#Billy getting braces is a neat thing to write about

[cerealboxlore]

Can I ask about Brace for Impact? College is killing me too!

Definitely! Sorry for replying to this ask so late, I had to finish an assignment that ended up taking way too long! (why did I take a 3-week class...aaaaaa)

Brace for Impact is the first Billy Batson fic idea I ever had! It's nearly done and just sitting in a google doc of mine, gathering dust for a long while now, but it's time I head back to it.

The idea is about Billy getting braces, and how they impact his personal and superhero life. After being taken in and adopted by the Bromfield family, Billy would likely get taken to doctor appointments to catch up on his medical history and vaccines, so he can have good health after being without a proper doctor/check-up for so long. This would naturally include Billy's first trip to the dentist in years. Fun!

Not for Billy though. After getting cavities and root canals dealt with, he'd be informed by the dentist of his need for braces; something he wasn't too excited for. Mary laughed until she was also told she needed braces.

Now having metal in his mouth, being a part of a new family, and going to a new school, Billy has some trouble settling into his new home life. He's glad he's safe and sound now with a family who cares about him, but it's going to take some getting used to. He isn't used to being cared for.

This would also affect his transformation as Captain Marvel, as he'd think he'd lose them with the power of the living lightning, but to his surprise as the lightning strikes him--jolts of static electricity shock his teeth with a zap! And he opens his eyes as Captain Marvel, who now has braces, too... his days just get worse in his opinion, haha!

It was supposed to be a comedic one-shot idea about the agony of braces as a kid, but it spiraled into comedy with angst sprinkled into it. I also really wanted to write about Captain Marvel not smiling and the people of Fawcett and his superhero friends noticing and wanting to know why. Did something happen to their happy, bubbly friend? Is he in a rare bad mood? Why isn't he talking?? Who do they have to beat up?! But it's just because he's embarrassed at having braces in his Captain Marvel form, too. I should work more on this one.

[babbling-idiot]

Jerry Dandridge x reader

Warning: Non really

(This was something I've had in my draft for a hot second and to be honest, I'm not sure about it. I wanted to get something else out for jerry, again this is the 1985 version, love you Colin Ferrell but not today. I hope you like it and tell me what you think!)

When your friends had suggested going to the club, you had thought they were crazy. They knew you were only twenty and that meant that drinking was out of the question. They said that since you had gotten out of your crappy relationship maybe it would nice to meet someone. Maybe make new friends. Make new friends? That almost made you laugh.

You'll have fun they said, you'll meet someone they said. If only they saw you now. Leaned up against the stairs  going to the bar, just taking small glances at the couple's grinding up against each other. Suddenly, a man pulls your attention away. He was across the dance floor pacing, weaving through the crowd of people. Occasionally a woman would gawk at him, grabbing at his arms trying to get his attention. He'd spare a tiny bit before walking away. Then like he felt your gaze he looked straight at you. It felt as if his stare held some kind if power over you. You felt your legs behind to give out. You braced yourself against the wall, hoping your legs would listen to you for once and just keep stable. It felt like hours had passed, surely not. He held the seemingly intense gaze, until like a wave of relief he finally made it to you. The first thing you noticed about this mysterious man was his eyes. His eyes seemed to look directly into your soul. Knowing exactly what you wanted and gave you a look that said "I can give you everything". His wavy brown hair seemed to make his just alike eyes even more intriguing. But then, he smiled. Oh god! The feeling you got from that was enough to make your stomach flip in the most delicious way. He smiled and slowly brought his hand up to your cheek, gently grazing the back of his hand across it. He then took it back but kept his hand extended towards you "Would you like to dance with me?"

You didnt think dancing with a total stranger could ever be, at the least pleasing. The experience of dancing with him was unlike any dancing you had done with anyone else. It was sensual, the way he rocked his hips into yours, the way he would let his hands roam around your body. Mapping into memory all your curves. The way this man, this stranger held you, caressed your body as if he had done it many times before made you all the more curious as to who he was. All you needed was a name. A name to put to his face so that if you ever told your friends about this it would be embedded into your memory.

At the end of the night, you both somehow ended up back at his place. It seemed as though it was all a blur, you didnt remember ever drinking so why couldnt you remember. It angered you to no end but the next morning you woke up in what you supposed was the mans bed, he wasnt there. This didnt suprise you all to much. As you sat up, pulling the covers over your half naked body the first thing you noticed was that on the small cushion at the end of the bed, there lay all your clothes. Folded neatly and looked to be, fresh out of the laundry? Did he wash your clothes? Just as you were thinking this a man walks in. Not the man from last night but a different man. "Oh hello! I'm glad to see that you are awake. Jerry told me that when you awaken, to get you some breakfast before returning you home. I will take you per his request, he's out doing errands at the moment. Just come down when you are ready!" He says as he sits a small note on top of your clothes. Jerry. It suited him very well. To not have that man wait for you all day long, you got up and dressed. Pocketing the note for later, you made your way to the stairs. When you reached the bottom you saw the same man from earlier. "Ahh, follow me please." He says heading toward what you guess was the kitchen. Right as you entered, the small of food made it's way into your nostrils. Making you  sigh in content.

After you ate and was driven home. The first thing you did was look at the note:

'Goodmorning. I hope you slept well, I had some errands to run this morning. I am very sorry I was not there to greet you. I trust that billy took you home safely. Again I apologize for my absence, if it means anything, last night was amazing. I wish I could tell you in person. If you wish to contact me, here is my number. "Xxx-xxx-xxxx" Please take note that I dont get home most days until 6 or 7. I have very odd hours and work that is demanding of me. Have a wonderful morning and hopefully I'll see you again soon. -Love Jerry'

The handwriting alone made you smile. It was so neat and looked like what you see in old movies with the ink and quill. You grab a pen and paper and write down his number. You place it on your dresser and go to shower. You hoped that youd see this guy again. He just had something about him, an underlying mystery about him that made you want to know more and boy.....werent you in for a treat.

(Hey again. Please do tell me what you think about this, I just wanna know if its good or not and if I'm doing ok. Requests are always open and please remember to stay safe out there in the world. Have a wonderful day, peace!)

[hanajimasama]

So a huge thank you to those who read chapter 1. I’ve been surprisingly motivated tonight so here’s chapter 2. Enjoy.

Comments are always appreciated.

Thanks again.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2: Hot Wheels 

“What do you mean someone wants to kill me? What did I do?” Faraday had been informed that there was a hit out on him, not something you usually wanted to hear first thing in the morning.

“Well I can think of a few people that might...boyfriends..” Vasquez laughed leaning forward on the back of his chair watching the Irishman pace around in front of Sam’s desk.

“That’s not a good reason to kill someone!” He snapped back.

“That’s enough!” Sam halted the bickering, slamming his hands down onto his neat and tidy mahogany desk “Look the fact of the matter is that someone has been hired to kill you and the problem is who.” Sam Chisolm was a confident and stern man so seeing him at his wits end was unnerving.

“So who is our adversary?” Goodnight asked trying to calm Sam’s already wound up nerves. Jack was the one that handed him a two pieces of paper. The Cajun sniper glanced over the files and his mouth felt drier than the desert. “Looks like we have a funeral to plan. Poor Elizabeth. To be a widow so young.”

“What?! I’m not going to die!” Faraday wasn’t keen on everyone writing him off so soon.

“Trust me son. They hired Casper.” Jack explained simply. Casper was one of the best contract killers in the world. There weren’t a lot of people that had seen Casper and lived. The bringer of death. The ghost. If Casper was hired the target never lived more than twenty-four hours.

“Casper? But I thought he only took big jobs….or-“

“Well paid jobs. Someone wants you dead Faraday.” Sam interrupted, pinching the bridge of his nose “We have to plan this well. It’ll take all of us but I think we can pull it off.”

“And if we don't?” Faraday asked, he was the gambler, risking everything was his business not theirs. He wasn’t too thrilled about his life being a chip in this partially game.

“We’ll make sure to give you a nice funeral, güero.” Vasquez joked earning a scowl from the Irishman.

-

The seven had work that evening. They had two businesses. The legal side of things they were hired security the best money could buy and the not so legal part Hitmen. Tonight they were ‘working’ as security. Goodnight knew the owner of the large function hall and they were going to pretend to be security. It was a good ruse to lure out the ghost out to their location. Faraday would stay near the centre bar where it was safest, in theory anyhow. Billy and Red walked the halls. Goodnight had a better eye than all of them and took root in one of the boxes that looked out over the hall. Jack and Sam patrolled the main floor, leaving Vasquez to stay near Faraday but not too close. Everyone was in place.

The evening seemed to go smoothly. Perhaps the ghost wasn’t going to take the bait. That was until Goodnight’s smooth Cajun accent came over the ear pieces.

‘Looks like we have company.’

“Where..” Sam scanned the heads and just caught flashes of red amidst the crowd.

“A young lady. Head to toe in red. She’s headin’ straight for Faraday.” There was a brief pause “Looks like the ghost is a pair. In the rafters. Billy. Red.”

“On it, Goody.”

Sam gave his orders quickly and tried to weave through the crowd towards the redhead who suddenly stopped in her tracks and bolted. The game was up. If they didn’t move quick then the pair would vanish into the darkness and that left Faraday in a great predicament.

Over the ear piece they could hear Billy curse followed by Red telling the assassin to get up quickly. They were all scrambling in different directions. Red, Billy and Goody were to follow Casper and the others were sent to find the flower that was clearly in cahoots with the sniper.

-

Billy squinted and rubbed his eyes as he followed Red through the red and gold coloured corridors bumping into Goodnight at the foot of of the levels

“Mace.” Red Harvest explained and ran past the older man only to slide to a halt on the carpet “This way! She went out the fire escape.” Goodnight glanced at Billy helping him down the hall

“Casper..is a woman.”

“Well I’ll be damned.” Pushing on the long silver bar of the fire door and rushed out onto the metal staircase. Red was the first to spot the sniper already several levels down. Once she knew she’d been spotted the hitman did a very odd thing and vaulted the railing letting herself fall the remaining three floors.

“That’s going to hurt.”

A painful metallic thud followed by loud swearing echoed through the alley below them. A black car sped out of the street moments later. Goodnight sighed he hated telling Sam bad news.

“Cars are ready. We follow them.”

“Sure thing Sam.”

-

“Let’s do this.” Cassandra took a deep breath and rolled down the window of Oscar. Grabbing onto the roof of the car and placing a foot on the dashboard she lifted herself out the car enough to get a good shot at the vehicles giving chase. Aim for the tires.

“So lord help me if you leave boot prints on the upholstery again!” Rose shouted from inside the car. Cass took out one of the motorbikes first, lamenting it was such a shame to scratch such a pretty bike.. The tire burst on contact with the bullet and the motorcycle careened dangerously away from the other two vehicles, the rider jumped from the bike rolling to safety as to not ascertain even worse injuries. “Hang on! Corner!” The blonde braced herself as Rose drifted around the corner. Once safely around the bend Cass eases her grip to shoot at the other bike.

“CASS! GET IN!” She barely had any time to react as a car clipped Oscar’s bonnet spinning the car out of control. The force of the crash sent the sniper flying from the car. She rolled across the tarmac and quickly jumped to her feet only to be slammed by a Chevy. This time Cassandra didn’t get up.

Rose was more fortunate in her injuries only sustaining a bump to the head from head butting the wheel, the owner of the old fashioned cadillac was quick to intercept her.

“Come on Chica. Outta the car.” As the other motorbike pulled up beside her Rose knew it was over, they’d been caught. Stepping out of her beaten up car she looked around frantically for her comrade who she couldn’t see or hear mouthing off to who ever had ran them off the road or at Rose for being a ‘lousy driver’.

“Hey..Lizzy sweetie..can you come round to the main house...I might have ran someone over.” A voice laughed nervously behind them.

Rose ran around Oscar ignoring the tall Mexican that tried to get her to stop running.

“Cass…” there in the middle of the road was Cassandra, unconscious with an older gentleman wrapping bandages around her head. There was a lot of blood. A pair of handcuffs were slapped around her wrists.

“You’re coming with us.”

“Sam, don’t be too rough she’s injured too.”

Rose was in a daze, Oscar was smashed and Cass was being carried away into the daunting black Chevy. What was going to happen to them...everything would be fine. THey had escaped from worse places before.

[ragmarketguttersnipe]

Homestuck Day 3 (Coolkids and also John Is here Too)

Alright folks I’m back, this time with 8 hours of sleep and a bracing morning lake jump under my belt. (Okay so it was almost noon but still) Point is I’m ready to jump back into Homestuck and maybe even make some progress this time. Anything could happen. Including a weird flash animated all-caps BETA LAUNCH. 

http://www.mspaintadventures.com/?s=5

I wasn’t expecting sound on the next page and the typing sound effect about made me eat my own hand. In other news, we’re doing the Pooplord thing again so that’s always a good time.

Seems like this is the same nonsense from before redone in flash.

Update: Ooo it’s interactive this time though, that’s pretty neat.

Well that was a strange little side path. Did this actually come before the main comic or what? I am confused. (Breaking: I’ve just been informed that this was indeed a “beta” that came out before the stuff I’ve been reading. What fortuitous timing!) That aside though, we can now return to our irregularly scheduled Homestuck.

http://www.mspaintadventures.com/?s=6&p=001922

I wonder why Sburb is late. Perhaps this is where the plot kicks in?

I can actually relate to this, It was a wedding though, not a birthday, in my case. After a while the very concept of frosting becomes nauseating. 

MORE IMPORTANTLY THOUGH John’s getting a message! Could this be the fabled “character interaction” I see on the distant horizon?

Dear Lord John. This wallpaper is why bad things happen to good people. 

If I know anything about programming though, it’s that “FUCK FUCK FUCK” AND “AAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH” are very realistic file names.

Also are those file extensions carrot cake and tildeath? I . . . have nothing to say.

Let’s open Pesterchum. (I’m just gonna take a moment here to appreciate how good that name is for a messaging application)

So John is ectoBiologist I take it. Ecto as in ectoplasm of course, because by his wallpaper he’s apparently a massive Ghostbusters fanboy of the worst possible kind anyone could possibly achieve.

It appears that he has only three friends, which seems a bit low even for a weirdo with three buck teeth and a penchant for pranks. Maybe it’s just showing the important ones for narrative convenience.

turntechGodhead huh? Someone has an ego on them. Fun fact about the word godhead: it and “maidenhead” represent the only two surviving uses in English of the suffix -head, which derives from Middle English -hede and is related to -hood as in “fatherhood”. There you learned a thing today. Now let’s answer DJ Ego

I did not expect the first conversation in Homestuck to be about peeing in apple juice. I’m not sure what this says about the future of Homestuck, but it has me concerned, to be sure.

John talks exactly like what I’d expect of him. He has the discerning tastes of a starving cinematic billy goat. He uses punctuation though, something that TG evidently is too cool for. Speaking of which, I’m going to hazard a wild, completely unsubstantiated guess that he’s the shades-wearing “coolkid” I’ve seen around the internets.

He went to the trouble of buying a game that he isn’t going to bother to play because it “sounds boring”. Classic coolkid behavior. Trust me; I have university credits in biology so you know I’m legit.

There’s absolutely no way that Game Bro isn’t the best the world of gaming journalism has to offer. Bro.

I guess all my trees weren’t terribly proper either. This is troubling.

I uh, really don’t think that’s how the mail works, John. 

Then again, he doesn’t look like someone who would know, does he?

Look at that innocent face. Not a gorm to be found.

In other news, we have our first quest: check the mail.

Our grand quest immediately runs into complications. I wondered before whether we’d ever get to see Papa Egbert. Perhaps the next pages will hold the answer?

Or perhaps not.

Ah yes. Housetrapped.

It seems the order of the day is further screwing around.

Screwing around, yes, but the flash is actually pretty neat, It seems to link back to other MSPaint Adventures. I wonder if those are worth checking out as well? For now I’ll just leave them be though.

This book is an affront to basic decency. Just look at that abomination of a color scheme! Also ‘practical’ is not a word that I normally associate with ‘japery’.

Foreshadowing? Come to think of it, the scale is probably wildly out of balance, but I’m surprised he can even lift this monster.

Wait. First of all, bully isn’t an adjective, but more importantly, one of the moods is palsy?? To copy paste, palsy is “complete or partial muscle paralysis of a body part, often accompanied by a loss of feeling and uncontrolled body movements such as shaking”. I’m really not sure I want to live in a world where that’s a common mood. 

Expert level prank John. Well done.

He says this like everyone down to elementary schoolers goes around routinely allocating strife specibi. Which, come to think of it, might be true in this world.

Naturally.

I just need a moment to bask in the glory of this terminology. Okay moving along.

Wait.

Is that . . .

FancySantakind?

If this doesn’t come back later on I’m going to be highly upset.

I wonder if maybe it’s going to be extremely relevant? Call it a hunch.

That does seem like John. As I said in my last session, this inventory system seems pretty useful actually. I want one.

Oh hell yes.

Sidenote, but how exactly is Sburb pronounced? es-burb? or like ‘suburb’ but with the first vowel awkwardly missing?

The Bro behind the phrase “Brotel Rwanda” needs like eight Pulitzers. (Coolkid mentioned having an awesome Bro. Maybe this is his work? Probably not though, since he admitted Game Bro is trash and he doesn’t strike me as the type to voice anything but praise for his brother’s work.)

Little does John know that an artifact of such masterful brosmanship can only be destroyed by the most infirm of sick fires in which it was forged.

I’m going to end today’s session here because I feel like I’ve made a good amount of progress and I’d like to have the time and energy to get some writing practice in before the little death of sleep comes for me. All going according to plan, there should be more liveblogging on the morrow, but until then toodles!

[ghostbustermelanieking]

fate

summary: Thirty-two years of sisterhood sounds like forever, she thinks, but is is not enough.

sort of post ep for paper clip. part of my series of fics i’m writing as i rewatch the x files.

“I think it's about something we have no personal choice in. I think it's about fate.” - Fox Mulder, 3x02 Paper Clip

1964

They've discussed names, a little unseriously. Bill had insisted that it would be another boy, so they had agreed unofficially on Charles. (He liked to name the children after family members; there was Billy, and then Melissa was after his mother and Charles after his father. But they hadn't discussed girl names.)

“I liked that one name you suggested,” Bill offers the next morning. They know the routines of early parenthood well, but he is no less fascinated by the baby, moving his fingers through the sunlight for her to track. “What was it… Dana.”

Maggie smiles; Dana was her favorite of the considered girl names, but she'd figured Bill would never go for it since it wasn't traditional. “Dana Katherine,” she offers, stroking her daughter's downy red hair. The baby snuffles, turning her face into Maggie’s shoulder. “For my grandmother.”

They take the baby home after a few days. Bill goes in first - wisely enough, Missy and Billy tend to be rambunctious, especially right after breakfast. Maggie’s mother has been staying with them, and she embraces Maggie at the door before leaning over the baby carrier. Missy and Billy leap at her before their father stops them. “Go and sit on the couch,” he says in that kind but stern way he has. Billy sticks out his lower lip and stomps over to the couch. Bill scoops up Missy and sets her next to her brother; she swings her legs in excitement.

The kids have been arguing for a few weeks now about whether or not the baby would be a brother or a sister (Billy in favor of the former and Missy of the latter). Maggie opts to sit between them with the baby in her arms so they won't come to blows over who was right. “Kids,” she says. “This is your new sister, Dana.”

Billy pouts, flopping back against the back of the couch, and Bill and her mother swoop in to scold him. But Missy is intrigued, crawling closer to get a look. Dana half-dozes, tiny hands waving in the air. Missy pokes her foot. “Day?”

“Dana,” Maggie corrects, amused. “Don't poke her, sweetie, you have to be gentle.”

Melissa reaches for the baby again, and Dana catches her sister's finger in her little hand. “Day,” she says, satisfied.

1969

The baby is too little to play with Billy yet, so Dana shifts back and forth between her siblings, an ambassador of some sort. She's big enough to be some fun, so Billy takes her on some of his self-professed adventures and brings her back with scraped knees that her dresses don't hide. Others, he insists on going on by himself so Dana ends up back in their room, begging Missy to come play. Most of the time she will.

They have “sides” in their bedroom, made clear by the stark difference between them. Dana listens to their parents when she's told to keep her room straight and Melissa doesn't, so her side of the floor has permanent piles of dolls and stuffed animals. Her bed is always a rumpled tangle of quilts and sheets; when they make a fort out of blankets and kitchen chairs, Dana always gets the blankets from Missy’s bed.

Missy is less wild than their brother; she likes to play make-believe. She helps Dana learn to spell big second grade words. Maggie keeps Dana’s hair cut short (and always neat, except for the times she goes to play outside with Billy), but Missy grows hers long so she can feel it blow out behind her in the wind. (She insists, whines at the sight of scissors.) It is always knotted and a pain to brush; their mother encourages her to cut it, and she always refuses.

Dana gets into a fight with Billy and Missy helps her hide the rabbit Bill is threatening in a lunch box. When she finds it dead two days later, Missy helps her throw a funeral. They bury it under their mother's rose bushes, and Missy scatters a handful of petals over the dirt.

One Saturday, Maggie finds them in her bathroom playing with her makeup. Dana is sitting on the closed toilet, shorts and a Band-Aid on her knee, whining as Missy pokes at her face with a mascara brush. Missy has already transformed her own face, as well as gotten into her closet and stolen several scarves that she’s woven around her dress. Maggie laughs until she cries before washing their faces and sending them to their room for a time-out.

 1972

The day Dana turns eight is cloudless and sunny, stunningly cold for California, even in February.

After school, Missy dares her to race home. “We have something to show you,” she whispers seriously. “Billy said you were old enough.” Dana runs fast enough to beat her home, shoes scuffing the new pavement and lunch box banging off of her leg.

Missy and Billy lead her up into the woods behind their house, so far that Dana’s fingers grow numb from the cold, but she doesn't say anything from the fear that Billy will proclaim her too little and make Melissa take her back. Finally, they reach a little stick structure with what looks like a handmade sign stuck between the sticks. “Billy carved it himself,” Missy tells her.

Billy stands beside the fort with his arms crossed in front of his chest, spine straight like their father and the naval men he brings home for dinner sometimes, a proud twelve. “I made the fort, too,” he says. “Missy didn't help, she just found me out here and I made her swear not to tell.”

Missy scowls at him, sticking her tongue out. “But I come out here now, too, and now that you're eight, you're old enough.”

Awed, Dana steps closer to the little fort, reaching out to touch the floral sheet as a makeshift door. “Does Mom know you stole a sheet?” she asks slyly.

“No, and you better not tell her,” Billy says sternly, in his best imitation of their dad. Except their dad would never steal one of their mother’s sheets to use as a door for a fort.

“Shut up, I won't!” She glares fiercely up at him, feeling smaller than usual.

“You can't tell Charlie, either, he's too little, he won't keep it a secret,” Melissa says seriously. “Go check it out, Day, it's really neat.”

Dana grins, drops to the ground (even though she knows her mother will kill her for getting her dress dirty) and crawls inside. It is cool and dark in the fort, shadows on the wall that look almost scary, and a pile of pilfered stuffed animals and toy soldiers and Billy's B-B gun. Dana smiles. Billy grabs the gun and stalks away from the fort, but Melissa crawls in beside her, smiling back as she sits across from Dana and shows her the games they've stuck up here; being in the fort together is companionable, a secret.

 1978

The most rebellion on Dana’s part comes from taking the long way home from school and taking a few hours longer than necessary, or sneaking out to smoke pilfered cigarettes on the back porch. (Missy can see the brief flicker of light, the red glow, outside her window.) She is testing her boundaries, but when it comes down to it she's still a baby. She still reads under the covers with a flashlight, for God's sake. Melissa waits an hour after bedtime, looking for a muted flashlight beam or for her footsteps across the rug. Silence. She slips out of bed, still fully clothed, and rummages for her shoes on the dark floor. She ties her hair back before tiptoeing across the room and opening the window.

A light shines in her eyes. “That's really dumb, you know,” Dana says with a sense of self-satisfaction in her tone.

Melissa makes a face at her, shielding her eyes with her hands. “You should be a cop, Dana, you're very good at pretending you're in charge.”

“I'm just saying it's dumb,” she says, very matter-of-fact. Dana is a very self-righteous fourteen, and it is annoying as hell. The light bounces off her braces as she sets it in her lap. “Billy never sneaks out.”

“Billy's a kiss-up, and it's not as if I'm not careful. I never sneak out when Dad's home.” Melissa keeps her voice to a whisper, even though their mother can sleep through anything. “Besides that, your little cigarette habit hardly makes you Little Miss Responsibility.”

Dana blushes bright red. “That's… different.”

“Suuuuure,” Missy says at length, grinning at her little sister. Dana doesn't smile back, flipping the flashlight on and off. “It's just a party,” she adds. “I'm meeting Lucy around the corner and she's driving, she doesn't drink or anything. I'll be back by one. You should come, you might have fun for once.”

“I'll pass,” she mumbles, tossing the flashlight down beside her on the bed.

Missy heaves a dramatic sigh, opening the window a little. “Whatever you say,” she groans, hooking her foot in the crook of two tree branches. She looks back to Dana on her bed, bright hair swishing around her face. “You're not gonna mention this to Mom, are you?” she asks cautiously.

“Not if you don't mention the cigarette thing,” says Dana. Missy snickers, and she lobs a pillow at her head. “Shut up, I didn't know you knew.”

“Consider yourself before you lecture others, little sister,” Melissa says, placing her other foot on the branch and poising herself to swing out.

“I just worry about you.” Missy positions herself in the tree before looking back at her sister. Dana is resting her chin in her hands. “Haven't you heard about some of those kids? Bad things could happen.”

“Bad things can happen everywhere, Day,” she says. “Quit worrying so much.”

 1980

Their father buys Melissa a car before she leaves for college - a rusty old Volkswagen that seems to fit her. She's delighted with the car, driving Dana and Charlie down to the coast two days before she leaves. Charlie throws rocks into the ocean in the quiet way he has about him. Dana gathers shells as she trudges behind her sister up and down the sand. “You should take some with you,” she offers sheepishly, writing the beginnings of her name in the sand with her big toe (D-A…).

Missy laughs and tousles her hair. Dana glares at her from under a loose strand hanging over her eyes. “You're such a sap, Dana,” says Missy. “Here, give me one.”

The three of them trail barefoot up the beach, scattering tiny particles of sand along the upholstery, and blast the radio on the way home.

Dana helps her pack that night, folding clothes methodically and putting them into suitcases. She's inherited their mother's neat packing skills. “You can't keep all that, you know,” she tells Melissa, who is digging through flowery-handwritten school notebooks and notes her friends passed.

“Watch me,” Missy taunts and Dana rolls her eyes. She grins; she's going to miss her sister trying to boss her around. More importantly, she's going to miss actually bossing her around. “Are you going to miss me when I'm gone?”

“Of course not,” Dana says slyly. “I'll get the room to myself.” She bursts into giggles when Missy lobs an English notebook at her head.

 1986

Dana vanishes to the roof sometime after dessert. Melissa goes upstairs to find her. “It's too cold to sit out on the roof like we used to as kids,” she says, sticking her head out into the November-in-Maryland cold.

Dana looks grumpy, holding a cigarette in one hand. “Thanksgiving is overrated.”

“Believe me, I know, but something tells me you're not in the mood for a rant.” She crawls out onto the roof. “What's up?”

“Stress.” Dana takes a drag on her cigarette. “Med school, and whatever the hell is going on between Dad and Charlie…”

“He just skipped Thanksgiving, it's not the end of the world,” Melissa says.

“Mom says tension was building before he even left for college.” Dana exhales, smoke leaving her mouth in a thin rope.

“You're in med school, Day, you should know better.” Missy waves a hand at the cigarette.

Dana makes a face. “There's a lot of potential retorts to that, but I won't bother.”

“Good. You know I can beat you in an argument.” Melissa smirks. Dana sticks out her tongue like they're children again, stubs her cigarette out on a roof tile. “C’mon inside, little sister,” Melissa adds, crawling across the roof. “We're too old for this, and I doubt you want Mom to catch you smoking.”

Dana follows her across the sloped surface. She spent the last half of her teen years on the roof, is an expert at navigating them. “Oh, I don't think we could ever be too old for this.”

 1993

“You're telling me a parasite almost ate your brain while you were trapped in the fucking Arctic?”

“First of all, it was Alaska,” Dana says matter-of-factly. “And second of all, it wouldn't have eaten my brain if I'd been infected. It would've made my actions more erratic, making me a danger to myself and others.”

Melissa shudders. “Sounds horrific.”

“I've stopped expecting anything else from this job.”

She smirks at her sister across the table. “Sooo… any steamy moments with that partner of yours?”

“For the last time, Missy, it's not like that,” Dana says, frustrated.

“No cuddling for warmth?” she asks innocently. “No lingering touches?”

Dana’s cheeks pink in a way that shows her bluff. “Don't be ridiculous. We were on the brink of death and didn't know who to trust in freezing weather. That's about the furthest thing from romance.”

“Ahh, near death experiences,” Melissa says dramatically. “They ruin everything.” Dana rolls her eyes, punching holes around the rim of her coffee cup with her thumbnail. “Seriously, Dana, you have to stop almost dying on us. What would I do without our cigarette-on-the-roof tradition every holiday?”

“Our more festive of traditions,” Dana deadpans.

Missy laughs. “Maybe I should cast some sort of protective charm on you,” she says, half-joking - she knows exactly what her sister thinks of stuff like that.

“Maybe you should. Mulder would love that.” Dana smirks. “Near slips like this are part of the job, but sometimes I envy your nice and easy, non-life threatening job.”

“I have a feeling we're both exactly where we need to be in the world,” Melissa tells her seriously.

“Fate? Destiny? If that's telling me I'm going to go to a liver-eating monster, then I'll pass.”

“I thought you caught that guy.”

“We did. It hasn't gone to trial yet, and Mulder says our case is weak.”

“Oh, great.”

Dana rests her hand on her cheek, looking like she's lost in thought. “At least Mom and Dad will have you,” she says. “If something were to happen to me.”

Melissa believes in fate, but she also believes in her sister. “Don't be ridiculous, Day. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

 1996

Her nightmares are haunted by bloodstains on the floorboards and an empty hospital bed. Scully wishes she believed in ghosts, because if she did she'd ask for Mulder to come summon up Melissa. She needs to see her one more time, to apologize.

She drifts to her sister's funeral, holding onto her flowers as some kind of an anchor. Some cousins drift around, offering condolences to her; they probably don't know she's the reason Melissa’s dead. Charlie doesn't show. Traitor, she thinks, furiously. Mulder lingers awkwardly on the edge. She doesn't know why he's here, he only met Melissa a few times. Maybe it's a thank you for going to his father's funeral. He approaches her once and gives her a hug but doesn't hover, leaves after the service. Scully sits alone and stares at her knees. Tear droplets fade into her dress, unseen.

When they were kids, Melissa helped her bury her pet rabbit in the backyard. She'd scattered rose petals over the grave. Scully pulls a handful of petals from her bouquet and scatters it over the coffin. She trails back into the funeral home silently. She has no idea what to say. The wake is at her mother's house. She sneaks up to the roof but doesn't light a cigarette. She sits alone until she gets too cold. Her dress rips when she climbs back inside.

Scully goes back home and climbs onto the couch without changing. She twists her cross between her fingers. Its twin is six feet under right now. She watches the spot where Melissa fell and waits for her ghost. Thirty-two years of sisterhood sounds like forever, she thinks, but is is not enough.