face and the way he greeted me, I detected some guilt. Not a whole lot, but it was definitely there.

I don’t see Scott again till he heads off to lunch. I’m stapling stuff at the printer when he comes out of his office. I look up at him and he raises his eyebrows up quickly two times with a smirk on his face. I feel sad looking at him, and I give him just the tiniest smile. I know I must look sad though. This interaction was very confusing. I don’t know what he was trying to say. Was he saying it’s okay for us to still flirt at work? Was he saying he’s still interested in me, despite having a wife, and wants to continue what we had going on? Was he trying to say this is just harmless flirting and that it’s okay to continue? Is he trying to manipulate me so that he can continue getting attention or so he’s able to take this further?

Wednesday - I do my hair and make up really nice today, as I now do about 1 or 2 days a week. I’m at the printer when Scott comes in. I turn and look back, but he’s still a bit far back down the hallway, so I don’t say anything. As he gets closer, I turn around and I can see that he’s slowed down almost to a stop, and it seems as if he can’t believe I’m standing there waiting for him. I say, “Hey, Scott” and he says, “Hey, what’s up, Dana?” He still says it with much less enthusiasm than he used to, but I can guarantee I’m throwing him for a loop right now. I had been sad the past two days, and now I’m acting almost as I did before, greeting him, but just not with a glowing face and enthusiasm that he caused in me before.

My plan for today (and going forward) is to make my presence known still all the time, but just not give Scott the attention I once gave him.

I am right outside my cubicle talking to Greg and Steve, and at one point while I’m facing Steve - and thus also facing Scott’s office - Scott comes in from the warehouse door, which is right next to his office door. He comes in slowly, and the whole time he stares at me, even as he’s going into his office. I lock eyes with him at first but then I make my eyes go out of focus without me intending to, but I guess maybe as a self-defense mechanism. So he is out of focus, but I can still see he is directly staring at me. I thought I saw him wink, but I’m not positive he does. Other than that, his face is neutral as it’s been the other times he’s just flat-out stared me down.

At one point during the day when I’m at the filing cabinet, Scott comes downstairs from making tea at the upstairs machine. I am facing that way when he comes down and we look at each other. Before, he would have taken the opportunity to come my way, but instead he takes the other hallway back to his office. At another point during the day, I’m going into my cubicle from making tea and I see Scott, who is wearing bright red, coming up the hall from the bathroom, but I don’t look at him. I only see him in my peripheral vision.

I decide to do a lot of filing today, so I am back and forth past Scott’s office. He keeps turning around to talk to Steve and Chris, but I don’t look to see if he’s looking at me. At one point thought when I walk by, Scott does look at me, and this time the guilt on his face is plain as day. There’s no misreading it. Does he feel bad for stringing me along? Or does he feel bad that I’m upset by this and that I expected more, when those weren’t his intentions? Or does he feel bad that we can’t continue? So many questions I have about what his intentions have been this whole time, but I just don’t know.

Thursday - Scott didn’t come in today since I know he went to the Eagles parade (per my convo with Steve and Greg yesterday). So today was just a day to do a lot of thinking.

I am still questioning Scott’s intentions. Did he see this as harmless flirting at work? I can’t imagine he could have, as we’ve both been getting more aggressive in our pursuit. If you put his wife into any scenario between Scott and I, there’s no doubt she would not be okay with what she saw. As I’ve mentioned several times, Scott has always showed an interest in me, though he never actually acted on anything until I did. Is he unhappy in his marriage? Does he love his wife? Is it really a “beautiful love story” like someone posted on Facebook? Is his wife a lucky woman, or is has she been deceived? Was he planning on cheating on her? Is he merely having a mid-life crisis? We have the same name (still sour about this lol), so when he says Dana to her, is he ever thinking of me? What if he really just enjoyed the attention and wasn’t going to make any moves? But if he wasn’t going to try anything, why initiate talking to me? Does he genuinely like me, or is he just using me? Is Scott genuine and a good guy, or is he really just a secret scumbag? He helped me build up this false image of him, and now I’m going back and looking at our conversations differently. Is he even worth any sort of interaction at all? Scott most definitely intentionally left out mentioning his wife and he acted very much single around me. Does this mean he’s untrustworthy, or did he just not want to let me know because he was afraid it would mess with what he thought was innocent fun? I have so many questions, and in all honesty, I won’t get an answer unless I just flat-out ask Scott what the hell is going on and what his intentions are/have been. I can’t stop thinking about last Friday and how he was glowing and radiating so much just watching me walk by his office. There is no way to even fake that. He saw me and it made him light up from within. I can’t be sure what about me caused that though. Does he really, truly feel something for me and is happy to see me, or is it a there’s-the-girl-who-really-likes-me sort of thing where I’m just appealing to his ego?

I also wonder where I want to go from here. Yesterday’s plan of flaunting myself just doesn’t appeal to me anymore. I don’t feel vengeful or anything, and a part of me wants to continue what we had going on. I mean, I’m single, so I don’t feel bad for flirting, even if I do know he’s married. It’s not like I’m going to make any moves now that I know he’s unavailable. And whatever he does on his end is on him. I mean, yeah, it was definitely inappropriate for a married man, but at the same time, he never made any moves on me or anything and I can’t assume that his intentions were to take this further because I have no proof of that. So at the end of the day, I decide that I will still show some interest in him and see how he responds and what happens. I have no ill-intentions here, but I feel like this is my best route for the time being.

Friday - I greet Scott in the morning and he greets me back. Not how it was before still, but still the best it’s been all week. I baked cookies last night and brought them in today. I wait till about an hour after I come in to put them out, and I let a few people know. Then I go into Scott’s office doorway and let the guys know I brought cookies in. Scott is on the phone, and while I’m talking to Steve he turns and looks at me, and then turns back. It happened quick and I was talking, so I didn’t see his expression. I don’t even know if he heard I brought cookies. I’m not too worried about it though.

At the end of my lunch, I wipe out my bowl so that it’s easier to clean later when I’m home, and so I walk by Scott’s office. He is turned toward his left, stretching, and then turns toward his right, so he’s sees me as I’m walking by. I half want him to and half don’t want him too, but it doesn’t matter because he sees me. I have a small smile on my face. He looks surprised to see me, like he can’t believe I’m still walking by his office. I mean, it’s not like I never did before, because I always have since I started here, just never looked in his office as I passed until I started pursuing him. Right now, I’m clearly looking at him.

Toward the end of the day I have to take an order into the warehouse. There’s a woman from upstairs who comes down every once and a while and talks to the 3 guys in the office. She is ending their conversation, but then forgot about one last thing. This is good, because it means Scott will be turned in his chair facing his doorway, so he will see me go into the warehouse. I take the order quickly out, then take my time coming back, just in case the woman is still talking. I’m hoping she’s gone this way I can try to get a moment with Scott without anyone noticing. When I come in, she’s still in there and Scott is sitting in his chair facing the doorway, smiling. I steal a glance at him with a slight smile on my face. Oh, my heart. I look at him and I’m just done. I’m done. I know this is not good, to be pinning after a married man so badly, but I can’t help it. He might not even be a decent man, honestly, but just something about him sets my heart and soul on fire. It’s not even like he’s a great-looking guy, but just something about him is so gorgeous to me to where I find him physically attractive in addition to the other ways he appeals to me. 

At the end of the day, I’m coming out of the women’s room and the men’s room door is just closing. I have a really good feeling it’s Scott, so I print 2 things and leave them sitting for about 2 minutes till I hear the bathroom door open. I go to the printer and turn around, and Scott is beaming. I start to go into my cubicle, lean back, and exclaim, “Hey, Scott!” just how I would before. It’s not even intentionally enthusiastic, it honestly just comes out that way. I’m sure I look happy to see him. I wish I could talk to him. I go into my cubicle and then come back out to see him turn down the hallway instead of into his office. I go to Joyce’s cubicle and talk for like 5-10 minutes. In my peripheral vision, I see Scott go into his office, and it seems like he turned his head to look at me. I can’t tell whether he’s holding tea or not, so I don’t know if he went upstairs to make tea or if he went to go talk to someone. It looked like his arms were hanging down and swinging though, so I don’t think he made tea. I don’t turn and look at him, as it’s not a good moment in my conversation to do that. At the end of the day, there is one cookie left, broken, but still very much appealing. I want to offer it to Scott, since he’s in his office by himself now, but I sigh and know I should offer it to Pete or Joyce first. I know where my loyalties lie first. Joyce wants it, so I let her have it. 

As I leave, I’m leaning into my passenger seat putting my stuff down when Scott comes out. As I start to pop up, I can see he has his hand up in a good bye, and he leaves it like that for a few seconds. When I shut the door and walk around my car I wave and say, “Bye, Scott” as I normally would.

I don’t know where I’m going from here. I don’t know where Scott is going to go from here. We work together and it’s hard to avoid him now that I seem to have set off some sort of chain reaction in the universe where we always bump into each other, whereas my first 6-7 months of working here we rarely did. I have no idea where this is going to go. My mind is racing in 100 different directions. We could keep this as casual flirting and live our lives separately. We could become friends. We could lose interest in each other. We could have an affair. We could just be co-workers who say hi every now and then. I don’t know. I just don’t. Anything is possible. Despite my strong moral compass and my fierce determination to cling to my values, anything is possible. I know it sounds terrible if you think about the affair possibility, but how can I really know what’s going to happen? What if he makes a move and I just can’t say no? For the time being, all I really want to do is continue what we were doing (minus giving him as much attention as before) and see if I can somehow in some way figure out what exactly Scott’s intentions are, and then take it from there in whichever way I want. I thought this would have been easy to make a decision after finding out whether he’s married or not. It should be. It should be simple: He’s married, cut off all contact. But it’s not that simple. Life is complicated and messy, and the only way to clean up the messiness of it is to dive right in and get to work.

Healer

The whole mission had been doomed from the very beginning. Anakin had experienced a bad feeling as soon as he and his Master had entered their transportation craft. Despite Qui-Gon’s assurance that it would be a quick and easy mission – it was their first mission after a time-out at the temple – everything had gone right to hell. Not only had the negotiation mission been a ruse, specially crafted for Qui-Gon and Anakin, but the two Jedi had walked right into the trap of an old enemy. Xanatos Du'Crion former second Padawan of Qui-Gon, had actually managed to capture his old Master and his successor and it hadn’t been pleasant. Anakin had been forced to work in an underground mine, it had been hard and tiring work and if you could not live up to a certain standard, you were either beaten into a bloody pulp or killed the very instant. The former was more often the case, because this way the guards could have their fun, not only with delivering the beating, but during watching the workers struggle with their work afterwards. Anakin hated them. But not enough to enter a dark path. Besides, Xanatos would have been a fate much worse. The raven haired man had separated the Jedi team as soon as possible. The two Jedi had shared the same cell, but while Anakin had done hard labor, Qui-Gon had been tortured by the fallen Jedi personally. Usually the Master had been fetched before sunrise and only brought back deep in the night, usually bleeding, limping or even unconscious. The days were hard on the long haired Jedi, who got weaker and weaker with every session. The blonde Padawan had known that his Master would not survive much longer and he had known that they had to escape soon. Which is why he had taken the opportunity – even though it had been a very small and very risky one – and fled with the brown haired man. The blonde had silently thanked the Force that he had been build so tall and strongly, it had made the task of carrying his Master a little easier. Not by much though, for guards were everywhere once the alarm had rung and the terrain was tricky. That and his days in prison and doing hard work without much nutritious food, had weakened Anakin as well.

A pained groan escaped the unconscious Jedi Master when Anakin accidentally stumbled. He thankfully did not lose his grip on the man that was draped over his back. Only Qui-Gon’s head had moved a little, causing some of his brown strands to fall into Anakin’s peripheral line of vision. “Sorry Master,” mumbled the slightly smaller Jedi, while continuing onwards. He had escaped the cursed facility a long time ago and was now running in relatively save terrain. It looked like a forest of some sorts, but what bothered the Jedi, was that there did not seem to be any animals. Or perhaps they were just too scared of them, even though that didn’t explain why he could not feel them. Then again, it could very well be a side effect of the Force suppressants he had been injected with. 

What seemed to the senior Padawan like an eternity, he finally had reached the end of the forest. Near the edge, Anakin had even heard a few birds rustling in the leaves. He had not been able to feel them though, so his guess seemed to be quite right. With a lot of struggle, did he move forward, never letting his mind wander too much. The tall man he was carrying seemed to get heavier with every step he took. Anakin was panting and his heart was beating rapidly. He knew he would not get much farther. Had all been in vain? The blonde had seen the tree’s root too late and he landed face first on the dusty ground. He was not the only one who let out a pained grunt. Qui-Gon was heavy on top of him and since he was unconscious, he could not even take some of his weight from Anakin’s frame. The blonde struggled and muttered a few huttese curses, some of them would have earned him his Master’s disapproval and probably an extra round of sparring and meditation, but Anakin didn’t care right now. He just cared of the real danger that was lurking behind them and the body draped over his.  A snapping sound caught the Padawan’s attention. He only felt a tiny flicker in the Force. But he knew that something or someone was in front of him. His eyes desperately searched his surroundings and they only stopped at a certain point, where they could make out a dark figure looming.  “Help,” there was no bad intent coming from this person. Anakin wasn’t sure if it was because of his dulled senses, or because the person had no ill will, but he hoped it was the latter. “Over here!” The person stopped and turned around, probably to face them, but he or she didn’t move further. “Please,” begged the blonde, “We need help. My… father is injured and needs medical assistance.” Whatever the reason, it caught the unknown person’s attention. Immediately the being came running over and before the Padawan realized it, the unknown figure was leaning over him and his Master. He blinked. The stranger was obviously male and he looked relatively wealthy and well groomed. His short cooper hair was well taken care of and even his beard was neat. Blue-green eyes were scanning over the two men on the ground, before they settled on the taller Jedi’s frame. “I am going to lift your… father,” there was doubt in the man’s accented voice, “off you. Will you be able to stand and walk on your own then?” “I… I think so, yes.” The stranger hummed in reply, while carefully lifting the long haired Jedi up. He struggled a bit, then Anakin felt the barest shifting in the Force and in the next moment, Qui-Gon was securely on the stranger’s shoulders. Now it was Anakin’s turn, who felt as if a whole mountain had been lifted from his shoulders, quite literately. “Quick now, you are still being followed,” said the stranger and began walking in the direction from which he had come. “Wait,” panted the senior Padawan, while limping to keep up with the older male, “You haven’t told me your name yet.” Blue-green eyes sparkled with hidden mirth, “Neither have you.” “I am Anakin… Jinn and this is my father, Qui-Gon Jinn.”  There was something in the other’s eyes, when he replied, “I didn’t know Jedi were allowed to have children.” His whole posture and aura changed and this time Anakin was actually able to feel it. It sent shivers down his spine. “I do not appreciate being lied to. I can accept secrecy, but I will not tolerate dishonesty.” Was it just the light or did the stranger’s eyes shimmer gold for the briefest of moments? Whatever it had been, Anakin decided to be more cautious. His instincts told him to grab Qui-Gon and to make a run for it, but his body protested at the mere thought alone and something that felt suspiciously like the Force, urged him to stay. “My name is…” he took a deep breath and silently prayed that he would not regret this later, “Anakin Skywalker, I am a Jedi Padawan and this is indeed Qui-Gon Jinn, my Master.” “See, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?” there was a small grin on his features. “My turn. Obi-Wan Kenobi, Sith Healer, at your service.” Anakin stopped dead in his tracks. “You are a Sith?” “Guilty,” the copper haired man grinned. “But I am foremost a healer.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” He rolled his eyes and made an exaggerated sigh, “My duty to those who need medical attention, comes always first. My duty to the Sith comes second. I have sworn an oath as a healer and I will not break that oath… it is all I have. ” It sounded too good to be true, but Anakin had no other option but to trust and believe in Kenobi’s words. He knew he would not be able to outrun a Sith, especially not in this condition and with Qui-Gon unconscious. It was simply not possible. “Where are we going?” he asked instead. “I have a medical facility right behind that hill. Your Master will be taken care of then… perhaps it will be better if I look after him personally,” he glanced briefly at the limping Padawan beside him, “You need to be looked at as well. That and a bath might do wonders.” The blonde blinked. The Sith was actually bothered more by his appearance and smell than the fact that he was a Jedi at his mercy? This was indeed a strange world. Then again, from the man’s look, it was understandable. His black tunic and grey sash were clean and spotless. The cape that was red on the inside, was attached to the shoulder and chest armor that did not look as if it had seen any real battle. There was a lose leather belt around the man’s waist and strapped to it were countless pouches and even some devices Anakin could not identify. Partly hidden by the sash, was a holster that was strapped to the Sith’s right leg, it contained a silver-black cylinder like object, a lightsaber. “Instead of focusing on me, you should turn your attention to yourself and the ground you are walking on.” It was the most polite way of saying ‘Stop staring’ that Anakin had ever heard.  “Sorry,” he mumbled, more out of instinct than anything else. The Sith sent him a surprisingly warm look and in silence, they walked onward.

Anakin gaped openly at the building that stood proud in all his grayish-white glory, between the forest and a hilltop. Obi-Wan had patiently explained that a large city was hidden behind the mountains and that a save path winded its way between two cliffs. The citizens and villagers could travel safely to his medical facility. Anakin guessed that there was no other healers around, which is why the villagers came here in the first place. “Home sweet home,” mumbled the Sith once he and his limping companion had stepped through the automatic bi-parting sliding doors made of transparent material. Anakin somehow doubted that it was glass, he expected something stronger. “AI-72, prepare the treatment room two and make sure that patient’s room number 13 is ready,” commanded Kenobi. Immediately a droid that had lounged near the reception, sprung to life.

“Yes Sir,” the black spherical droid answered and hovered away, most likely to do as told.

Obi-Wan followed the droid, he was still carrying the tall Jedi Master on his back. He had to admit, that he was quite impressed with the young Jedi, who was obviously still a Padawan. He could feel that the young one’s grip on the Force was dimmed and weakened, yet he had still managed to carry his Master to safety. And they WERE save here, as he had said, he was a healer before everything else.

Anakin had to blink against the bright light in the treatment room. The whole room was unexpected bright, then again, so where the halls of healing in the temple.

He watched how the Sith gently lowered his cargo on one of the operation tables. As soon as he had done so, two droids joined his side, one carried various instruments and devices, the other looked more human and seemed to be able to do operations on its own.

“I want you to check him for any internal injuries… scratch that, check his WHOLE body for damage, both inside and outside.” He turned to Anakin, “You look mostly fine, a few scratches as far as I can tell and perhaps a strained ankle from your fall. Nothing too serious. What YOU need, is rest, food and a bath, perhaps not in this order.”

Anakin knew this tone all too well. The healer back in the temple always used that with his Master, when the man was hovering over him.  “I am not going to leave him,” he protested.

The older male narrowed his eyes, “This was not a request.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and straightened himself to his full height. “I don’t care.”

For a moment the two males just stared at each other, challenging and waiting for the other one to look away first. It was Obi-Wan, who avoided his gaze first. He shrugged. “Very well then.”

Anakin was surprised that the healer had surrendered so easily. Too late did he realize that a third droid had entered the room without him noticing and before he could react, had it pushed a needle in his neck.

“Bastard,” gritted the Padawan out between clenched teeth.

Again the Sith only shrugged, “It was your choice.”

He was getting dizzy, Anakin’s whole world was spinning. Also, his vision was darkening around the edged. He stumbled forward, arm outstretched and desperately reaching for the healer, but to no avail. Kenobi simply took a step back, arms crossed over his chest and a bored and calculating expression on his bearded features. Then, the Padawan’s world seemed to tilt, but before he landed on the ground, the droid caught him.

“Procedure Alpha.2 should be enough,” said Kenobi in his accented voice, “When you are finished, bring him into room number 13, make sure he cannot escape or attack.”

The droid beeped in understanding and Anakin felt himself being lifted, wondering what was going to happen to him now, before his whole world went black. —————- When Anakin Skywalker finally came back to his senses, he was greeted by the worst headache he had ever suffered in his relatively short life. For a moment he was disoriented and he was left to wonder what had happened. Then, everything came back to him and in panic, he opened his eyes and tried to sit up, only to be stopped by chains that could obviously not be opened with the aid of the Force. Panic cursed through his system, but then an all too familiar voice caught his attention.

“It’s alright Padawan,” said Qui-Gon Jinn.

The blonde’s head wiped around and his eyes landed on his Master’s form. The taller and older male was smiling reassuringly at him and even though he was bandaged almost everywhere, he looked a lot better than before. Then Anakin’s eyes settled on the silent male, who was partly sitting on Qui-Gon’s bed and who held a bowl and a spoon in his hand.

“Master? You are alive?”

Qui-Gon chuckled, “It would seem so… and most likely only thanks to your quick thinking and to Obi-Wan’s healing abilities.“ The healer ducked his head. Anakin blinked. Obi-Wan, his Master had not said ‘Kenobi’ or ‘the Sith’, he had said Obi-Wan’.

“How long was I unconscious?”

“About twenty-four hours, perhaps a bit longer” answered the Sith.

“Obi-Wan told me that you gave him quite some trouble,” said Qui-Gon, but there was humor in his voice. He truly was on the way of getting back to health.

Immediately the blonde’s cheeks colored, “Yes, I mean… well… He IS a Sith!”

“He is a healer and a damn good one,” it was rare of the Jedi Master to speak positively of a healer. He, just as his Padawan, usually had a great dislike of healers and of healing facilities. So what was different now?

A moment of silence passed between the three Force users. Then, “Why am I chained to the hospital bed?”

“No particular reason,” the Sith said sarcastically, “You only destroyed one of my best droids and attacked me…”

“Oh,” he coughed in embarrassment, “Sorry about that.”

“Anakin,” the long haired Master’s voice was exhausted and perhaps a little bit desperate.

“I said I am sorry…”

Qui-Gon turned towards the healer, “The temple will pay for all expenses.”

Obi-Wan sighed, but bowed to his fate. “I will release you, when I am finished here.”

Only now did Anakin realize what the ginger haired male was doing. He had been feeding the older Jedi, whose arms were bandaged and trembling.

Qui-Gon, who had followed his apprentice’s gaze, said, “Nothing to worry about. Simply a side effect of Xanatos’ torture. Obi-Wan says it will pass in a few days.”

“Xanatos?” Obi-Wan cut in, “You don’t mean Xanatos Du’Crion, do you?”

“You know him?” asked Anakin.

Obi-Wan nodded and brought another spoon full of mush to his patient’s lips, who obediently opened his mouth. He slid the spoon in further, turned it and took it out again, leaving its content behind. It was clear from just looking at him work, that he had done that a lot more than just one or two times. He then wiped a bit of the mush from his patient’s moustache afterwards.

“That boy is a fool. He sought me out one or two times, begging me to take him as my apprentice… that boy has as much talent for healing as a bantha for dancing.” He scoffed, “I couldn’t turn him down when he asked for medical attention however. And every time I think he is gone for good, he returns.” He shook his head and gave the Jedi Master something to drink from a small flask that had rested nearby.

Qui-Gon swallowed the cool water. “So he has bothered you in the past?”

“Yes,” another spoon, “though I wonder about the connection he has with you…” he trailed off, leaving the decision to speak to the two Jedi.

“He was… he was my Padawan once.”

Obi-Wan nodded in understanding. “My first apprentice died, stabbed himself with a poisonous blade,” he shook his head, but there was something sad in his eyes, “That was the day I decided to become a healer.”

“A noble decision.”

The Sith shrugged, “I like to think that this was the Force’s way of bringing me back on the right path, away from the darkness, back on a lighter path.”

Whatever Qui-Gon wanted to reply, had to wait, because as soon as he had opened his mouth, another spoon full of fruity – it was surprisingly tasty – mush, was shoved inside. He glared at his healer, who seemed completely unfazed by it.

“Lord Sanarus?” a metallic voice asked from the doorframe. Anakin recognized the droid as AI-72, the droid from the reception.

“Don’t call me that,” snapped the Sith healer, before he continued in a much calmer tone, “What is it?”

“You have a visitor, Sir. It is…” it didn’t come any further in its explanation, because in an instant, it was pushed aside by the Force.

The two Jedi knew exactly to whom the approaching Force presence belonged and Obi-Wan knew as well. He calmly put away the bowl and stood up, brushing imaginary dust off of his clothes, before stepping towards Anakin’s bed. There he opened the locks on the chains, freeing the Jedi. When he straightened up again, another figure stood on the threshold.

“I thought I made it clear that I do not want to see you in this facility ever again,” Obi-Wan’s tone was calm, but there was a certain undertone to it that sent shivers down Anakin’s spine and his eyes had turned gold.

“Believe me when I say that I wouldn’t be here, unless it was not very important.”

“And what could be so important that you come barging in like a possessed man, destroying my property?” he tilted his head and rested his hands on his hips, suspiciously close to his lightsaber.

The raven haired male leaned against the doorframe, his cold eyes had darted between the two Jedi and then back to the older dark side user. “You have something that belongs to me and I want it back.”

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrow in a challenging way, “And what would that be?”

“Two of my workers,” he looked pointedly at Anakin and Qui-Gon.

“Slavery is forbidden in this system and since they are not your slaves and therefore not your possession, they are free to leave whenever they like. If they get fired is another matter altogether.”

The raven haired male’s eyes narrowed and he took a threatening step forward. His right hand rested directly on the hilt of his lightsaber. “Those two are Jedi and my captives. I want them back and I want them now.”

To the Jedis’ surprise, did Obi-Wan only grin, “Jedi? Oh, you mean like the two Jedi, who were here on a negotiation mission, between the two clans behind the mountain border?”

“Don’t play coy with me, you know exactly that it was ME, who called for them.” Obi-Wan shrugged, “Prove it.”

Xanatos snarled in anger and his face was only inches away from the older males. Anakin and Qui-Gon briefly glanced at each other. They were witnessing a duel of dominance and they were not sure, who would win.

“It is your duty as a Sith to hand those Jedi over,” said Xanatos.

“One, IF I had to hand them over, then I certainly would not give them to you. Two, I could deal with them on my own, why would I need you and your ‘help’?” he scoffed at the last word, “And three, I don’t have to do anything. I am a healer and they have asked me for medical attention, therefore I am bound to help them. Not that you would understand what the words loyalty and honor mean.”

Xanatos’ eyes blazed in fury and he had his lightsaber halfway raised, when Obi-Wan made his move. Faster than any room’s occupants could look, he had a tight grip on his younger opponent’s wrist and with a well placed hit to the other’s elbow, a sickening crunch was heard. The raven haired man gasped in pain and clutched his arm, his lightsaber had fallen uselessly to the ground and one leather boot stood on it.

“I dare you to try that again, there are enough other weak points in your body and I know all of them,” Obi-Wan stood his ground.

Xanatos bared his teeth, but realization was clear in his cold and angry eyes. He knew that he was outmatched, especially without his lightsaber and with the other’s knowledge about the human anatomy.

“You will pay for that.” Obi-Wan simply opened his arms in a silent invitation, but Xanatos just sent him another hateful glance and turned tail, his lightsaber still under the healer’s boot. “He never deserved it anyway,” Obi-Wan mumbled and increased the pressure on the metal cylinder until a loud crack resonated in the room. When the ginger haired Sith stepped aside, the Jedi were able to see the sad remains of a functioning lightsaber, only the crystal seemed to be still in tact. Obi-Wan picked it up. “Is this Jedi property?” “The Jedi do not own red lightsaber crystals,” Anakin answered, still shocked from what he had just witnessed. He had never known his successor to be so submissive and to give in so easily. It had to mean that he truly feared Kenobi and if this were the case, things could get VERY ugly if they angered the healer. “Your loss,” Kenobi simply said and pocketed the crystal, before returning to his previous task. The air around him was still vibrating, but it was not as unpleasant and dangerous as before. —————– Anakin was surprised at the size and the openness of the facility. He would almost called it homely and cosy, but since he was talking about a medical station, he would NOT say that out aloud, ever. His Master was still in a final check up that Kenobi wanted to run after they had stayed for a couple of days and the Sith had forbidden Anakin from participating. He had mumbled something about hovering Jedi and their distracting emotions. Anakin was not sure if he had meant that seriously or in a sarcastic way, Kenobi was hard to read. Though Qui-Gon did NOT seem to have such problems, perhaps it was because he was an experienced Master and older. Then again, the Padawan HAD felt something between them and once more was he asking himself what exactly had happened in the time he had been unconscious. The sound of children’s laughter caught the young male’s attention and he quickly followed the commotion. He found himself in a large garden, the room reminded him a lot of the Room of a Thousand Fountains back in the temple. And to the Padawan’s surprise, there were children running around. Most of them had bandages, some looked a little too pale or a bit green and only a handful sat either in a wheelchair or were sleeping somewhere nearby. It was a merry and lively setting and the Padawan felt immediately influenced by the playing children’s joy. “The Living Force is strong here,” a baritone voice whispered behind him and Anakin had to admit that he flinched in surprise. He had not felt his Master approaching. “I wonder what they are doing here.” “They are patients,” an accented voice joined the conversation, “Most of them at least. Some simply like to visit.” The Sith stepped forward into the garden and it did not take long for him to get spotted. A high pitched squeak escaped one of the girls followed by a equally loud, “Obi-Wan,” and all hell broke loose. Faster than the Jedi had thought that the children could move, had they circled around the ginger haired male and all were trying to cling and to speak to him at once. Yet the Sith did not seem overwhelmed, he handled the situation with calmness and a smile on his lips. In this moment, the Sith looked like more a Jedi than a dark side user. “Master?” Anakin began, but when no form of acknowledgement came, he glanced to his right, where the tall man stood. Qui-Gon’s midnight blue eyes were resting on the scene before them. No, that was not right, noticed the Padawan. The older Jedi’s eyes were resting on Obi-Wan and only on him. The Sith chose this moment to look up as well and his ever changing blue-green eyes made contact with midnight blue ones. He was unguarded in this particular moment, no mask was covering his features or his Force presence and Qui-Gon’s heart suddenly beat faster. He couldn’t explain it what it was, not yet, but it felt pleasant and the tickling sensation in his stomach was quite welcome. It made him feel like a teenager again, even though he was not THAT old with his 43 years. He wondered how old Obi-Wan was. An almost shy smile appeared on the Sith’s features and he slowly turned back to the children, who were all competing for his attention and even though Qui-Gon wanted to stay here and watch the ginger haired man forever, he turned around and gave them their privacy. “Master!” The tone in which his title had been said, told Qui-Gon that he had been elsewhere with his mind and that Anakin had called him more than ones. “Forgive me Padawan, my focus was elsewhere,” namely on a walking sin that was called Obi-Wan Kenobi, who had the most handsome eyes the long haired man had ever seen. Strangely, Qui-Gon was always drawn to someone’s eyes first, it had also been so with Tahl, before she had made clear that they were both Jedi and therefore could NEVER be together. “And you always scold me, when I don’t pay attention,” the blonde pouted. “Of course I do, I am the Master after all,” he began to walk away from the happy scene and decided to return to his room. His legs were starting to protest and his stomach rebelled, he was hungry and he guessed that Anakin must be as well. The blonde sighed and let the topic drop, at least for now. “When will we leave?” “As soon as Obi-Wan deems us ready to leave. I have already contacted the Council and gave them my report, they too advised us to stay a little longer, but undoubtedly for other reasons.” “They want us to spy on Kenobi,” he concluded. A moment of hesitation, “Yes. But I won’t do it.” A groan escaped the younger male. “Master please,” he whined, “don’t defy the Council, not again.” It was not that he disliked Qui-Gon’s often rash decisions or that he actually liked the Council’s, but he was not very fond of the punishment they would receive. And as the man’s Padawan, he would be seen as partner in crime. “This is not about defying the Council, my VERY young student. This is about repaying the great favor Obi-Wan gave us.” “He is a Sith, Master,” it was only logic for the Council to want information from the Healer. “He saved both our lives and you should be more grateful,” his tone held no room for argument. “He did not have to help us as good as he did. Also, he could just have believed Xanatos’ words and handed us over.” From this perspective, Anakin could understand his Master’s decision. It didn’t mean that he had to like it. “I understand.” “Good, now let us return to our room, I’m getting tired.” ———— Anakin was surprised at the size and the openness of the facility. He would almost called it homely and cosy, but since he was talking about a medical station, he would NOT say that out aloud, ever. His Master was still in a final check up that Kenobi wanted to run after they had stayed for a couple of days and the Sith had forbidden Anakin from participating. He had mumbled something about hovering Jedi and their distracting emotions. Anakin was not sure if he had meant that seriously or in a sarcastic way, Kenobi was hard to read. Though Qui-Gon did NOT seem to have such problems, perhaps it was because he was an experienced Master and older. Then again, the Padawan HAD felt something between them and once more was he asking himself what exactly had happened in the time he had been unconscious. The sound of children’s laughter caught the young male’s attention and he quickly followed the commotion. He found himself in a large garden, the room reminded him a lot of the Room of a Thousand Fountains back in the temple. And to the Padawan’s surprise, there were children running around. Most of them had bandages, some looked a little too pale or a bit green and only a handful sat either in a wheelchair or were sleeping somewhere nearby. It was a merry and lively setting and the Padawan felt immediately influenced by the playing children’s joy. “The Living Force is strong here,” a baritone voice whispered behind him and Anakin had to admit that he flinched in surprise. He had not felt his Master approaching. “I wonder what they are doing here.” “They are patients,” an accented voice joined the conversation, “Most of them at least. Some simply like to visit.” The Sith stepped forward into the garden and it did not take long for him to get spotted. A high pitched squeak escaped one of the girls followed by a equally loud, “Obi-Wan,” and all hell broke loose. Faster than the Jedi had thought that the children could move, had they circled around the ginger haired male and all were trying to cling and to speak to him at once. Yet the Sith did not seem overwhelmed, he handled the situation with calmness and a smile on his lips. In this moment, the Sith looked like more a Jedi than a dark side user. “Master?” Anakin began, but when no form of acknowledgement came, he glanced to his right, where the tall man stood. Qui-Gon’s midnight blue eyes were resting on the scene before them. No, that was not right, noticed the Padawan. The older Jedi’s eyes were resting on Obi-Wan and only on him. The Sith chose this moment to look up as well and his ever changing blue-green eyes made contact with midnight blue ones. He was unguarded in this particular moment, no mask was covering his features or his Force presence and Qui-Gon’s heart suddenly beat faster. He couldn’t explain it what it was, not yet, but it felt pleasant and the tickling sensation in his stomach was quite welcome. It made him feel like a teenager again, even though he was not THAT old with his 43 years. He wondered how old Obi-Wan was. An almost shy smile appeared on the Sith’s features and he slowly turned back to the children, who were all competing for his attention and even though Qui-Gon wanted to stay here and watch the ginger haired man forever, he turned around and gave them their privacy. “Master!” The tone in which his title had been said, told Qui-Gon that he had been elsewhere with his mind and that Anakin had called him more than ones. “Forgive me Padawan, my focus was elsewhere,” namely on a walking sin that was called Obi-Wan Kenobi, who had the most handsome eyes the long haired man had ever seen. Strangely, Qui-Gon was always drawn to someone’s eyes first, it had also been so with Tahl, before she had made clear that they were both Jedi and therefore could NEVER be together. “And you always scold me, when I don’t pay attention,” the blonde pouted. “Of course I do, I am the Master after all,” he began to walk away from the happy scene and decided to return to his room. His legs were starting to protest and his stomach rebelled, he was hungry and he guessed that Anakin must be as well. The blonde sighed and let the topic drop, at least for now. “When will we leave?” “As soon as Obi-Wan deems us ready to leave. I have already contacted the Council and gave them my report, they too advised us to stay a little longer, but undoubtedly for other reasons.” “They want us to spy on Kenobi,” he concluded. A moment of hesitation, “Yes. But I won’t do it.” A groan escaped the younger male. “Master please,” he whined, “don’t defy the Council, not again.” It was not that he disliked Qui-Gon’s often rash decisions or that he actually liked the Council’s, but he was not very fond of the punishment they would receive. And as the man’s Padawan, he would be seen as partner in crime. “This is not about defying the Council, my VERY young student. This is about repaying the great favor Obi-Wan gave us.” “He is a Sith, Master,” it was only logic for the Council to want information from the Healer. “He saved both our lives and you should be more grateful,” his tone held no room for argument. “He did not have to help us as good as he did. Also, he could just have believed Xanatos’ words and handed us over.” From this perspective, Anakin could understand his Master’s decision. It didn’t mean that he had to like it. “I understand.” “Good, now let us return to our room, I’m getting tired.”

_____________

He was being shaken vigorously, as if the person waking him was panicked. “Just five more minutes,” he groaned and was about to turn over, when an all too familiar accented voice spoke loudly into his ear. “You might not have five more minutes, stand up!” Even the man’s usually calm tone was panicked and it caught the Padawan’s attention. Anakin was immediately wide awake and he sat up, almost colliding with the Sith standing over him. He noticed that Obi-Wan’s eyes had a haunted look, there was fear in their depths and his hair was in disarray too. Without giving an answer, the Healer moved to the Jedi Master, who was partly woken by the commotion next to him. “Qui-Gon, you have to get up and leave, quick.” “What?” bearded features looked at the younger male in confusion. “No time for questions, hurry!” He was out of the room again, shouting orders that the two Jedi could not quite make out. “What was this all about?” asked the blonde and he slowly got out of bed. “I don’t know, but we should do as he says.” As fast as they could, the Jedi dressed in their Jedi uniforms that were freshly washed. Then, they exited their rooms, only to be greeted by complete chaos. Droids were hovering, driving and running down the corridors. They were beeping and saying things to each other and to humans and other beings they had in tow. Some of the droids were carrying obviously ill patients, who looked on the verge of death, others were carrying supplies. And in the middle of the chaos, was Obi-Wan. He seemed to know what each droid was doing and he seemed to be directing them, while also running wildly around. “No, get the children and the women to safety first, then the men. CT-24 drop that and get back to the the third floor.” “Obi-Wan!” Qui-Gon yelled over the whole commotion. The Sith’s head turned to him, blue-green eyes recognizing the speaker. “No, no, evacuate the upper floors first.” He made his way towards the Jedi who had called, Qui-Gon met him halfway. The two Force users almost crashed into each other, but the long haired male grabbed the younger man’s elbows and held him close and steady, so that they would not be in the way of the working droids, at least not too much. “What’s the matter?” the taller male asked worried. “We are under attack. My scouts have informed me of a group of droids that are on their way here. There is no doubt what their goal is and… your former apprentice is leading them.” “Obi,” he wanted to apologize, but the Sith cut in. “I have to supervise the evacuation, excuse me.” He did not look too happy about letting go of the older man, but he did it nevertheless. Qui-Gon hurried to catch up with him, “Can we help?” He felt responsible for the attack and he didn’t want to see the ginger haired Healer in such distress. “No, yes… I don’t know. Get as many patients out if here as possible. Transports are waiting outside, they will bring them towards the villages beyond the mountain passage. They should be save there.” Qui-Gon nodded in understanding and pushed his chestnut brown hair out of his face, before turning to his apprentice, who had followed close behind. “You heard him Anakin, let’s go.”

The Master-Padawan-Team was surprised at how well the evacuation worked. They had experienced quite different things during their years together, bit Obi-Wan seemed to know exactly what he was doing. “Is everybody out?” Qui-Gon asked when the young Healer passed him one of the older patients. He carefully laid the old man onto a seat and gave the driver a sign to move. “Yes, except the droids and my heart, yes.” Qui-Gon wondered what THAT was supposed to mean and apparently his confusion had shown on his bearded features, for the young Sith hastily added, “This is my home Qui-Gon. I don’t know anything else… not anymore…” The Jedi Master felt guilt and sadness wash through him. They, he and Anakin, were responsible for this. He watched as the Sith climbed into the last transportation, the crucial cases were here and Obi-Wan had said that he wanted to keep an eye on them during the short drive. The Master sent a last glance towards the building that would soon be only ruins and followed the ginger haired male. He sat next to him. “Where is your Padawan?” it moved the Master to know that the Sith was concerned. “He travelled with the children.” Obi-Wan nodded. “Good, they could use the comfort.” “Obi-Wan? I’m truly so-” he was interrupted. “No! Don’t say it, I don’t want to hear it,” with a jolt their transport started moving. The Jedi sighed, “At least tell me if there is anything that I can do.” Blue-green eyes were suspiciously wet and Qui-Gon could not help himself, but to lay his arm over the other’s shoulder. To his surprise, Obi-Wan leaned into the contact. “I can’t think of anything.” And that from that brilliant mind of his. They may have known each other for only a few days, but to Qui-Gon the matter was clear. There was SOMETHING between him and the Sith Healer, though he did not exactly know the true nature yet. He only knew that the Force approved and that the Council most likely wouldn’t. The more reason for him to follow his heart. “You could come to the temple with me,” he did not say 'us’, he said 'me’. “To become a prisoner? I don’t think so.” He was about to pull away, but the older male did not allow it. “No, not as a prisoner, as a healer. I know I can convince the Council to accept you, especially after all you have done for Anakin and I.” Blue-green eyes avoided the other’s gaze. “I don’t think this is a good idea.” “What are you afraid of?” this was the inky explanation he could come up with. “I’m afraid of getting hurt again, of being alone and all on my own once more, I am afraid of being rejected.” The Sith’s hands clenched into fists and Qui-Gon unconsciously reached out with his free hand and covered them with his larger one. Obi-Wan looked startled at the contact, but then he relaxed and unclenched his fists, only to intertwine his finger’s with Qui-Gon’s. “You won’t be. I promise.” A shy smile appeared on the Healer’s features and it was the most beautiful thing Qui-Gon had seen. “Are you sure?” where was this nervousness coming from? “Yes, the temple can always use another talented Healer,” he hesitated, “And I would look forward to spending more time in your company.” Something sparkled in the smaller male’s eyes, it was a healthy mixture of mischief and sass. “Are you flirting with me, Master Jinn?” Qui-Gon huffed at the title, “Perhaps…” “What would that Code of yours say, hm?” he pretended to be scandalized. “In all honesty, the Code can go to hell.” There was no denying it. Now that Obi-Wan was so close and open, Qui-Gon could feel the bond between them pulse with life. “I’m rubbing off on you, I see.” He smiled cockily, which earned him a raised eyebrow.

Was it love between them? Qui-Gon was not sure. But he found that it didn’t really matter anyway. Whatever it was that connected them and formed the bond, it was pure and not influenced by darkness, that was enough for the Jedi Master. The rest would come in time, but for now, he would simply stay in the here and now and enjoy life and the Living Force and Obi-Wan at his side.

——— @quiobiweek

Yugyeom + 17 pleaseeeee

prompt: 17. “Sometimes you talk in your sleep.”group: GOT7pairing: kim yugyeom, yougenre: fluff fluff fluff, university!auwords: 1299 (agh i got carried away wow i love gyeom and besties!yugbam sm. i hope you enjoy, still!)

You spot a particular red head seated on the left side ofthe coffee shop, his extraordinary hair color standing out amidst regularlooking young adults enjoying a relaxing cup of their preferred beverage.Gulping down your nervousness, you glance at your boyfriend who seems to absorball the energy from you before you even made your way to your destination.

“I see him. Let’s go!” Yugyeom beams at you, linking yourarms together as he starts walking towards the door of the shop. Your feetwouldn’t move, and you bite your lower lip down to keep yourself from shakingbecause of your bubbling anxiety. Unfortunately, Yugyeom is quick with hissenses and shoots you a worried glance. “Something the matter, babe?”

“I—uh…” you stutter, not knowing how to explain theirrational thoughts swirling your head. Dating Yugyeom had been nothing butgenuine happiness brought into your life—you had met him last semester in yourdance class.

What was supposed to be a general education requirement youdecided to pass with a breeze became your catalyst in getting to know one ofthe most passionate and cheerful guy in your two years in university. You werenever really into dancing–it was the only class left available—but beingrandomly paired with the Kim Yugyeom made it the best and most memorable courseyou have taken so far.

You started dating just about the start of the semester ashe had finally gathered the courage to actually ask you on a real date. Thistime you weren’t graced with the opportunity to have him in similar lectures,but you were surprised as he still made the effort of finding the time to meetup with you to study together. As days passed by, your feelings couldn’t helpbut develop with them and you were beyond ecstatic with him confessing he feltthe same.

Since you only see him during your study dates, you haven’texactly had the opportunity of meeting his friends and vice versa—but Yugyeomthought it was time for that to change.

This is why you’re currently sweating in your armpits asyou only had a lucky shot with befriending Yugyeom, and eventually forming a romanticrelationship with him. When it comes to strangers, that’s a different story.

“Bambam’s nice,” Yugyeom reassures you, massaging circleson your back. You only give him a tight lipped smile, and so he kisses the topof your head lightly. “I’ll be here the whole time. You’ll be okay, yeah?”

Since you didn’t want to disappoint him for the first fewmonths of your relationship, you muster a deep breath before nodding your head,signaling you’re ready.

“Is this finally her?” Bambam stands up from his occupiedseat, taking off his circular shades that hid his cerulean blue orbs—whichYugyeom reminded you they were contacts. Quickly, you squirm under his gaze andinstinctively grab a hold onto Yugyeom’s arms. Bambam looks surprised, butYugyeom just dismisses a hand and guide you to sit across from his friend.

Yugyeom sits between the two of you, and your headcontinues to dip further down almost blending onto the table. Sighing inamusement, Yugyeom takes your hand into his and squeezes it tight. Through yourperipheral vision, you notice him looking at Bambam and the latter respondswith a curious expression.

“I’m Bambam! Don’t worry, I’m not as intimidating as myhair looks,” Bambam introduces himself, a bashful grin spreading across his face.Lifting your head up, you notice his friendly features and your hand is gentlysqueezed by your boyfriend beside you. You suddenly feel yourself coming to anease, and you return his smile by introducing yourself as well.

“Oh, no need. I know everything about you,” Bambam chides,nudging Yugyeom’s shoulder playfully.

“Ah, Bam, don’t say that!” Yugyeom interjects, cheeksgetting flustered. Cocking your head to the side, you ask curiously, “What todo you mean?”

Yugyeom’s best friend gives you a suggestive wink as hiseyes twinkle in excitement. Hearing Yugyeom groan outwardly, your nerves beginto rile up within you once again.

“Just how wonderful and beautiful and amazing you are,”Bambam starts off, nodding his head in thought. “He’d always come to me forhelp in asking you out on your dates, and when he gets back I’m the onereceiving all the mushy gushy feelings he’d felt while he was with you.”

Your nerves soon turn into a warm embrace, and you look atYugyeom with his ears going red along with his cheeks to his neck. Yourintertwined hands never leave one another, but you feel his grip gettingloosening by the second.

“He’s never shown me your face though, thinking I’d comestealing you away from him,” Bambam ponders on. “But I’m pretty sure you won’tlet anyone take you away anymore, right?”

Your cheeks begin radiating a pink glow as Bambam directlyasked you a question. But without skipping a beat any further, you nodsolemnly, quipping back in a soft tone, “Of course not. Yugyeom’s been really,really amazing.”

The embarrassed boy beside you slowly turns towards yourfigure, and you grip his hand while placing it against your cheek.

“I didn’t know you gossiped about me, Gyeom,” you mutterteasingly, and your boyfriend pouts outwardly to you. Whining cutely, hecounters, “What can I say? You’re one of a kind, baby.”

“Alright, hold up. Not here, kids,” Bambam interrupts, hishands waving frantically between the two of you. Laughing simultaneously, youlean back to your seats and ease into casual conversations with one another,finally leaving the nervous phase of this meet up.

“By the way,” Bambam suddenly chirps in the middle ofconversation, and your ears perk up as Yugyeom sighs yet again. “What is itthis time, Bam?” He asks, slightly annoyed. Peering his eyes at his bestfriend, Bambam continues, “I’m all for you staying the night in our dorm andall. I’ll just find somewhere else to crash—“

“Bam—“

“But after you guys do the deed and all that—“

“Bambi—“

“I should just tell you now that sometimes he talks when hesleeps,” Bambam wins over his and Yugyeom’s clashing voices while you, on theother hand, sits still in your place amused at the bickering but at the sametime flushed with the thought of you sleeping in the same bed with Yugyeomeventually—and that Bambam approves of this.

“What? Am I wrong, you do sometimes talk when you sleep,”Bambam repeats a matter-of-factly, and you couldn’t help but a release a shortgiggle. Yugyeom shoots you a look of defeat, disappointed that you sided withhis best friend.

“I don’t mind, babe. I might even record you when I docatch you talking,” you muse out loud as Yugyeom’s eyes widen in fear. “Youwouldn’t,” he pleads.

“You should!” Bambam says supportively. Raising youreyebrows, you shrug innocently as it seems you have won. Yugyeom drops his headon the table with a thump, his straight jet black hair following suit. Thesight endeared your heart, and you managed to pat the silky surface whilesaying, “It’s okay, Gyeom. I accept you together with your flaws. I don’t eventhink it’s something to be shy about. It’s cute!”

“You think so?” Yugyeom whispers beneath the mahoganytable. Nodding your head, you place a chaste kiss on his head. “Yes, baby,” youconfirm with a chirp.

“Ah, you guys aremeant for each other,” Bambam observes with a joking groan. You just laughalong, knowing deep inside that you do still have a lot to learn about Yugyeom,but as you start to be introduced to these quirky habits of his, you’re excitedfor what’s to come next.

JACE: -BREAK TIME. after doing his postal worker thing all morning, jace is parking himself outside the forest to unwind for his lunch hour with a nice little picnic set up. he's got his foodibles, and his tech, watching the video feed on his tablet for any signs of spirits dwelling within the forest, and their behaviors should he capture any. he's a little uneasy, wondering if kougah is around... but at the same time, he kind of hopes he sees him. he's not sure what he wants to say to him, if anything, but the desire is still there.-

KOUGAH: =He's always here. But he has been taking care of his usual rancher duties, having combed the entire forest twice with not a sign of Kikiyo he wonders what to even do. Something. Surely. The devices made to calm the spirits have, thus far, been mere bandages with numbing salve covering angry wounds.= 

KOUGAH: =There is a rustle in some shrubbery and Kougah approaches. Silent and hanging by the treeline, waiting to be acknowledged so to not disturb anything=

JACE: -flinches at the sound, like he always does at sudden noises, but his peripheral vision shows him that it's just kougah... he wasn't expecting to feel indigant at the sight of him, but here he is, lifting his head and huffing a sigh in acknowledgement. sometimes he forgets he has those petty strider genes. he doesn't want to look at him directly yet. but he will steal a quick glance... you know, just to make sure it really is him.- 

JACE: Hi Kougah.

KOUGAH: ... =This is an unusual greeting from Jace but he likely deserves this. Actually context clues from their last encounter gives him a good idea so he stays where he is= Hello Jace.

JACE: ... 

JACE: How are you??? -exchanges pleasantries in the most passive aggressive way he can manage. he's not very good at it.-

KOUGAH: ... 

KOUGAH: 1 am... Hm. 

 KOUGAH: =Eyeballs Jace= 

KOUGAH: Pard0n my g01ng 0ff the s0c1al scr1pt but, h0w are y0u. 1nstead.

JACE: Im fine!! 

 JACE: ... No Im not!!! -sighs and turns to look at him, but his expression falls to an imploring one.- 

JACE: Joel... He told me what you did... To Rammie...

KOUGAH: =Nods= 1 suspected as much.... 1 sh0uld've asked clearly up0n meet1ng y0u 1f y0u were 0f cl0se relat10ns w1th her. 

KOUGAH: 1 ap0l0g1ze f0r n0t d01ng s0. =deeper nod=

JACE: Yeah, you should have! 

JACE: Because you knew Joel was my brother, and you must have known they were close with the way you were acting around him...! I... -looks down at the ground, brows knit.- 

JACE: I dont know what to think now... I dont really understand.

KOUGAH: Y0ur frustrat10n 1s understandable and enc0uraged. 

KOUGAH: ...Anger. 

KOUGAH: 1 ap0l0g1ze f0r c0nfus1ng y0u.

JACE: -continues to avoid looking at him.- I really liked-- 

JACE: -covers his face with one hand. hhhh.- 

JACE: I like hanging out with you... And working on these projects with you! I want to be able to do that still. But I cant if... 

JACE: If I dont know what happened, at least...

KOUGAH: =Silent for a moment= 

KOUGAH: She wandered 1nt0 the f0rest, presumably t0 hunt. 

KOUGAH: She hunted and k1lled my br0ther. 

KOUGAH: I r1ghted the wr0ng w1th her 0wn bl00d.

JACE: -looks at him then with wide eyes. joel said it was a misunderstanding...- Your brother?

KOUGAH: Yes. 

KOUGAH: As alpha, as a fam1ly member, 1 refused t0 n0t seek 1mmed1ate vengence.

JACE: But thats--!! 

JACE: Thats not how that should work???? -starts getting more visably upset.- Shes a person! Not an animal! Its different! 

JACE: -immediately regrets his words and quiets, eyes downcast again. that's probably not a very sensitive thing to say.-

KOUGAH: =If Kougah was offended by it he doesn't act like it. His voice is still even though his expression does falter from stoicism. Inhales softly and exhales= ........ S0 1've been t0ld. 

KOUGAH: But 1 stand by 1t.

JACE: I just... I just mean... -rubs at his eyes.- 

JACE: I dont know what I mean...

KOUGAH: 1t's s0meth1ng y0u're n0t used t0. =He needs a tissue.... but Kougah is hesitant to approach still= 

KOUGAH: Y0u weren't ra1sed w1th the same bel1efs and standards as 1 was. N0r 1 y0ur standards and bel1efs. 

KOUGAH: 1 understand the an1m0s1ty t0wards me and 1 w1ll n0t deny y0u that r1ght.

JACE: -sniffles- Thats not how I feel. 

JACE: I want to be angry... Mostly Im just sad. 

JACE: I want to be your... friend. But I dont know if I can be if you think that kind of thing is okay! Or that its necessary, I guess.

KOUGAH: 1'm s0rry f0r that..... 

KOUGAH: ...Currently 1 am b0und by man's law. 

KOUGAH: G1ven my status t0... the t0wn. 

KOUGAH: All 0f the rangers are c1t1zens 0f Aval0n by law. Regardless 0f h0w 1 feel, what 1 bel1eve, 1 am unable t0 act acc0rd1ngly. =They made that very clear... he even has to change his pelt for roaming town. Closer to the knee. Bah.=

JACE: -now THAT is a crime.- 

JACE: -but no, that's hardly a reassurance, and he's upset all over again.- Well, thats great!! Id murder people if I could, but alas!!!

KOUGAH: 1 d0n't seek any0ne 0ut f0r any reas0n. =Murder is an ugly word.... that's something that happens without provocation= 

KOUGAH: My fam1ly was wr0ng and 1 avenged my br0ther. 

KOUGAH: Wh0 1s st1ll g0ne wh1le she r0ams. 1mpress1ve as 1t 1s 1 feel 1 had fa1led 1n s0me aspect.

JACE: You didnt fail!! She still died! She still had to go through that! 

JACE: Ugh... Were just going in circles now... -sniffles and starts to gather up his things. but even as he does so, he feels hesitant to leave, strangly enough. or maybe it isn't so strange, given what poor judgement he clearly has. but he can't help feeling like there's still something that can make this okay... though, that might just be what he wants to believe.- 

JACE: It doesnt make any difference to you, does it?

KOUGAH: 1t d0es. 1 adm1re her return... but. Truthfully. 1t st1ll makes me angry. 

KOUGAH: As 1 sa1d 1 d0n't expect y0u t0 understand 0r relate, but my br0ther's rest feels r0bbed. 

KOUGAH: The dues were pa1d. But... 1t's n0t fa1r. H0wever that's..... wh1n1ng. And 1 d0n't 1ntend 0n caus1ng m0re pa1in.

JACE: -turns towards him again once his belongings are tucked away.- ... 

JACE: Im sorry about your brother.

KOUGAH: =Watches him... then nods= ..Thank y0u. 

KOUGAH: 1'm s0rry f0r upsett1ng y0u.

JACE: -shuffles his feet, lingering still.- Its... All pretty complicated, huh?

KOUGAH: 1t 1s. 

KOUGAH: S0 1 d0n't expect y0u t0 c0me t0 any c0nclus10n 0ne way 0r the 0ther. 

KOUGAH: 0nly that 1 respect y0ur ch01ce. 

KOUGAH: =Watches Jace silently then grunts softly= S1mply d0 what y0u feel w0uld put y0u m0st at ease.

JACE: -wringes his hands together.- Truth be told, Im very at ease! So its hard for me to know what makes me feel... most at ease!

KOUGAH: ...D0 y0u n0t exper1ence var1ed levers 0f anx1ety when c0ns1der1ng y0ur 0pt10ns 0r be1ng 1n certa1n s1tuat10ns? =Sniffs the air a bit... he could've sworn he smelled it a few times=

JACE: Well... Sure... But something like this? 

JACE: Logic tells me I shouldnt... be your friend but... -pauses to glance away.- 

JACE: When I think about that, I just feel worse.

KOUGAH: Ah..... 

KOUGAH: Hm. 

KOUGAH: There 1s n0th1ng that can be d0ne f0r what 1 d1d...but. 

KOUGAH: 1n 0rder t0... make y0u feel. Better... ab0ut what 1t 1s y0u may want. 1 w0uld 0ffer t0. D0 what 1 can. 

KOUGAH: =Something shifts in the forest and he watches but it's nothing.= 1 w0uld, truthfully and self1shly, enj0y c0nt1nu1ng t0 see y0u.

JACE: -usually he'd be spooked by the noises of the forest, but he's too distracted listening to kougah. his heart is racing all the same.- Ill have to think about that. 

JACE: I guess Ill have some time to do that... 

JACE: Oh. I should mention, Im going away for a little while.

KOUGAH: ...0h? 

KOUGAH: May 1 ask where? =Looks back to Jace=

JACE: -nods- Sure. Um... Im going to study some temples on LOFAF. 

JACE: Do you know of it?

KOUGAH: N0. 1'm unfam1l1ar w1th 1t. 

KOUGAH: But 1 can read up 0n 1t.

JACE: -brightens up a little, taking this as an opportunity to explain the culture of the place.- Its a small consort planet... Its mainly seen as a pit stop on the way to bigger planets like Earth or Lauctis, but there are some tourist traps there as well... LOFAF as the abbrevation for the colloquial name Land of Frost and Frogs... Um, the technical, documented name escapes me... 

JACE: But anyway, it snows there almost all year long. So there are ski resorts and stuff. Theres a dormant volcano there though... And during the warmer months, when the snow melts, its easier to access these temples around that area. Theyre shrines dedicated to a legendary beast named Echidna. Shes supposed to be uh-- 

JACE: -stops suddenly and looks embarrassed about his rambling. he almost forgot he's supposed to be UPSET with him still.- Well... You can probably read about that yourself.

KOUGAH: =As Jace spoke and explained things Kougah watches with the same stern expression but his eye light a little= 

KOUGAH: 1 w1ll d0 that. 

KOUGAH: M0st def1n1tely.

JACE: Okay. 

JACE: ... Yeah. Okay. Um. Im just going to... Go back to work now. I should hurry and finish my shift anyway because I have plans tonight too. 

JACE: Kind of like a date thing. 

JACE: Or something. -why did he say that... he knows why... he wants to see his reaction... that's so shitty. or is it? he really can't tell in this situation.-

KOUGAH: =HE IS STONE. But the light does fade back to normal and he nods. He's not allowed to react it's not like he's even on the same tier as Jace though= 

KOUGAH: 1 h0pe that g0es well. Y0u deserve t0 have a g00d t1me. 

KOUGAH: Have a safe tr1p, Jace. =Disappears on a small tornado... only that's just him running back into the treeline and disappearing=

JACE: -HHHH. not much of a reaction... what was he even fishing for? STUPID STUPID DUMB!! he watches him disappear before heaving a sigh and making his way back towards his route.-

Reposts of Previous Posts on Multitasking

Though it does say “gaming,” it will mostly be on StarCraft.

=====

So today, we’re going to take a short change of pace and I’m going to reveal how I approach certain problems, especially in competitive aspects.

After my ladder games on Saturday, I noticed a few things:

1. I am losing due to terrible mechanics, since I am forcing myself to micro a lot more

2. I didn’t know the meta

So #2 was fixed by just watching a lot of GSL, but #1…is the purpose of the discussion today.

My multitasking, in its current state, is a problem. Right now I will solve the approach to it, in order to facilitate maximum effectiveness when I go to practice it.

As in solving any problem, it helps to identify all of the different factors, the exact problem, and perhaps a few approaches to solving that we can test out.

Well, since this is a multitasking problem, maybe it would help to list all of the things I have to do? I am going to group them into a few categories:

Macro: Build workers, drop mules, build units, get supply depots, specific upgrades, army upgrades, expansions, build static D, build more unit producing structures

Micro: Harassment control, large army control (sometimes both), includes strategic building placement

Careful watching: Minimap, money, bottom screen, alerts

The problem lies in the fact that my eyes can only be in one place at a time, and I can really only be doing one thing at a time. Furthermore, my screen can really only be in one place at a time. I play a VERY high APM race, and my style is high APM in general. It always has been, but I elected to lose a few units for better macro. The new approach is an attempt to optimize both.

There is peripheral vision, which can be utilized, but how effective is it truly? There is no sense in relying upon it, that is a recipe for disaster.

The eyes must almost always lay near the minimap after 3 minutes, as crazy shit could happen, or you might miss a probe off to do something devious…though it may be detrimental to stare at the minimap all of the time, as I know some players only look at the minimap when they are sure something is coming.

However, peripheral vision on the minimap is quite useful for a lot of players. Some players barely look at their minimap, but when they see a red dot show up, they utilize it fully.

Now that I’ve listed what I need to do, let’s list my possible attributes: Hand speed (including execution speed), mental processing speed, vision speed…interestingly enough, all of the speeds in this one book I read come into play. Vision speed, processing speed, decision speed, actual execution speed, and alteration speed (not applicable in this context). Decision speed can be reduced to almost 0 with a lot of practice (familiarity), the rest I already have really good except execution speed - I need to speed that up for my mouse. That comes with practice.

The biggest bear to tackle is - what should I focus on? What should I be doing at the time? Sometimes it’s just unrealistic to both macro and micro at the same time. Big teamfights especially, but there are little windows to squeeze them in. There should be.

Let’s lay down a few requirements for the solution, given all of the above:

=I must be able to have almost constant vision on my minimap =From time to time, I need to be able to glance at my money =Despite nearly constant micro, I need to be able to produce units at the same time =I need to be able to skip my screen away from whatever I am currently microing to drop mules, or place buildings

A few immediate conclusions we can draw from the requirements:

=In the middle of intense micro situations, /all screen time away from the micro must be as short as possible/ =Since I want to keep my eyes on the minimap, and generally I need to look at what I’m doing, /I should do as much micro as I can using the minimap as possible/. [An example is Brood War PvZ Corsairs hunting down overlords. Let’s be real…do I really need to skip to them and baby them as they hunt around the map? I just can right-click somewhere on the map, and if I see a lone red dot, I tell them to attack it. If I see a bunch of red dots, then I jump my screen to it to see what it is] =I do need to check my money from time to time…but even just darting my eyes in that direction can be dangerous. I need to know if I’m being close to supply blocked…so it’s an action I need to buy myself time for =Because my eyes are centered near the minimap, it makes a lot of sense to have my in-game timings based off of the CLOCK rather than SUPPLY =The bottom bar is right next to the hotkeys, it’s convenient when cycling through my control groups to check on production =It’s unrealistic to think that I can macro off of feel completely. At least in the beginning stages, therefore tapping is important. =I should try to have the units I’m microing closer to the bottom of the screen, so it’s near the minimap =Though there will be a lot of clicking on the minimap, my mouse accuracy isn’t the best so it’s honestly best to minimize that by using control groups as much as possible =I can literally see everything by looking at the minimap…it might sound dumb but in some instances I can actually be clicking on the screen via peripheral vision, but my eyes are actually on the minimap =I should keep my eyes resting on the corner between the minimap, the bottom screen, and the edge from the HUD to the actual screen =More vague; our setup must be as foolproof as possible, and not change throughout the course of the game =It’s a little unfortunate because in Brood War, we had minimap pings, which made staring at the minimap even more beneficial. In Starcraft 2, we don’t have that…but maybe little things like seeing an SCV idle next to a building could indicate to us that it’s done.

From these, we can draft a few procedures, and a few things to do.

1. Since midgame plans/openers are usually predetermined, it makes a lot of sense to pre-prepare macro hotkey sequences 2. Since a lot of actions are quite common throughout the game, it makes sense to practice the shit out of them, and have a hotkey setup that makes such an action capable of being done quickly (I have already done this) 3. Such sequences also offer us an opportunity to gaze at the other things in the control group (since we can only have one selection at a time, it makes sense to gaze at other things whilst having that bottom thing selected) 4. In whatever intense micro situation we’re in, the necessary units we are controlling must be able to be selected quickly. Either that means our mouse is floating near them, or they are hotkeyed.

In short, our actions can be split up into two categories: those that require screentime, and those that don’t. For example, if you know the Terran isn’t dropping mines, and he’s got a marine drop at your base, you do need screentime to move the drones away, but you can actually micro the zerglings on the minimap (if your mouse accuracy is good enough) and keep your screen someplace else (perhaps injecting or moving your main army?)

The goal of this setup is to create a set of procedures that will keep our screen where it needs to be, and perform all other actions via alternate means.

So here we go!

1. Reduce the amount of clicks/button presses to accomplish a single action. This isn’t Brood War; spam move commands are actually just not necessary. Even in Brood War, good progamers rarely spammed move commands until it was an INTENSE micro situation. And even if the did, the fit as many macro motions in between the clicks as possible, or the took little breaks to squeeze in some macro motions.

2. Be able to control with “partial glances.” It’s JUST like texting and driving (don’t ask why I know that, I don’t do it I SWEAR but I thought a lot about how to do it if I were to do it because I know people that do it and I wanted to show them a safe way…) LOL. The key to “safe” texting and driving is to hold the phone up in a location near the road, and drive with peripheral vision, but glance up and down constantly. Macro actions (texting) are a lot less time-sensitive than micro actions (driving).

3. Glance up at your money during the most uninteresting part of the hotkey cycle, or every time you’re microing and your units get near the top or right corners of the screen. For example, the best time to check your money is when you build your units. Why? Well, assume you’re not controlling at the moment, like honestly what good is staring at your bottom bar during all of your production? You should know how many units you need to make by heart (unless you’re Zerg), and Protoss just spam clicks until the run out of gates/money. So really it’s only Terran that needs to count their units.

4. Don’t STARE at your money. I mean do you really need to? In fact, just dart your eyes up there and don’t think about it. The information will come to you a little later, but that’s okay. You process things surprisingly long after you see them.

5. Any action that requires any sort of waiting must be done in segments. For example, swapping Terran buildings. If you lift a building, the move command will not register until it is in the air. Or for example, unsieging tanks. Every time you do something like this, either use it as an excuse to do something else, or you can perform a quick screen switch. But do return immediately, or not too long after. Try not to start too many of these sequences. We will consider these actions as micro.

6. We need a foolproof process to do all of this. A foolproof cycle that we can just repeatedly run “MINDLESSLY,“ because our brains do not have any more capacity, and we need to reserve a little bit of brain energy for any mixups that they may throw at us.

So here is the flowchart:

1. Do I need to control right now? Yes (70% of the time), go to 2. No, go to 3.

2. Does my screen need to be on the unit? (For example, a hellion checking for expos doesn’t, but a mine drop may). If yes (which will be 90% of the time), go to 6. If not, go to 8.

3. Keep eyes rested between minimap and bottom screen, keep tap cycle going, which is [command centers/upgrade buildings; do I need to be making workers?] -> [production: do I need to make units? If necessary, click on one to check progress, or use the c screen hotkey to check briefly] -> am I making supply depots? -> move to 4

4. Is there a macro action that needs screen time? For example, building new production buildings, swapping buildings, building depots, or dropping mules? If so, do them now. -> move to 5

5. What’s next in my build? Do that. -> go to 1.

6. Are you controlling more than one group? If yes, EYES GLUED TO THE PART BETWEEN THE MINIMAP AND THE BOTTOM SCREEN. Hotkeys are crucial here, use the selection to judge the rough health of the units. Whichever group is doing worse, focus on that. Focus more on setting up for powerful positions where you don’t have to look at them. When controlling the more high priority one, every single opportunity when you can control the low priorit one, use the minimap to do so. Skip back for a bit if it’s worth, such as picking up some units and leaving, but only if the higher priority screen is set up. Throughout this entire time, think FIND AN EXCUSE TO MACRO [i.e. perform step 3]. Do not invest your 100% into micro, that will cost you - invest about 80%, so 20% of micro is autopilot and that frees up a bit of room to macro. Loop until engagement ends, then return to 1. If not, go to 7.

7. Only controlling one group: keep your screen there, looking for any excuse to macro. Look for any excuse to skip back if possible, to perform a segmented action (such as swapping buildings) Loop until done, then return to 1.

8. Micro via minimap, whilst performing step 3 and 4. Loop until complete, then return to 1.

This may seem a little complicated, but the tl;dr is

Micro, less clicks the better. If you can keep our screen elsewhere, do it, but eyes between the minimap and the bottom bar. You’re controlling the whole time, and tapping when you get a chance, but every time you make a unit (or every 5 taps), briefly glance at the money [while you’re making the unit]. (Tap sequence is SCV -> army -> depots -> tech/expand/upgrades/simcity routine check, last step is ignored in battle). If not microing, keep your screen for all of the screen-required actions, and do other things while you do those, keeping your eyes in the neutral position as much as possible.

Here’s a few of my pre-set keyboard sequences [bracketed means simultaneousl]:

TAPPING [whilst controlling harass or something, substitute r with 34567 if necessary]: wrer or wewer PRODUCTION CYCLE MID MICRO: wffr for workers, e[fd][fd][sg][gs]r[glance at workers] for 4 marines and 4 marauders. Notice how I always select my harass again! DROPPING MULES MID MICRO: [xw]d(click)d(click)rr DEPOT MID MICRO (assuming they are not where they need to be): (capslock to select the workers)(right click where they need to go on minimap, or use screenkey if that’s where it is)r micro a bit (capslock)fa(click)fa(click)[glance at money while clicking]rr

Let’s see how this works, it should cover everything!

======

So yesterday, we discussed a general framework for multitasking. The idea was essentially to float our eyes in the “trifecta” between the minimap, bottom selection screen, and the actual screen. If not microing, then we would put our screen where it needed to be, whilst simultaneously tapping, and glancing up at the food here and there, as well as whenever we produced army units. If microing, we would put our screen on the micro portion if necessary (and if microing multiple armies, we can maybe let micro slip a little, oscillate between them, favoring the more attention-heavy engagements), and then control with as few clicks as possible and tap through our hotkeys. If an opportunity is given, we shoot our screen away to do a screen-necessary task, such as depots, or expanding.

Today I wanted to explore a different idea of multitasking - one having to do with strict pre-set build orders.

First, however, a few things need to be in place:

1. I need to thoroughly have the build order flushed out 2. I need to know all of the current “trendy” Protoss builds, and have done my homework by creating a list of scout timings, as to remove this task from my brain IN the game 3. Determine exactly how many units at what clock time he can have [rough estimate], as well as moments that are particularly scary for him, and moments that are particularly scary for me 4. Determine exactly, during my scout timings, what I am looking for, and have all of the conclusions/pre-responses planned out, so I can execute with as little thought as possible. This gives me brain space to focus on my mechanics, as well as in-game intelligence gathering, such as counting units. 5. Determine what I will hotkey to what, and where I will place my buildings 6. Determine when little scuffles will occur based on our build orders

Since the early game is so structured and ordered, we can sort of use a crutch until we get to mid-late game, when our framework can take over. If at any point we deviate too far from our build, however, we can abandon the crutch and rel on the framework.

So the first thing we should do is look at our build order, and look at the times when the most micro-intensive actions will occur. We will then plan around it, and create a few foolproof precautions. We can even use the micro situation as reminders for the timing of the build - which is crucial if the micro situation is really intense. For example, say I am doing the Fantasy Build vs 12 Hatch (Brood War TvZ, which is kind of funny because iLoveOov actually created the build). I can say to myself “on a medium-sized map like Destination, my Factory goes down just before my scout gets to his base.” So if I am microing my scout on my way to his base because I saw some early lings out, I’ll know, without having to look at my money, that I need to throw down the factory.

The scout in this build is usually a secondary consideration, since you’re kind of eyeing it on the minimap, and it’s not too hard assuming he doesn’t have the Jaedong slowling vs worker micro. We know that about 10 seconds after you throw down that Factory, the standard third hatch will go down for Zerg, so we send our SCV to block that hatch. (This time, the logic is working on reverse) Also, a little into the SCV-being-chased-by-lings and Vulture is about a third of the way through the map (halfway on Destination), that is the time to throw down the CC.

As our Vulture gets to his base, we’re looking to start the Control Tower on our Starport, start Ion Thrusters on our Machine Shop, and keep up vulture production. Shortly after, we will be starting the armory. So as I’m microing Vulture, I’m tapping, and in the back of my head, I’m thinking “Control Tower, Vulture speed, Armory” the entire time. If you’ve practiced this build enough times (as I have), you’ll know, during the micro portion, when to make workers, etc. For example, 10 seconds after you throw down the control tower you have to make another Vulture. That’s like unnecessarily precise, but nice to have.

About the time they go for their third hatch and you’re chasing the drone, that’s about when the Control Tower finishes, so look to be starting your dropship. This part is a bit dangerous, since if they suck, you’ll be late, but luckily you have a minimap ping. I typically know when they should go for the third hatch though, since it’s just a little bit after I start my third vulture. As the dropship comes out, and you send it across the map, that’s also roughly second gas time. During the first vulture drop is Academy/Ebay time for me.

This is a very useful technique for me personally - tying in whatever planned micro I have to do with whatever is going on in my build. The reason this additional association works, as opposed to going only by food counts or clock timing, is because I take out the intermediate step of having to consult the clock or the food count. (If I had to pick between the two, I choose the clock) This strategy is also effective in the sense that we can tap a little less, and if depot timings are pre-programmed, that’s very good as well, since they’re a lot less likely to be forgotten. It’s a little dumb to say you’ll plan out every SCV you’ll build, but things like “during this Reaper micro, I get my Reactor on my barracks, start a Factory, and get my CC” as really useful. Because I know what’s going on at home, during the reaper harass, I’ll be looking for any moment I can to jump home and start those buildings. I personally would forget them otherwise, since I just don’t have the focus to micro a reaper, and check my food and realize “oh, at this point, I throw X thing down!” whilst keeping up my worker production. What’s nice about this is that there’s really only 3 things at most that is part of our build at any given point in time that we have to pay attention to.

We may even go as far as to plan the actual input sequence. here’s one for building a depot while microing a reaper..

a-click, move, w, e, a-click, move, [caps lock, c], right click on screen, rr, a-click, move, a-click, slightly longer move command, caps lock caps lock fa click shift+Z right-click, rr a-click, move

Why? Because I know there’s a depot I need to build mid-reaper!

This does not have to be planned before the game as well. Say I am almost through +1 weapons, and I want to start +2 immediately after. At the same time, I am sending like 5-6 hellions into someone’s base, and I want to control them. I also want to mule, but don’t quite have the energy yet. This is assuming I want optimal play, because normally people just delay the upgrades a bit. Let us assume that we HAVE to send the hellions in now, since there are spines on the way, but they’re not quite up yet.

So I will send my hellions in, control with as few clicks as possible, while tapping, and in the back of my head I am thinking “+2, mule, +2, mule” with my eyes on the minimap as much as possible. So then the engagement may go something like this…

rr a-click right click right click a-click wewer a-click right click a-click a-click wffefdfdsggsr a-click w [noticed that +1 finished] space space [cycles to my armories] fff rr a-click right click a-click (wx) d-click d-click rr

Micro sequences with macro in the background occur much better when they are planned. We do NOT have to delve blindly in terms of sequencing and prioritize on the spot, when we can have a somewhat planned sequence that enables us to do both.

And if at any point our build falls apart, we have a framework to fall back on.

Perhaps this was why Brood War pros could literally have the most insane micro while having a perfect build in the beginning…we will see. I will give this some experimentation, after I painstakingly hammer out a build for each matchup on each map…