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themagnuswriters · 4 years

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Writing a Muslim Character

The Mods of the Magnus Writers discord server and community are putting together a variety of resources for Magnus Archives fan creators; these have been collated from articles on the topics, our own experiences, and the experiences of the members of the Magnus Writers discord. These are definitely not comprehensive or the only viewpoints out there, and are by no means meant as a way to police fanworks, but as a way to support and inspire fan creators in creating thoughtful and diverse works. Please note that external links will be added in a reblog to outsmart tumblr’s terrible tagging system, so make sure to check those out as well!

This resource in particular was put together by Mod Jasmine: hi, all!

While there are no canonically Muslim characters in TMA, Muslim headcanons are common in fanworks—particularly for Basira, and sometimes Jon (which I love to see!). I have cobbled together this post from my own experiences to help support and inform fans in these areas, and as part of my diabolical plan to get more Muslim!Basira and Muslim!Jon fics to shove into my brain.

First, two gigantic caveats:

I was raised Sunni Muslim in Egypt, which is a majority Sunni Muslim country, and still live there. This means my experience will be very different from someone raised in a majority Christian country like the UK, and different again if they are not Sunni and not Arab.

I am currently ex-Muslim. This does not mean I bear any ill will towards Islam or Muslims, just that it wasn’t for me, and I felt it was important to be upfront about that. I’ll be linking to resources by practicing Muslims in the reblog to this post, whether to add to my opinions and experiences or provide you with a different opinion. I am not here to put my voice over that of Muslims, just to do some of the work so they don’t have to. Obviously, if any Muslims have any additions or suggestions for this post, I’m happy to accommodate them.

Alright. Now that that’s out of the way, let’s get started with the basics of writing a Muslim character.

(Warning: this is absurdly, absurdly long)

Basics:

Muslims follow two main sources of religious instruction: Quran and Hadith.

The Quran is the holy book, considered to be dictated by the angel Gabriel to the Prophet Mohammed, who then relayed what he was told to his followers. It is composed of surahs, or chapters, which have individual ayat, or verses. There are no varying versions of the Quran, later additions, or anything considered lost in translation. Any Arabic Quran is considered to be the same text that the Prophet Mohammed relayed, unchanged. As a result, while Muslims can debate interpretations of the Quran (although that’s often still left to the scholars), none debate the actual words of the text.

Hadith, meanwhile, are the sayings or teachings of the Prophet Mohammed. Their validity can be disputed, as they were written by his followers after his death, and mainly depend on having several witnesses for a specific saying or situation. The more witnesses there were, the more valid the hadith is considered to be.

When in doubt or should there be any contradiction between the Quran and Hadith, Muslims will always refer to the Quran first and foremost.

Denominations:

The bigggest (but not only!) divisions of Islam are Sunni and Shia, and both of those have separate madhabs, which are the separate thoughts and stances of specific Imams. When writing a Muslim character, a good first step would be to decide where your character’s family might have come from, as that could help inform which denomination your character might belong to. This will in turn inform things like the beliefs they grew up with, how they pray, their holy holidays, and so on. Obviously, all denominations fall under the bigger umbrella of Muslim, but can vary in practice.

Background:

The intersection of culture and religion affects a character beyond which denomination they likely belong to, such as whether they call prayer salah or namaz, the foods they might associate with Ramadan or Eid, and their community’s stance on things like hijab and alcohol.

One thing to keep in mind is that being Muslim is not synonymous with being Arab and vice versa. Not all Arabs are Muslim, not all Muslims are Arab or even Middle Eastern. In fact, the largest Muslim country in the world is Indonesia. That said, depending on your character’s race and backround, there is the potential they may have faced Arab elitism or other strands of racism within Muslim circles. Please see the reblog of this post for an article about one Black British Muslim woman’s experience with racism.

And, of course, your character and their family do not need to have been immigrants at all. They or their family may have been converts instead. According to most Muslim schools of thought, all that’s required for a person to be Muslim is stating the shahada in Arabic, honestly and with intent. It goes, “Ashhadu an la ilah illa Allah, wa an Mohammadan rasul Allah,” which translates as “I bear witness that there is no god but God, and that Mohammed is His prophet.” Shia Muslims, I believe, have an additional section, but otherwise that’s it. Recite that in front of witnesses with sincere belief and that’s all you need to be Muslim.

Pillars of Islam:

These are the duties or cornerstones of a Muslim’s faith and considered to be acts every Muslim should strive for. What the pillars are can, I think, differ between denominations, with Shia Muslims having additional ancillaries as well (any Shia readers, please feel free to correct me!) but both denominations agree that the following are important:

Salah—prayer

Sawm—fasting during Ramadan

Zakat—giving a certain percentage of income to charity or the community

Hajj—pilgrimage to Mecca

In all cases, these are considered mandatory only for those who are able. A person who cannot perform hajj, whether due to not being physically able to or lacking the funds to travel, is under no obligation.

Prayer:

Prayer is performed five times a day while facing the Qibla, which is the direction of Mecca. Prayer is formed of units, called rak’at, which consists of a set of actions done in a specific order. The “How to Pray Salah, Step by Step” article linked in the reblog of this post provides fairly good prayer instructions for beginners, so check it out for details! These include bowing, prostrating, and reciting some surahs.

Each of the five daily prayers has a different number of rak’at, as well as its own name and allotted time of day, as follows:

Fajr, which means Dawn and can be performed at any point until the sun rises (two rak’at).

Dhuhr, which means Noon (four rak’at)

Asr, performed in the afternoon (four rak’at)

Maghreb, which means sunset and can be performed at any point until it’s dark (three rak’at)

Isha, performed at night and can be done at any point until dawn (four rak’at)

The specific time of prayer will differ day to day and place to place, according to the sun, but those are the rough timeframes for each. It’s generally preferred that a Muslim does their prayer on time, but in practice some Muslims find it difficult to wake up for Fajr, for instance, and just try to make sure they get a morning prayer in before noon.

On Friday, there is a congregational Friday prayer at Dhuhr in a mosque called the Jumu’a prayer (which, fun fact, literally means gathering and is also the Arabic name for Friday!). Only men are required to take part in the congregation, however.

In Muslim majority countries, the time for prayer is announced by the adhaan, the call to prayer, from mosques and in media. This won’t be the case in the UK, and the character will likely have to rely on an adhaan app or looking up what time prayer should be.

There are various requirements for a prayer to be correct, chief of which is facing the Qibla and purity. Before performing prayer, a Muslim must purify themself by performing wudu, or ablutions, which basically involves washing the hands, arms, nostrils, face, head, and feet a specific number of times using clean water. The way I was taught these must be performed in a certain order, and the person shouldn’t speak during or after until their prayer is finished. This may be different for others.

Wudu is considered valid until nullified by bodily functions such as urinating, defecating, vomiting, flatulence, or any sexual activity. For Sunni Muslims, it’s also invalidated by going to sleep. If none of these have happened, a Muslim can perform more than one prayer using the same wudu.

Notably, a Muslim cannot pray if they’re on their period, as they’re considered in a state of impurity.

Another important requirement is that a Muslim be dressed modestly for prayer. The general guideline is that Muslim men should cover the area between their navel and knees with loose, non-revealing clothing, and that during prayer it’s preferred that they cover their chests as well Muslim women should cover everything except their face, hands, and feet. This means that a woman who isn’t hijabi would still wrap a hijab for prayer. For nonbinary Muslims, I don’t think there are specific guidelines yet, although please feel free to correct me.

If praying at home, a family may choose to pray together. In this case, the male head of the household usually stands at the front and acts as Imam, leading the prayer. Other men will tend to be in front of or beside women, as generally women should not pray in front of a man. This is the case even, especially, if he is not praying.

Children aren’t required to pray, as they’re considered innocent and have no obligations, but may want to take part early on or may be encouraged to practice.

Praying is one area you’ll find denominational differences. For example, while Sunnis fold their arms in prayer, Shia keep their arms to their side, and while Shia Muslims make sure their foreheads touch a piece of clay or earth when they prostrate, Sunnis do not. If you write your character praying, keep these details in mind.

Fasting:

During the holy month of Ramadan, Muslims fast from Fajr (dawn) until Maghreb (sunset) every day. This means they abstain from consuming anything—yes, even water, cigarettes, and medicine. They should also abstain from sexual activities and cursing. Most importantly, they must have the intention to be fasting. This means that not eating and drinking because they were asleep for that entire period of time or just lost track and forgot does not count as fasting.

Generally, the idea is more to try to be more pious and avoid sin throughout the month. It’s thought that the shaytan (or devil) is chained up during Ramadan, so any temptation or sinning is a person’s own doing. The way I was raised, I was taught that sawm/fasting is invalidated by sexual thoughts and raising your voice as well. Many people also try to dress more modestly during Ramadan, with some women opting for looser clothing or a headscarf. Many Muslims will try to read the whole Quran during Ramadan.

After Maghreb, Muslims break their fast with Iftar (which means breakfast, hah) and have a late night meal called Suhour. Since the Muslim calendar is a lunar calendar, Ramadan is 11 days earlier every year. Depending on when Ramadan falls in the year, there can be barely any time between iftar and suhour in certain parts of the world, as the sun is up for so much of the day.

Given the length of time and difficulty involved, there are exceptions and allowances for fasting. A person is not required to fast if they are:

A child (up to puberty)

Ill or has a medical condition such as diabetes

Pregnant

Travelling

On their period

In fact, if they are on their period it will not be counted, even if they do fast. That said, sometimes people choose to fast while travelling anyway, as travel is less strenuous now than it used to be. If they’re crossing time zones they will have to consider which time zone they’re breaking their fast to. As far as I remember, it’s based on the time zone of the place they just left or started their fast in.

If an obstacle to fasting is temporary, such as their period, they’re expected to make those days up with additional fasting before next Ramadan. Otherwise, they are allowed to make up for the lost fast in another way, such as by donating money or feeding fasting people. Whether due to societal pressure (which is formidable in Muslim-majority countries) or out of consideration for others who are fasting, those who are not fasting for whatever reason may often choose to hide this and only eat in secret.

If a person forgets they were fasting or accidentally consumes something, it does not invalidate the fast , and as soon as they remember or realise the mistake they can have the intention to fast again and continue with their day.

While children are exempt, many families will start them off by fasting for half a day so they can build up to a full day when they hit puberty.

Ramadan traditions vary wildly from country to country and culture to culture, but generally it’s a time for family gathering and celebration. Often there are special Ramadan-specific food, drink, and decorations, and it ends with Eid ul-Fitr which has its own specific foods and celebrations. Basically, imagine if Christmas lasted a month. That’s how big a deal Ramadan is.

In my experience, the first few days are usually the hardest. Water is what I tended to miss the most, even if I managed to stay up long enough or set an alarm to wake up to drink just before fajr, followed closely by swearing. Anyone who drinks caffeine or smokes cigarettes will likely find abstaining from those more difficult than water. By the end of the month, though, it gets much easier and I often got to the point where I barely noticed. I will say, however, that the longest I’ve had to fast has been maybe 16 hours. A summer Ramadan in the UK would be more difficult due to the much later sunsets.

Halal and Haram:

Halal means “permissible,” while haram means “forbidden.” You might have heard these words in passing before, such as halal food, but they are used for many areas of life.

Things that are considered haram include:

Consuming, serving, or trading in intoxicants, such as alcohol

Consuming improperly slaughtered meat or meat from forbidden animals, such as pork

Extramarital sex

Tattoos

Gambling

Men wearing silk or gold

A Muslim woman marrying a non-Muslim man (although it’s fine for a Muslim man to marry a non-Muslim woman)

Being immodest

Modesty is expected of all genders, including men. If you’ll recall from the section on prayer, the general guideline for male modesty is that they should cover the area between their navel and knees with loose, non-revealing clothing. Note that for women, modesty does not necessarily involve wearing a hijab. There is actually a ton of controversy as to whether the hijab is a fard (requirement) or not, as described in the following section.

The Hijab:

To be hijabi takes more than just throwing on a headscarf. As a word, hijab means “barrier” or “veil,” and a hijabi person would be expected to cover everything except their face and the palms of their hands, and to ensure that their clothes are loose and non-revealing. It all comes from an interpretation of two verses in the Quran that many scholars nowadays agree to mean the hijab is required, and that some say actually call for a face covering as well, which is called a niqab.

This wasn’t always the case, however, and these days there is still the occasional controversial scholar (I remember a few kerfuffles coming out of Egypt’s Al-Azhar mosque recently) saying it isn’t and has never been required at all. At least in the Arab world, this is largely due to the wave of Wahhabism (which is a specifically fundamentalist interpretation of Islam) that’s taken over the region in the past half a century. Before that, the idea of a hijab being a religious requirement was less widespread.

I’m not here to argue who’s right or wrong, just to make you aware that the hijab as we know it today hasn’t always been considered a requirement for a Muslim woman. Most of the women of my family never wore any form of head covering, but more and more they are an exception rather than the norm.

The choice of whether to wear a hijab can mean very different things, depending on the surrounding culture. For instance, my grandmother, the strictest woman I have ever known, got married in a very cute sleeveless dress that went just under the knees, and when she grew older she wore a head-covering more as a cultural indication of age rather than any religious reason. In my generation, in a country with a Muslim majority, lack of visible signs of devoutness have become almost a class marker, with some upper-class women using their lack of head-covering as a sign that they are “more Westernized” or “modern.” And again, I want to emphasize that this is the case for my country only.

This will be completely different for Muslim minorities, where the hijab can become a symbol of pride and unity.

I will say that it’s very rare for women to be forced into getting veiled, whether in Muslim minority or majority countries. I’m not saying it never happens, just that it’s not the “oppressive tool of the patriarchy” outsiders sometimes think it is. Women may face some societal pressure, but by and large it is considered a choice and often an empowering one. In fact, I have friends whose families discouraged them from wearing a hijab too young and emphasized only taking the decision when they were sure they wanted to. If writing a Muslim character when you’re non-Muslim, I strongly suggest not trying to tackle the story of someone forced into a hijab, as there’s a lot of nuance there and it’s very easy to fall into harmful stereotypes. The hijabi woman who gets “liberated” and takes off her hijab is also overdone and harmful. Please don’t.

Everyday Life:

Muslims are not a monolithic entity, and some will be more devout or religious than others. There are those who will pray their five a day and others who only pray during Ramadan or Eid, some who don’t drink and some who do, hijabis who dress only in loose clothing and those who wear tight trousers or show some of their hair, some who have tattoos, and some who may date or even have sex before marriage. However, this isn’t a carte-blanche not to do research when writing a Muslim character, because even if they break a rule of Islam, they will be conscious of it, may be concerned about their community’s response to it, and in any case will be affected by it.

For instance, I know many Muslims who drink alcohol. Some interpret the text differently, saying that since the sin is getting drunk then they won’t drink enough to get drunk, just buzzed. Some only do it on special occasions or on vacation, saying they know it’s a sin but it’s fine on occasion and they’ll repent later. All of them would probably dive under a table if they thought their family was nearby.

For more opinions on Muslims and dealing with alcohol, take a look at the “Islam and Alcohol” article linked in the reblog of this post.

Here are things that a character who is a practicing Muslim might do or be concerned about in their day to day life:

Checking ingredients to make sure they’re all halal. This goes for things like food, drink, medicine, anything consumable. Things like gelatine capsules are only halal if the source of the gelatine is itself halal, for instance.

Keeping up with their prayers. With five prayers a day, some will inevitably happen while they’re out of the house. Some Muslims prefer to just group their prayers when they get home, but since it’s preferable to do prayers on time, others may try to pray while out and about This means considering the following:

Finding a bathroom for wudu. Part of wudu involves washing feet and the head, which isn’t feasible in a public location or if the person is hijabi and doesn’t want to unwrap and rewrap their hijab. In that case, they can generally wipe a wet hand over their socks and top of their head covering.

They may carry a prayer carpet or have one stashed in a convenient location, but it’s not a must.

Finding a clean and secluded place to pray. Generally, it’s not done to pray in a place where someone will pass in front of you, and a woman must also take care to pray away from men’s eyes.

Figuring out where the Qibla is. Luckily, there are apps for that.

If a woman is not hijabi, she would have to carry a veil and, depending on her clothes, something to cover up so she can pray.

If they’re hijabi, they’ll probably have to adjust or re-wrap their hijab throughout the day, depending on the material and their activities. This would typically happen in bathrooms or any other space that doesn’t include men, as they can’t reveal themselves to any men who aren’t of their immediate family. For more on the hijab, and the day to day realities of wearing and wrapping one, take a look at the links provided in the reblog of this post.

A Muslim woman may choose not to accept handshakes from men who aren’t family. She has probably considered how to deal with that potential awkwardness.

If they’re fasting, they might carry some dates or biscuits or something in case they need to break their fast while on the go.

If making plans, they might say, “Insha’allah” which means “God willing.” I was always admonished to do so to acknowledge the future is entirely within God’s hands.

If asked how they are, they might reply with “Alhamdullilah” which means “Thanks be to God.”

When starting to eat, they may say, “Bismillah,” which means “In the name of God” and when done eating may say “Alhamdullilah.” These can also be invoked silently.

As you might have noticed, Allah’s name is invoked pretty often. While it’s not preferable to swear using God’s name just to make a point (“Wallahi”), there’s nothing against it, really.

Fundamentally, an important thing to remember is that Islam is a religion of ease and not hardship. This is an actual Quranic quote. What this means is, it may seem like there are a lot of rules to keep in mind, but there are also a ton of allowances for when those rules aren’t feasible, just like the case for fasting above. Other allowances include how an elderly or disabled person who may not be able to perform the motions of prayer can pray while sitting in a chair or even lying in bed. If there isn’t any clean water to purify before prayer or if using the water would mean lack of drinking water, a Muslim can use dust or sand to purify, and if no dust or sand is available then they don’t need to purify at all and can simply pray.

This means that, say, if your Muslim Jon wants to pray while kidnapped by the circus, he can, even without being able to perform wudu, even without knowing where the Qibla is, even without being able to move or say anything at all.

For more day-to-day tidbits, check out the “More on writing Muslim characters” link in the reblog of this post.

LGBTQ Muslims:

Needless to say, Queer Muslims absolutely do exist, and their being Muslim doesn’t cancel out their queerness or vice versa. While there are Quranic verses that have been interpreted as condemning homosexuality, there are also other interpretations, and queerness has existed in Muslim societies for ages. There was a ton of homoerotic imagery among Abbasid poets during the Golden Age of Islam, for example.

However, modern-day attitudes can be difficult to get around, and queer Muslims may have difficulty finding their place in both Muslim spaces and queer spaces, the latter which often expect them to reject religiosity.

Although I am queer myself, I don’t feel it’s my place to speak for queer Muslims and their relationships with their communities beyond this, so I’ll let some queer practicing Muslims speak for themselves. Please see the reblog of this post for valuable contributions from queer Muslims about their experiences.

Miscellaneous:

This is mostly for all the random tidbits I thought up while writing this that didn’t fit anywhere else and also because I don’t know when to quit apparently, SO!

Allah is just Arabic for God. Muslims can and do use these terms interchangeably, such as saying “God willing,” instead of “Inshallah,” even in an Arabic-speaking country.

Also, God has 99 names! Just a fun fact for you there.

The Devil in Islam is pretty different from his Christian counterpart. Referred to as Iblis or Shaytan, among other names, he is not a fallen angel and there is no great revolt story, nor is he considered a root of all evil. Instead, he is a djinn made of smokeless flame who refused to bow down to Adam, as he felt he was made of superior stuff and not about to bow to a creature made of mud. His disdain for humanity is what has caused him and other shayateen/demons to try and tempt humans.

A person’s right hand is considered purer than their left, so it’s encouraged to always eat with your right hand. Unfortunately, this does mean left-handed people face something of a stigma—or at least that’s the case here in Egypt. My cousins, both lefties, both eat with their right hand, though they do everything else with their left.

Similarly, it is considered better to enter spaces with your right foot, though only the most devout are likely to think of this all the time. This is especially considered for entering a mosque or new home.

A Muslim might say or write “Peace be Upon Him” whenever the Prophet Mohammed is mentioned, written as (PBUH), and “Subhanuh wa Taala” when mentioning Allah, written as (SWT).

The Evil Eye is mentioned in the Quran as “hasad,” and considered to be a very real thing. This jealous or envious energy is considered able to ruin good things in your life, even if the jealous person didn’t intend to. There are some surahs that are considered good to ward against it, as well as incense, the colour blue, the number five, and the symbols of the nazar (which is a round, blue-ringed eye) and the khamsa (an open five-fingered palm, also known as the Hand of Fatima). The nazar, khamsa, and belief in the evil eye aren’t unique to Islam at all. What is unique to Islam is that a Muslim might preface a compliment with “Masha’allah” which means “As God wills it,” to ward off their own evil eye.

Much of the Quran in Arabic rhymes and is very poetic, which can make surahs easy to memorise by rhythm. It can also make recitations by a skilled reader very lovely.

#the magnus archives #tma #writing resources #muslim characters

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jawllines · 4 years

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Sorry to be annoying but I asked awhile ago and I think tumblr ate my ask but did you ever do tattoo Harry blurb? I love them and I miss them:( I’ve looked through your tags and there isn’t any on there if you have posted one

I CAN POST ONE I WROTE A WHILE AGO RIGHT NOW :D I DONT THINK I POSTED HERE BUT LET ME KNOW HERE YOU GO PET

“Baby -- baby, c’mon!”

It was rare that Harry ever woke Y/N with more than kisses and cuddles. Maybe an abrupt shoulder shake if the both of them slept through their alarms (and, considering that they are the only ones with the key to open up their own respective stores, they never typically arrived late facing happy employees -- or in Y/N’s case, employee -- Niall, in particular, was always more of a grump in that situation than Riktor even), but even that still managed to be tender, and soft. He always treated her so delicately, as if she were made up of porcelain in the morning and it was imperative to speak in a low, soothing voice with careful touches or she might shatter. And she really didn’t think it was because she was an absolute terror to wake up -- Y/N did quite well, even as early as 5 AM she was still in somewhat of a pleasant mood, certainly nothing to be fearful of -- she thinks he’s just gentle in the morning. He’s gentle all the time, but for some reason or another, he’s extra soft with her then.

They had both had a bit of a busy day, so by the time that they made it back to Y/N’s flat (Harry said he liked it there best because it smelled like her, and -- well, he softens her up and calls her Darling when he wants them to go over there, so it’s hard to say no), both of them were ready for bed. Neither of them could barely keep their eyes open as they scarfed down the burgers they’d picked up on the way home, and once they’d finished and brushed their teeth, they toppled into each other on the mattress. Y/N would reckon they both fell asleep before their heads had even hit the pillow -- she doesn’t even remember crawling beneath the blankets.

Apparently she had though, because now as her brain tunes in with the world around her and she realizes that the distorted voice that had begun to prod her dreams was actually a grumpy, dry throat Harry, she’s cuddling herself closer in the covers. This only makes him grumble at her more, “You’re such a blanket hog,” he whines and Y/N finally blinks her eyes open, being greeted with Harry’s disgruntled, pouted face illuminated by the sunlight beginning to slip through the blinds, “I’ve been trying to unravel it for like ten minutes, but you’re all wrapped up! I’m cold.”

Y/N smiles sleepily at him, not understanding the gravity of the situation entirely as she begins to un-burrito herself from the covers, “G’morning, beautiful,” she murmurs as she does so, finally disentangling from the blankets and while she was a little less warm, Harry was quick to wiggle in beneath them, “Sorry.”

“Don’ be sweet when m’tryin’ to be angry with you,” she puckers her lips at him dramatically, and though he sighs, he leans in and presses their mouths together softly, “Your kisses aren’t g’na sweeten me up, m’still grumpy, blanket hog.”

She can only hum as she cuddles closer to him, “Sorry,” she repeated, this time adding, “Like to swaddle myself like a lil’ baby. Reckon you weren’t holdin’ me well enough last night.”

An offended gasp leaves through his lips soundly, enough that it startles her, but his arms worm around her waist and draw her closer to his body, “Brat,” he grumbled, dipping his nose into her throat, “I held you so well and you just wiggled right out of my arms and took all the covers with you.”

“Like a worm -- I wiggled out like a worm or somethin’,” she tried to sit up but his arms tightened around her, “This worm has to pee though and she’ll soak the bed if she isn’t allowed.”

His arm loosens around her, “This worm sounds like she’s a sleepy sort of delusional that requires about two hours more of rest.”

Y/N stumbles toward the bathroom in her room, “Noooooooo,” she whines, frowning at nobody, not bothering to swing the door shut before she plops on the cold toilet seat to relieve herself, “We’re supposed to go get hot chocolate, no more sleep.”

“Baby, it’s 6 AM and I’ve been up the last 30 minutes freezing my bits off!” He calls back to her and she giggles some, her eyes trying to accommodate to the bright white lights of the bathroom, “Sleep just a bit more and we’ll get the hot chocolate when we wake up next.”

She waits until she flushes and washes her hands to respond to him, and though she knows that she is definitely going to crawl back in bed and fall asleep, she stands at the foot of it with her hands in fists at her hips. He had let his eyes flutter closed by then but she thinks he could feel her eyeballing him, so he looks up past the mountain of blankets now covering him so she could only see his eyes and his nose, “What’re you doing?”

“You’re telling me, you don’t wanna go at 6 AM, three hours before the kiosk even opens to get hot chocolate with me? You must really hate me, don’t you?”

He huffs a sharp breath through his nose which is how he usually laughs in the morning, when he can’t muster up the strength to have a proper giggle, “Absolutely loathe you, baby doll, but could you please come back to bed so I can loathe you in the warmth?”

It takes little persuading -- as she said, she knew she was just going to crawl right back in beside him -- and instead of relying too heavily on the blankets to provide her warmth (like wrapping up half of it around her so she was cocooned entirely. . .this is what she normally does, and she would say that’s probably why Harry almost never has any of the covers in the morning), she relies on him. Picks up his arm so that she can fit herself underneath it and lies her cheek on his chest, “Your pits better not be smelly.”

“I make no promises.”

. . .

“I love your hair.”

“Stop it, Sweetheart, I’m g’na start blushing.”

They had slept for four more hours rather than the two Harry had originally suggested, but that always happens with them. Y/N would say that they are just too content cuddled up with one another that they milk it for all it’s worth. If one of them wakes up before the other, then they just settle their head back down and close their eyes again. Unless they had somewhere to be, of course, but Harry had a free Saturday (no clients schedule, even though Saturday’s could often be some of his heaviest days) and he’d elected to spend it with her -- whether they were awake or asleep didn’t much mater, they just liked to be near each other.

When they finally did wake up, they lazily got dressed into about thirty layers so they wouldn’t freeze outside. The weather had grown frigid quite quickly this November, and neither of them stood the cold very well, but there was a park lined with little pop-up kiosks with hot chocolate, sweets, little holiday goodies, and an obscene amount of knitted blankets (it was a clever marketing tactic, Y/N thought -- everyone is more willing to spend money on a blanket when they’re freezing cold - she and Harry had certainly fallen for it today). Y/N bought them shoe warmers to keep their toes at least not numb, and Harry lets her borrow a pair of his gloves because she keeps forgetting to buy some of her own. They both have hats fitted over their heads too, and since Harry’s let his hair grow out, his curls stick out from beneath the pumpkin orange print and Y/N can’t stop staring at it. She’s always loved his hair, she told him as much one of the first nights they’d sat on her bookstore’s floor and talked about just a bit of everything. Back when she barely realized she had a crush on him. . . .when she didn’t know that in just a little time, she would be over the moon.

And she’ll never forget that people used to make him feel like shit about his hair, so she maybe overcompensates by telling him every time she has thought about loving it. Which means today, in the span of a short three hours they’d been awake, Y/N had complimented his hair about twenty different times. If she was running her fingers through it, fixing his beanie, or just staring at him, she let him know just how much she adored his curls.

“I hate to tell you this, Button, but your cheeks are already red as apples,” she shifted the paper cup of hot chocolate from her hand closest to him to the other, so she could reach up and tuck them behind his ear, that had reddened from the cold, “The air has you more bashful than I ever could.”

“Not true,” he murmurs, lowering his voice as he knocks closer to her ear, “I always blush when you go down on me.”

“God,” Y/N shakes her head, “You’re too much, d’ya know that?”

He laughs, nudging her with the cold tip of his nose, “You want the peppermint bark? We’re coming up on the seller.”

“Of course, I want peppermint bark,” she reaches for her wallet, “I’m stocking us up for the next hundred years or so.”

Harry slows for a moment, sliding his gloved hand into her own and squeezing, “Hey,” he begins, his voice soft, somewhat reflective and it brings her attention to him at her side, “Y’know when -- you remember how you said you just get random flushes of love for me and s’a whole lot and you just don’t know what to do with it?”

Y/N nods, “Yeah, like every waking minute practically. Why?”

He smiles shyly, “I’m having one of those moments.”

“For the peppermint bark?” She teases, but his brows furrow and he swats her shoulder playfully, “Hey!”

“I’m trying to be sweet on you, and you’re still going on about this bloody chocolate,” he rubs the arm that he swats, even though Y/N has so many layers on plus the blanket that she bought wrapped around her, that he made no real contact with her body.

Y/N pulls him in for a hug, narrowly avoiding a child running past them as she does so, “Oh, you know m’only kidding. I love you too, Bug, more than words can describe and ten times more than the chocolate I reckon. . .well, unless it’s made really well this year.”

“I’ll leave you here, blanket hog.”

#blurbs #Anonymous

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klave-fucktober · 3 years

Text

Klave Fucktober Fest - Info Post

Hello Party People, the Hargreeves’ birthday is nigh and what’s a better present for our lovely Number Four (and us) than getting him and his main squeeze thoroughly wrecked? Without further ado...

Welcome to Fucktober! A prompt fest dedicated to creating mature fanworks for The Umbrella Academy pairing of Klaus Hargreeves/Dave Katz.

Details under the cut…

Cool! So, who is it that’s hiding behind the curtain?

Your fest runners for this event are CriseCardiac (@thistlemoth) and Teddy (@yeah-klave), just a couple of friendly neighborhood smut enthusiasts dying for some content in these dark, dark interseasonal times. Any questions, you can find us on tumblr or, more often than not, hanging out in Elliott’s House.

Okay, how does this work?

You can submit a prompt here from now until September 17th. The submitted prompts will be posted on September 19th, on which day claiming will open and participants can begin working on their submission(s). Multiple claims are allowed on prompts, and you can claim as many as you want. Collabs are great! We don’t want to be restrictive – the idea of this fest is to encourage as much smutty Klave creation as possible: we want ALL THE SMUT.

Once you have completed your work, you can either: (1) add it to the AO3 Klave-Fucktober Collection - “Klave Fucktober 2021″; and/or (2) submit it to the Klave-Fucktober tumblr page. The AO3 Collection will go live on 30 October and any works submitted to the tumblr page will also be posted at intermittent times throughout the day on the 30th October, and, depending on the number of entries, the following days.

Alternatively, you can post your work to your own tumblr, however, if you’re doing this, we ask that you don’t post your work until 30 October, please. If you’re posting to your own tumblr, please remember to tag your work #fucktober. Also, if you tag either @klave-fucktober, @thistlemoth or @yeah-klave, one of us will reblog on the official fucktober tumblr page.

Please note, if you are creating nsfw art, you must adhere to the rules of the site you are posting your work to.

What can I prompt?

It’s a free-for-all baby! Want to see Klaus and Dave having sweet, sticky Saigon sex? Prompt it! Want to see them getting down and dirty in the jungle? Prompt it! Modern AU lazy Sunday morning lovemaking? Angsty, post-argument make-up fuck? Gender-swapped klave (i.e. our lovely Klesbians) princess/stable girl illicit love affair? Office co-workers enemies to lovers? Sex dungeon? Semi-public? Trans? Threesome? Moresome? Full on orgy? First time? Prompt it, prompt it, prompt it!!

So, in summary, as long as Klave is the main pairing and it involves some form of sex, you can prompt anything and everything. This could be as simple as a particular kink or you could submit a detailed scenario. Whatever you’ve been craving, this is your opportunity to get it out to potential nsfw Klave content creators.

Are there any exclusions?

No rape and no underage, please. And absolutely no kink-shaming.

Can I submit a prompt if I don’t plan to contribute?

Of course. As a prompt fest, there’s no commitment. Often the prompts are a gift in themselves. Your prompt may inspire something wonderful – so please, prompt away!

What can I create?

Anything you want, as long as your creation is in some way fucktastic! Write something, draw something, use those graphic-design-is-my-passion skills. Know some songs you think the boys would get down and dirty to? Make a playlist! All fannish talents are welcome and encouraged. We’re here for a fun, adult time together. Go wild.

As a note for fics: there are no word count restrictions. You can write a sexy bite-sized drabble or a slow burn epic where all that antici-- pation and build-up doesn’t come to a tingly, pulsating climax until chapter 10. Multichapter fics do not need to be completed within the fest window.

I’ve made a claim but I’m afraid I won’t finish my submission on time. What happens now?

No worries, it happens! Neither of us will run screaming after you in the night. Claiming is mostly to give us an idea of what to expect and allow your potential audience to get excited about what might be to come. Allowing multiple claims means you can be as ambitious as you want without preventing other submissions.

If you change your mind about a claim, decide to fill a different prompt instead, create something that hasn’t even been prompted, post only the first chapter, post later than the fest window – that’s all fine!

I’ve never created anything nsfw before – I’d like to participate but I’m nervous about the theme.

This is not an exclusive environment. We know there are many smut veterans out there who will be eager to participate in this event, but we also want to use this as an opportunity to encourage as many new participants to get involved as well! Whether you’re new to creating nsfw content for this pairing, or just new to creating nsfw content at all – we would LOVE for you to get involved!

There’s no getting around it, posting smut can be very daunting. Maybe you’ve always wanted to create something nsfw but have always felt too exposed or nervous to post it? Maybe you’ve created something in the past but have always thought it was not good enough or not sexy enough to share? To all you lovely people, we beckon you over, throw our arms wide and invite you to join the smut club.

Smut comes in all shapes and sizes and styles. Just like kinks. Just like people. Everyone has different tastes and preferences – there is no right or wrong way to create smut. What works for one person might not work for another, but that’s part of the fun of it!

So whatever your previous smut experience level, we would love for you to take part. And remember, if you’ve got any questions, concerns or you just need a little positive encouragement, you can always reach out to one of the event runners – we’re very friendly and we’re both smut-writers, so we’d be happy to chat with you. Feel free to drop us an ask or a DM.

Any warnings?

This is an open prompt fest, where just about anything goes, so please be aware of this when reading prompts and fills.

We ask our creators to tag all works accordingly, so nobody gets any nasty surprises, i.e. any potential triggers, unusual kinks or non-klave pairings (particularly any sibling ships). However, we caution everyone to read/view/participate at their own risk.

I am underage, can I participate?

Sorry, but no. This is a smut fest, 18+ only please.

The Timeline

Sept 4th - Prompting begins

Sept 17th (noon PST/ 7pm UTC) - Prompting ends

Sept 19th (midnight PST/ 7am UTC) - Claiming opens

Oct 30th (Devil’s Night) - The revelry, I mean posting, starts!

#klave #klaus hargreeves #dave katz #klaus/dave #robert sheehan #cody ray thompson #condensed info post

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captain-josslett · 3 years

Text

Broken Melody - Part Twenty Seven

Masterlist

Summary: Grammy Award winning Emma Danvers is the first to say she has a pretty good life. But what happens when it implodes around her and it looks like things will never be the same again?

Words: 6.7k+

Warnings: Fluff, angst-ish?

Pairings: Emma Danvers x Lena Luthor

This Part: Alex and Kara finally leave their cell at the DEO and Emma settles into life at Lena's apartment.

So sorry this took so long. Had a very hard week but hopefully this chapter is okay! Not gonna lie I laughed out loud a few times while writing!

p.s It's been six months since I started posting on tumblr 😅 That went quick!

Thank you for reading and let me know if you wanna be tagged or any general feedback will be greatly appreciated. Please! I like knowing your thoughts.

Taglist: @finleyfray, @life-is-hella-unfair, @natasha-danvers, @supergirl-writingz, @camslightstories, @thinking1bee, @aznblossom, @crispykidcookiebasketball

“Nice form Alex.” J’onn comments as he enters the gym, watching as she continuously attacks the punching bag.

“Letting out some steam, you know?” Alex says while doing a few jabs.

“Oh I do. Come on, I have an assignment for you.” J’onn nods his head to the gym door and Alex dutifully follows.

“What kind of assignment?”

“You’ll see.” He holds the door open for Alex to step through, revealing Emma’s apartment, with the Superfriends gathered around the sofas.

Alex walks through and they all immediately look up.

“Alex!” Greetings are yelled happily and Sam comes skipping over to her.

“Hey babe.” Sam grins and leans in for a kiss, capturing Alex’s lips. The redhead responds enthusiastically and wraps her arms around the brunette.

“Al-EXXXX!” A voice whines at the pair.

The redhead immediately stops and gapes at the familiar voice.

“Babe?” Sam asks with a frown on her face. Worried about Alex’s reaction.

Alex quickly turns to Emma, snuggled into Lena’s arms. “Ah come on! You did the same with Lena and I!” Emma laughs and grins at her sister. Lena chuckles and kisses the top of Emma’s head.

Alex shakes her head and smiles back. Feelings of love and happiness stir within the Director as she quickly makes her way over to her baby sister. Kara kneels on the sofa to grab a hug as Alex passes. The redhead quickly embraces her other blonde sister but keeps her eyes on Emma. Whose chatting and joking with the group. Her bright laughter rings clearly around the room.

When Alex steps back from the hug with Kara Emma jumps to her feet and closes the gap between them. Launching herself at the redhead and wrapping her arms around her.

Alex happily sighs, smelling Emma’s vanilla shampoo as she buries her head into her mass of wavy blonde hair.

The sisters pull apart when suddenly there is a loud gunshot. Alex spins around, trying to find the source of the noise. The Superfriends gasp and yell. But they are all staring with wide eyes at Alex. Causing the redhead to frown and her eyes darting to each person in the room.

“Al-” Emma's gurgled voice makes Alex immediately turn back. The redhead’s eyes widen at the increasing bloodstain on her sister’s t-shirt. “Why?”

“Emma!” Lena screams as the blonde begins to collapse.

Alex manages to catch Emms and goes to place her hand over the wound. Put instead finds a gun in her hand.

“What?”

“You shot her.” Brainy says accusingly, his eyes blazing with anger.

“No, I-”

“But, you did.” Nia spits out, shaking with anger.

“We all saw it.” Sam’s furious eyes stare into Alex’s.

Alex glares down at the gun and drops it. She tightens her hold on her baby sister and presses down on the wound. Trying to stop the seemingly endless flow of blood.

Emma gurgles out in pain as blood dispells from her mouth and more and more blood oozes from the wound.

“No, no, Emma, hold on okay?” Alex says quickly while pressing even harder over the wound.

“Al.” Emma croaks out. The redhead’s gaze shifts to Emma’s half closed hazel green eyes. Her breathing becoming progressively laboured. Her face turning increasingly pale and losing all colour.

“No, Emma, please.” Alex sobs as Emma gasps for breath. Until finally she stills. Her eyes staring at nothing.

“Emma!” Alex yells, trying to bring her baby sister back. “Emma! I’m sorry! Emma!”

“Alex?” A muffled voice calls out to her.

“Emma!” Alex yells again and shakes her unresponsive baby sister. Her head flopping side to side from Alex’s movements.

“Alex.”

“Emma please!” Alex weeps and holds her close to her chest.

“Alex!”

Alex’s eyes fly open and focus on Kara staring worriedly down at her.

“Alex?” Kara asks softly, trying not to spook her agitated sister. “You're okay. It was just a dream.” Cautiously the blonde reaches out and rests a comforting hand on Alex’s shoulder.

Alex sits up and puts her head in her hands. Breathing deeply to try and calm her racing heart.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Kara asks softly as she rubs Alex’s shoulder.

Lowering her hands, Alex brokenly stares at her sister. “I- I shot her.”

“Who?”

“Em-” Before Alex can finish her baby sister’s name she bursts into tears. Hiding her face from Kara.

“Oh Alex.” Kara wraps her arms around the distraught redhead and swallows deeply. Trying to hold in her own emotions that are threatening to overspill from Alex’s cries. She feels Alex’s muscles tensing but soon loosen and somewhat relax into the embrace.

Kara eventually manages to calm Alex down and persuades her to lie back down. They don’t go back to sleep. Thoughts from the past few weeks infiltrate their minds. Instead they just hold each other and listen to each other’s breathing.

The sisters don’t know how long they stay laying there when the doors swing open. Eliza, Sam and Lucy walk through with bags of food and a drinks tray.

“Goooood morning!” Eliza beams at her daughters. “Happy release day!”

Lucy snorts and places the drink tray on the table. Sam is also smiling but it slowly fades when she notices how tired they both look. The bags under Alex’s eyes and the haunted presence within them.

“You guys okay?” Sam asks softly.

“Tough night.” Kara responds vaguely as she sits up and stretches.

Sam frowns slightly and places the food on the table. Kara immediately zooms over to it and opens the first bag. The corner of her mouth lifts up at the sight of the box of sticky buns. She grabs it and zooms back over to Alex and hands her one.

“Thanks Kara.” Alex slowly sits up and indulges in a bite of the still warm sticky bun, causing a little moan to escape at the sweet taste. Sam smiles at the noise and holds out her coffee cup, which the redhead takes with a grateful smile.

She blinks as she remembers the part of her dream where Sam treated her like her girlfriend. Alex’s cheek starts to colour when she thinks about their kiss. In an attempt to hide it Alex takes a long sip of her coffee.

But soon Alex’s mind shifts and is filled with blood seeping from Emma’s torso and mouth. Slowly she lowers the cup and glares at the sticky bun in her hand. Her appetite promptly disappeared. However, she knows it will raise questions if she doesn’t finish it.

Especially from her Mom.

Reluctantly, Alex lifts the bun to her lips and she starts taking bites out of it. Trying to chew even though it feels like she is eating sand and not a sweet, sugary breakfast.

“-you think Alex?” Lucy’s voice brings Alex back into the room. The redhead’s eyes dart between the four women who are looking at her expectantly. They had pulled the chairs from the table over to the bed with Kara sitting next to Alex.

She quickly swallows the food in her mouth. “I’m sorry, I must have zoned out.” Alex says apologetically. “What were you saying?”

“It’s okay, the coffee hasn’t kicked in yet?” Lucy jokes lightly. “I was saying I’m planning to have a housewarming party tonight.”

“We think it will do you both some good, spend time with those who love you.” Eliza looks pointedly at both her daughters.

Sam’s eyes drift down to Kara’s hands, noticing how she is almost breaking her cup with how tight she’s holding it.

“Will, umm, will-” Kara goes to fiddle with her glasses but soon realises they aren’t there, so runs her hand through her hair.

“Will Emma be there?” Lucy finishes for her and both sisters nod. “I communicated with her yesterday and she wants you two to decide.”

Alex feels her shoulders sag as she stares down at her lap. Weighing up the pros and cons for seeing her baby sister again so soon. She is desperate for things to return to normal, but part of her is unsure if they ever can. Emma’s swollen face as she was dying under her hands still haunts Alex.

“Will there be precautions in place? Like a dimmer or-”

“Kara stop!” Sam interrupts the nervous Superhero. “It’s been weeks since there was any trace of R.K in your system. You’ve proven over and over that you both are of sound mind.”

“And if it makes you feel any better J’onn has agreed to watch over you.” Eliza takes a deep breath as Sam slouches back into her chair. “But Sam is right. You both need to start moving forward. The three of you need each other.”

Alex lifts her head and focuses on Kara. They silently communicate, something that used to drive Eliza up the wall. Especially how easily Alex and Emma could know what each other were thinking with just a quick glance. Regularly plotting pranks and mischief.

The sisters look back at the three women and they nod.

“Great! It’s gonna be really chilled! A few games, food, that kind of thing.” Lucy says eagly, waving her hand around to emphasise her point. The sister’s just nod again, their expressions remain hesitant.

Eliza silently sighs as she finishes her croissant. Disappointment spread across her heart. She had been so hopeful after witnessing her daughters’ interaction the other day.

‘Just a small step back.’ Eliza tries to reassure herself. She has been seeing her own therapist to work through the emotions and trauma she experienced. Wanting to be there for her daughters.

Sam tips her head back as she drains the last of her drink and throws it across the room at the bin. It lands perfectly inside causing a smile to grace Alex’s face.

“Bet you can’t do that again?” Alex challenges and hands Sam her empty cup.

“Alex, you know it’s completely useless to bet against a Kryptonian? Right?” Kara rolls her eyes and chuckles at her sister, who just shrugs and watches Sam.

“I need to know what we’re betting on.” Sam twirls the cup in her hand.

“How about dinner?” Lucy suggests before taking a big bite of her bear claw, challenging Alex’s glare.

Sam raises an eyebrow at the redhead. “I make the shot you pay for dinner?”

“You miss the shot, then you pay for dinner.” Alex smirks and ignores the wide eyes Lucy and Kara are giving each other.

Sam keeps her eyes on Alex as she flings the cup behind her. It lands perfectly in the bin, not even touching the sides.

Lucy and Kara burst into loud cheers and Eliza smiles with amusement.

“Looks like you’ll be paying.” Sam says cheekily and stands from the chair. “I’m sorry to leave but I need to head into work.”

“Aw, can’t you stay?” Kara pouts, enjoying the morning's entertainment. At least something was working out well for them.

“Unfortunately not. Lena has today off and we need a senior member in the office due to the backlog.”

“What backlog?” Alex tilts her head at Sam’s response.

“Things have picked up recently.” Sam says lightly and picks up her bag. “Busy, busy, busy!”

She quickly gives everyone a hug, pausing longer as she wraps her arms around Alex.

“See you tonight!” Sam grins at them before rushing from the room.

They watch her whiz away and Alex’s eyes dart to Lucy. “What backlog?”

Lucy subconsciously shuffles in her seat from Alex’s questioning gaze. “As Sam said, things have been busy recently.”

“But-”

“Alex, it’s okay.” Eliza quickly cuts her daughter off.

The redhead shifts her jaw to the side, not liking how her Mom interrupted her. She looks down as Kara’s hand gently holds onto her, trying to keep her calm.

“Good morning ladies.” J’onn’s voice causes the women to look at the door as he marches towards them.

“Morning J’onn!” Kara calls, waving and smiles at him as he sits in Sam’s occupied seat. He greets them all with a small smile, Alex can’t help but notice his smile widens slightly when his eyes connect with her Mom’s. Or the fact they keep holding eye contact.

“So!” Alex slaps her hands together, breaking whatever was going on between her Mom and J’onn. “Have you decided when we can return to work?”

J’onn sighs and leans forward in his chair. “We think you should take a few more days off-”

“J’o-” Alex immediately begins to interrupt him. Her blood starts to heat up as her frustration builds. But J’onn holds his hand up to stop her and continues.

“-just so you can settle back into life outside of these four walls.”

“And what about me?” Kara’s grip tightens slightly around Alex’s hand. The redhead squeezes back.

“The city has been quiet recently, but, any major incidents I will come out with you.” J’onn says reassuringly and Kara nods. Knowing she cannot go against the other alien.

J’onn turns his attention back to Alex. “We will do daily reviews and return you back to your post as soon as we can. You have my word on that.”

Alex bows her head and takes a deep breath.

“We can do this. Together.” Kara says passionately and Alex places her other hand on top of her sisters.

“Together.”

-- -- --

Emma slowly blinks her eyes open as she feels someone shifting next to her. Trying to get out of her arms.

“Sorry love, go back to sleep.” Lena’s voice coos softly as she strokes Emma’s cheek with the back of her hand. Her eyes travel up and down the blonde’s toned, naked form. Grabbing the blanket she covers her girlfriend but gasps as loving hazel green eyes open and lock on hers.

The corner of Emma’s mouth lifts sleepily and she raises her hand to softly cup Lena’s jaw.

“Ek!” Lena yelps as Emma uses her other hand to pull Lena on top of her, kicking the blanket off and curling her legs around the raven haired beauty. “Emma!” Lena laughs and squeals while Emma repeatedly plants kisses around her face. Eventually Emma stops and runs her fingers up and down Lena’s exposed back. Feeling the scratches she placed there last night during an intense moment of Lena using the strap on her.

Lena sighs happily but knows she needs to get up and raises herself up while still laying on top of her girlfriend. Her still very naked girlfriend. “What are you smirking about?” Lena tilts her head, her hair falling partly over her face, causing her to try and blow it away.

Emma lets out a puff of air, laughing at the raven haired beauty and tucks the offending piece of hair behind Lena’s ear.

“Thank you.” Lena bows her head and places a soft kiss on Emma’s lips. The blonde instantly deepens the kiss and Lena chuckles but regretfully breaks it. “Sorry love, I need to do a bit of work.” The CEO apologises and slides off of Emma, trying to ignore the pout and puppy dog eyes Emma is no doubt giving her. One look and Lena would promptly jump back into bed.

She quickly dresses into her underwear, a pair of Emma’s sweatpants, t-shirt and grabs one of the hoodies on the way to the kitchen. Lena can’t help but grin at the clothes that had been thrown around the apartment from last night.

Grabbing a water bottle from the fridge Lena makes her into the home office. Taking a few sips Lena sits and starts up her computer to start working through the many emails and paperwork that has been waiting for her.

Barely an hour has passed and an instant messenger notification pops up on her screen.

Sam: WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?

‘Uh oh.’ Lena thinks but quickly writes a vague response.

Lena: What do you mean?

Sam: Why are you online and have been working for almost an hour?

Lena: I just wanted to get some work done and will be finished soon.

Sam: Bullshit! I am logging you out of your computer. Go spend time with Em!

Lena: Sam Arias if you even-

The CEO scoffs as her computer logs her out before she could even finish her threat. Knowing there was no point trying to attempt to log back in, Lena stands from her desk chair. She stretches and heads back into the living room.

Music draws her attention to the kitchen and she smiles widely at a clothed Emma who is dancing along to the radio while chopping up some food. As she draws closer Emma lifts her head up and beams at her, making Lena’s knees become like jelly.

“What are you making?” Lena glances at the many ingredients on the island.

“Omelette. Do you want one?”

“Please.” Lena sits on one of the stools and watches as Emma grabs another pan and the eggs. “So, has Lucy confirmed what’s happening tonight?”

Emma nods and places the knife down to sign. “They agreed I can come too. So that’s positive! Coffee?”

“Yes please.” Emma quickly turns and grabs Lena’s favorite mug and fills it from a cafetiere. Placing it in front of Lena, Emma gets back to her tasks of making their omelettes. “Thank you and yes that is good news.”

Emma nods and smiles at her girlfriend, almost causing Lena to choke on her coffee.

Oh don't you dare look back

Just keep your eyes on me

Emma looks at the radio and starts bobbing along to the song as she mouths the words.

I said you're holding back

She said shut up and dance with me

Lena giggles as Emma starts putting on a show for her, shaking her hips and ridiculously mimes along.

This woman is my destiny

She said oh oh oh

Shut up and dance with me

Shutting the hob off Emma dances around the island and holds her hand out to her girlfriend.

“Em! You know I can’t dance!” Lena whines and pouts.

“Oh I’m sorry! Do we have an audience in the apartment I don’t know about?” Emma motions around the room and scrunches up her cheek.

“Fine.” Lena takes Emma’s hand and allows herself to be pulled from the stool. Emma takes her other hand and they start dancing together. Lena feels embarrassed. Knowing she can’t move as well as Emma but the blonde doesn’t care. She wraps an arm around Lena’s waist and holds her other hand, twirling them around.

“Emma!” Lena laughs loudly and lets go of the blonde. Allowing herself to move with the music, no matter how silly she thinks she looks.

When the song ends Emma gently kisses her lips and pats her ass. She goes to head back to the hob and continue making their food. But Lena grabs her hand and pulls her back. Placing a passionate kiss on her girlfriend’s lips.

Although Emma can’t make noise Lena knows how she is feeling by how Emma’s body moves against her. The way her hand gently caresses her face and the other runs up and down her body. Emma has always been tactical, something Lena struggled with at first, especially when she first met Kara. But now, Emma’s touch is everything.

Breakfast forgotten Lena starts pushing Emma onto the sofa. Causing Emma to let out a breath of surprise and grin up at the raven haired beauty before Lena straddles her. They reconnect their lips and start moving as one, unable to get enough of each other.

-- -- --

Hours later Kara is flying around the earth for an unspecified amount of time. She just wants to be left alone to think and enjoys the feeling of the sun on her face.

“Supergirl?” Winn’s voice crackles through the comms link in her ear.

“Yes, Winn?”

“Lucy wanted me to remind you it’s almost six.”

“And where are you?”

“At Lucy’s.” Kara can almost hear the ‘duh’ in her friend’s voice.

“Who else is there?”

“Everyone other than you, Lena and Emma.”

Kara tilts her head in confusion but steers herself in the direction of National City. “Okay, I’m on my way. Does Lucy need me to pick anything up?”

“Nope, just yourself.”

“Alright. See you soon.” Kara ends the link and takes a deep, steadying breath through her nose. Her jaw clenches and she tries to go through the calming exercises Doctor Jackson has taught her.

Feeling a bit more grounded, Kara lands in an alleyway by Lucy’s new apartment. She quickly disengages her suit and heads to the entrance of the building. Planting on a convincing smile, Kara runs up the flight of stairs, wanting to avoid the elevator. Soon Kara is standing outside Lucy’s front door and she slowly raises her fist to knock.

Letting off a few rhythmic, quick taps the blonde superhero waits for the door to open. Hearing someone approach from the other side, Kara prepares herself.

“Kara!” Lucy smiles brightly at her and pulls the blonde into a hug. “You made it!” The brunette lets go and opens the door fully to allow Kara to enter.

“I’m sorry I don’t have a housewarming gift or- something.” Kara fiddles with her glasses and stares at the modern open planned apartment. “Wow. Your place is amazing.”

“Yea it was a steal!” Lucy leads Kara to the kitchen area to get her a drink. “The couple before it hadn’t seen its potential and had aged decor that was definitely not my style. So new, well, everything, and here we are. Drink?”

“Er sure, vodka tonic?”

“Coming right up! Make yourself at home.” Lucy smiles at Kara before getting the things needed for the blonde’s drink.

Kara nods and wanders over to the lounge area where all of her friends are sitting.

“Kara!” Nia yells happily and jumps to her feet to give the blonde a hug, with Ruby right behind her.

“Hey!” Kara genuinely smiles at the pair and gives them a warm hug. Ruby holding onto her a bit longer as she explains the new drama between the love triangle of her friends.

“Gosh! So-” Kara blinks trying to make sense of it all when Ruby finally takes a breath. “Claire is now with Ri? But she thought she was straight and…”

Alex snorts at how she can practically see the clogs working in Kara’s as she tries to figure out the new teen drama. Eliza smiles over at her daughter and they roll their eyes fondly at each other.

“Yaha!” Ruby says happily and kneels next to the coffee table by her Mom. Grabbing a handful of crisps from the bowl. “It’s all the school can talk about! Which is nice since all they’ve been talking about is-”

“Rubes! Save some food for the others!” Sam quickly interrupts, knowing Ruby was about to reveal the mini shrines of Emma that had been placed around the school from dedicated fans.

Thankfully, taking the hint, Ruby stops and passes the bowl around.

“And how’s school work going? In general, I mean.” Kara sits opposite Ruby and grabs a huge handful herself when the bowl is placed back on the table.

“Well-”

A knock makes Ruby pause for a second before she continues telling Kara her favourite subjects and what the teachers are like. She has already told Kara this many times but the blonde Superhero enjoys hearing about a subject that is completely normal and isn’t related to what's happened over the past few weeks.

Both sister’s keep their attention on the teenager as they hear Lucy enthusiastically greet Lena and Emma.

Eliza excuses herself and heads straight for her youngest daughter. Crushing her in a mama bear hug. Also surprising Lena when she gives her one too.

Sam grins at the sight and drains her beer before getting up.

“I’m getting another” Sam points at her empty can. “Does anyone want anything?”

Choruses of no greet her making the brunette turn towards the kitchen and approach the trio.

“Hey!” Sam smiles and hugs Lena from behind.

“I’m not talking to you.” Lena huffs and keeps her body rigid.

“Aww why? What did I do now?” Sam whines and winks at Emma who is watching them curiously.

“You logged me out.” Lena responds matter of factly, causing Sam to snort and lean close to Lena’s ear.

“Well, it seems like a good idea, since your neck is covered in hickeys.” Sam teases, but before Lena can respond Emma, unfortunately, chose that moment to take a swig of her soda. Promptly choking on the liquid as her breath of surprise makes it go the wrong way.

“Sweetheart?” Eliza quickly pats Emma’s back hard as the blonde voicelessly coughs and splutters. Lena goes to help her girlfriend but Sam keeps her arms tightly wrapped around her.

Emma holds up a hand to signal she is okay and massages her throat as she tries to get her breathing under control.

“Emma?” Ruby rushes over, her face full of worry. “Are you okay?”

Emma nods and gives the teen a thumbs up.

“Great!” Ruby yells and flings her arms around the blonde, making Emma let out a breath of shock and simultaneously tensing for a brief moment.

“Rubes! Remember you need to be gentle with the puny humans!” Sam jokes, letting go of Lena and ruffles her daughter’s hair. “Sorry Em.”

Emma shrugs her shoulders and hugs the teen back. It wasn’t like Ruby’s tackle hadn’t hurt her or anything. She didn’t even move or feel like she was being knocked over.

Soon Ruby lets go and grabs a few snacks from the island.

“So your powers are starting to develop?” Emma signs before taking a handful of grapes and popping them in her mouth.

“Yea! Mom’s been teaching me and hopefully Kara and Alex can help too.”

“What came first?” Emma signs and she can’t help but remember the time Alex tried to experiment with Kara’s powers. Emma mainly stood on the sidelines and watched, knowing they shouldn’t but too fascinated to leave her sisters alone.

“My strength! I can lift a car!”

“Only a little way.” Sam bumps her shoulder into Ruby’s before focusing on Emma and Lena. “This one is still a bit of an unknown, being part human, part Kryptonian.” The brunette boops her daughter’s nose, making Ruby scrunch it up. “So we can’t push it.”

“Yes Mom…” Ruby rolls her eyes and quickly escapes to the group around the sofa.

Emma watches her and her eyes connect with dark brown and crystal blue ones. Emma smiles warmly at her sisters, who return it. Although, Emma can see a slight tightness in their faces.

“Go to them.” Lena whispers softly in Emma’s ear and nudges her forward.

Lena watches as Emma takes a deep breath and follows Ruby towards the sofas. Kara stands slowly, as if making any sudden movements would spook Emma. But the two blonde sisters immediately embrace and Lena smiles sadly as Alex hesitantly joins them. Even Lena can see how tense the redhead’s shoulders are. Which Emma seems to sense too as she soothingly rubs her sister’s back.

A buzzer screeches out across the apartment making Emma jump at the sudden noise.

“You okay?” Alex asks as she pulls away from the group hug. Kara also frowns slightly at Emma, having also felt her jump.

Emma smiles sheepishly. “Yea, the buzzer was loud.” She tries to explain and shrugs before flopping onto the sofa.

“It wasn’t that loud.” Alex comments but sits next to the blonde. “So, why were you and Lena late?”

Immediately Kara swoops into the empty space next to Emma. She grins and shakes her head, taking a sip from her drink.

A blush creeps on Emma’s cheeks and she lifts a hand to hide her beaming smile. Feeling a bit self conscious and shy.

“So the move went well?” Alex takes pity on her and asks a different question. She reaches out to play with Emma’s long wavy hair, something she would naturally do, but for a moment she pauses.

Emma nods and smiles as Alex begins to curl her hair around her finger. “Yes, it went very well. She actually has space for me in her wardrobe!”

“You’re sleeping in the walk-in wardrobe?” Kara asks, a bit confused.

Emma lets out a snort and a quick burst of air. Shaking her hand she raises her hands to sign again. “I meant my clothes. She made room for my clothes in her wardrobe.”

“Ahhh. Yeah that makes more sense.” Kara laughs and Alex gives her a small smile.

“And I’m sure it's way too soon, but how are you two doing?” Emma looks back and forth between her two sisters.

“Er, fine!” Kara lifts her hand up casually. “I did a few laps, cleaned, looked through emails. That kind of thing.” She shrugs and settles more into the sofa.

Emma watches her carefully but before she can ask anymore Lucy interrupts her.

“Pizza!”

Ruby whoops and zooms towards the island. But a blur gets there before her. “Hey! No fair!” She yells at Kara who is already piling her plate.

Emma grins and shakes her head. Looking back over at Alex, her smile fades slightly as she catches her sister’s emotional eyes watching her.

Alex immediately schools her expression and as she goes to get up Emma places a hand on hers.

“Em?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Pretty much what Kara said. Did normal, mundane things.” Alex crosses her arms tight over her chest. “Nothing exciting to report. Unfortunately. Or fortunately.”

Emma nods and gives her sister a warm smile. “Pizza? Before the Kryptonians eat it all?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Alex stands and pulls Emma up. As they walk to the island, where everyone else is standing, the redhead places an arm around her sister’s shoulders. Emma grins, copying her sister and lays her head against Alex’s.

-- -- --

The night continues with laughter and banter as the superfriends fall back into the normal routine of hanging out together.

That is until Emma goes to sign something but someone cuts her off or Emma voiceless laughs, expelling heavy breaths, which cuts her sisters deeply. Emma notices this and always tries to smile reassuringly at them, sensing the slight tension in the air.

“Are we going to play something?” Ruby asks, getting a bit bored of all the talking and catching up everyone was doing.

“What game do you suggest?” Sam smiles at her daughter as she thinks. “It needs to be something we can all play.”

“Pictionary? Charades?”

“Pictionary!” Lucy jumps up and rushes to her home office. She comes back with a huge conference board flip chart and sets it up. “Okay! So teams!” She looks around the room. “How about those on each sofa?”

“That ain’t fair!” Winn motions to the sofa Emma, Kara and Alex were sitting on and Lena was on Emma’s lap. “They have a weird sisterly bond and can read each other's mind! And don’t get me started on your team!” Winn points at the other sofa with Brainy, J’onn and Nia on.

“Winn, it’s fine.” Sam laughs but gives him a knowing look that shuts him up.

The teams end up being sofa one, aka The Champion team, name chosen by Ruby and Winn while Sam and Eliza just shake their heads in amusement at her teammates.

Sofa two, aka The Dream team, consisted of Brainy, Lucy, Nia and J’onn. The group laughs loudly as Nia reveals the name.

Sofa three, aka The A Team, which is the go to name for the Danvers. Lena feels slightly awkward, as if she was interrupting their moment and offered to swap with Eliza but Emma’s arms, encasing her waist, kept her from moving off her lap. Eliza thanks her but reassures that she is happy where she is.

“Right! Team The Champions! Are you ready?” Lucy gets the card out of the holder. “Whose drawing?”

“Oh me!” Ruby’s hand shoots up in the air.

Lucy quickly checks the word to make sure Ruby will know what it is. She hands the teen the card and turns the egg timer.

Chaos ensues as Ruby draws quickly and her team starts screaming random words that could work with the lines she is drawing.

Emma looks at Alex and unlatches her hands from Lena to sign behind her back. “Priest.”

The redhead looks back at the board and suddenly sees it. The dog collar Ruby was trying to draw around a stick figure's neck and the cross.

They watch in amusement as the group yell different things and all Ruby could do was stab the dog collar over and over.

“Time!”

“PRIEST!!” Ruby yells exasperatedly and flops onto the sofa in a huff.

“Oh of course!” Sam slaps her forehead.

“Sorry Ruby.” Eliza places a hand on the teen’s shoulder. “I thought it was something else and once my mind is onto something it’s hard to change it.”

“And don’t we know it.” Alex sasses and takes a big gulp of her drink.

“Alex!” Kara laughs loudly and Emma joins her with a few big exhales of breath.

Alex quickly glances at the blonde before focusing on the second team.

“Okay Nia. We are one.” Brainy sits on the edge of the cushion and doesn’t blink as he keeps focused on his girlfriend. Lucy hands Sam the egg timer and the game starts again.

Emma purses her lips forward, reacting to how cute the pair are being. Looking up at her own girlfriend she wraps her arms around Lena’s waist and pulls her down.

“Em!” Lena squeaks as she suddenly finds herself laid down on Emma’s shoulder. The blonde responds by kissing Lena’s cheek and nuzzling her neck. “Hi love.”

“Small person!” Lucy screams and Nia quickly shakes her head. “Dammit!”

“Big person?!” J’onn holds his hands up and Nia rolls her wrists over and over, hinting they were on the right track.

Brainy’s eyes dart over the stick figures on the paper. How each one was getting bigger and bigger. His brain computing the possibilities.

“Do you know what it is?” Alex whispers to Emma, who nods in response. She moves her hands so only Alex and Lena can see.

“Giant.”

“Basketball player?!” Lucy screams and looks panicky at the timer.

“Giant!” Brainy yells just as the last piece of sand falls.

“YES!” Nia jumps up and down in excitement and Emma claps a few times in applause. The others join in with her and give whoops of approval.

Emma smirks as she watches Winn’s clouded face, especially when Nia rolls the dice and it lands on a six.

“It’s got a triangle by it.” Nia informs as she looks at the card.

“Means it's an all play round.” Lucy explains. “Right teams! Choose your drawer!” She grabs some paper and places it by each team.

“Peanut?” Alex turns to Emma.

“But Emma’s the best guesser!” Kara argues but closes her mouth when Alex gives her a look to be quiet.

Emma shrugs and helps Lena up so she can go to Nia to look at the word on the card. Nia smirks at her and Emma lets out a loud breath as she reads it. Sam joins in when she looks at the card as well.

“May the odds be ever in your favour.” Emma signs and kneels by the sofa. Placing the paper on a book to lean on. “You need to be quick with this!” Emma signs at her group.

“Hey! No communicating beforehand!” Winn yells and Emma sticks her tongue out at him.

“Okay, ready?” Lucy asks and everyone confirms. “Three, two, one, go!”

Lena stands over Emma’s shoulder and watches as her hand almost blurs as she draws.

“A gun?” Alex quirks her head to the side.

“Water pistol?!” Kara yells over the noise of the other teams and bounces excitedly.

“Silencer!” Alex claps and Emma lifts her hands in the air in triumph.

“HOW?!” Sam screeches and stomps over to look at Emma’s drawing. “Oh, that’s pretty good.”

“What do you expect? My girlfriend’s an artist after all.” Lena says smugly and kisses Emma’s head.

“Blurgh! There’s children present!” Lucy hollars from the other sofa and a pillow flies straight for her head. “Hey!” She splutters and Emma grins at her.

“Okay A Team, let's see if you can do two in a row.” Sam rounds her shoulders back to look intimidating.

“Bring it.” Kara stands and tries to look as intimidating as the brunette.

“No sweetie.” Alex pulls Kara back down to the sofa and wraps an arm around her.

“Em?” Lucy grabs their attention. “Do you wanna go again?”

Emma looks back at her team who nod for her to do the main one herself. She shrugs and gets up to take the card from Lucy.

But something strange happens. Emma misjudges where the coffee table is and the world blurs slightly. Her foot catches on the corner of the table and she goes flying towards the other sofa. Landing heavily in a heap on the floor.

“Sweetheart!” Eliza quickly kneels next to her daughter whose shoulders are moving up and down rapidly.

Emma sits up and her face is flushed with embarrassment but she is silently laughing at herself.

“And I thought Kara was the klutz.” Winn muses and the blonde superhero shoots him an offended look.

“Well they are sisters.” Nia agrees and laughs with him.

“Technically-”

Nia quickly interrupts Brainy. “I know, it’s a joke.” She places a hand on his thigh.

“Oh! Yes! Good one!” Brainy smiles and nods in approval.

Emma gets up and dusts herself off. Her head aches and her eyes hurt but that isn’t anything new.

“Here's the card.” Lucy says as she hands it to her.

Emma reads it and eyebrows shoot up at the word. Alps

“Yea! Good luck with that.” Lucy snorts. “Get ready Champs.”

“Ions. The Champ-ions.” Winn tries to correct her but Lucy playfully ignores him.

“Okay Emma! You got this!” Kara claps and leans forward. Alex and Lena copy her, ready to make the correct guess.

“Three, two, one, go!”

Emma quickly sketches out a map of Europe, showing the tell tale signs of Italy and France.

“Europe!” Lena yells and Emma does a thumbs up before circling where the Alps are placed.

“Switzerland?” Kara asks quickly.

Emma rolls her wrist letting them know they are on the right track. She starts drawing big, jagged mountains.

“The Alps!” Lena screams and Emma nods immediately.

“How did you get that?” Lucy’s eyes go wide.

“Because they also have a weird, soulmate connection.” Winn huffs as he leans back against the sofa. Eliza pats his head a few times.

“Roll the dice Em.” Alex holds the die out and Emma rolls it.

The game goes on for quite some time with much laughter and tantrums. But the clear winners become the A Team. Winning on the word chandelier that Alex immediately gets.

“I’m telling you it’s null and void!” Winn huffs as he stomps to help clear up.

“Look! Just because they have some weird, mental connection, does not mean they didn’t win that fair and square.” Lucy argues back, still impressed with Emma’s drawing of The Phantom Of The Opera mask and the famous chandelier.

Once the apartment is cleared of rubbish everyone starts saying their goodbyes. Emma gets hugged the most and finally it's her sister's turn.

“Night Em.” Kara hesitantly wraps her arms around her baby sister. Almost barely touching her. “Sleep well.” Kara quickly lets go, racing for the door. Emma’s shoulders slump slightly as she watches her go.

“Hey.” Alex turns Emma’s attention to her and holds out her arms. Emma dives into them immediately and Alex closes her eyes as she holds her there. The images of her dream invade her mind so Alex snaps her eyes back open. Involuntarily going rigid at the memory.

Emma steps back and gives the redhead a sad smile.

“Love you.”

“Love you too.” Alex answers almost automatically and heads for the door. She rushes down to her motorbike in the garage and shoves the helmet over her head and turns on the ignition. Roaring the beast to life she zooms out of the underground garage and onto the streets. Trying to force the images of a bloodied Emma out of her mind as she speeds into the night.

(Twenty Eight)

#supergirl #supergirl baby danvers #supergirl imagine #supergirl fanfic #supergirl tv #supergirl fanfiction #lena luthor x baby danvers #lena luthor imagine #alex danvers x baby danvers #alex danvers imagine #kara danvers x baby danvers #kara danvers imagine #b!d

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i-miss-balthazar · 3 years

Text

1. why did you choose your url?

Spoke from the heart

2. any side blogs?

None that are active, but yeah, a few. I will not be disclosing any of them.

3. how long have you been on tumblr?

This blog specifically? Four years. Then I had a previous blog for a year but we don’t talk about that

4. do you have a queue tag?

No, I embrace the anarchy

5. why did you start your blog in the first place?

Because I’d already seen all the Pinterest memes

6. why did you choose your icon/pfp?

I made it, actually. It was a thing for pride month because I was bored, and I have since lost the inspiration I once had to make new one every holiday.

7. why did you choose your header?

I was in a rush to make my blog look established and it was the first Balthazar quote gif I found

8. what’s your post with the most notes?

One of my first posts actually, aged pretty well.

9. how many mutuals do you have?

A ton, not entirely sure how I calculate this and too lazy to find out. But I love them all so very much

10. how many followers do you have?

2,116

11. how many people do you follow?

220

12. have you ever made a shit post?

Funny story, I made a 3am shit post calling Dean Winchester the ultimate monster fucker after the whole BeanDenny thing and the following morning, upon forgetting what I had posted, I shared my Tumblr with some discord friends in an esteemed writing project. @yourfinalbow I’m sorry this your first impression of my Tumblr 😂

13. how often do you use tumblr a day?

Not as much, as of late, but I really should, it’s a great time

14. did you ever have a fight/argument with another blog?

Almost. A person took my tags out of context and wanted to start some anti-destiheller stuff. I had a clap back written out, and then realized that I would achieve nothing, so I deleted it and instead explained the mix up. Felt extremely responsible after that, I miss the days when I gave a shit about what people thought of my posts 😂

15. how do you feel about the you need to reblog posts?

They stress me out. I feel guilty but absolutely hate reblogging them because then I make other people feel guilty :/

16. do you like tag games?

I adore them with every fibre of my being

17. do you like ask games?

Love them, but never do them because no one participates xD

18. which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?

@misha-moose-dean-burger-lover and @trenchcoatsandfreckles , absolute legends I’m so honoured to be mutuals with

19. do you have a crush on a mutual?

@kermitdrinkingteadotjpg 🥰🥰😘🤟

Tagging

@moderatelypanickedbiromantic @internetintroverts @centroverted @o4x16 @diaryofageekgirl @i-know-like-four-things @eyesofatragedy67 @the-source-will-flow @3dg310rdsupreme @angels-of-baker-st @susanoosama01 and everyone previously mentioned! Thanks to Eth for tagging me (like two weeks ago, but hey! I did get to it eventually!)

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whatgaviiformes · 3 years

Text

10. Music Makers - Part 6 / Scenes from Gordon’s Bedside

Chapter Summary: Virgil and Gordon and music

You are Here - Final Section

Chapter A/N: In honor of 10 chapters of this concept, the plan is to give you a hell of a chapter 10 with a few moments in time strung together. I decided to go ahead and share what I have with you instead of waiting. Once the chapter has been shared in full over tumblr, I will post the full piece at Ao3 and FF.net. It may or may not make sense to remain as chapter 10 or be it’s own thing. Do share if you have an opinion. :-)

Adding also - this is the final bit. Thank you all so much for the reblogs and the likes, and the tags. The support has been wonderful and I am so humbled. I hope you have enjoyed. I am posting the last bit here, and tomorrow sometimes I’ll probably post the FF and Ao3 links for the story in full, but for now, this is for you tumblr. Thank you.

Part Notes: A thank you to @gumnut-logic for the read through because I needed another set of eyes on what is a complicated set of boys below. It’s been a whirlwind of a day.

For tunes this time - Green Onions.

***

Music Makers - Part 6/The Conclusion

“You want to do what?!”

“I want to use your accident as a simulation for training.” John continues to layer cream cheese onto his toasted bagel as he speaks, but Gordon has stopped his knife mid-spread, the heaping dollop of hazelnut hovering dangerously on the dull edge.

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not,” John says, his countenance severe as green eyes stare piercingly to meet Gordon’s shocked expression.

“O-kay” Gordon says slowly, placing his breakfast down onto his plate and pushing the breakfast meal aside. “Why exactly?”

The hydrofoil had exploded before anyone could ever have anticipated the destruction; there had been no time. The only way to use his accident for a rescue simulation was to admit what really happened. And while Gordon was grateful for what John had risked by hacking confidential WASP files to discover the cause of the accident, no good could from clueing in Scott and Virgil to the knowledge that it was sabotage, that someone – they still don’t know who - had tried to murder him and had succeeded for seven others. He planned to take the knowledge to his grave and has asked John to do the same. Which is why it was strange for their Thursday morning to start with such a suggestion.

The four of them had been running sims for weeks. There was nothing that would beat live testing the equipment and they had done test drives of the pods and ships, but running mission scenarios was different. Before they introduced International Rescue to the world, they needed to be able to trust each other completely, to know how to work the problem.

Scott had naturally taken to the role of commander, his instincts well in tune with countering the details of John’s “missions.” Since it was all simulations, Virgil would often challenge Scott’s decisions, walk through the equipment they would have at their disposal, and offer additional suggestions. Brains and Jeff had started to create practice rescues as well, so John got the practice he needed to best support communications.

Overtime, the rescues became more complex. They were all experts in their fields, so it was natural for them to lean into the rescues that met their niches, but when they went live that wouldn’t always be the case. Just yesterday, Gordon had given his family a crash course on how to best avoid getting the bends in a deep sea rescue, and Gordon has learned more about functioning in zero gravity than he hopes he will ever truly need.

Sometimes John and Brains would program the mission to have an urgency to it, sometimes it was a mission of precision. And they’d failed. A lot. A lot less lately as they started to get into the groove, but they always worked the problem until they solved it.

Even knowing what he did about the bomb that had been placed deep in the hydrofoil’s engine, Gordon’s knew his accident was…unsolvable.

“But how are we supposed to solve for the impossible, John?” John doesn’t answer; he just looks at Gordon patiently, pointedly. Waiting. “Oh my God, you want to give them a Kobayashi Maru!”

John nods. “Yes.”

“No, I don’t like it,” Gordon says, shaking his head.

“Look, we will do everything we can, and we will still lose people. Scott and Virgil—” the and you goes unsaid “—need to understand that! They’re getting too complacent, and they need to understand the stakes. We can’t save everyone.”

“We understand the stakes,” he argues, but John is shaking his head vehemently.

“No. You don’t. You all have shown you’re going to be a hell of a team, honestly,” he says. “But it’s all been puzzling through the situations, how to use the pods. I need a way for it to feel real, and I can’t use the avalanche, so —"

“Don’t you DARE.”

“I’m just trying to find something—"

“John, stop.” Gordon says, grasping at the redhead’s shoulders and gently shaking him. “I need you to turn off rescue work here. How can you even think to do that to Virgil? What exactly are you trying to prove? I didn’t think you would be so cruel.”

Gordon can’t fathom what would possess John to pressure his brothers – Virgil who, he clearly has mis-understood, and Scott, who after two months MIA, had been returned to his family with an honorable discharge and a pair of haunted eyes and agitated reflexes that were mere phantoms to what they imagine he went through captured behind enemy lines. If training in the Air Force was anything like WASP, Gordon knew just why and how Scott closed himself off from feeling at times.

John pales. “I’m not—”

“What is Virgil supposed to think if you give them the avalanche and they can’t solve it?” Gordon feels heat flush up his neck. “What if they can solve it? I don’t even know what’s worse, but I won’t let you do it! I won’t!”

“I know. Look, I know, Gordon. You haven’t let me finish; I said I am not going to use to avalanche,” he says, urging Gordon to understand. He knows how difficult this is. He’s been going through it in his head for days before mustering the courage to ask Gordon. “Just let me start over.”

“Fine. But get to the point.”

“Tell me - when is the last time any of you used someone’s name on a rescue simulation?”

The question takes him by surprise. He knows they receive the victim’s name in the scenario briefing, but he can’t remember a time when they used names. The simulations were life-like enough that they could role play if they need to, yeah, but the point was to practice with the equipment. But then, they had been exceeding expectations there lately.

“How about the last mission? Do you remember the victim’s name? How about his age?”

Gordon stares blankly at his brother. He thinks it started with a B, perhaps. Brandon? Bradley?

“It was Randy, and he was 8. Virgil geared up with the Jaws of Life, moved the cross beam to save him, and got him out of the fire to safety. You don’t even know why the boy froze, do you? It was because he was scared. Randy was deaf and he didn’t hear a thing Virgil said. Virgil can’t do ASL in the exo-suit, and for the entire simulation he faced away from him. Virgil may have gotten him out, but he didn’t give him very much trust in International Rescue.”

“Yeah, but he would still be alive if it were a real situation.”

“Gordon, the situation was never about the fire. It hasn’t been about learning the equipment for weeks. Please. I am not trying to be heartless. I just… don’t know how else to make it feel real to them. And I am worried.”

“So, what? You’re trying to make a point about their compassion, and yet you’re showing them none? I don’t want any part of it,” he growls. “And you make your own no-win scenario. Leave mine out of it.” Gordon slides his chair back and storms off.

After a few seconds, John too retreats to his room, after wrapping up the two uneaten bagels for later. He has a lot to think about.

***

Gordon finds Virgil in Thunderbird 2’s hangar, checking her over for the test flight they are planning to undertake after simulations today. His dark hair is swept underneath a large headset that could appear to have a safety function to protect his ear drums, but no, Gordon knows they are his older brother’s preferred set of sound blocking, bass pumping, wireless headphones.

He'd bought them for him himself, as a thank you after one of his more difficult nights, and he knew from experience how immersive the sounds were through the speakers. There was no one else around other than Gordon, which Virgil had yet to realize, and so it was a sign of just how focused Virgil was in his work.

Gordon steps further into the hangar and observes the adoration Virgil puts into his careful touches as he checks the green supply ship. Over the past year and a half, Virgil has channeled all of his creativity and ingenuity into her build. Thunderbird 2 was what Virgil needed, his special project to distract him from the burdens of Gordon’s injuries as he healed.

He sits down on a crate and closes his eyes. Virgil had sacrificed so much for him. If anything, the simulations had shown just how eager Virgil was, and John didn’t know their brother well enough if he felt Virgil was forgetting the stakes. Virgil knew the stakes better than anyone. The idea for International Rescue had been born from loss after all. A loss that Virgil was a breath away from being part of.

How can he possibly blame him for his excitement to share Thunderbird 2 with the world? For getting lost in the details? The problem was the simulations would always be awkward for him. He compensated for his lack of acting skills by leaning into what he knew well, which was his patience, knowledge of machines, and an innate talent for challenging Scott.

Gordon didn’t need a simulation for him to have the upmost faith in Virgil’s compassion. John hadn’t been here to know how tenderly Virgil cared for him while he was healing and so he couldn’t see what Gordon could: that when it was real and when it mattered, Virgil’s heart would only be focused on the people they were trying to save.

A no-win scenario would break him.

When he opens his eyes again, Virgil is still oblivious to his presence, but he’s abandoned his wrench and with his hands free has started to dance, his head bopping, energized with the beat that only he can hear. A shimmy and a spin and he finally catches sight of Gordon, who laughs with the scene. Virgil is so in his element today, and the joy Gordon feels is so counter to his anger from earlier that morning.

“Hey!” Virgil calls, a little louder than he realizes with the headphones still around his ears, but he removes them as he realizes and walks over. “How long have you been there?”

“Not long. Whatcha listening to?” Gordon can hear the pulse from the speakers.

“R&B Soul.” Virgil pulls the headphones off his neck and sets them around Gordon’s ears. The cool blues bassline vibrates through his bones and he too rocks his body with the music for a couple seconds.

“S’cool. I like it,” he says, before relinquishing the headphones back to his brother.

Virgil accepts them back, his eyes suspiciously bright as he places them around his neck once more. “Sorry,” he says chuckling lightly at himself. “It’s just – you’re dancing.”

“I know. Who would’ve thought?” He grins devilishly as he attempts a pirouette and fails.

“I did.”

“Yeah, yeah you did.” Gordon goes quiet a moment, whispering, “Thank you.”

“You really don’t need to keep thanking me, Gordon.”

“Yeah, I really do.”

***

After dinner, Scott finds Gordon sitting on the edge of the pool, swinging his feet in the chlorinated water. It’s wild to think that after all this time, Thunderbird 1 is waiting below for her first mission.

“You skipped simulations today.”

He grunts. “I know. How did it go?” He knows Scott will assume he skipped for his health.

“Well we need an astronaut, that’s for sure.” A space mission. That’s… different. “We could use you tomorrow if you’re up for it. We still haven’t been able to launch correctly and it’s John’s program so he’s not talking.”

“I am not a space guy, Scott.”

“Yeah, but three of us are better than two,” he urges. “We’ll figure it out.”

***

Mayday! Mayday! Impact imminent.

He can’t get the sounds of John’s pained voice out of his head, panicked calls for help that they have been trying for hours to reach.

Over and over.

Until finally, they did reach Thunderbird 5, and after so many times hearing his brother die, John had programmed for them to see it.

“We’re too late; run it again,” Scott had said, pale. “Okay, how do we improve our launch speed this time?”

Then for another three hours, they kept trying to tick off time, to get there faster, until their time plateaued and yet they still were unable to save their sibling.

The mechanical voice – All systems offline. And the screams for help fade to nothing, and Virgil knows what to expect. It’s been torture. Virgil collapses in front of the too white, too pale, too dead figure and screams for it to stop, ripping off the virtual headset.

His knees are weak, but he dashes to John all the same – he needs to see him, to feel him alive. But John’s expression stops him in his tracks.

“It’s not solvable.”

John shakes his head, his expression tight. “No.”

Betrayal flashes through Virgil’s eyes.

“What the hell, John!” Scott shouts and Virgil jumps at the volume. He puts his hand on Virgil’s trembling shoulder. “How long were going to do this for?”

“I-I didn’t think you’d keep running it that long!”

“Of course we were going to keep running it, John – you’re our brother. We would never give up on you. God dammit!”

“I’m sorry, look, Gordon was right-”

“Gordon knows? Is that why he’s been skipping? I thought he was hurt.”

“No, no. Well not really, but–”

Scott eyes flash, and he leaves the training room in a flurry of angry curse words. Virgil cringes as the door slams.

“Virgil, I mean it,” John pleads. “I am so sorry. I didn’t think you’d stay in there. I really didn’t.”

His fingers twitch, as he starts to feel life back in them again, his heart suppressing the vision of red hair caked with blood and unseeing green eyes. John is not the most tactile of people, but despite being quite tall among the Tracy family, his shoulders slump and he seems so small.

John is still his younger brother, though, and he’s upset, and they both could use the hug Virgil had been wanting. He covers the rest of the distance to John and envelops him in his arms.

“Damn you,” he whispers into red hair, and yet he never wants to let him go.

***

Scott is livid. Gordon is absent. John is remorseful. Alan is unaware, lucky kid.

Virgil feels sick. He taps on his watch and calls for Gordon. “Where are you?”

Through the communicator, the aquanaut responds that he’s on the beach by the dock and invites him to join if he wants. Virgil wants. He needs to get out of the villa. Maybe get some fresh air as the sun ducks beyond the horizon.

After a few moments gathering himself, he begins the trek down. In his left hand he carries a guitar, in his right he holds his shoes, as he steps carefully over the granules of sand towards his brother.

Gordon is already strumming on the ukulele when he approaches.

“Did you know?”

“I had an idea,” Gordon admits. “I didn’t agree with it.”

Virgil hums, plopping down next to him on the large beach blanket he’s laid out along the sand. Virgil likes the guitar, and it’s a lot more portable than a baby grand piano. But also, there’s just something powerful about a beach bonfire with the sound of plucked strings.

It's easy for Virgil to fall into chords that complement Gordon’s melodies, and they aren’t playing anything in particular, but it’s seamless when Gordon passes the harmony to Virgil. The ukulele transitions to the accompanying chords, and Virgil smiles thankfully, nodding as he picks up one of many underdeveloped melodies in his head. Virgil fingers fly along the frets, and it's apparent in his loosening posture when he starts releasing the tension in his shoulders.

Gordon places his uke in his lap after some time and leans back into blanket, content to listen to his brother’s playing.

The gentle notes drift with the tossing of wind currents, until suddenly Virgil rounds out a melody with a sigh.

“I think we need to talk.”

Gordon nods and offers to call John and Scott if Virgil will start working on the bonfire.

John was keen for the invite, knowing he would need to be called on before his apology for the error would be accepted, but Scott had taken some talking to. After he left, he’d gone for a run along the bluffs and had settled a bit away. He finally agreed to come join with Gordon’s persuasion, but he would be a while yet.

Virgil has the fire roaring and Gordon has stepped away to talk to Scott by the time John arrives, picnic basket and roasting skewers in hand. Virgil turns from stroking the fire and accepts the picnic basket, peeking inside.

Marshmallows, chocolate bars, and graham crackers. Hell yeah.

When Scott approaches, Virgil is playing a tune on the guitar, and Gordon and John both have their skewers extended over the flame, marshmallows browning in the heat.

He is disgusted by the angry shriek of the alarms that sound in his ears at the sight of John, but he swallows down the memory, as he joins his brothers around the fire.

They are not sure what to say to each other, the smoke rising between them and drifting into the night sky, but Virgil’s music is soothing against the tense air, and it’s obvious who is still struggling to the most to meet each other’s gaze.

Gordon shrugs and picks up his ukulele to join Virgil’s song.

A lightly browned marshmallow enters Scott’s field of vision, and he follows it to meet his brother’s apologetic eyes.

“Thanks.” Scott nods, taking the treat. He’s not one for sweets as much as his siblings are, and he can’t remember the last time he had an actual all out s’more. But John knows that, knows Scott’s preference, and has quelled his instinct to stick his skewer in the fire itself to burn it black the way he likes it.

He's furious with him, but he still feels warm at the thought.

“Okay, let’s talk.”

John starts. He explains about the simulations, the number of missions he’s designed to try to get them to focus on the nuances of the people they were to be saving (even many of these are new even to Gordon), and how he was so desperate to get them to feel something. How after days of trying, and days of running worse and worse scenarios in his head, he felt he needed to do something drastic to create a no-win scenario that would challenge them beyond how they had before.

“I’m so sorry, Scott. Virgil,” John finishes. “I knew it would be rough, I just didn’t think you’d be in there that long, repeating it on a loop like that. It must have been torture.”

“It was,” Virgil admits.

“We needed to save you, idiot,” Scott says at the same time.

John is quiet, nodding. “Too real?”

It’s Scott who says yes. “Okay, so how were you involved?”

Gordon frowns at him. “I wasn’t.”

“He knew what I was trying to do. But didn’t agree with it. He didn’t know exactly what I programmed.”

“Be glad,” Virgil tells him. It’s awkward, after hearing John’s explanation, describing to John and Gordon exactly how the program had made them feel, the desperation, the awful loop of the same terrible result over and over.

“Well thanks for the nightmare fuel, I guess,” Gordon says. His brown eyes are dark, thankful that the secret of his accident is still safe, but so torn at how seriously John had taken his words to make something up. “Wait, is that something that could happen?”

“Anything can happen. That’s been the whole point.”

“Well, not if we have a say in it,” Scott proclaims. “We are Tracys. Never give up, remember?”

“But John’s right too. The reality is we can’t save everyone,” Virgil adds with a nod in John’s direction. He doesn’t agree with the methods and will have nightmares for days, but he understands how this whole mess started.

Gordon strokes the fire, adding, “Not going to stop us from trying, though. Hand me another marshmallow, Virgil, please.” Virgil does so, and Gordon squishes it slightly, before promptly tossing it in John’s surprised face. “Don’t be stupid next time.”

The marshmallow hits the center of John’s forehead, leaving a trail of sticky sugar there before it drops silently to the sand. Virgil smiles down at the guitar, suppressing his giggle with a series of notes, while Scott’s laughter is carried into the sky with the rising smoke, and John himself snorts at his own predicament.

Gordon wipes his hands on his shorts to clean off the remains of the marshmallow on his fingertips, before he picks up his instrument as well and joins Virgil in his song, just as he will for years to come, as they both will, and just as the four of them – and eventually five – will come to know each other’s steps as naturally as they know their own.

#Gavii Scribit #scenes from gordon's bedside #chapter 10 music makers #Virgil Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Scott Tracy #John Tracy #thunderbirds fanfiction #Thunderbirds are go

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pogueshomecoming · 4 years

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so i thought - jj maybank x reader

requested? nope

description: Without closure, after the breakup JJ wonders if you’d ever been truthful during your relationship.

masterlist, taglist, and request links are in my bio :)

warnings: angst, crying, running, anixety… i think thats it

tumblr is weird about italics sometimes so incase they don’t stay italicized, flashbacks start and end with a -

word count: 1.5k

JJ eyes the long stretch of asphalt in front of him. It’s familiar, almost inviting. He starts walking, one foot after the other.

Before you, JJ wasn’t one for taking walks. Leisurely strolls weren’t something he was into. He always had somewhere to be.

After you, nothing was that important. Taking the time to walk with no destination sounded inviting, and JJ found himself taking the opportunity any time he could. It was the one time he had enough space to be alone with the millions of thoughts running through his mind.

Peace of mind wasn’t something JJ knew anymore. You’d be the only one who could give that to him, and he knows you don’t want to talk to him. He has so many questions. These roads don’t give him any answers, but they give him a break from the pitiful looks he gets from his friends. How many lies had you told him?

Did you ever like his friends?

JJ pushes open the chateau door, wondering why you hadn’t called him back all day, only to find you already there. It was surprising, but it looked so natural. The four of you were in the kitchen, and you were in the center. Apparently, you knew how to flip pancakes like a pro, and everyone, including JJ, was mesmerized by your presence.

“J, watch this!” You yell, your face lighting up like a Christmas tree. With a flick of your wrist, the pancake comes off the pan, flips once, and lands safely.

“That’s cool, baby. What are you guys up to without me?” JJ questions, faking being hurt but making his way into the kitchen anyway. You pass the hot pan over to John B so you can greet your boyfriend properly.

“I wanted to bond with them more, so I brought breakfast supplies. I figured that it would be fun.” You say lowly so only the two of you can hear. JJ knew you’d been worried about infiltrating the pogues’ solid friendship, but clearly for no reason.

“I think you won them over for sure.” JJ smiles at you, pressing his forehead to yours before he kisses you softly.

JJ sucks a breath in between his teeth. His feet are picking up the pace ever so slightly. Were you sincere in your efforts to woo his friends? He thought so at the time. Now, he’s not so sure. How could you leave four people so suddenly if they meant that much?

Did you always fake your laugh?

Hands on your waist are what wakes you up. JJ’s hands, to be exact. His fingertips travel from your waistband to your collarbones, dancing gently because he knows you’re ticklish. JJ is straddling your lap and grinning ear to ear above you.

Goosebumps rise on your skin as your laugh bubbles from your lungs until it’s pushed from your lips, filling the room like music. “JJ! Stop it!"

"Sorry, sweetheart, no can do. Tickling cheers everyone up, doesn’t it?” JJ pauses while he’s talking, but he attacks again before he gives you any time to answer. Being one of the most considerate boyfriends ever, he’s trying to get you to forget about your previous day that didn’t go so well. You squeal, and JJ starts laughing with you. It felt like heaven to the blonde boy.

Just when JJ thinks he’s gotten all of the laughs out of you, you snort, and suddenly you’re both laughing so hard you’re wheezing.

“Hey, love birds, the HMS pogue, and a beautiful day is waiting for us. You coming?” John B knocks, talking through the door.

In between laughs, you say, “Yeah, we’ll be right out!”

JJ’s heart rate has picked up now. Those soft mornings with you were all of his dreams come true. After spending a few years always waking up and participating in a walk of shame, he liked the change of using the time to have a moment instead, especially when that moment was shared with you.

Did you know that this would end?

“Are you re- J? You okay?” You knock as you open the bedroom door, finding JJ against the headboard with his knees to his chest. He wipes his face into the crook of his neck quickly.

“Yeah. I’m good. I only need to change shirts, and I’ll be ready, sorry I’m late.” JJ starts to move, but you stop him, placing a hand on his knee and sitting down next to him.

“What is it? You can tell me.” You make sure to make eye contact with him, so he knows he can’t lie to you. He lets v out a soft sigh.

“Things have been so good lately, like really good. Sometimes I get in my head and start wondering how long it’ll last. When will you realize I’m not what you want, and what will it take? If I make one wrong move, you could be gone."

Now that you’re closer to him, you can see his swollen red eyes. JJ is searching your own eyes for any sense of how you feel. Was this too much? Was this his wrong move?

"Baby, what are you talking about? Yeah, things are great. I don’t intend for that to change. You are not a problem, and I’m not going to let you think that you are. We’re good. We are always going to be good. How long have you been thinking about this?” You take both of his hands in yours and kiss his knuckles. The small gesture spreads warmth throughout his body.

“A couple of days. I’m sorry. I know it’s stupid. I keep telling myself it’s fine and there’s nothing to worry about but-”

“It’s not stupid. Come to me next time, alright? I’ll always reassure you. I’ll always be by your side when you need me. We don’t have to go anywhere today. How about that? We can stay in and do nothing."

JJ looks at you and knows that you see him and his struggles. He knows that you see the patterns in his life. The patterns of his dad being nice to him to get what he wants, only to tear him up a week later. The patterns of JJ not letting anyone close for the same reason. The patterns that no one else has offered to stay as you have.

"Yeah, that sounds nice. You promise you’ll be here?” JJ is too exhausted to say anything else, but you know he appreciates you for being here.

“I will. Any time you need me, I’m here. Forever, if you need me."

JJ picks up his pace, now jogging. He’s trying to breathe, but his lungs aren’t working correctly anymore. Despite his gasps for air, he pushes on.

Were you always holding back?

You groan from across the room, looking at JJ with anger in your eyes.

"What’s gotten into you? We never fight. Tell me what’s going on, please, Y/N.” Worry is laced in JJ’s voice. He scrunches his eyebrows, and his foot taps timidly against the ground. He’s nervous.

“Nothing’s wrong. I don’t know why I started the fight. I’ve felt crazy the last few days. My emotions are all over the place. I just-"

"You what?” JJ asks impatiently. This sounds like a breakup.

There’s panic in your eyes, but you swallow, hoping it’ll go away. “I love you.”

“Y-you do?” JJ stutters, relief filling his lungs as he finally lets out the breath he’d been holding.

“I do.” You say tenderly, taking steps to close the distance and engulf JJ in your embrace.

JJ is sprinting now, his face in a grimace as he is reminding himself to breathe. His hot tears sting his cold skin. It didn’t make sense. He saw the panic in your eyes right before you said it.

Only a week later, you broke his heart. Were you planning to do it that day?

Sometimes JJ thinks the pain of not knowing hurts worse than losing you. Why couldn’t he have closure? Why couldn’t he stop feeling this way?

JJ stops running, coming to a halt immediately when he realizes where his feet have brought him.

Your house.

The door opens before he can knock. His chest is still rising and falling at a rapid pace as he catches his breath. The confused look on your face is washed away by one of sadness. Why are you sad? You broke his heart, not the other way around.

“Can we talk?”

JJ taglist + mutuals: lmk if you don’t want to be tagged :) sry i had to delelte and post again

@wlwkie, @jjjmaybank, @shawnssongs, @hopelesswritingxd, @newsiestrash123, @millie-753, @thatsonobx, @jjtheangel, @obxkie, @baileysb1tch, @ohbx, @babysbestlife, @psychicforest, @fanficscuziranout, @maebanks, @diverdown06, @pogue-writings, @maybankdreams, @thelocalpogue, @maybe-maybanks, @dpaccione, @teenwaywardasgardian, @extratragic, @pixelated-pogues, @kitluvs1, @a-brooding-bird, @ilovejjmaybank, @damonsalvawhore27, @beth-winchester21, @danicarosaline, @sunwardsss, @outerbanksbro, @collecting-stories, @yelyahryan, @brightcosmos, @ssprayberrythings, @abbiesthings, @sadcupofcoffee, @millenialpoems, @niya-savage, @queenofthepouges, @poguepunk, @perkeusjackson, @fanofmany, @stfukie @outerbankslut @jellyfishbeansontoast @dmonchld @alternativehp @cognacdelights @love-chx

#jj maybank #jj maybank fic #jj maybank x reader #outer banks #outer banks fic

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wntersfire · 3 years

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GET TO KNOW ME TAG GAME

Before I start I would just like to say (tw alcohol for now and question 19) sorry for any spelling mistakes or if I ramble a little. To cut a long fuckin story short I mis read the measurements of my shot glasses and so instead of having two cocktails I’ve had the equivalent of four in the space of an hour and a half. Being british, im not gonna let a good drink go to waste either so im onto my third/sixth now.

Tagged by @clints-lucky-arrow (an actual goddess among us mortals)

1. Why did you choose your URL?

So this reason is two-fold. One, I didn’t watch star wars growing up because I was dumb and didn’t understand the politics (it wasn’t until my boyfriend sat me down and explained it literally in January of this year that I actually got it) but I loved Sci-fi and space so the next best thing was Treasure Planet (2003 film, Available on didney+) My favourite scene is the ending when Long John Silver (spoilers) is about leave before he can be arrested and Jim confronts him. Seeing how much his character has grown, Silver says to Jim, “Look at you, glowing like a silver fire. You’re something special, Jim. You’re gonna rattle the stars, you are.” It literally makes me tear up every single time I watch it and its one of my favourite lines of all time. Second, this was actually quoted in one of my favourite book series ‘Throne of glass’ by Sarah J Maas. I adore the character of Celeana and again one of my favourite quotes from TOG is when Queen Elena says to Celeana“ You could rattle the stars. You could do anything, if only you dared.” Every time I read that line I literally get chills and I actually have plans to get this tattooed on me lmao

2. Any side blogs?

Yes my fanfic blog @second-stars-totheright (I like puns and I used to love peter pan)

3. How long have you been on tumblr?

I joined when I was 13 for the fanfiction and lurked for a very long time, just reblogging and liking things until I deleted it when I was 17. Re downloaded the app and got my account back back around February of this year (when I was 19, now 20) and since then I’ve found it much friendlier and actually interacted with people this time around, and actually started posting my work on here!

4. Do you have a queueue tag?

No. This is my general postings blog so I just kind of stick anything funny or worth keeping here, but I probably should make one!

5. Why did you start your blog in the first place?

As I said to read fanfiction (anyone wondering it was 5 seconds of summer fanfiction. Anyone who judges me in the comments its fair game 🥺) but I re-downloaded it this year because I noticed with my work on Wattpad, while I had some do really well (one has gotten 130k+ views) its very difficult to actually interact with readers and get feedback. I’ve only accumulated that high of a number after 5 years of it being on there, and so tumblr is just so much more personal!

6. Why did you choose your icon/pfp?

I did it this morning as I was getting tagged in this lmao. I wanted a cartoon girl who looked like me but because I had a specific colouring (ie my hair is black with a blonde streak at the front & my eyes have both blue and green segments because I have heterochromia) I couldn’t find any that looked like me so I recoloured a cartoon girl I found on pinterest.

7. Why did you choose you header?

The white clouds fit the stars theme and it looks pretty with the purple. ✨💜

8. Whats your post with the most notes?

“That girl is a problem | Javier Pena x Agent!Reader part 1” with 105 notes on my fanfic blog.

9. How many mutuals do you have?

I am still a little tumblr idiot when it comes to this so if someone could tell me how to find out I'll edit this

10. How many followers do you have?

72 on here, 107 on my fanfic blog (AND I LOVE ALL OF YOU ACROSS BOTH OF THEM MWAH, MWAH KISSES FOR YOU ALL 💜💜💜)

11. How many people do you follow?

165 (it was 700+ but the other day I unfollowed a bunch of accounts that haven’t been active since I followed them when I was 13. There were LOTS)

12. Have you ever made a shit post?

I mean all you have to do is look at the Nomad memes I make (UNAPOLOGETICALLY I might add 😤) for @clints-lucky-arrow to know I absolutely have. That series has a hold over me im telling you. I black out when I start reading and I awake with a bunch of meme editing apps open and my feelings tugged at from her amazing writing.

13. How often do you use Tumblr each day?

If I’m with my boyfriend which is like two days a week, rarely, but now I’ve finished uni, I’m on here all the god damn time. I feel so comfy and safe interacting with you all, not to mention some of you guys are funny as hell.

14. Did you have a fight with a blog once?

Not really on here, I haven’t received any hate luckily but I prefer not to spoil how comfy I am here with arguing.

15. How do you feel about ‘you need to re-blog this’ posts?

I’m a little confused by this I dunno whether I’ve just never come across any like this or if Stars is being a bimbo on the tl again. However, I only reblog things I’d like to keep for future reference or if something deserves to be shared to everyone else like a fic rec or a piece of art. (As Mack said, I’ve re-blogged so many in the past promising me money or luck and I am still broke as shit so what does that tell you).

16. Do you like tag games?

Yes!! I love reading everyone elses and getting to know my mutals better!

17. Do you like ask games?

Again yesss because it means I get to send love to my mutuals and get to know them better! I tend to not participate though just read their responses because I sometimes feel like I’m bugging people clogging their inboxes even though I know that’s the point idk I’m a hell of an over thinker sometimes 🥳

18. Which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?

It’s been said before but @clints-lucky-arrow (wow you rlly owning this post bby girl) but I just remember lurking on Nomad early February and liking and reblogging her chapters so I could keep them to re-read cause that’s how much I instantly loved it and when she followed me I realised who she was and lowkey had a starstruck moment bcus id been ciaght up in her work for weeks and too nervous to make contact. Also @arduadastra, I saw her work all over the pedro tags for so long and now I’ve gotten to know her she is the sweetest girl!! We usually fan over Javier Pena gifs together, she’s solely responsible for ‘That girl is a problem’ bcus of her gif sending at 1am giving me Javi thots and now it’s my most successful one on my blog. And most recently @pedrosgirlx followed me this morning and her work is genuinely some of the best I've seen on here, as I said this morning it is the Sistine Chapel ceiling of Mando art it is actually jaw dropping!! I cant believe all these creators are rlly giving us this content for free and yet being so talented AND the nicest people I’ve ever met!!

19. Do you have a crush on a mutual?

No, although I hold a lot of them dearly as friends. 15/10 would treat you lovelies to a drink of your choice if we ever met (any of you from the uk who drink I’d get you a pitcher from Whetherspoons)

20. Absolutely no pressure tags:

anyone who wants to join! a lot of people I would have tagged have already posted theirs so go for it if you like the look of it!

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wendimydarling · 4 years

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It’s My Turn to Talk

I woke up this morning to seventy-four tumblr notifications.

“Where is Freya?”

“Is Freya okay?”

“Do you know what’s going on?”

In a sleepy panic I ran to my messages, and there she was. My best friend, my online sister, hurting tremendously because you decided to act like a child. I checked on her, talked her off the ledge, apologized profusely for living in the states and not being awake during all of this, and fortunately shortly after I woke, order was restored and @littlefreya was unflagged.

Now, I’m guessing this happened because of her non-con fic. I can’t be certain, but with the drama yesterday and her recent posting of it, facts seem to be lining up that this is why she was reported. I’m not going to talk down to you, anon, because you know what you did was wrong. Instead, I want to try and explain why it was so very, very wrong.

Writing is therapy. For some of us (myself included), writing stories that involve dark subject matter is healing to the trauma that we have experienced in life. And this trauma doesn’t have to be the topic of the story nor does it have to be “extreme”; in this article the author explains how writing a non-con rape story helped her to deal with the trauma of the schoolwide and familial humiliation she experienced from failing the fifth grade. Trauma is trauma, and what one person experiences will affect them differently than it would another.

Take my own works for example. Trapped exists because growing up I felt like a hostage in my home that I couldn’t escape. I didn’t feel loved or wanted; I felt like an object, to be used however my parents saw fit or to be ignored if they didn’t feel like dealing with me. Worship exists because I spent decades of my life without being touched, and while it’s not a “dark” fic, it does deal with traumatic pasts. These events I’ve experienced may not seem “as bad” as what Freya has gone through, but again, trauma is trauma. Trauma doesn’t care how it accomplishes it’s goal, so long as that goal is achieved.

Putting words to events like these and even eroticizing them give those of us who have experienced it power over the trauma. It gives us the ability to say “I am going to embrace this part of my past, but I refuse to let it define who I am.” (@brexrif I’m sure has a much better way of explaining this thanks to her degree.)

Writing out these stories helps authors like Freya and myself deal with the events of our past that hurt, events that have caused massive amounts of mental damage. Stories like this are healing to our minds and our hearts, as much as you as a reader may not care for them. For someone to report someone else because they simply “don’t like it” and feel like they shouldn’t have to be an adult and take the time to edit the type of content they see on their dash is just childish, and I’ll tell you why.

You didn’t think about her or her many followers, you only thought about you. You took away her home, her family. You took away her safety net, her place of healing and comfort. All of her stories, weeks and months of hard work, sweat, and tears were just gone. She was left in the dark, back where she used to be, scared and alone, and for what? Because you ignored extremely clear warnings and clicked “Keep Reading”, and then didn’t like what you found? That’s like suing McDonalds because you’re allergic to tomatoes and you didn’t order your burger without ketchup, and then once you saw the ketchup you ate it anyway.

My point is this: you cannot censor people simply because YOU don’t like their content. Freya did nothing wrong, and I will be utterly DAMNED if anyone makes her feel that way. She is providing free content that helps more people than just herself, it helps girls who don’t have the confidence to leave an asshole abuser or to look in the mirror and say “today, I choose to find myself beautiful”. And you took that away from those girls. Shame on you.

The fix is simple, anon, and it takes two seconds. If you don’t like someone’s content, unfollow them. Better yet, just block them, that way you won’t even see their name or content pop-up on your dash or in any of your searches. We writers of this type of content are very careful to tag those stories so that when someone filters those tags that they find offensive or repugnant or triggering, they won’t see them. If you like some of an author’s writing but not all, then you have to use the filtering feature or else heed the warnings. That responsibility lies solely on you. It is not our job to make you feel comfortable, it’s yours.

You’re better than this, anon. So do better.

#mental health #mental health awareness #authors supporting authors #authors unite #healing from trauma #it's so important #mama bear came out #don't mess with my baby

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treescape · 4 years

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WIP Challenge

WIP Challenge 😁❤🧡💛💚💙💜🤎🖤🤍❤😁🤩🤩 Rules: tell us the titles of all the WIPs you are currently working on right now and a little about them. Then tag five other writers.

Thank you so much to @outpastthemoat for the tag! <3 <3 <3

I wasn't kidding the other day when I said I have 36 files in my In Progress folder 😅 So I'm not going to post all of them. I'm leaving out quite a few shorter prompt fills I'm working on, a few I haven’t actually gotten past the daydreaming stage for yet, as well as a few that I really don't know how I'll move forward on.

Details below the cut, since it's long. Please note that some fics are E rated. Fics are divided by pairing (obikin, dinluke, quiobi, and other/gen)

Feel free to ask me about any of these by the way--I love talking about fic!

obikin/vaderwan

eastwest

Anakin was raised a Sith, Obi-Wan a Jedi. Vader is cursed to never be able to show his face until a Jedi comes to love him. After Vader kills his Master the Emperor, he puts out a demand: one of the Jedi must come to him or he will destroy the few who remain.

Obi-Wan, naturally, sacrifices himself.

This is basically a mix of East of the Sun and West of the Moon, Beauty and the Beast, Cupid and Psyche, and Hades and Persephone. I've posted a small snippet on tumblr here.

This will be a longer, chaptered work, which I won't start posting until I've finished game plan.

exhaustion habits

For a prompt for the lines “Come on, now, Master, I couldn’t possibly carry you with more dignity” and “Obi-Wan had known exhaustion with a brutal intimacy for years” from my phone notes prompts. Order 66 doesn’t happen, and the Republic wins the war. Now that the war is over, however, Obi-Wan is so used to running on nothing but fumes that he finds it difficult to sleep if he's anything less than flat out exhausted. Since he still has to run himself ragged before he can rest, he thus keeps falling asleep in the most random places. Anakin is determined to do something about it.

game plan (chapter 2)

The second chapter of my fic in which Anakin was raised a Sith, Obi-Wan a Jedi, and they keep meeting during the Clone Wars. This was meant to be a more lighthearted Vaderwan fic than I usually write and I'm really loving it so far. There will be five chapters total, and I have them all pretty well planned out--I just need to work my way through my writing anxiety and finish them! In this second chapter, Vader has captured Obi-Wan (again) and is taking him back to his ship--but their shuttle has a bit of a malfunction and they're stranded. I've posted two brief snippets on tumblr, here and here.

light of day

The companion piece to dreamfield; Vader finds Obi-Wan on Tatooine, as suggested by my friend Scruffy! I've posted a snippet of this on tumblr here.

in darkness and light

My soulmates AU in which Anakin is raised a Sith and Obi-Wan a Jedi (are you…seeing a pattern here??? 😂) I’ve posted two brief snippet of this on tumblr, here and here! This will be chaptered, and I won’t be starting to post it until after game plan is done.

to have and to hold (part 5)

This is the fifth part of to have and to hold, for a prompt in which Obi-Wan and Anakin first sleep together. My lips are sealed as to the rest.

to have and to hold (part 6)

For a prompt in which Obi-Wan makes a misstep—and Anakin unknowingly comforts him.

to have and to hold (part 7)

For a prompt wanting to know a bit more about Bail and the twins. Obi-Wan learns some information he wishes he didn’t know—because if he doesn’t know it, he can never accidentally share it.

untitled omega!Obi-Wan

This for a prompt that asked for more in the unexceptional timing world! It will be a prequel (or can also be completely standalone). Obi-Wan, after all, has to get pregnant somehow 👀 I've posted a small snippet on tumblr here.

untitled prompt

For a prompt for the line "I'm sorry but.. Who are you?" Obi-Wan and Anakin are undercover. Shenanigans ensue! 👀

dinluke

nightmares (working title)

Din and Luke have just recently gotten together, but Luke never wants to spend the full night with Din. Luke finally confesses to Din that he has nightmares that he’s afraid of disturbing Din with. This is a big of an angstier piece than I normally do for dinluke, delving a bit into the PTSD that both Din and Luke experience.

stars shine down (on us and our love) (chapter 3)

The third chapter of my dinluke romcom, in which Leia hires Luke a bounty hunter to help out at his Jedi academy. In chapter 3, we move back to Luke's point of view the morning after Din first arrives on Yavin IV. I’m quite late getting this one done--I’m sorry! 😣

teach me (to know you) (chapter 2)

I am still planning to write this 😅 It picks up pretty much immediately after chapter 1 and is, uhh, very spicy.

untitled political au

Luke and Din are both senators. Luke was raised in politics, Din didn't even run for office and was elected because so many people put his name as a write in because they love him so much. Din and Luke fall in love around long and grueling committee meetings.

quiobi

all roads lead

Qui-Gon’s gone missing and the Council believes him to be dead. Obi-Wan refuses to believe it—and is determined to find him. I’ve been working on this for almost a year now and am hoping to finish it in the next couple of months!

beyond the greystone walls

The second part of my QuiObi Witcher AU. In this ‘verse, Qui-Gon is a Witcher who refuses to actually kill monsters, and Obi-Wan is a Sorcerer. In this specific part, Qui-Gon learns that Obi-Wan is being held captive and goes to rescue him—only to learn he’s ruined Obi-Wan’s undercover mission. Whoops.

legends and stars (chapter 2)

The second chapter of my imperial au, which is a secret santa gift for chibiobiwan. Palpatine came to power about twenty years before he does in canon; Obi-Wan becomes an Imperial officer instead of a Jedi, but keeps hearing rumours about the rebel leader Qui-Gon Jinn. This will be 5 chapters and an epilogue, and my goal is to get it all wrapped up in the next couple of months. The second chapter picks up right where the last one left off, with Obi-Wan having just landed on Tython.

The Trials and Tribulations of Master Kenobi, Gentleman (chapter 2)

The second chapter of my QuiObi Regency AU! Which I am still working on! I swear! This fic will be four chapters, of which only one is posted. In the first chapter, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan met in the library of their gentleman’s club. Now, it’s time for Obi-Wan to go home to his family estate of Stewjon for the summer. When he arrives, it’s to learn that his family is in a tizzy about their new neighbour, Master Skywalker—whose best friend and advisor is currently staying with him. I wonder who that is.

untitled

This is for a university AU prompt! I adore university AUs! In this one, we have Professor Kenobi--and Qui-Gon, who has gone back to school many years after his first degree to complete a second. Professor Kenobi just wants to finish the conference paper he has to give in a few days. Why are all the books he needs signed out of the library, when he hasn’t even assigned these poets on his syllabus? Who is reading his damn poets? And can he, like...marry them?

other/gen

a beautiful day in the senate

A Clone Wars, Qui-Gon lives AU! This one is Qui-Gon & Ahsoka gen. Qui-Gon has business at the Senate--and why not take his great-grand padawan along with him so they can spend the day together? Alas, their quiet day out turns into a bit of a catastrophe when there’s disaster in the Senate. I’ve posted a brief snippet of this here.

snowblooms

My top secret Codywan fic 👀 It involves books. And slowly falling in love.

untitled

A post-Wild Space Bail & Obi-Wan gen fic which I am super excited about. It’s a 5 times fic—based on a line in the book where Bail thinks of Obi-Wan: “And best of all, I don’t have a single thing he wants. How often do I meet someone who wants nothing from me?” So it’s five times Obi-Wan actually did want something of Bail—but the thinks are things like, he wants Bail to have survived order 66 etc. I just love their friendship so much.

Tagging (with absolutely no pressure to do this!) @tessiete , @acatbyanothername93 , @antheiasilva , @darkisrising , @xeniaraven !!!

#wip challenge #obikin #quiobi #dinluke #my fic #trees writes

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phantom-curve · 4 years

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double vision in a rose blush pt. 1

I...don’t know what this is. it was meant to be part of a Flarrie fic, but it somehow turned into a character study on Carrie/Bobby|Trevor. when I know where this fits in the Flarrie anthology I’ll post the completed thing on AO3, but until then, it’s just gonna be it’s own thing on my tumblr. there are multiple parts so let me know if you want to be tagged the next time I add to it!

One of the oldest memories Carrie had was the first time she had ever gone on her father’s yacht.

The boat had felt like a home on water. She had only been four at the time, small limbs still clumsy, the world still a little too big. Her mother had forced her into a bright pink life vest that was hot and itchy. She had whined and whined until her nanny had been ordered to take her off of the deck of the ship. Inside, down some steps, and it was like she was back in her living room at home. Cool air, giant squishy couches, and a plate full of snacks. Vannah, her nanny, even let her take the uncomfortable life vest off. Carrie hadn’t gone back to the top deck the rest of the day. Not until night had fallen, and her mom was already asleep, and Daddy was telling Vannah he would take over for the night. He slipped the scratchy vest back on, hushing her when she complained.

“C’mon, Care, I have a story to tell you.”

Carrie quieted instantly. Daddy always had the best stories. He carried her up the steps and back out on the top deck. The night air was a lot cooler than before, the smell of salt tickling her nose. Wind blew her hair around, making her giggle. Daddy’s rough fingers attempted to brush it off her face, before he growled and snatched a thin hairband off of his wrist. Once he had wrangled her blonde locks into a small ponytail, she could finally see the world again.

“Woah.”

Daddy laughed, looking at her with a smile on his face. Above them, a million twinkling lights. Stars.Way more than she could ever see from their backyard. Around them was endless black, Carrie unable to tell the difference between the sea and the sky. Her head whipped side to side, trying to figure out where they were.

“Daddy,” her whisper was soft, almost scared, “are we in space?”

Daddy laughed again, louder this time. Carrie frowned. She might only be four, but she knew about space. Vannah had been teaching her planets and stars and con-stell-ations. She wasn’t stupid.

“No, Care-Bear. We’re still in the ocean. Look.”

His arm that wasn’t holding her raised so he could point into the distance. Carrie followed the line of his arm down to his outstretched finger. She saw it then. A faint line of twinkling lights on the horizon, creating a clear barrier between the stars above and the inky black below. Carrie didn’t fully understand though. She knew about the sun and the moon and the stars, but she didn’t know what this light was. Her pout deepened. Carrie didn’t like not knowing. It felt like Daddy was keeping a secret from her, and secrets were even worse than not knowing something.

“It’s the marina. Remember, where we got on the ship?”

Carrie thought back to the hot sun and her tight life vest. Mommy and Daddy walking in front, Vannah holding her hand so tight it almost hurt. Water slapping against the wooden boards under her feet, and endless rows of ships so big she didn’t know how they were able to float. She faced her daddy and nodded.

“That’s what those lights are. All the other ships and the dock waiting to welcome us home after the weekend is over. Two sleeps out here, babygirl. Whaddya think?”

Carrie scrunched her nose. Two sleeps away from all her stuffies and baby dolls? Who was gonna tuck them in and make sure they got clean outfits in the morning? Two more days of being hot and scratchy or stuck inside with Vannah? That didn’t really sound like a very fun time. Daddy spoke before she could start her tantrum.

“What if we come out here every night and I tell you space stories?”

“Vannah already tells me space stories.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, just like Mommy did when she wasn’t happy. Daddy’s stories were better than Vannah’s, but this boat wasn’t better than being home. He could tell her stories in her bed with all her babies, too. She felt it when he sighed, walking over to a couch and sitting her down on his lap. She stared behind his head at the long line of sparkling lights she could still see in the distance. They looked like fairies.

“Do you know a fairy story?”

The question was serious in only the way a four-year-old could make it. Daddy’s eyebrows rose, eyes wide as he stared at her. She made the same face back at him.

“You sure you don’t want a space story?”

She shook her head sharply. She knew about space already. What she didn’t know about was lights dancing in the darkness that looked like fairies. Daddy said it was the marina, but the marina hadn’t been pretty. She was pretty sure those were fairies. She wondered if they were following them to make sure she stayed safe. Cinderella had a fairy godmother that showed up when she was sad and scared and made it better. Maybe Carrie did too. It was a comforting thought.

“Do I have a fairy godmother?”

Daddy made another face and Carrie copied it again. He could never keep up with her when she was thinking. Sometimes she thought maybe she was too smart for him. She stared at him, waiting for an answer.

“Do you...want a fairy godmother?”

Carrie rolled her eyes. Of course, he didn’t get it. He was a boy, so he probably didn’t know about Cinderella. Boys were the worst.

“Yes! Cinderella has one. I want one too. Her mommy is mean just like mine so I should get one too!”

If she wasn’t sitting she would have stomped her foot. Daddy gave her everything, surely he could give her a fairy godmother. His face changed again, but Carrie couldn’t copy that look. It was too sad and soft and grown-up. She felt like she must have said something wrong because he didn’t usually look like this when they were having their alone time after Mommy went to bed. He pulled her close, lips hard on her head for a moment until she protested and pushed backwards.

“You have three fairy godmothers. Well, ‘godmothers’ probably isn’t the right word, but if you want them to be that they can be.”

Carrie stopped fighting immediately. She stared at him with huge eyes, mouth falling open. Three?? Stupid Cinderella only had one, but she got to have three.

“Really? Three fairies? What do they look like?”

Daddy was studying her in a different way than normal. Like he had forgotten that she was a big girl now instead of a baby. She could tell when the story was about to start because he propped his feet up on the table in front of him and snuggled her close into his side. He got that faraway look that told her he was entering storyland and she immediately settled into the couch cushions. This was gonna be good.

“Once upon a time there were four boys who loved each other very much.”

Carrie let out a noise of disgust and pushed against Daddy’s side so she could sit up and stare him in his lying face. Her cheeks puffed out, arms crossing again.

“You said a fairy story! Boys aren’t fairies and I don’t like them.”

Daddy’s eyes closed and Carrie’s heart suddenly felt like the time Mommy had forgotten about her in the mall. Cold and alone and like she must have done something wrong. She uncurled her arms, reaching up with tiny fingers to trace over Daddy’s face. Slowly, his eyes opened. They looked wet, something she hadn’t ever seen before. Shame rolled over her and she smashed her face into his chest.

“I’m sorry, Daddy! Please, don’t leave me. I’ll listen to the boy story, I promise!”

She felt her hair move in the wind of his exhale. Big hands cradled her back, warmth seeping through the life vest to unfreeze her chest. When he spoke again, his words rumbled through her.

“Once upon a time there were four boys who loved each other very much. Not the kind of love that princes have for princesses, but the kind of love that makes a family. A real family stitched together from different pieces to make a perfect patchwork. They were very happy, until one day, three of the boys went to sleep and woke up as fairies. The fourth boy wasn’t allowed to become a fairy, and it made him so sad that he cried until the whole world was made up of nothing but tears...”

Carrie felt her eyes growing heavy. Wrapped in Daddy’s arms while he told her about the fourth boy growing and trying to find the fairies wherever he could, she had never felt more loved or secure. Carrie didn’t have a very nice mom or a lot of friends to build a family from, but she had Daddy and she had her fairies. For tonight, that was enough. She fell asleep before he could tell her the end of the fairytale. Her last thought was to remember to ask Daddy to tell this story again the next night. Then, it was nothing but dreams of boys with wings and a world made up of tears.

#you're kidding yourself if you don't think Carrie has just as many mommy issues as Luke and Julie #also this has made me soft for bobby/trevor because I know what it's like to have your best friends die at 17 in a super sudden tragic way #that shit changes you fundamentally #carrie wilson #my dad used to keep hair ties on his wrist for me to use after my parents divorced #this bad boy can fit so much projection in it #toddler writing voice brought to you by 6 years of working as a nanny #julie and the phantoms #jatp #trevor wilson #carrie wilson fic #Mads writes

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pixelfun20 · 4 years

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Flower Fields: Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Notes: Again, all credit to @give-grian-rights (hope you don’t mind the tag!) for the concept! Thank you so much! Also almost forgot to post this on Tumblr rip.

No fighting wars, no ringing chimes

We're just feeling fine

Tubbo started out by building his starter base.

It was a concept he’d learned about while living with Xisuma, and it was quite a good one, too. After all, megabases worthy of Hermitcraft’s admittedly lofty standards often took months to build, and he’d need somewhere to live in the meantime. In Season 6, he’d neglected that fact, and had suffered his fair share of mob deaths before he put up four walls and a ceiling to protect himself, back when he’d left to live on his own. And that was with a small, quickly-thrown together base, not the project he was currently planning.

Still, even setting up the basics of his starter base took a few nearly sleepless days. Finally, the framework for the build, a treehouse spanning more than a few trees at the edge of the forest, was up, and Tubbo was finally able to place a bed down in safety and sleep for a solid fourteen hours straight.

Xisuma dropped by, quite literally, a day or so later.

Tubbo had been sitting in his quickly-expanding living room, sorting through the loot he’d gotten from yesterday’s day-long mining session when he swooped down through the half-finished roof. While he was still wearing his bee-themed armor, now there were two glider-like wings, shimmering purple, strapped to his back.

“Heya, X,” Tubbo greeted the admin with a wave, closing one of his chests. “You got elytra already?”

“Tango and I defeated the Ender Dragon yesterday,” Xisuma replied, touching down softly. Tubbo made an ‘ah’ sound, recalling the achievement he’d seen out of the corner of his eye the other day. Right; he’d forgotten about that. Trust X to be as efficient as possible and defeat one of the toughest monsters in the world just for the ease of travel.

“I’ll have to go endbusting soon, then,” he said, more to himself than X. Before the elder man could protest (ah, he was getting good at noticing when he was going to), he added: “Stress and xB have already asked me to go with them, so don’t worry , alright?”

“Good,” Xisuma sighed. “It’s never a good idea to go out on your own, especially since this’ll be your first time seriously exploring the End.”

Tubbo rolled his eyes good naturedly. To be fair, he hadn’t gone out to the End before it had been conquered before. He’d had a fair few trips last Season, mostly with X, but it was generally for the XP farm once it’d been set up. He’d never left the main island before. Now that he had considerably more freedom at the beginning of the Season, he was excited to go exploring.

“Anything bring you over?” He asked, changing the subject.

Xisuma nodded. “Yeah. A bunch of the others are getting together for some sort of wrestling tournament this weekend.”

“And I’ve been invited?!” He grinned, clapping his hands together.

“As the referee.”

“Ah,” he pouted. “Darn.”

“Don’t worry,” Xisuma chuckled, setting down a shulker box. “It can be a lot funner to watch sometimes; I’m just going to be part of the audience, too. I think Doc wanted you because he thinks he can bribe you.”

“He can not !”

Xisuma raised an eyebrow. “Area 77.”

“Oh, that’s not fair. I am completely unbiased!”

“And that was why you became their lawyer and not for all the cool experiments they had. I don’t think Cleo has forgiven you for defeating her in court.”

“No one can defeat Big Law,” Tubbo sniffed, faux-offended, and Xisuma laughed. “Well, I’ll show him!” He declared, crossing his arms. “I’ll just have to make sure he loses, then!” Xisuma blinked, and he laughed. “Kidding! Kidding!” Mostly .

“So you’re going?”

“Sure! It’s nice to see the Hermits all in one place, anyways. What’s in the shulker?”

Xisuma tilted his head teasingly. “What do you think? Someone had to get the supplies for our honey farm.”

Tubbo gaped. “You’re ready to build farms already?! Man, and I thought I was ahead of the game with just having my base halfway done.”

The armored man shrugged, looking about the partially completed build. “Well, you’ve certainly put more effort into this than me. Truly, your building skills are already improving. I love how you’re styling the roof with peaks like you are; it looks like it took a while.”

“My last house had a roof like that, too,” Tubbo reminded him, glancing up as well. It had become a tradition, of sorts, to build curved, peaked roofs onto his builds. Last season it had been one of the few things he’d built slowly to make look as good as possible. In all honesty, it was his own way of honoring the person who’d made it possible for him to come here, to have a life worth living once again. Rushing through the technique just felt disrespectful.

“Yes, but you’ve definitely gotten better.” Xisuma bent down over the shulker box, checking its contents. “Do you have any good ideas for where to make the bee farm? I’ll admit, I’ve been a bit too busy to scout out a good area.”

“Really? Then where’d you get these guys?”

“Tree farming in the desert.”

Tubbo snorted into his hand, and he could practically feel Xisuma’s embarrassment. “Well, you did say you hadn’t scouted out a good spot.”

“Indeed I did.”

“I can take a look around here and see what I can find. Meadows are supposed to be excellent places for farming bees, right?”

“Indeed it is,” Xisuma agreed. “Do you have plans for your megabase, yet?”

Tubbo nodded, grinning. “And trust me, it’s going to be awesome .”

............

Two days later, a chicken appeared in his base. Tubbo found it laying an egg in what was starting to become the base’s storage area, with one of his shirts nearly ripped to shreds in what appeared to be a makeshift nest.

There was a nametag wrapped around its leg. After some chicken wrangling and a few feathers to the face, he got a good look at it and realized there wasn’t a name written there, but a set of coordinates.

A set of coordinates rather far away, but who was he to turn down such an intriguing mystery?

With the chicken now renamed Wilbur and placed in a pen (he’d needed a chicken farm anyways), Tubbo set out that morning with a few supplies to find the spot he was looking for. After crossing a fair bit of forest and ocean, by the next day he’d found himself cutting his way through the underbrush of an overgrown jungle and wondering why in the world Stress had wanted to wait a week before going to get their elytra.

He pushed a few low-hanging vines out of the way, checking his communicator for the upteenth time. He was getting closer, now. This better be worth going out a few hundred chunks in the middle of nowhere—hey, wait a minute!

There was smoke in the distance. He could just make it out through the leaves, and now that he concentrated, he could smell it, too. Tubbo rushed forwards, pushing through the brush to see several man-made wooden pillars sticking out. As he pressed forwards, he made out a semi-stone floor, several chests, and a small fire in the middle, explaining the smoke.

“What is this?” He asked himself, looking around the place. The coordinates were right, and yet no one was here. Just this outpost in the middle of the jungle.

Tubbo walked around. There were some papers pinned to the wall, and a few dispensers lying around. Idly he pressed the buttons on them, already starting to form a plan to enact revenge on whoever made him travel over a day to get this place.

He pressed the button on the dispenser in the middle of the build and nearly got an arrow to the face.

Tubbo yelped, his reflexes, honed from a half year of training, the only thing saving him from a sudden death. A bell rang behind him, but it took him a few more moments to calm his racing heart.

“Not funny! You nearly took my head off!” He shouted to the jungle. Still, he didn’t leave, instead turning to the bell the arrow had his, examining it. Huh.

There were some cookies in one of the chests, probably left behind by whoever had actually built the place. He nibbled on it, only half hungry, as he tried to examine the place better.

“HERMIT CHALLENGES!”

Tubbo shrieked , dropping the remains of his cookie as the voice rang through the forest air. He looked around, trying to find the source, but found that he couldn’t.

“INITIATION!”

A diamond-clad figure dropped out of the vines above, landing with a firm thud on one of the ground dispensers. He nearly lost his balance before righting himself with a huff.

“Mumbo!” Tubbo exclaimed, a little annoyed but mostly impressed.

“INITIATION!” He shouted at the top of his lungs. “HERMIT CHALLENGES! YOU ARE BEING INDUCTED.”

“How long have you been up there?! It took me over a day to get here.”

“No matter, Mr. Tubbo! Congratulations! You’re in!”

“...Thanks?”

“Of course, my friend! You have been inducted into Hermit Challenges! Of course, you could have eaten the entire cookie—” he glanced down at the crumbs at Tubbo’s feet. “But besides that you have acted perfectly.”

“Wait, what is Hermit Challenges?” Tubbo asked, blinking. What? This version of Mumbo was almost nothing like the Mumbo he’d seen at Spawn a mere week and a half ago. Who used chickens to deliver messages? Or perch in a tree for supposed hours on end?

Okay, he had to admit, that last one was pretty funny.

“Oh, it’s a game I’ve made up,” Mumbo continued. “Iskall and I have already had a go at it, and I figured I’d invite you next.”

“...Alright, then. How do I play?”

“It’s simple! Write down three challenges and put them in the dispenser. Then we’ll pick one at random from each other.”

Mumbo reached into one of the chests on the ground, taking out a sheath of paper and passing three to him with a pen. Tubbo looked at him, and Mumbo grinned.

“Go on! I’m sure you’ll have something fun in that head of yours.”

Ah, he was right. Tubbo gave in with a smile, leaning back and thinking briefly about what he wanted to challenge Mumbo. A few ideas came to mind, and he quickly scribbled them down, pushing them into one of the two dispensers on the side of the small build, Mumbo doing the same.

“Alright, then!” Mumbo announced with a smile. “You go first.”

Tubbo stepped towards Mumbo’s dispenser and clicked the button, causing a slip of paper to slide out. He unrolled it, then read it out loud.

“‘Steal everyone’s front doors for the rest of the season.’ What? The whole season?!”

Mumbo laughed. “Oh, that one! Man, you got the hardest one from me!”

“Well, I’m sure it’s nothing compared to what you’ll get from me.”

“We’ll see,” Mumbo said with a chuckle. He moved across the platform, and pressed the button the dispenser Tubbo had put his challenges in. The dispenser whirred, and then another slip of paper popped out. Mambo picked it up and read off of it, face contorting as he did so. “...‘Act like you don’t believe in the moon for the next two weeks, and claim the sky is a hologram put up by the SCA (Secret Chickens Agency) to keep us from seeing the real overlords- the sky chickens.’ What?”

Tubbo snickered at that, covering his mouth with one hand. Oh, he was proud of that one.

“No, seriously, this is awfully specific.”

“What? It’s funny!”

“Funny for you!” But Mumbo was smiling, and Tubbo grinned back at him.

“I’m going to be having a fun few weeks,” he giggled.

“So am I,” Mumbo agreed with a raised eyebrow, tucking the slip of paper away. He clapped Tubbo’s shoulder. “I suppose I’ll have to make up a good story to go with this prompt.”

“And I have some doors to steal!” Tubbo laughed.

“Whoever gets the first complaint in chat wins?”

“You’re on!”

#tubbo #tubbolive #hermitcraft #mcyt #xisumavoid #mumbo jumbo #hermit challenges #fluff #Hermit!Tubbo AU #watcher!tubbo #it took me like a month but hey I updated

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casualpunkkid · 3 years

Text

TUMBLR TAG GAME

Thanks to @catboykenobii for the tag

1. Why did you choose your username?

Back when I made this account, I wasn't really sure what I was gonna do with it or who I wanted to be percieved as, so I just let Tumblr choose a name for me, but I really like casualpunkkid

2. Any side blogs?

I used to have a side blog where I posted really lame content. I no longer have access to the page lmao. I think the url is bacteriahasbreastmilk

3. How long have you been on Tumblr?

Four years!! That's crazy!

4. Do you have a queue tag?

Nah, I couldn't care less :P

5. Why did you start your blog in the first place?

Originally, I made this blog because nobody else in my class had Tumblr and I thought it would be cool. This blog specifically was created because I wanted to be weird online, but to strangers instead of people who know me

6. Why did you choose your icon/pfp?

It's that meme where the guy "And here's my review: Not gay enough." Except, it's the original and we get to see that he's talking about Interview with a Vampire.

7. Why did you choose your header?

It's a picture of Dan and Phile holding the communist flag while standing behind a very shocked looking man who's name on his Zoom screen is Weston. I don't know who Weston is, so if he's an important part of some fandom......

8. What's your post with the most notes?

My post with the most notes (original and not reblogged) is probably the one about Fall Out Boy fans saying Pete isn't black because he's 'whìtepassing' (which he isn't). It also goes into detail about my personal experience with racism as a mixed person. (I'm Native American and white European)

9. How many mutuals do you have?

Five and I love you all

10. How many followers do you have?

11. How many people do you follow?

12. Have you ever made a shitpost?

I have made several, but none of them have ever gotten popular.

13. How often do you use Tumblr each day?

I usually check Tumblr in the morning before school, during lunch and at nighttime for a bit. It probably all adds up to about 2 hours.

14. Have you ever had a fight/argument with another blog?

Yes! Pretty much anytime I post anything that is a 'hot take' (remember that I'm an anarchist) I have someone in the replies trying to argue with me. If I think they're stupid, I block them. But sometimes I'll respond to them, if I think it's worth it.

15. How do you feel about 'you need to reblog this' posts?

There's a difference, for me at least, between awareness posts and chain mail. But sometimes even the activism posts go too far and mostly, they just make other people feel like shit.

16. Do you like tag games?

This is my first tag game. I don't usually make Tumblr posts this long, but I had fun! I am nervous about tagging other tho

(Please remember this is optional, you don't have to do this) I'd like to tag @honourablefool and @queer-lodgingss

#tumblr tag game

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slippinmickeys · 5 years

Text

Seeing as how the world is basically ending, I figured I may as well post the whole thing now. If Tumblr lets me. Tagging @storybycorey

You can also read the whole thing on AO3 here.

Dana Scully was running late. Flustered and out of breath from running the few blocks from the Metro stop, she pushed through the doors of the coffee shop, startling a young mom who was pushing a stroller out the door.

“Sorry,” she said, apologizing, and then held the door open while the woman slowly navigated the stroller through the narrow doorway. When she was out, Dana finally stepped in and scanned the store, looking for familiar auburn curls.

Her sister Melissa held up a hand and stood as Dana approached.

“Missy!” Dana said, relieved to see her.

Melissa gave her a long, tight hug before reclaiming her seat. Melissa’s hugs were the kind you always wanted to get. Like she’d cultivated them in a field, each one grown in a tidy row, just for you.

“Everything all right?” Melissa said, as Dana, huffing and out of breath, shrugged off her jacket and swung her purse over the back of a chair.

“No,” she said, laughing at herself and Melissa’s eyebrows came together in

sympathy, “but tell me about you first. How was your flight? God, it’s been so long!” She reached across and squeezed her older sister’s hand.

Melissa had flown back to the States only the day before, having spent the last two years living in England.

“I’m great!” Missy said, “living abroad has been incredible. I almost hated to come back.”

“Oh, I’m so glad,” Dana said.

In truth, she was glad. She’d missed her sister terribly, but Missy had needed a big change. She’d dropped out of college several years before, much to their parent’s horror, and Melissa had been too spirited to live long under their father’s roof. Her sister looked wonderful. Clearly the time abroad had been good to her.

“But, what’s happening with you? What’s going on?” Melissa said.

Dana blew a raspberry.

“I’m in a tight spot,” she finally said, “We just found out this morning that Ellen got the internship in Seattle for the summer. It’s the one she wanted, and I’m really excited for her, but it’s not paid, so she won’t be able to cover her half of the rent -- she leaves in two days and rent for next month is due in five. We’ve got three more months on the lease. I’ve got to find someone to sublease her room, like yesterday.” She felt panic bubbling up in her gut. “I don’t suppose you have any interest in staying in DC for the summer?” she asked Melissa hopefully.

“Oh, I wish I could,” Missy said, “but I’m registered for massage therapy classes at the National Holistic Institute in Baltimore for the summer. Mom and Dad have calmed down and I’m going to stay with them while I get certified.”

“Missy, that’s wonderful!” She tried to smile at her, but she knew it didn’t reach her eyes. Dana was excited for her sister, but had been holding out a hope that maybe Missy coming back Stateside would be an answer to her prayers.

“What about Ethan?” Melissa asked, lowering her voice unconsciously, “Couldn’t he move in with you for the summer? It’s only three months, Mom and Dad don’t need to know.”

Dana bit her lip.

“We broke up,” she said. Melissa’s eyes widened.

“June and Ward Cleaver broke up?” Melissa said, in shock. “When? I thought….”

She didn’t need to finish the sentence. Dana knew what Melissa thought. What everyone had thought. She and Ethan, together since their sophomore year of high school and enrolled in the same post-grad program at Georgetown, were the all-American couple. They, and everyone else, had assumed they would be engaged after they got their PhDs, and married not long after.

“Last month,” Dana said, looking down at her hands.

Melissa reached across the table and put her hand on Dana’s arm.

“What happened?”

“We grew up,” Dana said simply, “we’re different people, now. At least, I am. I’ve been thinking about making some changes at school and Ethan… was not supportive.”

Melissa squeezed her arm.

“What kind of changes?” she asked.

Dana looked up at her sister, “I’ve been seriously considering med school for some time.”

“But you’re so close to your degree!” Missy said.

“That’s what Ethan said,” said Dana, “but he was just so… dismissive. Like he had this plan for me. Like what I wanted didn’t matter. It was bad, Missy.”

“God,” Missy said.

“Yeah,” Dana went on, “he found out I took the MCAT and lost it. I broke up with him then and there. I haven’t seen him since. Not even on campus.”

Melissa gave her a shrewd look.

“Can I say something that you may not want to hear?”

Dana nodded morosely.

“I’m so glad,” Dana shot her sister a look, surprised. Melissa went on, “I never liked him, Dana. I know Mom and Dad loved him, but he’s had a stick up his ass since high school and he always thought he was better than everyone else. I used to sneak out and sprinkle catnip under his bedroom window in the summers.”

Dana’s jaw dropped.

“He used to complain all the time about-”

“-Tom cats in the neighborhood gathering outside his house and howling all night? Yeah, that was me.”

“Missy!”

“He deserved it,” Melissa said, sitting up with an air of moral superiority, “I’m glad you broke it off with him.”

“To be honest, I am too,” Dana said, “but I’m in a real lurch with this roommate situation. I don’t want to take out another student loan and I don’t think I can ask Dad for more money. Especially when he finds out I’m abandoning the program.”

“So you’re quitting for sure?” Melissa asked.

Dana nodded. “I just got the MCAT results and I did really well,” she couldn’t hold in a smile, “I told my advisor last week. I’m finishing out the summer. I’m going to start applying to med schools.”

“Well,” Missy said, “I’m glad you’re following your heart. And I wouldn’t worry much about Dad. He’ll be thrilled to have a doctor in the family. But maybe not so thrilled about bankrolling a degree you don’t intend to finish.”

Dana squirmed in her chair.

Melissa leaned back, thinking.

“What about…” she stopped, assessing Dana for a moment. “I have this friend. Someone I met in England last year. Moving to DC to be closer to family.”

Dana sat up straight.

“Do you know if she needs housing? Oh my God, Missy, you’d be saving my life.”

“The thing is,” Missy said, “it’s not a she.”

Dana made a face.

“He’s a great guy, Dane,” Melissa went on, “PhD in Psychology from Oxford. I met him when he was dating my friend Emma. His parents passed away recently and he’s putting his sister through school. She was a freshman at American this year. I can call him if you want.”

“I don’t know…” Dana said.

“Dana Scully, you are a 25 year old woman and it’s almost 1990 for God’s sake. Surely you’re not so old fashioned that you wouldn’t consider a male roommate. Particularly one that I can personally vouch for.”

“I don’t suppose he’s… gay?”

“You heard me mention my friend Emma, right?” Missy said, “No, he’s most certainly not gay, and no one is going to care that he isn’t. This isn’t Three’s Company, Chrissy. You need a roommate, and he--last I heard--needs a place to live. It’s perfect.”

It was only three months. Surely in this day and age having a male roommate wouldn’t give her some kind of reputation. And she was desperate--she would at least meet the guy. She leaned back in her seat.

“He isn’t cute, is he?” Dana asked.

Melissa narrowed her eyes.

“Cute?”

“Attractive. Hot. Someone with pleasing facial symmetry who other people like to look at.”

“Like you?” Melissa said. Dana gave her an exaggerated eye roll, and her sister asked, “Why?”

“Because it’s the last thing I need right now,” Dana said.

Melissa took a demure sip of coffee.

“No,” she said, not making eye contact, “he’s not cute.”

Dana considered her sister a long minute.

“Okay,” she finally said, “call him.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

At precisely 3:00pm, there was a knock on her door. Shave and a haircut.

He was punctual -- more than she could say for herself that day -- and that usually boded well.

Instead of sticking around to introduce them, Missy had said she had other friends she was supposed to see while she was in town and had taken off after setting up this meeting, though she promised Dana she would still come over for dinner.

Dana opened the door. He was tall. At least a foot taller than she was, and he stood in the doorway with a smile on his face. He was wearing a black leather biker jacket, jeans and black boots and was carrying a motorcycle helmet under one arm. Dana was momentarily taken aback by his good looks. She would kill Melissa.

“Dana?” he said, expectantly, reaching out for a handshake, “I’m Melissa’s friend. Fox Mulder.”

“I thought you’d be British,” she said, the words fumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them.

He smiled.

Dana shook herself, embarrassed, and extended a hand.

“Dana Scully,” she said, “sorry. Come in?”

“I met your brother when he came out to visit Melissa,” he said as he shook her hand, “one more Scully and I win a set of steak knives.”

“You’re in luck,” she said, smiling, “we Scullys come in sets of four.”

He laughed and wiped his feet on the welcome mat before stepping past her and into the apartment. He stood a few feet in and looked around.

“Wow,” he said, “this is a really nice place.”

Dana nodded and closed the door. It was a nice place. Much nicer than two broke grad students had any business living in. It had cathedral ceilings, hardwood floors and a large, spacious living room framed on one side with immense sliding glass doors that opened to a long balcony that ran the length of the room. On the other end of the living room sat a modern kitchen with a large island countertop that sat three people on the living room side, and had a 4 burner cooktop on the other. The appliances were pretty new. There was a hallway leading from the other end of the living room that led to one bathroom and a bedroom (Ellen’s), with a small in-unit washer/dryer at the end of the hall. Stairs led up from the left of the doorway to the master bedroom (Dana’s) and en-suite bathroom that had a separate tub and shower. The place was filled with hand-me-down furniture from various parents and siblings, but was decorated well and was quite comfortable.

“Rent controlled,” she said, by way of explanation, “my roommate’s brother had lived here for years. We got really lucky.” He nodded, still taking in the space. “You want a tour?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said, smiling.

She showed him the living room and the trick to opening the sliding glass door, then ran him through the kitchen and on down the hallway to Ellen’s room, which was a disaster area filled with half-packed boxes.

“This would be your room,” she said, “I promise to clean it before you move in.”

“Nah,” he said, peeking his head in the closet, “I’d be happy to do it. When would move-in be?”

“You could be in in two days,” she answered, “Ellen flies to Seattle tomorrow night, though you wouldn’t know it to look at her room.”

He smiled.

“I don’t know if Melissa told you about my situation,” he said, “everything has been happening kind of quickly. You’d really be saving my bacon, here.”

“She told me a little,” Dana said, “I’m really sorry about your parents, Fox.”

“Thank you,” he said softly. He cleared his throat. “Though, I uh, prefer to go by Mulder.”

“Fair enough,” Dana said. “Though there’s no way you ever got Melissa to call you anything other than Fox. I bet she was delighted.”

He laughed, a melodious, warm sound. Upon hearing it, she decided she liked him.

“And then some,” he said. “So what do I need to know?”

“Well, it would be a sublease for three months, until Ellen gets back. I may or may not be moving out in the fall, and our lease goes month-to-month after that.” He nodded. “Otherwise,” she said, “I mainly do a lot of studying. I have office hours and classes three days a week. I’m not big on house parties, and I like things quiet.” She looked at him, and he didn’t seem thrown by anything she’d said so far. “Do you…” she was sure how to put it, “have a girlfriend or anyone who would be coming over a lot?”

He smiled.

“No girlfriend at present,” he said, “though my sister is at AU and she may come over every now and then if she’ll deign to visit her stuffy older brother.”

His eyes crinkled with affection when he talked about his sister, and Dana found herself involuntarily charmed.

“And what do you do for a living?” she asked.

He winced.

“I’m currently looking for work,” he held his hand up when she raised her eyebrows, “I have enough in savings to more than cover three months of rent,” he said, “so you don’t have to worry about that. But I only got into town a few days ago. I’m still trying to figure everything out.”

“Melissa vouches for you,” she said, “that’s good enough for me.”

He fiddled with the helmet, which he was still carrying, and took a long, slow turn, looking around the apartment, as if making a decision. He finally turned back to her.

“Well, Scully Number Three?” he said, holding out his hand once again. “You’ve got a new roommate if you’ll have me.”

“No need to remind me of my place in the pecking order,” she said, “if you’re Mulder, I think just Scully will suffice.” Scully. She let it roll down her spine and liked the way it felt. She reached out and gripped his hand firmly. It was warm, dry, and completely enveloped hers. “Welcome home, Mulder,” she said.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Melissa breezed past her in the doorway without a word, arms laden with plastic bags.

“I brought take-out!” she said over her shoulder, kicking off her shoes and making her way to the kitchen to unburden herself of the bags. “Is Fox still here?” she asked, looking around, a little out of breath.

“He left about an hour ago,” Dana said, coming to stand in the doorway of the kitchen. “Melissa,” she went on, and Missy wouldn’t look at her. “You said he wasn’t cute.”

Melissa opened the fridge and helped herself to a beer.

“He’s not cute,” Missy said, finally turning to her, “he’s gorgeous. You’re welcome.” She twisted off the top and then shoved herself up to sit on the counter, taking a long pull.

“Make yourself at home,” Dana said sarcastically.

“Thanks,” Missy said, brushing her off. “How’d it go?”

“You’re right, he was really nice. He’s going to take it,” Dana said, and then decided she could go for a beer as well. She opened up the fridge as Missy punched the air in a yes! gesture.

“What did I tell you?” Melissa said, “kismet.”

“Yeah,” Dana said, tamping down her own enthusiasm, “I hope it works out.”

“It’s going to be great!” Missy said, “He really is the best guy.”

“Did you guys ever…?” Dana asked, wondering if she really wanted to know.

“Me and Fox? No,” she answered, “not that I wouldn’t have liked to,” she went on, “but I think the whole ‘thou shalt not date your best friend’s ex’ rule is pretty universal. Even across the pond.”

Dana was surprised to find herself relieved.

“I am privy to some information, though,” Missy said, arching an eyebrow.

“Do I even want to know?” Dana asked.

Missy ran her tongue along the corner of her mouth.

“He’s very well endowed,” she finally said with a grin.

Dana felt herself blushing and took a deep swig of beer to cover for it.

“Unless it’ll help him pay the rent,” she said, swallowing, “I don’t see how that’s any of my business.”

Melissa shrugged, looking coy. “I’ve also heard he loves to eat out,” she said.

“What does that have to do with-“ Dana finally looked at her sister, caught her eyebrows in the air, suggestively. “...Jesus, Missy.”

Melissa smiled, took a sip of beer.

“I’m just saying,” Melissa said, “a generous lover is a generous man.” Dana looked to the sky as if for help. Her sister was clearly enjoying Dana’s discomfort. She finally jumped down off the counter and turned her attention to the bags of food. “You could do a lot worse than Fox Mulder.”

“I’m not going to do Fox Mulder, Missy,” she said, and Missy let out a bark of laughter. “I need a roommate, not a boyfriend. And anyway, I’m going to be in med school soon. I won’t have that kind of time.”

“Make time,” Melissa winked, and then dug around in the bags, pulling out carton after carton of Chinese food. “You hungry?”

Dana set down her beer and hugged her from behind.

“I’m famished, you snot,” she said into her sister’s hair.

XxXxXxXxXxX

On move-in day, Mulder showed up at her (their) door at 9:00am sharp, wearing a ratty Oxford University sweatshirt and an anxious expression.

“Hey,” he said, when she opened the door, “I got a buddy downstairs with a truck. Where should he park it?”

“Follow me,” Scully said, and grabbed her keys off the hook by the door. She led him down the stairs and around to the back of the building.

“We’ve got two parking spots,” she said, “though I don’t have a car. You can have him pull in here. The one next to it is yours. You ride a motorcycle, right?”

He nodded and then jogged to the corner and called out to the friend he had waiting, who pulled into the alley and then leaned out of the open window.

“Frohike, Scully, Dana Scully, my buddy Melvin Frohike,” Mulder introduced them.

“Last name basis with everyone, huh?” Scully said to Mulder in a low voice. He smiled.

“She’s hot,” was all Frohike said, and Mulder flipped him off and then directed him into the narrow space.

Scully looked down at her jean cut-offs and baggy, laundry-day tee shirt. She wasn’t exactly dressed for Prime Time.

Frohike cut the engine, jumped out and they all gathered around the back of the truck. There were about a dozen medium sized boxes and no furniture.

“Is this it?” Scully asked.

“I am but a humble nomad,” Mulder said, “taking only what I can carry.”

“What he means is that he sold almost all his shit when he left England,” Frohike said, “I hope you have pots and pans.”

Scully laughed.

“I do, and you’re welcome to use them,” she said, “Five bucks a pop for utensils, though.”

“I like her,” said Frohike, hooking a thumb at Scully as he pulled down the tailgate.

They had everything up and into Mulder’s bedroom in less than ten minutes.

“I’m off,” said Frohike, the second he set the last box down on Mulder’s floor. “It was nice meeting you, Scully.”

“Likewise,” said Scully, who was leaning against the frame of Mulder’s door.

On his way out, Frohike paused by Scully and leaned into her confidentially.

“If he tries to seduce you, let him down easy. The man’s got no game,” he said.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Scully said and then cut a look to Mulder who looked more than a little glad to see the back of Frohike.

“Where’d you pick him up?” Scully said, once the front door had closed behind him.

“I collect strays,” Mulder said simply, peeling the tape off of one of the boxes.

Scully took a step back into the hallway.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she said. Then, “Oh! Here’s your key,” she stepped back into his room, and handed over the single key. “It works on the building doors and the apartment deadbolt. Sometimes you have to wiggle it a bit on the lock by the garage.”

Mulder nodded his thanks and she backed out.

“Let me know if you need help or anything,” she called out over her shoulder.

XxXxXxXxXxX

A few hours later, she knocked on his door.

“I come bearing gifts,” she said, holding up a pizza box and a six pack of Shiner Bock.

“Marry me,” he said, and she smiled, looking around the room. He’d hung clothes in the closet, and had all his other meager possessions in various small stacks around the room. He’d broken down the boxes and had them sitting neatly by the door. He looked exhausted.

“There’s Spartan furnishings, and then there’s this,” she said, and he shrugged, chagrined.

“I’ll need to do some shopping in the immediate future, I’ll grant you,” he said.

“The good news is, I have a real table with real chairs not eight yards from your bedroom door.” She held up the pizza and six pack once again, “Come on,” she said, “your piles aren’t going anywhere.”

He followed her to the kitchen and she gave him a quick rundown of what cabinets held what, pulling down plates and glasses. She pulled out two beers and slid the rest of the six pack back in the fridge.

She opened them both and handed him one. He clinked the bottles together.

“Happy housewarming,” she said.

“Slainte,” he said, and they both took a slug.

A semi-comfortable silence descended on them, and Scully filled it by sliding a couple slices of pizza on her plate. Mulder sat back and pushed the sleeves of his sweatshirt up his forearms. They looked tanned even in the washed out light of the kitchen and were roped with muscle and sprinkled with dark hair.

“Ever wonder why they call it a housewarming?” Mulder asked.

“I never really thought about it,” she said, and then leaned forward. “But now I want to know.”

She looked at him and he smiled back.

“Fire is a classic symbol of strength and purity, which is why many European traditions involve lighting a candle or a fire on your first night in a new home. Doing so is said to ward off evil spirits by casting away darkness. It’s fallen out of practice with modern conveniences like electricity, but the name stuck.”

“Well,” said Scully, “aren’t you a wellspring of random and arcane facts.”

Mulder held up his beer.

“You have no idea,” he said, and she laughed.

She peeled off a piece of pepperoni from one of her slices of pizza, and popped it into her mouth.

“Be right back,” she said, and came back a moment later with a large white pillar candle and a box of matches. She struck a match and lit the candle, then held out her beer. He clinked the neck of his to the neck of hers.

“To warding off evil spirits,” she said.

“And casting out darkness,” he replied.

They smiled at each other, the silence turning easy.

XxXxXxXxXxX

A few days had passed. Enough for them each to get to know the other’s routines and for the excessive politeness of two strangers sharing a space to fade a bit.

Scully was sitting on the couch going over classwork when Mulder emerged from his room in running shorts and a ratty tee shirt with the sleeves cut off. The skin on his upper arms was paler than that of his lower arms, but had a delineated curve where deltoid met bicep. It took a minute to look away.

“Going for a run?” she asked a little too brightly.

“I was hoping to,” he said, sitting down in front of the front door to put on his running shoes. “Are there any good places around here?”

She set down the paper she was holding, thinking.

“There’s a park a few blocks away, over by the… you know what, it’ll be easier if I show you. Mind some company?”

“I’d love some,” he said, smiling.

“Be right back,” she said, and ran upstairs to change.

When she got back to the living room, he was stretching, one leg held up in a quad stretch, standing with the graceful ease of perfect balance.

“Ready?” she asked, pulling an old baseball cap over her messy ponytail.

He lowered his leg to the floor and swept his eyes over her once.

“As I’ll ever be,” he said.

They walked the first few blocks, with Scully taking the opportunity to point out various neighborhood hot spots -- the local gas station, the corner market.

When they got to the park nearby, she ducked under a low hanging tree to find the running path that ran near the outskirts.

“This way,” she said, and they started to jog.

After a few minutes, she threw him a look.

“I’m slowing you down,” she said, guiltily.

He was taking short strides next to her, keeping pace with her.

“Nonsense,” he said, staring straight ahead.

“Muder, your legs are about a foot longer than mine, you could run circles around me,” she said.

“Sounds like a good idea,” he said with a glimmer in his eye, and then pulled the hat off her head and started running in literal circles around her, hooting at her while she grabbed at the hat -- every time she got close, he’d pull it away, holding it behind his back or far above his head where she could never reach it. After a minute of keep away, they were both laughing and she pulled up, out of breath but with a smile on her face.

“I knew I was slowing you down,” she laughed, and bent to put her hands on her knees.

“Aw,” he said, putting the cap back on her head and pulling it low, “you’d have caught up eventually.”

He gave one last tug on the brim of the cap and they stood looking at each other, a moment passing between them. Scully felt something low in her belly, and there was a sharp look in Mulder’s eye.

“Why don’t you go ahead and get your miles in,” Scully said, taking a step back and breaking the moment. “You know how to get back?”

Mulder nodded at her.

“Sure you don’t want to come along?” he asked.

“Pass,” she said, “I’ll see you at home.”

He took a few steps backward, holding her eye and then turned and loped off back down the path, eating up the distance in long, even strides.

XxXxXxXxXxX

The days turned into a week and then two. Their schedules were pretty compatible, and they usually woke up and ate breakfast at about the same time, and then Scully would leave to head onto campus.

She came back on a Thursday afternoon, holding a folder full of medical school applications, her gut churning in nervous anticipation. Her MCAT scores were good. Hopefully good enough to secure at least one full ride scholarship. She closed the door to the apartment with her head in the clouds, and it took her a moment to notice Mulder, who was standing in the middle of the living room, holding the telephone. He was just lowering it from his ear and he had a queer look on his face.

“Mulder?” Scully said, “Everything okay?”

“I just accepted a job,” he said, looking a little surprised.

“What? That’s fantastic!” Scully said, swinging her backpack down to the floor and plopping the folder of applications on top of it.

“Yeah,” he said, and then moved to the wall to hang up the phone.

“You seem surprised,” Scully said, walking toward him.

“I am,” he said, turning toward her from the wall. “It’s the one I was hoping for. I did not expect to get it.”

“What’s the position?” Scully asked, moving to stand in front of him.

“I’ll be starting at one of the best Psychology practices in the Metro area. Low on the totem pole, but they’ve offered to train me until I get licensed.”

The surprise on his face melted slowly into happiness as the news started to sink in.

On a whim, Scully wrapped her arms around him in a hug. He returned it, warmly.

“Congratulations,” she said into his shirt, then looked up into his face. “This calls for a celebration.”

“Yeah?” he said, looking down at her with a smile. She felt color spreading up her cheeks. After a second they let their hands fall away from each other. “What’d you have in mind?” he asked, taking a step back.

“Drinks,” she said, taking a step back, herself. “There’s a great dive bar right down the street.”

“When can we leave?” he asked.

XxXxXxXxXxX

They were at least four drinks in, not counting the two tequila shots she’d insisted on when they first arrived. They’d both agreed their third drink should be water, and Scully had lost count after that. She had ordered a glass of the house Chardonnay (“It’s terrible, but also four dollars,”), and Mulder appeared to be pacing himself through a large gin and tonic, while Scully told a story.

“And then we said ‘follow that car!’” Scully said.

“You didn’t,” Mulder said.

“We did,” said Scully on a laugh, “but to our surprise the cabbie didn’t share in our excitement and instead slammed on the breaks half a block down the street and told us to get out.”

Mulder threw his head back and laughed.

They had started at the bar, but moved to a dark booth in the back when the place started filling up with the after-work crowd. Rush was playing too loud on the jukebox nearby. The drinks were cheap, the tables were sticky and the lighting was bad.

“I love this place,” Mulder said, looking around.

“Me too,” said Scully, watching the way his adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed his drink. “It’s the perfect dive bar.”

Mulder leaned back in the booth and leveled a look at her.

“Tell me about Dana Scully,” he said.

“There’s not much to tell,” she said, humbly.

“Nonsense,” he said, “a smart, beautiful woman like you? I bet you’ve got a lot going on.”

She ducked her head at the compliment. She’d noticed that he peered rather than looked. There was a ribald quality to his gaze, though she found herself more intrigued than intimidated. Mulder looked at her as if she were a question to be answered and she found herself hoping to be worthy of his inquiry.

“Boyfriend?” he prodded, taking a big drink. She rolled her eyes just thinking about Ethan. “Ha!” he went on, “there’s a story there. Tell it.”

He crunched ice from his glass, the dull sound brushing across her skin like a memory. He held the dewy tumbler in long, elegant fingers and for a moment she felt like a real, live grown-up.

She told him about Ethan. She probably shared more than she should have. How they’d started dating in high school when her father retired from the Navy and they moved to Maryland. She told him about her dreams of becoming a doctor and how she’d broken up with Ethan over it. When she finished, he held up his glass.

“Fuck that guy,” Mulder said, and clinked her glass with his.

“I did,” Scully said, and Mulder choked on his drink, laughing. While he recovered, Scully handed him a napkin and leaned back. “I tell you,” she went on, “I’m thrilled to be single right now.”

Mulder cut his eyes to her.

“Tell me about Fox Mulder,” she said, diverting the conversation, “smart, handsome guy like you? I bet you’ve got a lot going on.”

He smirked at her as he brushed the front of his shirt with the napkin.

“You said no girlfriend, right?” she asked, feeling brave.

“I’m thrilled to be single right now,” he said, giving her a look she couldn’t read. The silence stretched for a moment.

“Missy said you moved back for your sister?”

“That, and it was time to come back,” he said, sighing. He started shredding bits of the napkin onto the tabletop. “Sam is doing well in school, but that’s about it. She’s at the age where you leave home and strike out on your own but always have that parental support, that thing to fall back on, that place to go home to. Mom and Dad died just after she left for college, and… I think she feels like she was just expelled into the world before she was ready. She’s sad and angry, and I don’t quite know what to do for her. PhD in Psychology and here I am flapping in the breeze, not even able to help my own sister.”

Scully reached across the table and squeezed his arm.

He smiled self-consciously and stood. He looked brooding and slapdash in the half-light of the bar, stippled with 5 o’clock shadow and flecked with chips of light from a distant, dusty disco ball. She found herself wanting to run her hands through his sable hair and brush her lips over his cheek. She threw back the rest of her wine instead.

“We need another round,” he said.

“We really don’t,” Scully said, reaching up and feeling the end of her nose. When she had too much to drink, it went numb. She couldn’t feel it.

“Are we out celebrating me or not?” he said.

“We are.”

“Then I say we need another round,” and with that he walked to the bar, though when he came back, he was carrying two waters.

“Bartender insisted,” he said.

“He’s a good guy,” Scully said, waving in the direction of the bar. A nod from the bartender.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, drinking water and watching the bar fill up. Then Spirit of the Radio came on the jukebox and Mulder leaned back his head as if in ecstasy.

“I love this song,” he said.

“I had you pegged as an INXS guy,” Scully said.

“You wouldn’t be wrong,” he replied. He looked at her steadily. “Let’s dance.”

Scully looked skeptically towards what passed for a dance floor.

“Mulder, no one has danced here in at least a decade,” she said, thinking of a fifty-something barfly swaying by herself to Jolene.

“All the more reason,” he said, sliding out of the booth and holding out his hand. There was a rakish glint in his eye and his renegade jaw clenched once.

“I’m not drunk enough for this,” she said, though she put her hand in his and let him pull her up.

“Yes, you are,” he laughed and led her to the middle of the floor.

She was definitely drunk enough because it took nothing at all for her to start dancing. The bartender, who knew her from more than a few nights out with Ellen, smiled at her and bent down under the bar. A second or two later the volume of the music went up and he stood, giving her a thumbs up. She laughed and let herself go.

When the guitar solo started in the middle of the song, Mulder leaned back and started playing an air guitar, throwing his head into it with enthusiasm.

“You’re such a dork!” Scully yelled to him over the music.

“You love it!” he yelled back.

She had to admit, she kind of did. She liked that he seemed to live his life not caring what other people thought of him. It was a lesson she should probably learn herself.

When the song ended and Tom Sawyer came on, she took a step back, and looked up at him. She was sweaty and suddenly self-conscious, feeling like a goldfish in a bowl.

“We should go home,” she said, feeling a lot drunker than she thought she’d been, “get some food.”

He stood up straight, as if gauging how he felt and swayed just a bit.

“You’re right,” he said, “we should.”

They strolled to the bar to settle their tab, and he wouldn’t hear of letting her pay.

They walked out of the bar and were surprised to find that night had fallen. The sudden silence settled over them like a heavy blanket. The air was so fresh it almost hurt to breathe it.

“You should have let me pay,” Scully said, speaking too loudly, her ears ringing with a brief tinnitus from the music. She lowered her voice, “we’re celebrating your accomplishment.”

“Well, my accomplishment is going to pay a lot better than your post-grad stipend, I guarantee you.”

“Still…” she said, and then tripped over the curb.

Mulder reached out and grabbed her arm, saving her from a face plant.

“All hands on deck!” he said, and she smiled and looked up at him gratefully. He slid his hand down her arm and took her hand. “Two blocks to go,” he said, “we got this.”

His hand was warm in hers, dry. She squeezed it. Inhibitions lowered, she could feel herself falling for him a little, against her will.

When they got to their building, there was a young woman sitting on the steps out front with her arms crossed, looking like she was on the verge of tears. When the woman heard them, she turned to look and her face registered surprise and, when her gaze dropped to their linked hands, unhappy confusion.

Scully suddenly wondered if Mulder actually did have a girlfriend and she felt her stomach reel.

“Sam!” Mulder said, dropping her hand. He lurched forward and grabbed the woman in a bear hug.

“Get off, Fox,” she said, pushing him back, “you smell like a frat party.”

Mulder’s face fell.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“What’s wrong?” the woman’s voice went up an entire octave, “you told me to come here at 7:30. I’ve been sitting out here for an hour and a half!”

“Shit,” Mulder swore. “I’m so sorry.” His apology did nothing to improve her demeanor.

Mulder then seemed to remember Scully’s presence.

“Oh,” he said, “Sam, this is my new roommate Dana Scully. Scully, this is Samantha, my sister.”

“Scully?” Samantha said, and made no move to shake hands. “You’re still doing that last name thing?” Her eye roll was implied.

“Let’s go inside,” Scully said, for something to do, and pulled out her keys to unlock the building’s door. When she got the key close to the lock, she dropped the whole ring. She could hear Samantha sighing in annoyance behind her.

“So, you went out partying instead of meeting me,” Samantha said, her voice flat. “Awesome.”

Scully recovered, got the door open and they all trooped up the stairs to the apartment in silence.

Once inside, Scully knelt to pick up the backpack and envelope of applications she’d dropped by the door earlier and made her way to the stairs.

“I’ll let you two catch up,” she said, excusing herself.

Mulder threw her an apologetic look. She flopped on the bed when she got to her room, applications forgotten until tomorrow.

XxXxXxXxXxX

The next morning, Mulder met Scully in the kitchen and wordlessly handed over two Tylenol and a glass of water. She threw back the dusty pills, and assessed him over the rim of the glass.

“Thank you,” she said, and he nodded. “Did your sister forgive you?”

“I’ve been granted a temporary reprieve,” he said, and Scully walked around him to pour herself a bowl of cereal. “She’s interning with the local police department this summer, she asked me to come down to the station in a few days so she can show me around. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be scared straight or if she’s letting me off the hook, but either way I promised to be on my best behavior.”

“What kind of internship?” Scully asked, spoon halfway to her mouth.

“I’m not exactly sure. Some kind of Women in Law Enforcement thing. She’ll mostly be getting coffee for dispatch, I think, but occasionally she’ll get to shadow a female detective, so she’s pretty stoked.”

“Sounds cool,” Scully said. Then, “...I don’t think she likes me.”

“She was just upset last night. Totally my fault. She’ll come around.”

Mulder plopped down next to her and poured a bowl of cereal for himself.

“What’s on the docket for today?” he asked her. He poured milk into his bowl slowly until it submerged the flakes like a rising tide.

“Med school applications,” she said, her mouth half full.

“And who are the lucky schools?” he asked.

“Stanford, UCLA, Michigan State and Columbia,” she said, “they’re amongst the few still accepting applications for this fall.”

“Not Georgetown?” he said, casually.

“Georgetown, too,” she said, “I love it here. I would love to stay. I do plan to apply, but…”

“But?”

“But when I inquired, they said their spots were filled and that they rarely make exceptions.”

“Too bad,” he said.

“Too bad,” she agreed.

They ate the rest of the meal in silence.

XxXxXxXxXxX

It had taken days to fill them out, but Scully had left the post office after mailing her applications and felt as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She was finally going after what she herself wanted and felt jubilant at the prospect. For too long she’d let other people’s expectations for her guide her life. She walked down the sidewalk feeling lighter than air.

The dull roar of an engine on the street pulled her attention and she turned to see Mulder sitting on his motorcycle next to her, pulling off his helmet.

“I thought that was you,” he said with a smile, which she returned. “You get all your applications out?”

She nodded, grinning.

“You make it out of the local police station without having to post bail?” she asked with a smirk.

“Just barely,” he said, then reached back and unsecured a second helmet, holding it up to her. “Want to go for a ride?” he asked.

She looked at the bike skeptically. Motorcycles had always freaked her out a bit.

“Come on, Scully, it’s a Saturday, live a little.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Why not?” she said.

“Atta girl,” he said, grinning. He helped her fit the helmet over her head, securing it under her chin. He lifted her visor before putting his own helmet on, and said “Hold on tight, okay?”

He mounted the bike and she climbed up after him, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. The leather jacket he wore was warm from being in the sun.

He kick-started the bike and it roared to life beneath her. She felt a thrill as he pulled away from the curb and picked up speed, the wind teasing the hairs on her bare arms. She wondered if Mulder could feel her heartbeat as it pounded against her chest and into his back.

They crossed the river and he merged onto the parkway, the bike surging forward like a tracer round. She rested her helmeted head onto his back and watched the city give way to forest, neither knowing nor caring about their destination. After about ten minutes, he pulled off into a the small parking lot of a scenic overlook, the brown water of the Potomac rushing past them at the base of the hill they were perched on. He cut the engine and she slid off the side of the bike, reaching up to take her helmet off.

Mulder followed, his gaze piercing as she shook out her hair. She set the helmet on the seat, and he did the same. She turned to look around.

“This is pretty,” she said, “I’ve never been out here.”

“Me neither,” he laughed, and shook the jacket off his shoulders.

The June day was approaching full heat and the breeze that came up off the river was muggy and rich. They walked a little way past the lot and into the shade of several large maple trees. There was a neat rock retaining wall that ran the length of the lookout, and they each hopped over and sat down on it. Far below them the river purled off toward the Chesapeake, dotted occasionally with a kayak or sailboat. The air held the decadent smell of petrichor from rain the day before.

She looked over at Mulder, at his strong profile, the chiseled set of his jaw. He turned to her and caught her looking. Smiled.

The heather grey tee shirt he wore looked overwashed and soft. She had to stop herself from reaching out and rubbing it between her fingers.

“How’s Samantha doing today?” she asked.

“Better,” he said, relieved. “She’s thrilled with this internship. It sounds like she’s really taken to it.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Scully said.

They sat in silence for a few minutes

“Hey, when do you start your new job?” she asked.

“Monday,” he said, his eyes wide. “They already have patients on the schedule.”

She put her hand on his shoulder.

“You’re about to be a real live grown-up, Mulder,” she said, “you ready?”

“Do I look ready?” he asked, pushing his shoulders back. If he’d been wearing a tie, he would have straightened it.

She turned to face him. Took the opportunity to look her fill.

“Mm… yes,” she finally said.

“There was a hesitation there, Scully,” he said playfully.

“There was no hesitation,” she played back.

“There was a decidedly skeptical hesitation.”

She pursed her lips.

“Listen, far be it from me to undermine your confidence…” she started.

“But?” he led.

“But don’t most grown men own furniture?” she teased, bumping her shoulder into his companionably.

He tilted his head back, busted.

“If that’s how you feel about it, how about you come shopping with me tomorrow?” he said.

“For furniture?” she laughed.

“That doesn’t sound like a good time?” he deadpanned.

“Let’s just go now,” she laughed again, “we’ll stack it on the handlebars and taunt the traffic cops.”

“You joke, but I’m serious. Come furniture shopping with me tomorrow.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“I guess it depends,” she finally said, “will we need Frohike’s truck?”

He laughed.

“How about if I borrow the truck, but not the Frohike?”

“Deal,” she said, “And all joking aside, is there any reason in particular we can’t go this evening? I mean, I’m free, and I’d hate for a newly minted grown-up like you to develop back problems from another night on the floor.”

She bumped into him again, enjoying their repartee. His face got an odd look to it.

“Actually, I have plans tonight,” he said.

“Oh?” she said, “hot date?”

“I don’t know about hot,” he said, “but I do have a date.”

She felt her stomach drop, then remembered telling him I’m thrilled to be single right now. She felt a small moment of grief.

“Oh, do tell,” she said, sounding entirely too cheerful.

“The uh, detective that Sam is shadowing, asked me out today. I felt kind of cornered, couldn’t say no.”

Mild relief.

“Aggressive, huh?” she said.

“Something like that,” he answered. “Anyway, are we on for tomorrow? I’ll buy you lunch.”

“Now that’s an offer I can’t refuse,” she said.

The warm breeze sloughed through the trees and settled between them.

XxXxXxXxXxX

True to his word, after breakfast, Mulder went out and rolled back an hour later with Frohike’s truck, but not Frohike.

“He wanted me to pass along his love,” Mulder said when Scully hopped into the cab.

“Is that all?” she asked, pulling the seatbelt across her lap.

“Definitely not,” Mulder said, “but I value my life.”

The truck was a late ’70s Chevy Silverado in metallic brown. It had a manual transmission and only got AM radio. A corner of the floor was rusted out and she could see the road flying beneath them.

“What’s our first stop?” she asked, fiddling with the radio to try to get a signal.

“I’m thinking bed,” he said, “in deference to my old man body.”

She smiled and the truck rumbled on, the transmission tacky. He had to kick the clutch at every stop light.

“Know where you’re going?”

He tapped the side of his head.

“Got it all mapped out.”

The only radio station that would come in was transmitting a baseball game, so they listened to it in silence for a few minutes. Finally her curiosity got the better of her.

“So,” she said, “how was the date?”

“Not bad, actually,” he replied, stealing a look at her as if to gauge her reaction.

She made sure to keep her expression neutral, pressed the vee of her toes hard into her flip-flops.

“Oh?”

“She’s intense, but funny,” he said. “Not sure if I see it going anywhere, but she asked if I wanted to go out again.”

She could feel his eyes on her and kept staring straight ahead.

“You should go,” she said. Stop talking, Dana.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” No.

“Oh, we’re coming up on the mattress store,” he said, “see if you can see a parking lot.”

They walked into the mattress store, eyes practically bugging out of their heads. It looked like close to an acre of nothing but bare white mattresses as far as the eye could see. There were SALE! Posters hanging above almost every section and cardboard cutouts of showcase models leaning against every third mattress.

Mulder took a step back.

“I’ll keep sleeping on the floor,” he said, “nothing is worth this.”

Scully grabbed his arm.

“Mulder,” she said, “you need, what? A bed, dresser and desk?”

He nodded.

“Then we’re practically a third of the way there. Come on.”

She pulled him along like a recalcitrant toddler.

It took about 10.2 seconds before they were met with a smiling salesman. By that point, Mulder seemed to have recovered.

The man was short, balding and entirely too chipper for his own good.

“You and the missus looking for a new mattress?” the man asked, “You know mattresses expire after eight years.”

She opened her mouth to correct him, but Mulder grabbed her arm.

“Yes,” he said, “the missus and I are looking for a new mattress. You have any newlywed discounts?”

The salesman waggled his eyebrows.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

He marched off ahead of them and Scully hissed “what are you doing?”

“Trying to save a little money,” he whispered back, “go with it.”

The salesman stopped in front of a row.

“Now, this here line is your best bet for what we like to call active sleepers,” at that he gave an exaggerated wink, “you folks looking for soft or firm?”

“Oh, my wife likes it firm,” Mulder said. Scully rolled her eyes.

The salesman moved to the end of the row.

“These are going to be the firmest on this end, getting softer as you move to the left. Why don’t you two lay down on a few and see if any of these speak to you.”

A new customer walked into the store then, and the salesman excused himself and ambled over to greet them.

“I’m not going to speak to you if you keep that up, Mulder,” she said.

“Keep what up?”

“My wife likes it firm,” she repeated in a low voice.

“What?” he said, all innocence,

“I’m leaving,” she said and he grabbed her wrist as she turned.

“Wait,” he said, laughing, “I’m sorry. He’s just lobbing these softballs out there, and I gotta take a swing. I’ll stop.”

She gave him a look.

“I will,” he said, putting on a straight face, still holding onto her arm, “just help me pick out a bed and we can get out of here. Scout’s honor.”

She relented and they cautiously sat on a few mattresses before getting comfortable. Eventually they were sprawled out next to each other, debating the merits of quilt-top vs foam.

The salesman finally came back over.

“Y’all have any questions?” he asked.

“Just one,” Mulder said, propping himself up onto his elbows. The salesman looked at him expectantly, “is that newlywed discount still on the table?”

XxXxXxXxXxX

They pulled into the parking space behind the building a few hours later hauling several large boxes containing the unassembled pieces of a matching set of a dresser, desk and nightstand. The bed would be delivered later that afternoon.

They were able to haul them up the two flights of stairs with a minimal amount of arguing which both pleased and surprised Scully.

They dumped them on the floor of the living room before plopping wearily onto the sofa.

“Oh God,” Mulder said, eyeing the mess of cardboard before them, “We have to assemble them.”

“What do you mean ‘we?’”

Mulder looked at her, his lips almost pouting and she laughed.

“Oh come on, it’s not like you have to build them from scratch, they give you directions,” she said, “If you’re lucky, they’re even in English.”

“You’re making this worse.”

“And enjoying myself immensely,” she said, “Do you have any tools?”

“Do you?” he asked.

“Of course, I do,” she said.

“Please grant a moment of silence for the death of my masculinity,” he said, dropping his head.

She swatted his shoulder.

“Stop being patriarchal,” she said, “I’ll help. Let me grab my tools.”

Three hours later they were drinking iced tea on the small loveseat on their balcony while the sun sunk slowly below the horizon, the cotton candy clouds a riot of color above them.

“I’m never moving again,” Mulder said, “tell Ellen she can sleep on the couch when she gets back. Or she can sleep with you. I’m done.”

Scully chuckled and wiggled down lower into the cushions. The temperature had dropped with the sun and she was still wearing a tank top and shorts, her feet bare.

“You cold?” Mulder asked her.

She shrugged.

“A little,” she said.

“Here,” he said, and pulled off the sweatshirt he was wearing, handing it over to her.

“Thanks,” she said, pulling it over her head. It was still warm from his body and smelled like sandalwood and a little like sweat. She wanted to pull it up to her nose and give it a big whiff, but she resisted. When he put his arms back down, he rested one on the back of the loveseat behind her. He wasn’t touching her, but she could maybe tell he wanted to.

“You nervous about tomorrow?” she asked.

“A little,” he said, smiling.

He had a tee shirt on under his sweatshirt, and it was riding up a tiny bit, the skin of his hip showing. He took a sip of tea, and she wondered for a moment what he might taste like.

“You’re going to do great,” she said.

He turned to look at her, serious.

“Thanks, Scully.”

“Don’t mention it,” she said dismissively.

“I mean, for everything.”

The moment felt weighty. She could practically feel the heat from the skin on his arm above her, and knew if she touched it it would be warm and exquisitely soft.

“Tell me another random and arcane fact,” she said, settling further into the loveseat, the collar from his sweatshirt brushing her jaw.

“In New York City,” he said, turning his face to hers, “on Broadway medians between 63rd and 76th streets, biologists discovered a new species of ant.”

She raised her eyebrows at that.

“They call it the ManhattAnt,” he smiled.

“Naturally,” she smiled back.

If she let herself, she could fall in love with him; absolutely, irreversibly. It’d be as easy as taking a breath.

He drained the rest of his tea and stood. She sat up.

“You want your sweatshirt back?” she said, her hand on the hem.

He waved her back down.

“Keep it,” he said, “I know where you live.” He then jerked a thumb in the direction of his bedroom. “Gonna try out that new bed,” he said, and opened his mouth like he was about to say something else. He shook the ice left over in the glass and looked down at it. “I… I had a good day today, Scully. Thank you.”

She gave him a close lipped smile.

“Night,” he said, drifting slowly off toward his bedroom.

“Night,” she said back.

She waited until his bedroom door closed before going inside. She slept in his sweatshirt.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Mulder had been on four more dates with Detective What’s-Her-Name (she didn’t ask) in the last five weeks (not that she was counting). He was always home by 11:00 pm, alone (not that she was paying close attention).

She’d usually be sitting on the couch studying when he walked in the door.

“How was your date?” she’d ask.

“Good,” he’d say, and wouldn’t elaborate.

Twice he sat on the couch with her after he took off his shoes, and they’d talked until they were both yawning and wondering aloud where the time went. Once, he just went to bed. Once she’d been asleep and woke up hours later to find an Aztec print blanket draped over her on the couch.

Tonight was date number five. Earlier in the day she’d gotten her second response from med schools (Michigan State had accepted her, but had been unable to offer any financial support) -- this one from Columbia, which regretted to inform her that they had already filled up all their remaining spots, but asked her to please apply again next year. That disheartening rejection on her mind, she had a nervous, anxious feeling in her gut about Mulder’s date, and was planning to go to bed early--if he came home and he wasn’t alone--or didn’t come home at all--she didn’t want to know.

At 9:03 pm, she was getting a glass of water from the kitchen in just a thin worn-out tee shirt and an old pair of running shorts from high school when she heard the key in the lock.

Mulder slid in through the door and closed it behind him. He was alone.

“Hey,” she said, surprised. “How… was your date?”

“Meh,” he said, bending over to get at his shoes. “She got a call about a case halfway through dinner and had to leave. To be honest, I was relieved.”

A lightness bubbled up from inside her, and she had trouble containing a smile.

“Oh yeah?” she said lightly.

He moved to plop heavily onto the couch, giving his lone remaining shoe a perplexed look.

“Damn lace is knotted,” he mumbled, “I can’t get it.”

She sat on the couch next to him.

“You probably need a decent fingernail,” she said, flicking hers together with the satisfying click of keratin. “Gimme your foot.”

He turned and swung his foot into her lap. She started picking at the knot, which he’d managed to pull even tighter with his efforts.

“Relieved, you said?” she tried not to sound too interested. She kept her eyes on his laces.

“Yeah,” he sighed, “She’s nice enough--pretty--but I think it’s run its course.”

“Aw,” she said, and patted his leg, “your somebody is out there, Mulder. I just know it.”

“Yeah,” he said, softly, “I’m sure of it.”

She had just gotten her thumbnail into the knot and started to get it loose when there was a knock on the door. They looked at each other, expectantly. Neither were expecting anyone.

She set his foot on the floor.

“I think I loosened it enough,” she said, “you get it from here, I’ll get the door.”

“Success!” he said, when she was a few feet from the door. He pulled off the shoe triumphantly just as she threw back the lock. She turned to smile at him, and pulled the door wide, turning toward it with a big grin still on her face.

Her face fell as soon as she registered who was standing in front of her.

“Ethan,” she said, “what are you doing here?”

“Dana,” he said, and held out a small posy of flowers toward her. She didn’t reach out to take them. “I came to apologize.”

She stood there, debating.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

She looked at him, sighed. “I don’t need an apology, and it’s late, and… Ethan, I don’t want to do this.”

He brushed past her and came in anyway. When she turned toward him, Mulder stood from the couch, his eyes narrowed. Ethan stopped in his tracks.

“What is this?” Ethan asked.

Scully sighed, annoyed.

“You tell me, Ethan. What is this?” she asked, pointing to the flowers, “What do you want?”

“I was coming to…” he looked back and forth between her and Mulder. He looked her up and down and she suddenly felt vulnerable and small. She wasn’t even wearing a bra. She crossed her arms in front of her.

“This wasn’t about school, was it,” Ethan said, his tone turning quarrelsome. “You were cheating on me.”

“Ethan, Jesus Christ,” she said, taking a step toward him.

“Fucking ‘med school,’” he said, his face melting into a sneer, “right. It was a fucking excuse. You wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for me-” at that, she went from annoyed to irate.

“Are you kidding?” she said, “I wrote half your papers in undergrad-”

“You barely proofread them,” he interrupted snidely, and turned to Mulder. “What’s she got you doing for her?”

“Hey, man,” Mulder said, taking a step forward, “Don’t.

“Oh,” Ethan said, slapping the posy of flowers against the side of his leg. A few petals fell to the floor, “maybe I should ask you what she’s got you doing to her.”

Mulder took another step forward.

“Scully,” he said, connecting eyes with her.

“Ethan, you need to leave,” she said.

He ignored her.

“Scully?” Ethan said, then reached out a hand and grabbed her arm. “What the fuck? You fucking slut-”

Before he could finish whatever he was about to say, Mulder’s fist came flying over Scully’s shoulder and connected solidly with Ethan’s nose. The force of the punch sent him spinning a few paces away from Scully almost into the open doorway, and when he turned and straightened blood was running down his face.

“Whad da fuck?” he said, his words garbled and nasally. He brought a hand to his face and looked to Mulder. “Good luck wid her. Frigid bitch.”

Scully was so furious she was shaking.

“First I’m a slut, now I’m frigid? Make up your fucking mind, Ethan. And get. Out.”

With that she gave him a shove and slammed the door in his face.

She leaned against it and took one bracing breath. Then she looked to Mulder, who was holding his right hand awkwardly.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Are you?” he volleyed back, concerned.

She shook her hands out, trying to release some nervous energy. Anger and horror and embarrassment all fought to get out, coming together in a clod in her throat that choked her. Tears sprung out instead.

“I mean your hand,” she finally said, moving to his side. She wiped the tears away hastily, gingerly lifting up his hand. He winced, sucked in a breath.The skin over two knuckles was split, blood dripping lazily down three fingers. It was starting to swell.

“I think I hit a couple teeth,” he said.

“I hope you knocked them out,” she said. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” she went on gently, glad she had something to do, and pulled him lightly toward her bathroom up the stairs.

He stood at the threshold while she rummaged around for her first aid kit and looked around.

“I’ve never been in here,” he said quietly. “You have a nicer shower than me.”

She finally felt her mouth tug up into a small smile. She gingerly grabbed his injured hand and pulled him to the sink.

He let her wash and rinse his hand without words. She could feel his eyes on her, he never looked away. Finally, she sat on the edge of her tub with the first aid kit, and pulled him down next to her. She rested his hand gently in her lap as she worked butterfly bandages over his knuckles. She then wrapped it gently with gauze, securing it with a quick tuck.

“You’re going to make a great doctor,” he said earnestly, and she tucked her chin to her chest.

“This needs ice,” she said, finally raising her eyes to his. Tending to him had given her mind something to do, and now looking at him made her feel vulnerable all over again—he’d heard every accusation made in her fight with Ethan—the words were coming back to her. She looked back down, willing back the tears that threatened to spill.

Finally, she felt the fingers of Mulder's other hand lightly on her chin and she looked up. The second their eyes connected, her tears started to fall.

“You’re not frigid, Dana,” he said, his voice rumbling and soft, “you might be the warmest-hearted person I’ve ever met.”

His eyes were mossy in the bright light of her bathroom, and she felt herself tipping forward until her forehead was resting against his.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

They were still for a moment, breathing each other in. She felt a pull to him like the tide chasing the moon.

His fingers were still resting tenderly under her chin, and all it took was the slightest, smallest pressure from them and they crashed into each other, their lips tangling in a sudden, passionate kiss.

They were still sitting side by side on the edge of her bathtub, and Mulder brought his arm around her and pulled her up until they were standing, bodies pressed together in a line, their mouths all tongue and teeth.

She reached up and weaved her fingers into his hair, pulling him down to her like he was a source of water and she’d been thirsty for days.

She felt him harden against her belly, and she reached down and grabbed him over his jeans, rubbing. He moaned into her mouth and thrust against her once, twice. His injured hand was wrapped around her backside, pulling her closer, while his good hand crept up under her tee shirt and cupped roughly over her bare breast, squeezing her nipple between his thumb and the vee of his hand.

He dragged his mouth away from hers and started biting and licking at her neck.

“I want you, Scully,” he said into her skin, “God, I’ve wanted you since I first saw you.”

She was so het up in a fervor of desire and sheer wanting that she could barely form words.

“Ye-” she said, struggling to get the whole word out, “yesss.”

He leaned back for a moment and used his good hand to grab his shirt behind his head and whipped it up and off. She took the opportunity to do the same, and when they came back together, the heat from his bare chest on her nipples sent a frisson of energy down the length of her spine. Her skin broke out in gooseflesh.

“You’re cold,” he said into her mouth, and she was too interested in kissing him to answer.

Their tongues tangled together and he reached down and started pushing off his jeans and boxers, kicking them away without breaking contact with her. She was short enough that when she reached down to do the same, she had to bend down away from him, and when she stood back up, he was standing in her open shower door, turning the water on.

He turned back toward her, his cock pointing at her like a divining rod.

“I’m going to warm you up,” he said, looking at her like a cat stalking prey.

She rove her eyes over him once before he got to her, and her mouth went dry at the sight of him. He was all lean muscle and smooth skin; he looked like he’d been cut from marble.

He got to her and pulled her tightly to him, his skin like fever along the length of her. He pulled her with him slowly backwards, and when they got to the shower, it was steaming. He maneuvered her inside the stall and positioned her under the hot spray; she felt her nipples pucker in the air.

He leaned down and licked water off her shoulder and then lowered himself slowly to the floor, pausing at her breasts to suck one nipple into his mouth, and then the other, water sluicing down his face like rain. When his knees finally reached the floor, he ran his hand gently down her thigh until his hand was around the back of her knee, which he lifted slowly, his eyes going to hers for permission.

She could only look back and lick her lips as he pulled her leg up and over his shoulder. His mouth was an inch from the throbbing, aching skin at her center, water running down over her breasts and into his hair.

Ethan had gone down on her only a few times in all their years together, regarding the act distastefully as something of a chore. But here was Mulder, kneeling before her, who looked at her reverently, as though he were about to unwrap a gift.

Scully reached behind herself to brace a hand against the shower wall, feeling dizzy. When his tongue darted out to part the folds of her labia, she gasped. Her other hand went to his head, threading her fingers through his dark coiffure, which was as thick and smooth as a martin’s.

He reached his hands up and under her, pulling her by the ass tightly to his face, a long train of gauze unraveling from his injured hand and hanging limply in the wet spray.

In high school, Melissa had loaned her a romance novel where a pirate referred to his conquest’s genitals as a “cunny,” and that word was all she could think of as Mulder lapped at her, making her feel as flushed and ripe as a rum wench.

Mulder licked and licked, making small, satisfied noises, the shower pushing needles of heat into her hair and back. Cunny, she thought.

He removed his hands from her ass only long enough to yank the rest of the gauze off his hand, and before she could utter a protest, he had stuck one long finger slowly up inside of her and began rubbing at her G spot in time with his tongue. She let out an involuntary moan, and could feel Mulder’s answering smile on her tender flesh.

“Let go,” he said gently into her, and then proceeded to suck her clit against his tongue. She came so suddenly and unexpectedly that she felt her knees go limp under her, and Mulder grabbed her and held her steady while she rode out the waves of pleasure, his name a prayer on her lips.

When she came back to herself, he was standing, one arm wrapped around her middle and the other in the wet tangle of her hair, looking at her with satisfied affection.

She reached down and grabbed him boldly, his cock hot and thick in her hand. His eyes fluttered closed and he rocked into her.

“Bed,” she said, and reached around him to shut off the water. That seemed to rouse him and he reached down and grabbed her under the ass, lifting her easily up so she could wrap her legs around him. His mouth descended on hers as he walked her out of the shower, the air hitting the water on their skin. She suddenly felt cool everywhere but where their bodies were touching: their mouths, her legs around his waist, his cock bobbing up into the cleft between her legs.

He lowered her gently onto her bed, perched in between her legs, her hair fanned about her head in thick, wet ropes. He leaned back.

“Condoms?” he asked.

“Drawer,” she said, and nodded her chin toward her bedside table. She propped herself up on her elbow and pulled a hair off of her tongue.

He rolled away from her and pulled a condom from the drawer, tearing it open as he settled himself back between her legs. He had started to roll it down over himself when he paused.

“This, uh,” he said, somewhat sheepishly, “might not fit.”

She looked down at him in alarm.

“Do you have any?” she asked him, and he nodded at her, a smile coming back to his face.

“Be right back,” he said, and leaned down to give her a quick kiss before he tumbled out of her bedroom door.

Scully looked around her room and expected to see it changed. Everything looked exactly the way it had, she realized, and found that the only thing that had changed was her. Her breathing started to even out and she flitted her eyes to her bedroom door, doubt suddenly creeping into her subconscious. Should she be doing this?

Before she could plumb the depths of that feeling too closely, Mulder filled the doorway suddenly, an adonis in all his naked glory, and he smiled at her triumphantly. She smiled tremulously back and had a thought to say something when he grabbed her foot in his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. His touch calmed her nerves and she felt suddenly re-centered.

She pushed herself up onto her elbows while he rolled the new condom down and then he was back on the bed, crawling up her body like a panther, and his mouth found hers once again.

As soon as his body pressed itself toward hers, she lifted a leg and wrapped it around his waist, her psyche entirely back in the moment.

“You ready?” he asked her, his honey-over-sandpaper voice rolling over her skin like a cat’s tongue.

She nodded and he reached down and guided himself into her slowly. As wet as she was, she still felt tight, too tight, and when she winced, he stilled instantly.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked in concern.

“No,” she said quickly, “it’s--just go slow.”

She willed her muscles to relax, one set at a time, starting at her toes and working her way up her body and after a moment she felt him slide in more and they both hissed with pleasure.

The more he moved, the better it felt, and after a while she wondered how she’d ever managed to live without this. Without him.

She bit her lip and suppressed a moan, and his pace increased, just a fraction, the look on his face one of either pleasure or pain. He hooked his thumb into her mouth and she sucked it, licked it clean. It tasted of salt, a little bit like her, the dry tang of latex. He pulled it out of her mouth and reached it between them, sweeping it urgently over her clit.

“Come with me,” he whispered into her ear, then pulled back to look into her eyes.

She concentrated on the sensations, trying not to lose herself in his gaze, and soon enough she felt another orgasm coming on, bit her lip and nodded at him. He surged up into her hard and they were both gone, eyes clamped closed, blood roaring in their ears.

He slumped down next to her, shifting his weight to his side, his penis still inside of her.

“Jesus,” he said, his tone reverential, “Jesus.”

She remained silent, feeling the bed under her, her duvet cover damp from shower water. She felt tears prick her eyes, overcome with emotion and release. She was afraid of what had happened, of what would happen, of the feelings he evoked inside of her.

He kissed her temple and then stood to dispose of the condom in the bathroom, coming back to the bed with water in her cup from the sink. He handed it to her.

“Here,” he said, and she smiled gratefully at him and drank the whole thing.

He reached for the empty cup and set it down on her bedside table, then sat on the edge of the bed.

“So,” he said, smiling at her, half amused, half anxious.

“So,” she said, and had trouble meeting his eyes.

“I think your ex-boyfriend is a bit of a douche,” he said.

At that she laughed and looked at him.

“Yeah,” she said.

He held her gaze a moment.

“You okay?” he asked, “I get that tonight,” he waved his hand around as if encompassing everything, “was a lot.”

“Yeah,” she lied, “how’s your hand?”

He looked down.

“Bleeding again,” he said.

She winced.

“Worth it,” he said.

“Ethan was lying,” she said suddenly, turning her face away, “I’m the one who carried him through school. God, that-”

“-Hey” he stopped her. Put a hand on her knee over the covers. She pulled the sheet up over her breasts, sniffling, feeling exposed. “It’s okay,” he said, “don’t give him another thought. He doesn’t deserve it.”

She took a deep breath, nodded.

“Did the band-aids at least stay on?” she asked him nodding toward his hand.

He looked down and held up his hand.

“Yes,” he said, smugly.

“Let me rewrap it,” she said, and grabbed the nearest thing to the bed to throw on. It was his Oxford sweatshirt. She put it on, realized what it was and looked to him guiltily.

“It looks better on you,” he said, “I meant it when I said ‘keep it.’”

It fell halfway to her knees, so she didn’t bother with anything else and padded softly to the bathroom. She peed quickly, washed her hands and brought fresh gauze to the bed. She found Mulder under the covers, sitting against the headboard, smiling at her shyly.

“This okay?” he said.

She paused a moment and then nodded to him. It only took a minute to rewrap his hand.

“This really needs some ice, Mulder,” she said, getting into the other side of the bed. The second she was settled, he reached for her.

“But that would mean leaving this bed,” he said, “and that is the last-” he paused to kiss her behind her ear, which sent a shiver down her spine, “thing I want to do.”

She turned in his arms so that she was the little spoon, and settled in, feeling his large hands on her stomach and his breath in her hair.

“Good night, Mulder,” she said.

He squeezed her.

“‘Night.”

He was asleep long before she was, her thoughts swirling and echoing in her mind. Eventually, his long, even breaths calmed and centered her, and she drifted into a dreamless sleep.

XxXxXxXxXxX

When she woke the next morning, it was to a soft kiss on her neck. It was the Saturday morning of the long Labor Day weekend, she remembered. She inhaled and rolled over. Mulder was kneeling onto the bed over her, wearing his boxers and holding onto the clothes he’d shed the night before.

“Morning,” he said, smiling. “I gotta go take a shower. Sam’s coming over this morning.”

“Okay,” she said, and he leaned down and kissed her on the lips.

He pulled back and gave her a long, fond look.

“Maybe we can all eat breakfast together,” he said, then shot her a toothy grin, “I’m starving.”

She hadn’t seen Samantha since that first night when they’d initially met, when she and Mulder were tipsy and Samantha was irritated with them and upset. She felt a low throb of embarrassment and anxiety in her gut. She got up to take a shower as well.

When she got downstairs, she was hit with the smell of coffee and toast and found Mulder already banging around in the kitchen.

“Hey,” he said, “I just buzzed Samantha up. She said she has a surprise. I hope it’s donuts… You want some eggs?”

She shook her head and went for the pot of coffee, fresh anxiety coursing through her. Mulder came up behind her and put his hands on her hips, kissing her neck, and she shied away sideways like a nervous filly.

“Scully?” he asked, concern etched on his face.

The doorbell rang. He backed away from her, looking confused, and Scully couldn't bring herself to make eye contact. She busied herself by pouring a cup of coffee.

She heard the door open and excited female chatter, then Samantha’s voice said “Surprise!”

“Debbie,” Mulder said, his voice filled with dismay.

Scully moved to the doorway of the kitchen and watched Samantha and another woman come into the apartment. Sam had a small stack of paper in her hand and the other woman was holding a bottle of champagne. The women were laughing and she watched as the older woman leaned in and pressed a kiss to Mulder’s surprised lips.

“Hi!” she said, sweetly, “Sam told me she was coming over here this morning, and I thought I’d tag along and apologize for last night.” She held up the bottle, “Mimosas, anyone?” She looked over at Scully expectantly.

Scully finally got a good look at her and her jaw almost dropped. Mulder had said she was pretty, but the woman was downright stunning. She was at least 5’9”, with long, thin legs that reached up into verdant hips. She had an almost pinched waist, a full, high bust, and a long elegant neck. High cheekbones, lush lips, gorgeous, big, brown eyes and a cascade of wavy brown hair completed her look. It occurred to Scully that she herself was wearing an oversized tee shirt and a ratty pair of sweatpants, her hair hanging wet and limp over her shoulders.

Mulder seemed to snap out of his surprise.

“Ah,” he said, shaking his head, “welcome. Um. Deb, this is my roommate, Dana Scully, Scully, this is Detective Debbie Winther, Sam’s mentor at the police department.”

And your girlfriend, Scully couldn’t help but finish for him in her head.

“Nice to meet you,” she said instead, feeling rooted in place.

“Oh my gosh, you too!” Debbie said enthusiastically, moving over to give Scully a buss on the cheek and a tight hug.

She even smelled like heaven, Scully thought, an expensive perfume like Chanel or Hermés.

“Can I throw this in the fridge?” Debbie went on, holding up the bottle of champagne, and then moved past Scully without waiting for an answer.

Mulder caught Scully’s eye and threw her an apologetic, horrified look. When Scully cut her eyes to Samantha, the young woman was watching them closely, a shrewd look on her face.

“Here,” Samantha said to Mulder, her tone a little frosty, and pushed the stack of papers into his hands, “your mail was falling out of your box. I grabbed it.”

Sam shot a look at Scully and then moved to the couch. Mulder shuffled absently through the stack, moving slowly into the room.

Scully felt like she’d been caught cheating and could feel her cheeks burn red.

“Oh!” Mulder said suddenly, his eyes still on the mail in his hands. “Scully.” He looked at her, held up an envelope. “Stanford,” he said.

He walked over and handed the envelope to Scully, then said in a low voice, “Do you want some privacy to open it?”

She looked at him in thankful relief when Debbie walked back in from the kitchen.

“What’s this?” she said brightly.

“A letter from Stanford, apparently,” Samantha said, her eyes boring into both Scully and her brother.

“Something exciting?” Debbie asked.

“Uh, Scully applied to med school there, she’s been waiting to hear back,” Mulder said.

“Oh my gosh, you have to open it!” Debbie said. Mulder looked pained. “What?” Debbie went on, “bad news, we drink; good news, we toast!”

Scully held the envelope in front of her.

“Yeah,” she said, unable to take her eyes off of it.

She took a breath and tore it open. She held the letter, reading it, the paper in her hands shaking. She suddenly felt weak, and sat down heavily in the chair next to her.

“Scully?” Mulder said softly.

“I got in,” she finally said shakily, “full ride scholarship.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

Mulder bent down to get a better look at her face, his eyes shining.

“You did it…” he said.

She felt a tremulous smile rise up her cheeks.

“Amazing!” Debbie said enthusiastically, then ducked back into the kitchen. She emerged a moment later with the bottle of champagne and ripped the foil off, then expertly twisted off the cork. A little bit of bubbly ran out the top of the bottle and foamed down her fingers. “To Doctor Dana Scully!” she said, and then handed Scully the bottle.

Scully took one look at Mulder and then brought the bottle to her lips, knocking back a slug. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and handed him the bottle.

“I’ll get glasses,” he said, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Scully looked back down at the letter, and continued reading.

“Congratulations, Dana,” Samantha said flatly, “will you be moving to Stanford soon?”

“Uh,” Scully said, her eyes rising to Mulder’s sister, “yes. In just a couple of weeks, it looks like.”

Samantha nodded at her and then cut her eyes to her brother, who was emerging from the kitchen with three juice glasses.

“I couldn’t find champagne flutes,” he said apologetically.

He poured Scully a glass, and then one for Debbie. He then looked at Samantha. “You’re not 21,” he said.

Samantha rolled her eyes.

“Oh, come on,” Debbie said, “we’re celebrating. Anyway, you could legally drink when you were younger than she is now. She should be grandfathered in. Pour her one. It’s not like I’m going to arrest you.”

“You can have mine,” Scully said, and held it out to her.

“No thanks,” Samantha said.

The tension in the room got thick quickly. Debbie was having none of it.

“She’s having mine,” she said, and walked her glass over to Samantha. She then took the glass that Mulder was holding and leaned into him. “We need to toast the accomplishments of your incredible roommate, Fox, I’d hop to and get yourself a glass.”

Scully couldn’t help it, she liked the woman.

When Mulder came back in, he raised his glass and gave Scully a significant look.

“To Dr. Scully,” he said.

“To Dr. Scully,” the others repeated after him.

Scully brought the champagne to her lips. It felt like fire all the way down.

XxXxXxXxXxX

When Mulder closed the door on Samantha and Debbie, he immediately turned to Scully.

“God, I am so sorry. I had no idea she was coming and-”

“It’s fine, Mulder,” she said, though it was not fine. She was not fine.

“I’ll call her later, break it off with her,” Mulder said, moving over to her, and Scully cut him off again.

“Don’t,” she said. Mulder peered at her.

The whole morning would have been incredibly awkward had Debbie Winther not been engaging, enthusiastic, and an altogether fun person to be around. Whenever she stood next to Mulder, Scully couldn’t help but think what a handsome couple they made. Samantha eventually warmed up a little under Debbie’s gentle prodding.

The only really awful moment was when Debbie excitedly told Mulder that she had managed to get a cabin out on the Chesapeake for the long weekend and hoped she could take him out there this afternoon for a romantic getaway for a couple of days.

Mulder politely told her he would probably have to move a few things around and would call her.

“Scully?” Mulder said, breaking into her thoughts.

“She’s really nice, Mulder,” Scully said, “in fact, she’s great.”

Mulder looked at her in confusion.

“Mulder, I’m going to be leaving in a few weeks and-”

“I don’t care,” said, interrupting her, “Scully last night was… I don’t care if you’re leaving, I want to be with you.”

Scully’s heart felt like it was going to beat itself out of her chest.

“It was a mistake,” she whispered. It hurt just thinking it. Saying it made her sick. “Last night was a mistake.”

He stumbled back, as if stung by a jasper.

“What?” he said.

“It was a mistake. I’m leaving for Stanford. How could this even work?”

He saw an opening. Moved back toward her and grabbed her hand.

“We’ll make it work,” he said, “we’ll figure it out. Maybe I move out there.”

“Mulder, your life is here, your job, your sister-” Scully thought of the way Samantha had looked at her that first night. How easy she’d been with Detective Winther this morning. It was almost as if he was reading her thoughts.

“Don’t worry about my sister. She’ll come around. She’s incredibly loyal— she thought I was still dating Debbie, knew something had happened between you and me-”

“How?” she cut in.

“She can read me like a book, Scully. Listen, don’t worry about her, I’ll talk to her-“ he said.

She pulled away from him.

“Your sister aside, medical school is going to be all engrossing, I won’t have time. I -- It’s the first thing I’ve ever done for myself.”

“And I would never get in the way of that, Scully. Med school can come first. Should come first. I’ll take whatever you have left, even if it’s just scraps.”

She didn’t want that for him. He deserved so much more.

“No,” she said.

“But I thought-” he said.

“No,” she whispered and took a step back.

His jaw clenched and rippled under the surface of his skin, like the groundswell before a volcano blew its top.

He put his hand on his chest. “I know you feel this, too,” he said, his voice somewhere between anger and a caress.

She said nothing, but turned and walked up the stairs, tears spilling down her cheeks. She was doing this for him. Wasn’t she?

She looked over the railing and he was still standing there watching her.

‘

“I don’t,” she said, and ran the rest of the way to her room

XxXxXxXxXxX

A few minutes later, she heard the front door slam and then the sound of his motorcycle tearing up the street. Her world felt foggy and unreal. Not knowing what else to do, she picked up the phone.

When Melissa answered her call, Scully could barely talk through her tears.

“Dana?” Melissa said, her voice tinny through the earpiece, “Dana, slow down. What’s going on?”

She told her sister everything. Melissa listened patiently, asked pointed questions.

“Missy, I feel like I made the right choice and the wrong one, all at the same time,” she said when she was done.

“Sometimes there’s no one right answer, Dana. I haven’t learned much in my short time on this earth, but I have learned that.”

Scully sighed into the phone.

“Tell me, then,” Missy said, “What have you made the right choice about?”

“Med school,” Scully answered definitively. “Everything inside myself tells me that’s the right choice.”

“Then what’s the wrong one?”

“Mulder,” she said, with equal determination. “What I just said to him. Driving him away. Everything about it feels wrong, but I can’t consolidate the two. His life is here. And mine is about to be eaten up on the other side of the country.”

“Relationships have survived worse,” Missy said.

“Are you saying I made a mistake?”

“I think you said it, Dana,” her sister said gently. “I think you owe it to yourselves to at least give it a chance.”

“I need to talk to him,” Scully said, almost to herself. “I hope it’s not too late.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

She waited hours for him to come home. She mostly sat on the couch chewing her nails to the quick, imagining every scenario under the sun. Dark clouds moved in just before sunset, and the sky took on an ominous color and mood.

She was standing to switch on a lamp when she heard a soft knocking at their door. She rushed to it, swung it open, hoping it was him.

It was a different Mulder. Samantha stood there, her hand still raised from knocking.

“Dana!” she said in surprise, and then got a good look at what Scully assumed were her red-rimmed eyes and pallorous skin. “Are you okay?”

Scully sniffed and wiped her nose, didn’t answer. Sam stood there a beat and pushed on.

“I came to apologize,” she said, her words in a rush, “I was being a shit, and what you and my brother do with your lives isn’t any of my business. I know you’re leaving town soon, and I wanted to just… clear the air.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Scully said, looking down and away, embarrassed.

“I do. So… I’m sorry.”

Scully gave her a weak smile.

“Do you... know where your brother is?” she asked.

Samantha looked chagrined.

“I haven’t talked to him, but… Debbie said he had called and said he’d go up to the Bay with her this weekend. She left a couple of hours ago, I… I think Fox went with her.”

Scully nodded dumbly. She felt like the floor had opened under her.

“My shift at the station starts in a few minutes,” Sam went on, “I’ve got to get going.” She reached out and squeezed Scully’s arm briefly, then turned away and left.

When Scully closed the door and turned back into the apartment, she felt like the air had gone out of the room. Everywhere she looked, she saw a memory of the two of them. She needed out, she needed air.

She grabbed her running shoes and slid them on, not even tying them very well. She took her keys from the hook and fled out onto the street.

The sky was still lit, but barely, a yellowish ozone tinge to the air. She walked with her head down, not really having a destination in mind. She found herself at the mouth of the local park.

Moths were barnstorming the streetlamps that were scattered throughout it, and there was a steady crowd of people streaming toward the street; a soccer league had just finished for the night.

There were kids sucking on orange wedges, cleats with laces tied together draped over shoulders and around necks. A boy chased his sister, trying to get her to smell his shin guards. Somewhere off in the distance a coach or referee blew one sharp bleat on a whistle.

Scully shouldered her way past them all, feeling numb. There was a low rumble in the distance--either a truck or thunder, Scully could not tell which, and did not care. Once she was away from the thinning crowd, she walked deeper into the park and eventually sat on a bench under a large maple tree, the bottom of the leaves lighter than the tops, like the belly of a fish.

Time passed as did people, and both seemed to get fewer and farther between, the minutes slowing like dull drawn out heartbeats. A teenager gave her a disinterested glance and pulled his hood up over his head and walked on. A woman walking a pomeranian passed the other way, the dog pausing to sniff at Scully’s shoes.

One more low rumble, and Scully finally came back to herself; thunder. The wind had picked up and cooled off, the sounds of the trees above her gradually turning from a salubrious psithurism to an ominous rattle. She wasn’t wearing a coat and was starting to get cold.

She stood and looked around, trying to get her bearings. It wasn’t a large park, but it was long, and she was fairly far from the exit to the street. After a minute of walking, she thought she heard the shuffle of footsteps behind her and turned to look--there was no one there. When she turned back there was a person standing directly in front of her, appearing as if out of thin air. It was the teenager who had walked by her before--he looked older than she originally thought and his hood, which she realized now was more of a cloak, was pulled low over his face. He was holding a knife, and his gaze was intense. She felt the dump of adrenaline in her bloodstream.

He didn’t say anything, just stood in front of her, staring at her darkly.

“What do you want?” she finally asked him, sounding braver than she felt.

He mumbled something she couldn’t make out, shifting on his feet.

She had taken a self-defense course her sophomore year of undergrad, and her mind reeled trying to remember all that she had learned.

She felt the cold bite of her keys in her hand and tried to shift them as subtly as she could to get them between her fingers. He noticed and raised the knife.

“Don’t,” he said in a heavy accent, and she froze.

Scream, scream, scream the voice of her instructor came back to her, and she took a deep breath, just as the man in front of her started to twitch. She got the first “H-” of a blood curdling HELP! out before he made a move, and everything after that seemed to happen in both slow-motion and fast-forward.

He swung out with a fist which glanced off her stomach, rendering her scream mute and then slashed at her with the knife. She managed to get her arm up and out of the way and took a swing back at him with the fist holding her keys. Her punch glanced off his elbow and he moved forward towards her. Instinct took over and she brought her knee up for a groin shot. Her aim was off and she kneed him in the thigh instead, grazing it off the inside of his leg as he moved to defend himself.

Momentum carried her forward and him back, and she felt a dull blow to her left arm that didn’t hurt much. His free hand reached out with the speed of a snake and grabbed her wrist, yanking it back. Her keys went flying.

“Bitch!” he shouted at her and twisted her hand back until it was behind her and he was holding her from behind, his chest to her back. Adrenaline thrummed through her and her ears roared. She could feel the point of the knife just pressing into her side.

In one last ditch push of effort, she lifted her right foot up and slammed it down into the arch of his foot, connecting with a sickening crunch, just as her left elbow smashed into the arm holding the knife, which he dropped. It tinked onto the pavement of the path below them just as he gave a hollow grunt, his grip on her loosening.

She twisted away and ran, another dump of adrenaline boosting her forward. After a quick burst of speed, she risked a look behind her.

Nothing. Her attacker seemed to have dissolved as quickly as he had appeared, and she tripped in surprise, landing hard on her knees and hands.

It was then she noticed the blood on her arm. It was bright red and running thickly from a gash just below her elbow. The realization brought her back to herself, and the cramp that had been forming in her side from what she had assumed was running turned into a burn. She reached around herself with her uninjured hand and it came away dark with blood.

She felt another wave of panic and bile rose in her throat. She looked around. Her attacker was still gone, but so was everyone else. The park was empty and she was nowhere near the exit.

She rose to her feet and stumbled a few paces before catching sight of a small outbuilding, backlit by a dim light. The building was most likely used to store lawn mowers and the other horticultural implements needed to maintain a park. She made her way toward it, feeling a little weaker with each step.

Another low rumble of thunder cut through the air and she felt the first few stinging drops of rain start to fall. She finally got to the building and lurched around the corner toward the light.

The first good fortune of the day: a phone booth stood sentry beside the building, the blue plastic binder that should have housed a phone book hung down empty, limp as a dead bird. She threw up a silent prayer that the phone itself worked.

She floundered forward and picked the receiver up off of the hook. Dial tone. A relieved sob fell from her lips.

She dialed the operator and asked for emergency services just as the rain came down in a deluge. She slumped to the ground under the booth, giving halting, hissed information to a dispatcher, blood seeping into the ground beneath her knees.

XxXxXxXxXxX

She was separated from the rest of the patients in the ER by only a thin curtain that was occasionally thrown back with a curt shhtt! by any number of hospital personnel, quickly and at random. She flinched every time.

She was wearing an ill-fitting grey sweatsuit provided to her by the police officers who came to take her statement and her clothes, as evidence. She was allowed to keep her shoes, for which she was grateful. They were almost dry, though marked by a Pollack-like splatter of blood, mud and rain water. She had eight stitches in her arm, nineteen in her side, and a prescription for an antibiotic which she clutched tightly in her hand.

Shhtt! The curtain pulled back once again, this time admitting a nurse named Carmen--the woman was in her 50s and overweight, her hair pulled back in a dark bun with wiry strands of silver running throughout. She smiled at Scully, revealing a mouth full of crooked teeth. She’d had a tendency to call Scully “honey,” which Scully wanted to attribute to her sweet, maternal-like nature, but probably had to do with the fact that she couldn’t remember her name.

“You’re almost out of here, darlin’,” she said, mixing it up a bit as she dipped her head to look Scully in the eye. “The doctor is filling out your discharge papers, now. These,” she handed Scully a few pieces of paper that were printed in faded dot-matrix ink, “are your after-care instructions. Ibuprofen for the pain. You can take up to 600 ml safely, every six hours.”

Scully nodded mutely and folded the papers around the smaller prescription. Nurse Carmen patted her leg gently.

“Do you have someone you can call to come get you? It’s late.”

Scully glanced up at the clock on the wall -- it was nearly 3:30 am. She flipped through her mental rolodex and came up empty.

“I… I don’t have my keys,” she told the woman in a halting voice, “he knocked away my keys.”

“Do you have a Super or a roommate that can let you in?”

At the word “roommate” Scully felt tears burn in her eyes unbidden, but nodded at the nurse. Gary, their building manager, would be cranky as hell about it, but would let her in. She tried not to think about Mulder, and of course could only picture him on the porch of some oceanside cottage, sitting in a bench swing with Debbie while they fed each other crabcakes and drank red wine.

Shhtt! This time the curtain produced her doctor, who had been kind enough, but always seemed too busy or distracted to meet her eye. His head was always buried in a chart or steeped in concentration six inches from her skin, sewing her back together.

“All right Miss Scully, you’re free to go,” he said, snapping a folder closed. “Have you been assigned a detective yet for your case?”

“No, they said they’d call me,” she answered, and thought but with my luck…

He nodded and walked away, and Carmen touched her elbow and told her which way to go to get to the hospital exit. She passed by a pay phone near the door to the outside, but realized she didn’t have any change and gave the nurse at the nearest station her sob story before the woman, looking bored, handed her the station phone’s receiver and let her call a cab.

She headed outside to wait.

There was an ambulance idling just outside the emergency bay, the EMTs leaning against the side of the rig, drinking coffee and joking with each other. She couldn’t remember if they were the ones who had helped bring her to the hospital, so turned the other way and walked forty feet down the sidewalk, embarrassed.

She hadn’t asked how long it would be until the cab showed up and wondered how many were even on duty this time of night.

The pavement was damp, as if it had only just stopped raining, and it was still cold. She rubbed her hands together and stamped her feet to keep warm, the movement jarring the wound in her side. She felt close to tears.

She heard the roar of a motor coming up the empty road, but a quick glance proved that it wasn’t her cab, just a motorcycle tearing up the drive, going too fast for conditions. She wondered if maybe the driver was hurt when he skidded to a stop under the overhang directly in front of the ER doors.

The rider swung off his bike just as the two EMTs pushed off the ambulance, chiding him and telling him he couldn’t park there. The rider ignored them and whipped off his helmet, about to trot into the doors of the hospital when Scully recognized him and shouted his name.

“Mulder?!”

His head whipped toward her voice and then he came running, his face a mask of worry.

“Scully!” he shouted as he approached. He slowed only when he was nearly on top of her and reached out two hands, only to whip them back, as if afraid he might hurt her. “Scully,” he said again, “God! Are you okay?”

“How-” she said, not quite believing it was him, “what are you doing here?”

“I just found out,” he said, stopping short then stumbling into speech again. “That you were attacked. Jesus, I thought the worst.” He reached a hand out again, but didn’t touch her. “Are you okay?”

He must have driven in the rain. His jeans were soaked through and his hands looked red and chapped.

“Scully,” he said, again, “are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, slowly. She wanted to be dismissive, but she was in too much pain. “I’m -- I’m cut,” she said, raising up her arm to show him the stitches. “And here,” she said, pointing to her side.

“Jesus,” he said, “Will you be able to ride the bike? I need to get you home. Shit.” He looked around, “you can’t ride like this, we need to get you in a car.”

“No!” she said, and his head whipped back to her. “I can ride. Just… Please just take me home.”

He looked at her a long moment and then nodded, shrugging off his leather jacket to put around her shoulders. He helped her gingerly get it on, and then reached down to zip it for her. The inside of the jacket felt like silk, and was dry and warm. He put his arm around her and led her to the bike, the EMTs looking on silently, sipping their coffee and staring unabashedly.

He got her on the bike first, unzipped her jacket a bit to put her care instructions and prescription in the inside pocket, and then delicately lowered the helmet over her head, securing it before putting on his own. He got on, careful not to jostle her.

She was able to wrap her arms around him--luckily even the injured one--without much pain, and his body felt wonderfully warm and solid in front of her. He kicked the bike on, and he drove as carefully back to their apartment as he had driven pell-mell to get to her.

XxXxXxXxXxX

When they got back to the apartment, she was stiff, bone tired, and she wanted to tell him she’d made a terrible mistake, but she couldn’t find the words.

He escorted her to her bedroom door and hovered there, an energy radiating off of him that fairly trembled. She turned to him, one hand on the doorknob, and looked at him expectantly.

“Did he… hurt you?” Mulder asked. “Other than…” he gestured vaguely to her arm.

“Hurt me?” she asked, confused, and the look on his face broke her heart. Oh. Oh. “No,” she rushed out, and put a hand on his arm. “This is the extent of it. I got mugged, Mulder. That’s it.”

He must have rushed to the hospital without any information. She could only imagine all the dark scenarios running through his head.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Okay,” he said, “Okay…”

“Goodnight, Mulder,” she said, and he nodded.

“Call out if you need anything. At all.”

She took her hand off the door handle.

“I’ll leave the door open, just in case,” she said.

He nodded and backed away slowly, throwing her several concerned looks as he descended the stairs.

She fell into bed and slept for 12 hours.

XxXxXxXxXxX

At 4:00pm, she hovered at the top of the stairs, her tongue thick with sleep in her mouth, her side and arm hurting. Her hair was a mess and she was afraid of what lay at the bottom of the stairs. Of facing the day, facing Mulder, facing her future. She thought of the dolly zoom in Hitchcock’s Vertigo, and placed her foot on the first step.

Mulder was waiting on the couch and leapt to his feet when he saw her.

“I was getting worried,” he said.

“Post-shock sleep,” Scully shrugged.

“How are you feeling?”

In truth, she was feeling so many things they seemed to bottleneck in her throat and render her speechless.

Finally, she just said, “Fine.”

He nodded at her, letting the silence settle around them, and it occurred to her that he was using a psychologist’s trick--waiting for her to fill the silence. She smiled to herself and let him have the round.

“How did you know?” she asked, wanting to know since he’d shown up at the hospital on his motorcycle like Steve McQueen. “That I’d been attacked? Where to find me?”

He sat down on the couch and she gingerly lowered herself next to him.

“Sam called,” he said, “ she was working at dispatch when your call came in. When I walked in the door, the phone had been ringing off the hook. She called and called. I’m so sorry I didn’t get there sooner.”

“You drove all the way down from the Chesapeake? In the rain?”

He looked at her, confused.

“I never went to the Bay,” he said, cocking his head to the side.

“You- what?” Scully said, sure she hadn’t heard right.

“I never went to the Bay with Debbie,” he said, “I went over to talk to her and break things off, like I said I would.”

Scully felt like the top of her head had lifted off and floated away.

“But Samantha said-” Scully started.

“Sam only knew what Debbie had told her the last time she saw her. We never went to the Chesapeake. I told Deb I wanted to see her before the trip, but only so I could break it all off. I ended up telling her everything. We sat and talked for hours… She helped me figure out what to do.”

“What to do?” Scully said, feeling like pages had been torn out of an instruction book she’d been trying to follow.

Mulder looked down at the floor and then raised his eyes to her.

“I’m not the kind of guy who can date a woman… when I’m in love with someone else.”

Scully felt a surge of hope and happiness so overwhelming she wasn’t sure what the look on her face was. Mulder read it as something else all together.

“Look, I’m sorry. I know you don’t feel the same way. And I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable, and I swear going forward I will keep it to myself, but for weeks I’ve felt like this and I thought there might be a chance you felt it, too. But you don’t, and I respect that. I just… I needed to say it. I needed to say it out loud. Once.”

She felt light and heavy all at once, elemental. Lit from the inside, like she’d swallowed a mouthful of ginger.

He stood suddenly and ran his hands through his hair until it stood on end.

“This is all my fault,” he said, pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

Scully was taken aback.

“Your fault? Mulder-” she said.

“I shouldn’t have pushed myself on you,” he said, “after Ethan was here. You were hurt and vulnerable and- you said it was a mistake. It was. The mistake was mine.”

He looked to the ceiling, shoved his hands into his pockets.

“You didn’t push yourself on me, Mulder,” Scully said, refusing to let him take on responsibility for anything that had happened in the last 24 hours. She took a bracing breath. “And the only mistake was mine. When I told you that that night didn’t mean to me what it did. When I let you think for one second that I don’t feel the same way you do.”

His eyes snapped to hers.

She stood and walked to him, his mossy eyes searching and perspicuous. He was miles deep and a fathom tall. She realised in that moment--and she would be able to look back and remember it clearly--that to love him had an inevitable feeling. Inevitable as gravity. As death and taxes. She grabbed his hand.

“My life right now is as tumultuous and up in the air as it has ever been and might ever be. I’ve been figuring out who I am on my own. I’m giving up what I thought I wanted out of my career and life for what I know I want. I’m about to move 3,000 miles away. And somewhere in the middle of all of that, I fell in love with my roommate.”

As he looked at her, a smile blossomed on his face and reached his eyes. He squeezed the hand she was holding.

“I’m sorry I pushed you away. Frankly, this,” she put her other hand on his chest, “scares me. But I also know I would regret not at least trying to be with you. I’d regret it until the day I died. I didn’t realize that until I thought I was about to.”

He leaned down and rested his forehead against hers, took a deep breath. She felt everything inside her click into place.

He leaned down and pressed the gentlest kiss to her lips.

XxXxXxXxXxX

They slept together that night--only slept. Mulder had gone out and picked up her prescription earlier in the day while she slept and the pills made her queasy.

Mulder tucked her into his own bed downstairs, brought her Saltines and ginger ale. When she awoke the next morning, he was curled around her. He helped her change her bandages and tie her shoes--she still couldn’t quite bend over.

At noon that day -- Labor Day -- the phone rang, it was Ellen calling from Seattle.

“Dana?” she said. “God, how are you?”

Scully didn’t have the first idea how to respond to that particular question, so she deflected.

“Ellen!” she said, “how are you? How goes the internship? You ready to come home yet?”

“It’s fabulous! And that’s actually why I’m calling. Dana, they offered to hire me on full-time. They want me to work out here while I finish my degree.”

“Oh Ellen, congratulations!” she said, feeling genuine joy for her friend.

“Thanks,” Ellen said, “I know you were counting on me to take the lease back over, and I can still probably help out for a few months now that I’m getting paid, but I thought I’d see how the new roommate is working out? Any chance he might want to stay for a bit longer?”

The roommate in question was currently tidying up in the kitchen, and came to the room’s doorway to eavesdrop on her conversation.

“The new roommate?” she repeated for his benefit, and then gave him a tart look, “He’s working out okay, I guess.”

At that, Mulder feigned insult and promptly whipped off his shirt and started doing push-ups.

“I take that back,” Scully said, maintaining eye contact with him while he exercised, by which she couldn’t help but get a little turned on. “He’s definitely working out.” Mulder stopped doing push-ups, sat up, and kissed his bare bicep. Scully let out a guffaw. “I’ll ask him.”

Ellen laughed too, without knowing why, and said “I’m so glad. And thank you. Oh, I’m going to miss you! Listen, I’ve got to get going, but we’ve got so much to catch up on. Talk soon?”

She watched Mulder as he disappeared back into the kitchen, still shirtless. “Sometime next week?”

“Done. I’ll call you. Bye Dane!”

“Bye!”

Scully rose to hang the phone back up on the wall and drifted into the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe to watch Mulder as he put dishes away.

“You do that a lot?” she asked him.

“Do what?” he asked, without looking away from his task, “Housework like a helpful roommate, or exercise hard to maintain my girlish figure?”

She came up behind him and kissed his bare back.

“Your figure is decidedly non-girlish, Mulder,” she said, ignoring his question, “for which I am increasingly thankful.”

He turned suddenly in her arms and she found herself staring at his bare chest. He rubbed his hands up down the tops of her arms, careful not to get too close to her cut.

“Oh yeah?” he asked, leaning his face down into hers.

She nodded into his kiss, “Yeah,” she said, right before his lips met hers. She deepened the kiss immediately, remembering the way the big muscles on his upper back had moved beneath his skin as he did push-ups, the way he’d looked at her with intent the entire time he was doing them.

He let her lead, doing nothing more than returning her enthusiastic kisses and dropping his hands to rest lightly on her hips.

She reached down and tipped her forefingers into the tops of his jeans, pulling him closer and then running her fingers to his fly. He pulled back, just as she popped the button.

“Hey,” he said, nudging her face with his nose, brushing his lips lightly against hers. “What are you up for, here?”

She looked down at him with intent, at where his erection was pressing against the fly of his jeans. “Whatever you’re up for, flyboy,” she said, and nipped at him.

“I just,” he leaned back a little bit more, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

She unzipped his fly slowly.

“You’re not going to hurt me,” she said.

“You pop a few of those stitches, your doctor might say otherwise,” he said, putting his hands on hers to still her movements.

“But I want you,” she said, licking her lips, reveling in the concupiscent lustiness he brought about in her.

He smiled at her slowly.

“We can figure this out,” he said, “we just need to be creative.”

“I have, so far, been both pleased and impressed with your creativity,” she said.

“Then allow me,” he said, and turned their positions so that she was standing with her back to the counter, then bent down to shimmy her sweatpants and underwear off, while she stood, patiently, wondering what his plan was.

When he straightened back up, he leaned forward, bracing his arms on the counter on either side of her.

“What,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her, “can you do that doesn’t hurt?”

She grabbed his head and brought his mouth back to hers for a deep, thorough kiss, then she released him.

“That,” she said, “didn’t hurt.”

He smiled at her.

“Noted.”

She reached forward and grabbed his fly again, and then started to lower his jeans down around his hips when she suddenly hissed in pain. Mulder grabbed her and straightened her.

“So no bending over,” he said. She nodded, a little disappointed. “Can you sit?”

“As evidenced by sitting on my ass nearly all of yesterday evening and again this morning, all information points to sitting being a medically approved position for Patient Scully,” she said in her best med student voice.

Mulder chuckled.

“Okay,” he said, and then surprised her by reaching down and easily lifting her up and onto the surface of the counter, which was cold against her aforementioned ass. She let out a startled yelp.

“Mulder!” she said.

“Was that pain, or the temperature of the counter?” he asked.

“The temperature of the counter,” she said through gritted teeth.

He smiled wickedly.

“The longer you sit on it, the more it’ll warm up,” he said.

She shook her head.

“Mulder, counters are for glasses, not for a-”

“Shh,” Mulder cut her off with a finger to her lips. “I promise I’ll clean up,” he said.

She tilted an eyebrow at him, but complained no more.

He put his hands on her thighs, spreading her legs apart so he could step in between them, their faces now perfectly level for kissing. He ran his hands lightly up her legs until his thumbs were just brushing at the crease where her legs met her pubis, sending a shiver down her spine.

He had pulled his jeans back up, but hadn’t zipped them, so she reached down and slipped her hand inside, grasping the silken steel of him, and he hissed into her mouth.

“You first,” he whispered, and then lowered himself to the floor, now at the perfect level to lean forward and press his face into her sex, giving her an open-mouthed kiss and inhaling deeply through his nose. “I love the way you smell,” he said, and then darted his tongue out to press into her labia. “I love the way you taste.”

She reached out and ran her hands through his hair, digging her nails into his scalp when he gently parted her labia with his fingers and started running his tongue softly over her clit, gradually with more speed and pressure.

She concentrated on keeping her torso immobile, which was difficult when all she wanted to do was gyrate her hips into his sumptuous mouth, chasing the orgasm she could feel building even now.

Just as he’d done before, he pressed one long finger and then another up and into her, and moments after he started rubbing the rough pad of her G spot, an orgasm surged up within her. She let go of his head and braced her hands on the countertop, holding herself as steady as she could as the waves crashed within her, and he gently lapped at her, slowing as she came down.

He stood when she exhaled, and she rolled her head from one shoulder to the other, letting the ringing in her ears lessen with each breath.

“How are you so good at that?” she asked, her tongue all lassitude in her mouth.

“I was a double major,” he said smugly, his cocksure grin charming as a flop-eared terrier.

She shoved him in the shoulder and he fell back a step, then moved forward to carefully help her down from the counter. She stood in front of him, still in a shirt with no pants, and he pressed a finger under her chin and tilted her head back until she was looking up at him.

“I like this look,” he said, “it’s very Donald Duck.”

She laughed and shoved his shoulder again.

“You know, I was going to push for reciprocity, but I think I just changed my mind,” she said.

“Nah,” he said, and leaned down to nip at her nose, “plenty of time for that.” He then leaned over sideways to look at her aftercare instructions, which had been stuck to the fridge. “When do you get your stitches out?”

“Friday,” she said.

“Gonna be a good weekend,” he mumbled into her lips.

She felt herself deflate.

“I leave for California the Friday after that.”

She hadn’t even begun starting to pack.

He leaned his head forward until it once again rested on hers.

“We’ll figure it out,” he whispered.

XxXxXxXxXxX

That night, they sat on the loveseat on their balcony, watching the stars wink on in the sky, Venus emerging brightly from the ecliptic. They drank iced tea (Mulder may have had a beer or two) and talked about how they’d handle being long distance, Scully tucked into Mulder’s side.

They had yet to come up with a plan that excited them both. The pull of sunny California started to wane.

“Have you ever found a place you felt like you belonged? Somewhere you just felt at home? Where you knew it was where you were supposed to be?” she asked him after a few minutes of silence.

He squinted his eyes, thinking. Then,

“It’s not down on any map,” he recited to the stars. “True places never are.”

Melville. She gave him a look, thought of her father.

“Yeah,” she said, “I’ve been searching for it my whole life. And I think… that place might be you.”

“You gotta go, Scully,” he said, looking down at her, knowing what she was getting at. “Med school is your dream, so it’s my dream, too. I won’t let you not go.”

She took a breath, knowing he was right.

“Besides,” he said, “I don’t want to be the only doctor in this house,” he said, then shrunk away from her, knowing what was coming. She swatted at him, then let him settle back against her.

They sat in silence for long minutes, until Mulder finally shifted.

“Be right back,” he said, and stood, her side going cold from where he’d been.

He came back a minute later, carrying the large white pillar candle that Scully had lit for him his first night in the apartment. He produced a lighter from his pocket, flicked it on and touched it to the wick, then set the candle on the small table in front of them.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he said, settling back onto the loveseat and gently tucking her back into his side. “Take this with you to California. I’m going to get one just like it. And when either one of us is doubting, or when things get too lonely or dark, we’ll each light the candle.”

She glanced up to look at his profile, her heart constricting in her chest with love for this man.

“To cast out the darkness?” she asked, her voice quiet.

He nodded, then rolled his head to look at her.

“I mean, we should have a go at the evil spirits, too,” he said, chuckling.

She smiled at him, and leaned her head against his shoulder, watching the flame dance in the light breeze of the DC night.

XxXxXxXxXxX

When Mulder got home from work the next day, Scully was on the couch trying to study, her stitches itching madly.

“Hey,” he said, swinging the door closed. He hung his keys absently on the hook by the door, and kicked off his shoes. He had something in his hand. He was radiating a nervous energy. “Something came for you in the mail.” He looked at her significantly. “From Georgetown.”

“Probably paperwork for the end of term,” she said, barely looking up. “I’ve got a lot of crap I’ve got to fill out. You can put it in the kitchen.”

He sat down next to her.

“I don’t think that’s what it is,” he said, and held out a standard white envelope.

She looked at the return address. Georgetown Medical School.

She felt her eyes go wide and looked at him.

“Go on,” he said, and she wasted no time tearing into it.

She read the letter twice before leaning back into the couch and finally looking at him.

“Don’t make me guess,” he said quietly.

“Accepted,” she said, the smile blooming on her face mirrored back at her. “Full ride scholarship.”

“You get to stay,” he said, mirabile dictu.

“I get to stay.”

The sunlight coming through the sliding glass door behind him glinted off his hair, turning it into a filmy halo of gold. He reached out and hooked her thumb through his pinkie, pulling her hand up until it was against his chest, pressing against his beating heart.

She felt the thump and swish of it, its heat and birr, and she knew what it felt like to be home.

THE END

#the x-files #fanfiction #MSR #AU #a companion unobtrustive #prompt #my fic #roommates

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