#Father's Day sublimation mug

[hnddesign]

Dad's Personalized Sailboat Mug Wrap - Unique Father's Day Gift

YOU CAN FIND HERE!

[ariel-seagull-wings]

POMEGRANATE SEED

@themousefromfantasyland @faintingheroine @princesssarisa @softlytowardthesun @grimoireoffolkloreandfairytales @the-blue-fairie @inevitablemoment @thealmightyemprex @tamisdava2 @natache @gstone97 @lord-antihero @professorlehnsherr-almashy

(Arab folktale from Palestine and Israel. Recorded by Yoel Perez, from the mouth of Zahia Ghurayfât (60) of the 'Arab al-Ghurayfât tribe of Bayt Zarzîr, September 11, 1982)

Oh, honored listened to the words, shall we tell a tale, or shall I sleep? Let's tell a tale.

There was a woman who was not able to become pregnant, and she could not bring forth children. Her husband was a working man.

One day a merchant came and was hawking his goods, saying:

"Pomegranate for pregnancy! Pomegranate for pregnancy!"

The woman came, took a mug full of pomegranate seeds and said:

"Oh Allah, Allah be praised and exalted! With Your might and by Your miracles and Your exalted state and Supreme Being, let me have a daughter or a son like the seeds of this pomegranate, red and good. Praised be Allah sublime, who is mighty with His ability, power and supremacy!"

Twenty years later she gave birth to a daughter whom she called Pomegranate Seed. The daughter was very pretty and and beautiful. Her beauty was incomparable. When anyone saw her, they would say:

"Pomegranate Seed is more beautiful than her mother!"

Then her mother became jealous and angry, whenever she heard that her daughter was more beautiful than she. Then her father started to like the daughter more than the mother. The mother, upon hearing this, would ask him:

"Why do you love the daughter more than me?"

He said to her:

"Because she is more beautiful and better than you."

Subsequently she started to ask the stars:

"Oh Stars, who is more beautiful, I or Pomegranate Seed?"

The Stars replied:

"Pomegranate Seed."

Then she asked the Moon:

"Oh Moon, who is better, I or Pomegranate Seed?"

The Moon replied:

"Pomegranate Seed."

She asked:

"Oh Arabs, who is better, I or Pomegranate Seed?"

They said to her:

"Pomegranate Seed."

In the end she asked all the people, and all of them prefered Pomegranate Seed. Then she said:

"I want to spill the blood of that girl and to slay her."

The mother prepared provisions for a journey and said to her daughter:

"We want to go to your uncles."

The daughter said to the mother:

"No, how can we go? I don't know my uncles."

The mother said to her:

"I want to introduce you to your uncles."

Then she took the daughter through mountains and valleys in which there was nothing except hyenas and ghouls, and other such creatures. They both stayed in an area full of rocks until night fell, the sun set, and the world became dark. There was no moon.

The mother said to her daughter:

"Let's go to sleep."

The daughter said to her mother:

"My hair is joined to yours, my flesh is tied to your flesh, and I shall sew my dress to yours, and your will be beneath my head, and my arm will be beneath your head."

The girl remained asleep until the Sun rose upon her, and she became hot. She woke up to find that nobody was beside her. She started screaming:

"Mother! Mother!"

There was nobody near her.

Then a ghoulah came and said:

"May Allah watch over you, Oh darling Pomegranate Seed! Allah be with you! May the safety of Allah be with you, and whoever forsakes you will be forsaken by Allah! From where did you come to me? From the gate of happiness to the gate of hell?"

The girl said to her:

"I was brought here by good fortune and by luck."

Thereupon the ghoulah took the girl with her.

The ghoulah was roaming freely with gazelles, and she took the girl along with the gazelles to a cave, to a natural cave, like the ones used by goats. She let the gazelles into the cave, and brought the girl in was well. She warmed her and dressed her. She said to her:

"You are my daughter, by the covenant of Allah, and whosoever betrays you will be betrayed by Allah! For I have been looking for you for a long time, Oh Pomegranate Seed!"

The ghoulah roamed with the gazelles, and every day she would take the gazelles with her as she roamed about. When she returned, she would shout:

"Oh Pomegranate Seed! Open the door for the gazelles!"

And Pomegranate Seed would clear the door for the gazelles.

The ghoulah led the girl in the cave, and all of a sudden she saw houses in the interior of the cave. The ghoulah showed her a door and a faucet, and told her that she was allowed to open them, but warned her that whatever room was closed she should beware of opening it. She gave her the keys to the entire place.

Once the ghoulah was absent, the girl went around and started to open the places which she had been warned not to open. She opened the first faucet, and dipped her finger into it. All of a sudden, her finger was all gold, and then the gold stuck to her finger. She tried to remove the gold from the finger, but could not. She opened another place, and all of a sudden there were two girls there, hanging by their hair. She did not speak to them, but closed the door, and while doing so she injured her finger, and wrapped it up.

The ghoulah came back, and said to Pomegranate Seed:

"Open the door for the gazelles! They give milk from their horns, they give milk from their teats. Oh Pomegranate Seed! Open the door for the gazelles, they give milk from their horns, they give milk from their teats!"

She opened the door and, behold, the finger of Pomegranate Seed was wrapped up. The ghoulah asked her:

"Why is your finger wrapped up, Oh my darling?"

She said to her:

"It was injured."

The ghoulah knew the truth, and she said to her:

"Let me see it!"

The girl said to her:

"No, it hurts me."

"Let me see it!"

"No, it hurts me!"

The ghoulah said to her:

"Did I not tell you not to open that door?"

However, the matter was of no importance, since the girl was dear to her.

One day, a merchant was hawking his goods, shouting:

"Buckles, combs for sale!"

It was the first time that a merchant came to this place on a donkey.

Pomegranate Seed looked at his wares, because she had much gold to spend. She asked his permission to take his merchandise. He asked her:

"Are there any human beings in this place?"

She said to him:

"I am a human being, I am Pomegranate Seed."

He said to her:

"Pomegranate Seed used to live in our neighborhood, but her mother took her and shed her blood."

She said to him:

"I am Pomegranate Seed. Is my mother still there?"

He said to her:

"Yes."

She said to him:

"I want to entrust you with a little gold to give to my mother."

He said to her:

"Good."

She gave the merchant a little gold wrapped in an envelope, to deliver to her mother.

Her mother was very upset about her daughter. She wanted to kill her, she no longer wanted to have a child. She wondered, saying:

"I abandoned her among the debris of rocks, and yet she is still alive! I want to kill her!"

She said to the merchant:

"Return to me!"

She bought a poisoned comb for her daughter and when the merchant returned, she gave it to him for her daughter. She told him:

"I entrust you with it for my daughter. Let nobody else open it, except my daughter, and when you arrive there let her wash and clean herself, and make sure that she combs her hair."

The merchant set on his rounds, carrying his gold and his property. He went to Pomegranate Seed, and told her:

"This is what your mother entrusted to me!"

Thereupon she heated up water on the fire, and washed her hair. Then she started to comb it. The first time she combed her hair the teeth of the comb broke on her head. The second time her fingers were broken.

The third time Pomegranate Seed died.

The ghoulah came back from afar, and started to shout:

"Pomegranate Seed! Open the door for the gazelles!"

Nobody answered. The ghoulah said to herself:

"If I find her asleep, she is safe, may Allah be with her, and may the trust of Allah be with her! But if I should find her alive and awake, by Allah, there is nothing else I can do but eat her, eat Pomegranate Seed!"

The ghoulah went to open the door, and there was Pomegranate Seed dead.

"Oh darling! Oh Pomegranate Seed! Oh Pomegranate Seed! Oh Pomegranate Seed!"

Pomegranate Seed did not answer. The ghoulah put rugs and carpets on the floor, dressed Pomegranate Seed in the finest clothes of the most expensive kind. The gold that the ghoulah heaped on Pomegranate Seed could not be heaped on the backs of the camels of love.

She sad:

"Oh camels of love! I beg your trust, don't descend unless you are told the phrase 'By the life of whoever is on your back!' Only then descend!"

The camels of love flew. There were some children playing ball in the field. Among them was a poor man. He was saying:

"Come down, Oh camels of love!"

But the camels did not come down.

The poor man then said:

"By the life of whoever is on your back, come down, camels of love!"

The camels of love came down. When they came down, the poor man said to them:

"Keep all the money and gold, I want to take only the girl! I shall ask my mother to wash her, and we shall bury her."

The youth, took the property and the gold, and the rugs and carpets, and he took Pomegranate Seed and brought her to his mother. He said to her:

"Oh my mother!"

She said to him:

"Oh my son!"

He said to her:

"Heat up some water, Oh my mother, and wash this young woman. I found her dead on the back of the camels of love. Let us wash her and bury her."

She said to him:

"Yes, Oh my son!"

Thereupon she started to light the fire, and she brought a pot that resembled a jar of copper, and brought water and heated it. She carried in the girl and spread mat under her, and started to wash her for burial. Who would be willing to bury her? As she was washing her, the woman shook the girl's head, and behold there was four or five teeth of a comb in her head. She plucked out the first one, whereupon Pomegranate Seed said:

"Ouch!"

She plucked out the second one, and again Pomegranate Seed:

"Ouch!"

Then she plucked out the third one, and she said:

"I witness that there is no God but Allah, and I witness that Muhammad is the messenger of Allah!"

When she said that, the woman said:

"This girl was dead, and now she has come back to life!"

She brought clothes for her, and dressed her, and she woke up, and behold, she was Pomegranate Seed!

The woman stopped showing her to the Arabs (i.e., she hid her), fearing that somebody would her and take her to marry his son, or that the king would take her for his son.

Day after day the old woman would go to the water, and Pomegranate Seed would ask her:

"Let me go with you to the water!"

But she said to her:

"No, Oh my darling!"

One day the king's son saw her and fell in love with her. He told his father and mother:

"I want the sister of the poor boy!"

They said to him:

"He has no sisters."

He said to them:

"I shall never get better if I don't get that girl!"

They went to the old woman and told her.

She said to them:

"This is my son's wife, and her story is such and such and such. She is not my daughter."

They said to her:

"We want her even so, even if by force!"

The old woman took the girl and went to the king's son. He was told her story, from its beggining to the end. The king's son did not stop wanting to go to see the poor girl. They told him:

"Allah sent her as a gift to the poor man; it is a sin for you to take her away. You can take any girl you want."

He said:

"Yes, of course!"

He came and gave the poor man fifty sheep, fifty goats, and fifty cows, and gave him property. He then married Pomegranate Seed, and brought her to the poor man.

[pensvg]

Best Dad Ever Superhero Dad Png Silhouette Sublimation Files

Best Dad Ever Superhero Dad PNG – Silhouette & Sublimation Files

Celebrate the superhero dad in your life with the Best Dad Ever Superhero Dad PNG! This vibrant design features the bold message "Best Dad Ever" alongside a superhero-inspired theme, perfect for expressing appreciation for all the amazing dads out there. Whether you're making personalized t-shirts, mugs, tote bags, or Father's Day gifts, this high-quality PNG file is perfect for sublimation and print-on-demand projects. With its transparent background, it's easy to use with Cricut, Silhouette, or any other crafting tool. Download the Best Dad Ever Superhero Dad PNG today and create custom gifts that will make any dad feel like a true hero!

[vintageimageryx-blog]

Set of 4 Watercolor Fishing Clipart - Father's Day Fishing, Summer, Camping, Travel - Digital Download art ,Transparent PNG Files by ChadwickStudios

5.00 USD

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[sadarbox]

Happy fathers day 11oz Black Mug

Warm your soul with a nice cuppa out of this perfectly sized black ceramic mug. Customize with cool designs, photos, or logos to make that “aaahhh!” moment even better. It’s BPA and lead-free, microwave and dishwasher-safe, and made of black durable ceramic in 11-ounce sizes. The high-quality sublimation printing makes this black ceramic mug the perfect gift for your true coffee, tea, or hot…

[donsvgfile]

May the Forks be With You svg files Cricut Silhouette Star Wars BBQ PNG Sublimation Father Master Grill

May the Forks be With You svg files Cricut Silhouette Star Wars BBQ PNG Sublimation Father Master Grill

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[spottedlizardprints]

Our Mugs has been printed in house and is a great gift for the Family, Special events or a super nice gift present. When you order this is hand packed by our our ethically friendly team, with care and attention to ensure your purchase arrives to you safely to your door.

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(Not Dish washer safe)

[sakuatsu]

YELL 2 ME ABT SAKUATSU FIC RECS PLS

oh boy. oh boy do i have much to talk about

here’s a list of my sakuatsu must-reads under the cut! complete with links, word count, ratings, and occasional commentary because i’m incapable of shutting up. this isn’t in any particular order either 

(keeping this sfw and organized into canonverse/AUs. a * means i am on my hands and knees begging for you to read this)  

i’ll try to update this somewhat regularly :]

most recently updated august 25, 2020!

canonverse:

*your highs and lows (series) by astroeulogy 

a post-time skip canonverse series born from these two questions:

1. what if sakusa kiyoomi, known too-blunt jerk, is equally straightforward about his soft, tender feelings?

2. what if miya atsumu, resident big fat jerk who doesn't care if his teammates hate him, is too emotionally stunted to notice when his one of his teammates actually likes him?

this is like the sakuatsu series but it’s blasphemous to not recommend. the first fic in the series is all that you were (4.6k, T). mind the ratings on a few of the fics, but my personal favorite is #3: a masterpiece of domesticity called you have tamed me (5.7k, T). these make me ACHE 

*sakuatsu domesticity simulator by pseudoanalytics (T)

a vaguely interactive mixture of fic, art, and html, where you too can experience the inherent romance of a big fat jerk and a too-blunt jerk attempting intimacy

this fic...this fic...op is literally one of my favorite artists of all time but Did You Know that their writing is also off the charts. what a wonderful use of second person and the pacing is so good. too much skill in one person 

*The MSBY Black Jackals Read Thirst Tweets by isaksara (11.4k, M)

Sakusa’s eyes are very dark naturally, sucking in all surrounding rays of light and crushing them in his pupils. For an athlete, he is rather pale. His lips look very pink in comparison. Atsumu is suddenly catastrophically aware that in this instance, ‘accent’ is a euphemism. “Good enough for your Olympic-size ego, Miya?”

(In which Atsumu realizes that he is attracted to Sakusa Kiyoomi in the most inconvenient way possible.)

i think this is the fic that got me into sakuatsu in the first place lol i was looking very specifically for msby socmed fics and now here we are. this fic is unbelievably funny

*liminal spaces by hhatsuna (25.9k, T)

Fuck you, Atsumu thinks, pointing at the pixelated Sakusa in the grainy team photo on his bedside table.

It’s easier than you’d think to ignore loving your teammate.

*Better For Us Both by abrandnewheart (15.7k, M)

Where “You already make me the happiest guy alive, babe," gives way to, “I’ve not been happy for a while now.”

Alternatively known as the ‘mug fic’.

yes this is a breakup fic. yes im going to recommend it anyway. breakup fics usually scare me a lot but this one is too good for me to not say anything about. nuanced and delicious. i look at the mug on my desk and feel pain

dog eat dog eat dog world by perennials (8.4k, T)

You are your first and only line of defense against the universe.

Koi no Yokan; 恋の予感 by ymra (15.3k, unrated)

Wherein Sakusa dreams of his future selves and discovers a little something along the way.

autumn ends, but we remain by wolfsbvne (5.3k, T)

atsumu stares at his ceiling at 2am. he stares until he can make out designs in his popcorn ceiling. a cat there, an onigiri here, and then something that suspiciously looks like a mop of hair, triangle eyebrows, and oh those two bumps are moles right above what atsumu just mapped out as an eye.

(or, atsumu is in kind of in love. sakusa is maybe in like.)

your fingertips, branding irons by Ceryna (5.8k, T)

Between the accidental touches he's reconciled, the deliberate ones he's endured, and, from those he's built years of trust with, obliged– Kiyoomi has never wanted to let someone indulge.

Never, until Atsumu.

take what’s yours and make it mine by claudusdiei (5.9k, T)

atsumu falls in love four times in his life

(or: in which atsumu gets his heart broken twice, has the self-awareness of a sober mule and really likes yellow tulips)

every action has an equal and opposite reaction by akanemnida (10.4k, T)

Miya Atsumu gets a modeling contract with Calvin Klein, which sets Kiyoomi's heart in motion.

(Or: Sakusa Kiyoomi realizes that the rules governing the universe are absolute rubbish at explaining matters of the heart.)

*where i want to be by tookumade (8.8k, G)

In the time they’ve been teammates at the MSBY Black Jackals, Sakusa has never been to Atsumu’s place, and Atsumu has only been to Sakusa’s a few times. There’s an unspoken understanding here: that Atsumu knows him well enough to know that nobody’s house or apartment would ever really meet his ridiculously high standards, and he is most comfortable in the home he’s made for himself.

That, and, Atsumu being over at Sakusa’s means that he has to host him and do the cleaning afterwards, while Atsumu can just flit off back to his own place. So. There’s that.

Tonight. Tonight is not business as usual. Tonight is not familiar.

*san'yō expressway, 6:17 pm by yamabato (8.1k, T)

Atsumu tilts his head to watch a slice of orange light bend over the impassive planes of Sakusa’s face. He is absolutely, ruthlessly beautiful. It makes Atsumu want to punch something—put his foot through the windshield—scream, maybe.

Kiss him again, maybe.

They have 344 kilometers to figure this one out.

parallax error: angle of inclination by min_mintobe (10.8k, T)

But now there's the one person Atsumu'd promised himself never to touch. His eyes leave Atsumu breathless with guilt at seventeen, and he spends the next six years safe in the satisfaction of making things right.

Feelings, of the physical kind, and one kiss.

ft. competitive spirit, childishness, and late night conversations.

Atsumu POV.

four leaf clover by vicari_us (5.9k, T)

Once, Ushijima claimed that they ‘got lucky’. If properly honed, their body types could become near invincible weapons.

However, unlike Ushijima, Kiyoomi’s weapon required a bit more care over the years to reach the condition it had become. He was born iron, not yet forged into steel.

Exploring what it might have taken to turn a genetic mistake into an athletic miracle.

*the 28 postcards you left me by wheelspokes (8.3k, T)

Atsumu takes texting your ex to a new level by sending Sakusa postcards in Animal Crossing instead.

such a unique premise & this is so beautifully structured. stunning flow and who knew animal crossing could convey so much longing...

AUs:

Pas De Deux by hhatsuna (dancer!sakusa au: 19.0k, T)

The mystery athlete gives Kiyoomi a once over in the mirror. “Yer pretty tall,” he observes, and the twang of an accent rasps low in his throat. His brazen eyes drift to Kiyoomi’s legs, and something like exhilaration glints gold in his gaze. “Good quads, too. Ya ever played volleyball?” Ah. So it’s volleyball.

“I’m a dancer. Ballet and contemporary, mostly.”

*my love, take your time by bastigod (archaeologist!sakusa au: 9.0k, T)

There was something sublime about wandering around an empty museum. Nothing could compare to the sound of his shoes clacking against the marble floor, the morning sunlight gently streaming through the lofty windows and the peaceful solitude of ancient stone kings overseeing their silent kingdoms.

A day in the life of Doctor Kiyoomi Sakusa, Archaeologist.

i’ve literally been thinking about this fic every day since it came out. you will not find a story like this anywhere else, i guarantee you. what a clear labor of love this fic is it’s truly something so special 

three roses and a smile by strawberrycitrus (surgeon!sakusa & microbiologist!atsumu au: 19.7k, T)

“I just got this job, I’m not givin’ it up for some moral boost ‘cause I actually need to pay my rent, ya insensitive -” Atsumu waves his hands around, trying and failing to come up with the right word to convey the amount of injustice that this gaunt motherfucker has brought into his relatively simple life thus far.

“If you can’t pay your rent, go get a job at the McDonald’s over by 8th Street,” Sakusa growls, “it’ll pay more than your researcher position.”

If you even attempt assault on a coworker, forget teaching about cells - you’ll fucking be in one, Atsumu.

*Dance of the Parallax by astroeulogy (ogre spirit!sakusa au: 6.7k, T)

For the last twenty years, Atsumu’s done all that he can to break his betrothal to the ogre spirit Sakusa. If he can just make it through one more night, he’ll be free.

honestly, just read everything by astroeulogy. i’m recommending this fic in particular because it has such an ethereal voice to it. magical

across oceans, across centuries by starstrikes (pacific rim au: 20.0k, T)

Six days ago, Osamu died and left Atsumu with this: Atsumu, you have to—

(Namikira rises with the tides and rips Osamu and Vulpis Empress away in one fell swoop. Six days later, Atsumu wakes up alone in a hospital bed and learns how to swim.)

you don’t actually need to know pacrim to appreciate this. a wonderful exploration of grief and recovery. also it’s exactly 20k words which is both satisfying and terrifying 

*Notte Stellata by awkwardedgeworth (ice skating/dancing au: 20.8k, T)

"Your partner doesn't need to hold anyone's hand other than yours," Sakusa's father crouches, "And you can wear gloves."

Sakusa ponders. He hears the other skaters of rink two whiz past as they launch themselves into lifts.

"Alright," He looks up from the ice, not knowing how he'll dedicate the next couple of decades to this sport, this partnership, this boy.

what a stunning fic. a beautiful progression of sakusa & atsumu’s relationship, rife with references to real skating programs, beautifully written and structured. so full of longing i’m in mild physical pain

[mlpmoviemerch]

New My Little Pony Fluttershy Holidays Ceramic Coffee Mug

New My Little Pony Fluttershy Holidays Ceramic Coffee Mug $12.95 available here: https://amzn.to/3KkIbqL

Details below:

11oz, 15oz. Printing is printed using a permanent sublimation process to ensure a vivid. Perfect for coffee, tea, hot cocoa, soup, alcohol or even pencils and pens. Printed using 3D print technology that allows to create high quality durable.

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The best gift for holidays. This mugs is the ideal gift for all people you love. You can give for the Easter, Birthday, Christmas, New Year, Mother/Father Days and other holidays.

If you have any problem with our product, feel free to contact us! We will make every effort to solve it in the best way, your satisfaction is our promise.

Perfect gift for any My Little Pony fan!

Features a Fluttershy Holidays ceramic coffee mug.

Brand: Generic

Character: Fluttershy

Color: Multicolor

Inspired by My Little Pony

[joon-ipersgirl]

O1 - “singularity”

genre: strangers to lovers!au, angst, fluff

pairing: jimin x reader (f)

summary: they say home is where the heart is. you’re convinced yours was taken the day your father died. until you meet jimin.

you believe in love but after watching men cycle through your mother’s arms, rocky relations with ex boyfriends, and broken friendships, you no longer see it in your future. so much so, you never settle in one place long enough to create ties and call it home, choosing a job where you’re always on the go and on her own.

on a chance encounter on a flight from new york city to bali, indonesia, you meet. flustered by jimin’s flirty advances but understanding and good-natured tendencies, you start to fall. what starts off as a work-trip soon blossoms into a budding romance, but will jimin’s secret destroy the relationship before it’s had the chance to truly begin?

word count: 3.2k

warnings: mentions of anxiety, cursing a/n: welcome to bitter and beloved part 1 - singularity! this entire story is self-indulgent for me and i hope you guys will love the characters as much as i do. not much else to say here, but enjoy :) ofc thank you to vi for beta-reading as always.

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For some people, 4 am was an ungodly hour. For some people, the idea of change was unthinkable. For some people, being alone was unbearable, but for you, you craved it. The silence of being the only one awake as you roamed the different studio apartments in the middle of the night. The freedom to come and go whenever you pleased. The ability to create your own routine. There was no one holding you back, no one holding you down, nothing to get tied up to.

You sat on the windowsill, a cup of black coffee in your hands, as you watched the city that never sleeps take a brief nap before she set off for the day. Raindrops slipped down the large bay windows as you sipped your first daily intake of caffeine. You enjoyed the quiet lull of the city during the early morning hours as some people were just waking for the day, the others just returning from the graveyard shift. You watched the almost microscopic bodies march down the sidewalk from the fourteenth floor like ants who marched along a picnic blanket.

The gentle buzz of your phone pulled you back into reality. You glanced down at the screen and saw the name Michael appear. You sighed. What could he possibly want now?

Michael: Remember, they want to see passion! Have a safe trip! [4:47]

You didn’t bother to respond. You placed your phone back onto the windowsill and rested your forehead against the cool glass, welcoming the contrast combined with the heat from the mug in your hands. Capturing passion wasn’t as easy as most people tried to make it seem. You couldn’t just yell “cut!” and try to shoot the scene again. Passion was as fleeting as it was enjoyable, only staying for a minute before it left you with a yearning for much more.

Finishing the remainder of your coffee, you washed the cup in the sink and returned it to its home in the cupboard. You pulled your oversized t-shirt over your head and neatly tucked it into your backpack. Dressing quickly, you grabbed your lone suitcase and backpack before heading out the door. The keys with the Empire State building keychain were left on the short table by the front door. Your time in this little home was up and it was time to find another. You hailed one of the infamous yellow cabs, your destination: John F. Kennedy International Airport.

The thirty-five-minute cab ride was uneventful and you tipped the driver your last few U.S. dollars for assisting me with my bag. A grin spread across your face as you entered the international departures terminal. If anywhere could be considered home for you, it would be an airport. There was nothing like entering an airport and seeing the hustle of people as they went on their way to whatever destination. The terminal was mostly empty as it was 5:14 am and most people would have had the sense to book a much later flight. But not you. No, this gave you the perfect opportunity to edit in peace. It also meant the lines for check-in were much shorter and you were grateful for not having to maneuver through the masses.

“Good morning. Passport or identification please?” Grace, the airline administrative assistant for Cathay Pacific Airways, asked you. Her blonde hair was smoothed back into a tight bun and her blue eyes sparkled much too brightly for your liking. You handed the thin book to her.

“You’re here quite early, aren’t you? Your flight doesn’t leave for another 5 hours!” she exclaimed as she read your flight information. You stared at her blankly. Her smile faltered as you didn’t respond. Clearly, you knew what time your flight would be leaving.

“Um, if you could please place your bag on the scale.” You did as you were told while she printed out your luggage tag and boarding passes. She didn’t speak as she attached the tag to your bag and placed it on the conveyor belt behind her.

“Have a good flight,” she said as she handed back your documents, her voice significantly less chirpy than before. You thanked her dryly and headed off to security.

Your stomach grumbled as you joined the short line and made a mental note to stop somewhere for some breakfast. As much as you hated it, you would have to use your travel-only credit card so you didn’t die before you’d even stepped foot on the plane. You groaned as you felt the vibration in your hand coming from your phone, wondering who could be calling you this early in the morning and what they could possibly want. It was 5:30 in the morning.

“Hello?”

“Y/N? Y/N, where are you?” Your mother. You sighed and shuffled the phone to rest between your shoulder and ear as you attempted to remove your laptop and cameras from your bag.

“New York,” You replied shortly. You were approaching the officer quickly.

“You weren’t going to call and tell me you were here?” she asked loudly into the phone. You rolled your eyes.

“It was a short business trip.” She snorted in response.

“Business trip? Is that what you call it? Y/N, you don’t have a real job. Baby, come home and let me help you,” she said in the most soothing tone she could muster. Her voice failed to offer any comfort. There were five people in front of you now. You had to go.

“You know that isn’t going to happen, Adele. Tell Richard I said hello.”

“I told you not to mention him to me!” she wailed. You cringed at the sound.

“Ah, he’s left, has he? Well, I too have to go. Goodbye, Adele,” you said calmly into the phone. One person was in front of you now.

“Y/N!” she screamed. You hung up.

The officer gestured for you to come forward and you stepped up, handing him your passport and boarding pass. Adele was a woman you no longer tried to understand. Though she was your mother - and you wondered how much truth to that there really was - you’d never had the best relationship. You reminisced on a younger you vying for her attention but it was always somewhere else, with someone else. You smiled sadly at the memory as the officer handed your documents back to you and told you to have a good day.

Juggling your phone, passport, and laptop was difficult enough when you remembered your camera bags were still in your backpack. Panic spread her fingers across your chest as you tried to grab enough bins to hold your stuff. Damn Adele and her breaking your security routine with her unhelpful, unscheduled phone call. Glancing over your shoulder, you did your best not to hold up the line as you fumbled to get both cameras out of their respective bags while toeing off your sneakers. You missed the way your backpack swung low on your shoulder, and a solo lens teetered on the edge as if it were deciding whether to jump or not. It did, gravity calling its name.

“Woah!” You gasped as you looked over your shoulder to see a man holding your Fuji 23mm lens in his palm.

“Shit!” you breathed out, taking it from his hand and carefully inspecting it for any damage. Fuck the line at this point.

“I think it’s okay,” he told you in a soft voice that you barely heard as you cradled the equivalent of $500 to your chest.

“Thank you,” you told him sincerely, finally looking at him. Well, his chest.

You blinked slowly. He was much taller than you expected. Past your hands, he also had sneakers on his feet. His hands were tucked into grey sweatpants that hugged the muscles around his thighs just as well as the graphic, black Sublime! t-shirt stretched across his chest. A single gold link chain settled against his collarbones that reminded you of your own gold anklet wrapped around your right foot. His neck was strong and met a sharp jawline. The smile he wore was almost as blinding as the lights. Almost.

“Miss, please keep the line moving,” another officer said, slightly annoyed as you stared at the stranger. More people were behind you now. Your face heated up as you nodded and carefully placed the lens in the bin with the rest of your camera equipment.

You joined the line to go through the body scanner, willing your heart to calm down from the embarrassment in your chest. You were making a big deal out of nothing, as per usual, and it was quite probable that no one had seen your little fumble. Except for the stranger behind you. You took a deep breath and raked your fingers through your short hair. It made no difference if he remembered the incident or not; it was over now. There really was no reason to dwell on it, but you knew you would, the anxiety getting the better of you.

After passing through the scanner, you started grabbing my belongings, shoving your feet into your sneakers and tucking your Sony Alpha 7R III into its camera bag and into your backpack. You double-checked the lens for your Fujifilm X-T3 - you could never be too thorough - and slipped that into its respective bag and into your backpack too. Michael could do without a few airport scenes for this next video as your stomach grumbled again. Food was more important.

Two buttery croissants and another large cup of coffee from Charlie’s Cafe saw you sat at Gate F17, headphones blasting, adding edits to your Saipan video. Though it was the most tedious process, video editing really allowed you to showcase your talent and calmed you down. There was just something about deciding which shot to use and how they should be sequenced along with the background music that was so fulfilling. As a self-taught videographer, it felt good to make a substantial living from doing something you loved. Not that it was enough for Adele. You shook the thought from your mind. You wouldn’t let her fuck up the rest of your morning, not after that earlier incident.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Boarding for flight 1167 to Bali, Indonesia, will begin in 15 minutes. All stand-by passengers who still need a seat, please come to the desk to receive one. Thank you,” a female voice boomed over the speaker. Was it really 10:50 am already?

“Um, excuse me?” You glanced up from the sandy beaches and blue skies on my laptop into the soft brown eyes of a small boy. You nudged your Beats headphones off your ears to hear him better.

“Yeah?”

“Um, what kind of camera is that?” His long-sleeved shirt was much too big on him; his fingers were barely visible as he pointed to your camera bag on the seat beside you.

“Uh, it’s a Fujifilm X-T3,” you replied, unsure if he had any idea of what any of that meant. “It’s really good for taking videos and stuff.” He nodded with a smile on his face.

“Can I see it?” Your heart constricted in your chest as you thought of all the possible things that could possibly go wrong from letting this young child hold $1300 in his hand. Unsurprisingly, there was quite a lot. “Please,” he added as if just remembering his manners. You inhaled deeply through my nose.

“Sure,” you said on the exhale. It couldn’t be that bad. His little face lit up as he pushed his sandy blonde hair out of his face. He was missing his two front teeth, and you grinned back at him. It must be great to be seven without a care in the world except wondering when the tooth fairy was going to bring your dollar and whether or not your mom would finally quit trying to feed you cauliflower.

“You sit here -,” you told him while shoving your laptop into your backpack, “- and I’ll show you how it works. You have to be real careful, though. Okay?” He nodded eagerly and clambered up into the now-vacated seat. His little legs barely reached the end of the chair and he waited expectantly as you pulled the camera from its bag.

“Alright. This is the “on” button. This is the shutter button; it’s how you can take all the pictures. And this little screen? This is where all your pictures and videos show up once you’ve taken them. And here, this is where you can change the lenses to take different shots,” you explained, guiding him through the different parts of the camera, turning it the different ways in his hands.

“Shots? Like guns?” he asked with wide eyes. His tiny hands could barely grip the camera as you sat cross-legged in front of him on the ground.

“No,” you giggled. “That’s what photographers call each picture that’s taken. It’s like another word for -”

“Jacob!” His petite frame snapped towards the voice. “Oh my gosh, Jacob. How many times do I have to tell you not to walk off?”

“But you were gone for so long!” he whined. “And I wanted to see the pretty lady’s camera.”

The young woman shook her head. “It wasn’t that long. Come on. We need to go back before Dad gets worried.” She turned to me, her short brown hair brushing against her white t-shirt. “I’m sorry about my brother bothering you.”

“I wasn’t bothering her!” Jacob yelled, his leg jerking in annoyance. You reached forward instinctively to secure your camera from his hands. There was no telling what kind of tantrum he would throw, and your camera didn’t need to be involved.

“Yeah, he wasn’t bothering me. Honestly. We had a great conversation, right?” He nodded quickly.

“Alright, time to say bye, Jacob.” His sister grabbed his arm, and Jacob tried with all his might to resist. It wasn’t much.

“No! I don’t wanna! I want to look at the pictures!”

“Hey,” you said, grabbing his attention as you crouched down to his level, your voice barely above a whisper. “How about we take a photo together so you can really see how this thing works, and I’ll send it to your sister so you can keep it?” He stopped flailing. His attention was firmly secured on the words coming from your mouth.

“What’s the catch?” he asked in all seriousness. His sister sighed in exasperation. She apologized again, but you shook it off.

“You go back with your sister and behave. No questions asked, no fighting, no screaming, and no yelling.” He eyed you warily, sizing up the deal.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to flight 1167. We are now boarding our passengers with wheelchair assistance and passengers with children under the age of two.” You raised my eyes at Jacob as the announcement rang out overhead.

“Times ticking, Jacob. That’s my flight.” His eyes widened, and he nodded his head so vigorously, you thought it might fall off.

“Okay!” he responded enthusiastically and rushed over to you. You stood and handed your camera to his sister, showing her where to look through and which button to press.

She snapped a few shots, some smiling and some of you two making silly faces as you stood in the middle of the seats. You smiled some more as Jacob laughed at the photos, and he pointed out his favorite ones, the sleeves of his shirt still falling to cover most of his hands. Seeing him like this made me think of your own brother and how he was doing, the smile on Jacob’s face very similar to what you remembered when he was around Jacob’s age. The two of you giggling to one another as you played your silly little childish games. The carefree-ness you’d felt while with Jacob dissipated, and the reality of being an adult settled back in like a fat cat on the porch on a hot summer’s day.

“You’re really gonna send them, right?” Jacob asked again. You reassured him once again.

“Yep, as long as you honor our deal,” You said. You tucked the camera carefully back into its bag and then into your backpack.

“You got it, lady!” he yelled and wrapped his pinky around your own. “Promise.” You smiled down at him and ruffled his hair. His sister thanked you again as she was finally able to drag him back to their family, no protests leaving the little boy’s lips. You grabbed your backpack and joined the line for the last group of passengers on flight 1167 to board, your heart much happier than when I had first sat down.

The worst part about boarding the plane had to be making sure you weren’t decapitating anyone with your carry-on. Well, maybe having everyone stare at you while you were walking down the aisle could make podium too. You sunk your teeth into your lower lip, adjusted your beanie on your head, and double-checked that your seat was 36A for the fifth time between scanning your boarding pass and actually getting on the plane.

You swept the numbers on the right side of the aircraft - the AB side - and almost stumbled into the person in front of you as you realized where your seat was located in relation to a certain camera-lens-saving stranger. Silently pleading with the Lord that the coffee rush was wearing off and that’s why you couldn’t read the numbers correctly, you continued down the aisle slowly. It seemed as though God had ignored this particular prayer. You tried to quiet the nerves in your chest as your over-anxious brain reminded you that you were reprimanded for holding up the TSA line because you were staring at the man in front of you. Like you currently were. Fuck.

“You’re in my seat,” you blurted out. He looked up at you.

“I’m sorry?” he clarified, closing the book he was reading.

“I mean, the window seat, it’s mine. Um, you’re kind of in the way,” you said. You glanced over your shoulder at the people waiting behind you.

“Oh, -” he shoved his book into the seatback pocket in front of him, “- my bad.”

Though the space was small, he slipped out of his seat with grace. Much more graceful than you in your haste to exit the aisle. He sat back down, and the rest of the people flowed past. You were acutely aware of how close the two of you were and shrank closer to the window. He cleared his throat and reached for his book, settling in while seeming to ignore you. You buckled yourself in tight and stared out the window. Of all flights that were leaving today, he had to be on the same one you were, going to the same place, sitting in basically the same seat.

“Ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for your patience. Welcome aboard flight 1167 with services to Hong Kong and Bali, Indonesia -” you started to tune the air stewardess out as she gave the usual spiel about safety and what not to do in an emergency.

“Is your camera okay?” His voice startled you out of your thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“Your camera. Is the lens okay? I wasn’t able to ask you earlier.”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” you answered dryly.

“Good. That’s good,” he said with a soft smile.

15 hours and 55 minutes. That’s all you had to get through. You turned your head to stare out of the window, the scenery rolling past like the memory of this morning. Only 15 hours and 55 minutes to go.

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© joon-ipersgirl, 2020.

[jaredharrisfest]

Law & Order: SVU

TITLE: Law & Order: Special Victims Unit

EPISODE: 906 - “Svengali”

ROLE: Robert Morten

SUMMARY: A grisly murder scene at the bottom of an elevator shaft leads SVU detectives to a group of individuals who are under the spell of a charismatic, imprisoned serial killer.

YEAR: 2007

We start with a dead body (as you do on these shows).

Please enjoy the snappy Law & Order dialogue:

DETECTIVE OLIVIA BENSON: Looks like she was dressed for her dream date.

RANDOM FORENSICS TECH: Yeah, it ended when the perp strangled her repeatedly with her own pantyhose.

And it gets worse (doesn’t it always?). The killer cut off her breasts and walked out with them. Ew.

Tina, our victim, was headed not to her dream date but to mine: a really cool-looking underground party in an abandoned subway tunnel under the Waldorf Astoria Hotel where everyone dresses up in their vintage-looking finest and watches a screening of Double Indemnity. Count me in!

The whole thing is organized/run by this guy, Edgar Rabinowicz (but he’d prefer to be called Agent Mayhem), part of the hipsteriffic Silk and Cyanide Corp (”We’re secret agents of adventure”). 

But of course he didn’t kill Tina. He only left her alone and hammered at a bar after their last “mission” - a shit thing to do, yes, but not murder.

Bartender Cecilia is shocked at news of Tina’s murder and claims she left at last call with some asshole guy but refuses to describe said douchebag as she  “doesn’t want to get involved.” 

After being convinced to sit down with a police sketch artist (which leads to a plethora of useless tips), Cecilia calls Detective Benson to tell her that the asshole is back while she’s closing by herself. Maybe the asshole is her manager because WHO LEAVES A WOMAN ALONE TO CLOSE ANYTHING? HELLO! MURDER CITY!

Which is pretty much exactly what happens as the detectives find no Cecilia and the Venus de Milo recreated in blood on the bar floor.

DUN DUN!

The bloody Venus was also inspired by artworks of currently incarcerated serial killer Robert Morten.

(Is it wrong that I think he looks very handsome in his mug shot? It is, isn’t it?)

The detectives conclude it must be a copycat, and if he’s following Morten to the letter, Cecilia’s got twelve hours left to live before he kills her. 

Our creepy boy! Hooray!

The detectives are turning his cell inside out to look for clues to the name of his new partner. Detective Stabler, as Bad Cop, tears one of Morten’s artworks in half to “motivate” him.

"Am I bovvered? Am I bovvered though? Look at my face. Is it bovvered?”

“Arks me If I'm bovvered! Look, face, bovvered? I ain't bovvered!"

But then Benson, as Good Cop, tempts him with tasty victim headshots.

“They’re sublime,” he says in his creepy-yet-alluring-because-it’s-Jared-Harris Hannibal Lecter voice.

“What I could do with those.”

“But obviously-”

*faux bashful head tilt*

“-I’m innocent.”

Benson ain’t buying it.

Morten doesn’t like it when they start to go after his mail...and especially his fan letters.

(The disdain! I love it.)

The non-Stabler and non-Benson detectives (aka Ice-T and That Other Guy) go out to talk to the writers of said fan letters and learn that there’s a Free Robert Morten committee working on an appeal. Benson and Stabler bring in the vice president, ex-con Jasper Grice.

JASPER: He took care of me. 

STABLER: Three years as his cellie? You were his bitch. 

Well, you would know, Stabler. Or should I say...

...Chris Keller from HBO’s Oz?

(Oz was my first fandom and Beecher/Keller was my first ship. I was in sixth grade. Other kids were freaking out about a stupid kiss on Dawson’s Creek; I was telling them how I saw a man get gutted like a fish in the showers. 

I...was not popular.)

Jasper advises the detectives that the copycat is killing based on covers of an AU comic book series about Morten’s crimes in which he doesn't get caught and continues killing.

Tina was issue #9, Cecilia is supposed to be issue #10.

The detectives go to the apartment writer/artist and learn that the issue #10 murder takes place in Morten’s childhood bedroom. They rush to the dilapidated old house and kick down the bedroom door.

Et voilà! A barely alive Cecilia.

Cecilia wakes up in the hospital and discovers that unlike Tina she’s still got boobs but they've been mutilated and she’ll need plastic surgery. She blames talking to Benson in the first place for everything and asks her to leave.

Back at the precinct, Detective Ice-T (I don’t care what his character’s name is, he’s Detective Ice-T) tries to give Benson a pizza...that she didn’t order. 

DUN DUN!

“Hotbox” indeed, foreshadowing pizza box! Because it turns out the pizza...

..IS A BOMB!

While the precinct is evacuated to the street, the random forensics tech from earlier approaches the detectives with a report.

A similar knife was used on both Tina and Cecilia, but Cecilia’s mutilating boob cuts taper away from the midline and differ in angle and depth.

Translation: they’re self-inflicted!

DUN DUN!

The detectives obtain a search warrant for Cecilia’s apartment.

It seems she was an intern for his lawyers and had been writing to him for years beforehand. She wasn’t on the detectives’ radar because legal visits and correspondence aren’t on inmate logs.

Cecilia reveals that at seventeen she learned that her father hadn’t died in a car crash but had been imprisoned for bank robbery. She wrote to Morten asking for information about dear old dad, and Morten replied. 

“Your daddy said you had eyes like summer and hair as soft as lamb’s wool. You were the best thing he ever did in his life. I’d love to see if you look like him. Please send me a picture.”   

JK, of course. Morten never even met her dad. 

But he’s not one to pass up a free picture of a pretty lady!

PS In this scene, Mr. Harris is shifting between his Hannibal Lecter voice (when talking to Stabler) and his writing-to-Cecilia-to-gain-her-pity-and-trust voice (when reading the letters), and it sent a chill up my spine the first time I heard it. Kudos, sir.

PPS THIS TRANSITION. I’m in love.

Also, Jared Harris? How did you get your eyes so dead? Kudos AGAIN, good sir!

(Murdery) teeth gap!

Back to the plot: Morten convinced Cecilia that she was the only one who could help him with his appeals. He told her to get that internship with his lawyers so they could have visits without being monitored.

MORTEN: We had complete privacy. Complete privilege.  

STABLER: Sounds cozy.

MORTEN: Oh, it was. She was a virgin. I plucked her.  

And I know I’m a broken record here, but look: I love Jared Harris. He’s a very attractive gentleman, even when playing a serial killer. But when he said that? I was repulsed and horrified to my core.

Cecilia is convinced that Morten loves her and that they’re soulmates. Morten says the only way to prove that they are is for Cecilia to kill somebody. Tina was  an “artistic offering” from Cecilia to Morten, and he knows where the trophies (i.e. Tina’s breasts) are.

(GUYS HE DID A LITTLE EYEBROW RAISE AFTER THE WORD “BREASTS” I’M DEAD) (probably because his character killed me)

The breasts are found where Morten said they would be, and the Assistant District Attorney declares they’ve got enough to charge Cecilia with murder. 

Morten would like a peek at the evidence for helping.

Benson violently disagrees.

And gets blown a creepy little kiss for her troubles.

All the good detectives are heading home after a long day. Benson tries to just open the door and put her groceries away, but she’s attacked by the AU comic book guy.

Can I tell you how much I appreciate that Benson beats the shit out of him with a big heavy book? That’d be my first weapon at hand too.

The detectives are done. It’s time for the trial! 

Cecilia takes the stand, testifies about her suicide attempt, and shows the jury her self-inflicted boob scars. She’s got them eating out of her hand, so the prosecution calls in some special help.

The A.D.A. subpoenas him as a rebuttal witness.

MORTEN: That’s a new one. What do I get in return?

A.D.A.: Nothing.

MORTEN: And if I refuse?

A.D.A.: We’ll hold you in contempt of court.  

MORTEN: I’m already serving eight life sentences. Contempt of court’s hardly going to make it worse.

Morten realizes that they need him bad and is able to bargain for a deal - the possibility of parole and a transfer to the federal prison system. The A.D.A. angrily agrees. 

Bonus creepy screencap! THE EYES OMG

The next day Morten swaggers into court and is greeted by his adoring cult fans. The judge warns them he’ll clear the courtroom if there’s any more outbursts. 

Morten eats it up with a spoon.

And it looks like our murderous boy has something up his sleeve judging by this unseen-by-the-A.D.A. wink he gives Cecilia! Let’s watch.

Of course he’s going to absolutely tell the whole truth! Would this face lie? 

Yes, repeatedly, as he denies everything he told the A.D.A. in their chat the previous night.

For example: did he tell Cecilia to kill?

“I’ve told many to express themselves. No one had the emotional fortitude to do it until Cecilia.”

The A.D.A. is sick of this bullshit and decides to hatch a cunning plan.

A.D.A: You think of yourself as an artist?

MORTEN: I think my work speaks for itself.   

The A.D.A. shows Morten a photo of the crime scene and asks Morten to “compare this artist’s work with [his] own.”

Remember, Morten hasn’t been able to see any of those sweet, sweet crime scene photos he’s been craving, so he is INTO IT.

Cecilia waits for her grade.

But wait: something’s off.

MORTEN: At first blush, you might think this is unique. But it - it lacks understanding. Depth.

Yeah, doesn’t look like you’re going to get that A in murder, girlie.

"With the human canvas you have the opportunity to do true action painting.” 

“Where’s the energy? Where’s the spatter? This is lifeless dreck! A cheap knockoff of my work.” 

"Whoever did this is a talentless hack.”

Cecilia loses her shit at the criticism and storms the witness box declaring that she did this for Morten and that she loves him.

Morten is feeding off of the drama. 

(Bonus sceencap in case you ever wondered what a vampire!Jared Harris coming for your neck might look like. I know some of y’all are probably into that.)

He cuts Cecilia down even further by declaring that she’s nothing like him and  could never understand him.

Cecilia continues to proclaim her love as she’s dragged away.

Morten is pleased.

But don’t get cocky, kid. 

Even though Cecilia got off (insanity), the A.D. A. is still sticking to her end of the deal. Morten’s getting that transfer to a federal prison he wanted.

A supermax prison. 

A.D.A.: 23-hour lockdown, no visitors, no mail, no phone calls. No human contact for the rest of your life.

Morten whines that she can’t do that to him and they made a deal, etc. but too bad so sad.

He’s shoved into the van and whisked away.

VERDICT: A performance so adroit and layered it took me several days to get through this hourlong episode. The things this man can do with his face, I’m telling you! Three out of five Croziers.

[jaxsteamblog]

Four Toasts

Zuko woke up to see Sokka looming over him. He normally woke quickly, but seeing his friend’s face so close to his own made the shot of adrenaline almost propel him out of bed. Feeling a weight on his chest, Zuko kept himself still, letting his thoughts collect and give him a proper reading of the situation.

He was in bed, but obviously not his own since Sokka was standing next to him and not the body lying on him. He was half dressed as he could feel the shared warmth of skin on skin. Sokka’s face was irritated and bemused.

“Hey, the lights are back on.” Zuko remarked. The air system was working properly now and blew a gentle heat into the room.

“Why are you sleeping with my sister?” Sokka asked. Zuko looked down and saw the tangled cloud of Katara’s wavy hair.

“Because I had the choice between you and her and I mean, can you blame me?” He replied.

“I don’t like that you’re dating her.”

“You’re going to make me marry her to spite you, and is that really how you want your sister to end up married?”

Sokka chuckled and Katara finally roused, lifting her head to glare at them both.

“Can you two put a sock in it? I was sleeping.” She stated.

“You were not. Your breathing changed the moment I spoke.” Zuko said. Katara muttered to herself before rolling back to her side, pulling the blanket up over her head.

Zuko eventually untangled himself from the snare of the sheet and blanket Katara had wound in her sleep. Sokka went downstairs for breakfast while Zuko went into their shared room to shower.

For all the inane rhetoric that had been drilled into his head by various firebending teachers, Zuko felt at peace in the shower. The water hit his skin with muffled paps that sounded like rain hitting the stone pavers in the gardens of the palace. Fat, warm, summer rain that came down heavy from lazy clouds that tottered overhead. As Zuko stood, his head bent to allow the spray to fall on his neck, he could almost imagine being soaked in a surprise storm.

His mother had been caught out in a such a storm before, and Zuko had watched her run shrieking toward a covered walkway. He had been inside, neglecting some lesson, and knelt at the window with his arms crossed on the sill. He had smiled at his mother’s beautiful face - a beauty that all mothers had to their children, but that apparently Ursa had naturally earned herself - and how her long, ink colored hair clung to her face and neck. Servants came running with the thick, fluffy towels she preferred, but paused as another figure approached from the other building. Zuko recalled his father’s face - also young, also beautiful but in a fearful sort of way - as he saw his wife, soaked and improperly laughing with the servants.

But Ursa’s beauty afforded her luxuries not available to many. To only her, really.

Ozai had taken hold on his mother’s face and gently pushed back her wet hair. Ursa trembled, from fear or from a chill, and Ozai only smiled at her.

It had stirred a sort of jealousy in Zuko then. That his father, who hated so many, still had the ability to lay hands on his beautiful mother and to make her afraid. To look at her as one does a rare orchid, or exotic pet.

Years later, after his grandfather had been cremated and Ursa had disappeared, Zuko stood out in a sudden rainstorm. He felt the impact of the drops but not their warmth. He was soaked, but had felt no absolution of the falling water.

The shower he could feel. The water was like Katara’s fingers, tapping against him in a moment of idle rest. He could breathe here, in the warm, wet air, with the steam curling around his face. With the water hitting the back of his scalp, and running down the lines of his cheeks and nose, he was able to breathe. It was an odd sensation, to take in air that seemed as wet as the rain. The first time he had experienced it, it had taken his breath away.

Zuko remembered when Katara had held back the rain.

He never wanted to explain to her how he found that more impressive than the bloodbending. To her, the bloodbending had been dark and weighty, made more important by the very fact that it was forbidden to speak of it. But bloodbending had seemed almost obvious when Katara had done it. How many poems had he read where shedding blood was likened to an ocean wave, or how lust was the moon that pulled on the tide of a body’s pulse?

Stopping the rain was something else entirely.

Determining the strength of the Bender usually equated to the same thing: how much could they control? That implied a sort of physical limitation to the art, and Earthbenders were assumed to be the proof. The most powerful Earthbenders were impressively muscled and could push against the earth’s rigid desire to stay in one piece, in one place.

Toph’s simple existence threw that out of the window as she had been outlifting people five times her size since she was twelve.

Billions had been poured into research over bending, to see what made it occur and how a Bender became powerful. If it was genetic, or tied to chakras, or a manipulation of chi. If it could be found and quantified, there may be a way to increase it.

Zuko had very quietly created a lab to try and answer those questions. He was ashamed of himself, knowing that he did it mostly to see if his own power could be enhanced.

Azula’s ability had made him feel small, or damaged. Katara made him feel like he was standing in the presence of a god.

He had looked up into the sky that day and it seemed like the rain had frozen for miles upward. It wasn’t until that moment that he felt fear, but a sublime kind of terror that occurs when one succumbs to the will of something greater.

Zuko knew he could never match her skill.

With a sigh, Zuko turned off the shower and stepped out for his towel. He steamed much of the moisture off of his body with his bending, but he too had a weakness for large, fluffy towels.

The table had been set with platters of food. Cut slices of toast were decimated and a small plate of butter had been hacked apart. Bacon and eggs were neatly parted on the same platter, with a spoon jutting haphazardly out of the yellow mound. A ceramic teapot sat next to a shiny metal coffee urn, looking like a tall stern husband with his squat cheerful wife. Cream, sugar, pots of jam stood like beehives, with tiny spoons and sticky pools littering the expanse. At the dining table, five seats were taken. Zuko felt a lump form in his throat.

“Hello. Zuko here.”

The embarrassment attached to this very specific fear came on quickly. As he worried about it, Suki looked up and waved him over.

“Good morning Zuko!” She greeted as he approached the table and dragged out a chair.

“He-y.” He faltered, switching the word mid-stride. Clearing his throat, Zuko tried, and failed, not to make eye contact with the two people that scared him the most in this situation.

“So, just to address the Tigerphant in the room, I do already know.” Aang said as he hefted his mug of coffee. Katara patted Zuko’s hand as he hung his head down and groaned.

“See? Just like ripping off a bandage.” Katara said. Zuko groaned louder and let his head fall onto the tabletop. The others laughed and Toph kicked him under the table.

“Cheer up Zuko, I’m pretty sure everyone at the table has had a crush on you at one point or another.” Toph said. Zuko lifted his head but kept his chin on the table.

“Really?” He asked.

“Not me.” Suki said. She smiled at him as Zuko rolled his head over to look at her. “No offense, you’re just not my type.”

“Look, no one cares about you or your relationships.” Sokka interjected. “Today is about Suki and me.”

Zuko snorted and sat up. Katara passed him a coffee and he lifted it toward Sokka and Suki.

“To two of the greatest people I have ever been blessed to know. May it finally be enough to keep Sokka out of my bed.” He said. The others, laughing, lifted their own mugs and cups.

“Here, here!” They shouted and began leaning over the table to clink their drinks.

“Oh by the way,” Katara said as Zuko sat back and started to drink his coffee. “Chang has said that in repayment of you breaking everything last night, you get to do the honors of clearing the snow.”

“Snow?” Zuko repeated.

“Oh yeah man, it dumped snow last night.” Sokka added. Zuko looked from Sokka back to Katara, trying to look as helpless as possible.

“But you’re a Waterbender.” He said.

“I didn’t explode twenty grand worth of electronics last night.” Katara replied in a saccharine tone.

Zuko sighed and rolled his head back on his neck, looking across the table at Aang.

“You are both a Fire- and Waterbender.” He said. Aang shrugged and took a loud slurp from his mug. After smacking his lips, he set down his mug and smiled back at Zuko.

“You’re dating my ex girlfriend.” He countered.

“Fine.” Zuko said, dragging the word out as he set his shoulders. “But can I at least eat first?”

Aang pushed over the platter of bacon and eggs, using his bending to reheat them enough for steam to start curling in the air. As Zuko started loading his plate, the table resumed their conversations and Katara casually reached over to steal his food.

It was normal, light-hearted, and just enough to almost distract Zuko from the more disturbing theories his mind was putting together about his family. It had been years since Ozai had been defeated and his sister carted off to Ba Sing Se, plenty of time for them to plot.

Zuko sat down with his food and swatted Katara’s hand away. She muttered before leaning over the table and using her fingertips to pull the platter closer to herself. Sokka, without pausing in his conversation with Toph and Aang, very leisurely yanked it back. Zuko smiled and bit into the bacon, making sure to lean away from the group as Katara used her bending to splash Sokka in the face with cold tea. Normal and light-hearted.

Reaching into his pocket, Zuko was momentarily paralyzed when he couldn’t find his phone. Remembering the events of last night, he just sighed and continued eating.

“So Zuko,” Aang started and Zuko looked up. “I hear you were wondering about the new king of Omashu.”

“Yeah,” Zuko paused to swallow and wipe his mouth. “Do you know him?”

“I do. He was in Jiangsu when I was there last year. He’s an interesting guy, name’s Li Jing.” Aang said.

“Who is he, though?” Zuko asked. Aang made a few faces as he thought before sucking air through his teeth and rubbing the back of his head.

“Minor nobility I think? Apparently, he’s like a distant cousin of Kuei’s.” Aang replied.

“So it was just a family favor thing?” Sokka questioned, having mopped all the tea off his face.

“So it’s assumed. The ministers haven’t been able to prove the lineage yet.” Aang answered and Zuko scowled. Katara patted his arm again and he sighed.

“Have you heard about him marrying Azula?” Katara asked.

“He’s doing what now?” Aang said immediately and now Katara sighed.

“So this is news to everyone then.” Toph added.

“It doesn’t make any sense. Azula is still a war criminal right? This would take international approval.” Suki said.

“Technically, the Earth Empire has the most skin in this situation you know?” Sokka replied.

“And the Empire and the Fire Nation are the only ones who can really kick up a proper fuss, if they made a decision between themselves, it’s not like the Water Tribes can do anything about it.” Toph said

“But that would….” Zuko drifted as he poked at his eggs.

“Did your uncle know about this Zuko?” Aang inquired.

“He must’ve. My father doesn’t have the power to do something like this on his own.” Zuko answered, staring down at his plate.

“It’s okay, maybe he thought-” Katara stopped when Zuko wrenched his arm away from her reaching hand.

“Thought what? That I was still tied to Mai and going to suffer through that just so my kid could be the next Fire Lord?” Zuko snapped, glaring at Katara. She, looking more shocked than hurt, only blinked at him.

“I’m going to go clear snow.” Zuko said darkly and pushed himself away from the table.

It had snowed a lot.

Zuko stood without his coat and shivered slightly as he surveyed the area. From the stoop, he could see that the main road had been cleared, but the lane from the bed and breakfast was very much not. A snow shovel was propped next to the door, where someone had cleared the snow off the porch steps by hand.

Using fire for this was actually not ideal. There would be the issue of residual water and the chance that he would burn whatever was hidden underneath, but he had been tasked with the job.

Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to just do the labor.

Rolling up his sleeves, Zuko took up the shovel and started his work.

It took twenty minutes for his muscles to start burning. The accumulated snow was almost a foot deep, and it was a heavy, wet snow. Zuko made a good dent into clearing the lane but took a break to use his firebending to clear the small patches that had turned to slush. Sweat pooled between his shoulders and were making small, tickling trails down his back. Exhaustion was starting to creep into his arms and Zuko shook his hands when he turned to walk back to the porch.

He smiled sheepishly as he took the mug Katara offered.

“I’m sorry.” He said and took a sip of the bitter black tea.

“I forgive you.” Katara said and started to walk down the steps, kissing his cheek as she passed him. Zuko sat down on the steps and watched as Katara, like a maestro at her stand, she raised her hand up. Bringing them back down in a sweep before throwing them to the side, the snow responded and was shoved into its banks. Zuko kept drinking as Katara walked down the lane, bending the snow back as she went. Walking back, Katara got to the snow on top of the porch and swept it off. The snow cascaded down the side in a rush, spraying Zuko with small crystals and scenting the air with an icy crispness.

“Zuko, I don’t know if there’s a plot or not, but we can think of something.” Katara said as she stepped up to sit next to him. Forever practical, no matter how much Zuko hated this one habit, Katara started to pull the sweat from Zuko’s skin and clothing. The act always made him feel weird and left a salty residue he had to wash off anyway.

“What are you talking about?” He said and shifted away from her. Rolling her eyes, Katara only pulled the sweat from his shirt.

“I’m saying that, you know, I’ve never been against having kids.” She replied.

“Kat, we only just started dating.” He said.

“We’ve known each other for years Zuko, it’s not like we’re in a preliminary get-to-know-me stage.” Katara countered.

“That doesn’t mean we need to treat this like it’s endgame.” He said. He finally slapped at Katara’s hands and she left him alone.

“Why not? You don’t assume every relationship is going to end do you?” Katara asked.

“For one thing, I’ve only had one relationship. So.” He swirled his tea and fed some heat into it. “For another, I don’t assume anything about relationships because doing so invariably results in disappointment.”

“What do you want to do then?” She questioned.

“I want,” Zuko bit off the rest of his sentence. He couldn’t drag Katara into his paranoia and risk her getting hurt.

“I do want to get to know you Katara. And I want you by my side for however this all goes down.” He finished.

“Every Agni Kai, I’ll go with you Zuko.” Katara said. Zuko lifted his tea.

“To new relationships.” He said.

“Rising from the ashes of an old one, how appropriate Firebender.” Katara remarked and took his cup to drink from it.

“Are we not still friends?” Zuko asked and took back the tea.

“Semantics.” Katara said and waved him away. “Now take another shower. You stink and the party is about to start.”

The wedding rehearsal was restricted to the actual wedding party. They all travelled together to the pavilion - after Zuko had a second shower - and stood by their cars as Aang and Katara cleared the snow. Other cars soon started to arrive and Zuko sank into his coat. He peered gloomily as Aang and Katara started laughing, throwing snow at each other. Aang always carried himself with what Iroh called a summer breeze. He was light and fun, and usually welcome in most instances. He moved through circumstances with an easy confidence and optimism. To put it simply, he was everything Zuko could never be.

Zuko leaned against a car, turning his head, but not really wanting to interact with anyone. Suki walked off as her Maid of Honor and the mayor, Biyu, emerged from a taxi. Sokka walked over to chat while he waited for another car, hopefully bringing his father and his other groomsman. Zuko had only met the other man once, a quiet fellow named Possum. Sokka had spent some time in the Swamp Tribe and Possum had apparently been an adventurous friend, though his timid disposition made Zuko doubt that.

“It’s a wedding Sparky, don’t look so gloomy.” Toph said as she approached.

“Don’t you have a wedding planner to intimidate?” Zuko replied and stepped away from the car. Toph laughed and crossed her arms over her chest.

“You know that both of us are going to miss things from time to time. We made certain choices that ensures that.” She said.

“This was big though Toph. I should have heard about this. From legitimate channels.”

“You mean through your uncle?”

“He had to have known. There’s no way he couldn’t.”

“No duh. Why do you think he didn’t tell you?”

“I have no idea.” Zuko fidgeted, snapping little flames down into the snow. Each one hit with an identical sizzle, leaving a small crater in the top of the snow. “It’s the only thing that makes me think this isn’t a plot. And that maybe Azula is…” He stopped himself and frowned, still shooting at the snow.

“Maybe that Azula is about to be yoked to some poor politically hungry sap?” Toph finished for him. Zuko sighed and kicked the snow over where he had been shooting.

“I just want her to be happy.” He said.

“Are we still talking about Azula?” Toph asked. Zuko looked over at her.

“Is Katara unhappy?” He questioned in response.

“It’s just weird that you have this soft spot for your sister after literally everything.” Toph said.

“No offense, but I don’t think you can understand. You didn’t have siblings, or even a pet.” Zuko replied.

“I had the badgermoles!” Toph said indignantly. She punched Zuko’s arm and then leaned back on the car, both of them turning to see that most of the wedding party was now engaged in a massive snowball fight.

“But, you know, you guys are my family now.” She said.

“That’s gross.” Zuko retorted and dodged as Toph turned to smack his arm. They both laughed and watched the snow flying for a moment.

“I get what you’re saying though. It’s definitely different considering the fluid swapping.” Zuko said and Toph snorted.

“To found family.” She said and held out a fist.

“To a bunch of weirdos who let me hang around.” Zuko said and bumped his fist against hers.

The rehearsal went smoothly. The wedding planner, whose confidence steps faltered around Toph, moved them all through the ceremony. Biyu walked Suki down the aisle, whispering something to keep Suki laughing. Sokka stood at the front, holding his hands together so tightly in an attempt to keep them from shaking. Zuko mimed handing over the rings, pretending to trip at the last moment. Sokka’s face went white and Zuko nearly burst something from laughter, while Sokka looked like he was about to throw him.

The wedding planner ended up in a chair with her head in her hands.

After the rehearsal ceremony came the rehearsal dinner. They had all gone back into Kyoshi where the central plaza had been swept clean. Temporary canvas pavilions were propped up with rows of long tables underneath. Tall braziers were standing in various places, the fire held inside looking like plasma. The Water Tribe party was already seated, drinking with some of the villagers.

The dinner started out fairly professional. The local cooks brought out small plates for the wedding party to try and approve. Once the menu had been finalized, and more people had shown up, the drinking really started. As the sun began to set, the musicians started playing. Katara took Zuko’s hands and led him to where the dance floor was going to be set. Other groups and couples joined them and they all started moving and laughing together.

Someone at some point let Hakoda in on the changes, and Zuko had caught the man’s eye at one point in the evening.

Hakoda had been an interesting man to interact with. Zuko recalled meeting him for the first time right after the war. He saw the man struggle with a lot of things. Zuko was representative of everything Hakoda had hated; he was Fire Nation, had chased after his children, had fought with them. He was the son of Ozai, the great-grandson of Sozin.

It had been hard, but Hakoda had accepted him as an ally, unable to truly hate him when Zuko wore the badge of his own father’s hate bare on his face. Over the years, the group had drifted, and Zuko hadn’t been much in contact with the leader of the South Pole. However, with the wedding looming and Zuko bankrolling a lot of it, Hakoda now had to deal with the feeling of shame that turned into projected anger.

And so Hakoda watched as his daughter, his heir, a piece of his late wife, laid her head on Zuko’s chest as they moved slowly on the dance floor.

Zuko didn’t know how to tell him that Katara’s love was both a weight around his neck and the only thing that made him feel free. Having her in his arms made him forget about Azula, about plots, and about the future in general. His entire existence was just in this moment, and he couldn’t gather together enough curiousity or desire to think about what would come next.

Hakoda, watching from his seat, lifted a glass of sparkling wine. Zuko gave a quick nod and saw Hakoda sigh, but the other man tossed back his drink and turned away. Zuko looked down at Katara and spun her out, watching her face light up with laughter as she twirled under his arm.

“So what about your destiny?” Zuko asked as he took Katara’s hand and put a hand on her hip.

“What do you mean?” She moved easily with his steps and kept her eyes locked on his.

“After you cure HIV and become the world waterbending champ, aren’t you going to rule the South Pole?” Zuko inquired and Katara chuckled.

“Who knows? The Swamp Tribe is probably going to be the new capital, considering the global market connections and political stability.” She answered.

“Would you be okay being the wife of the disgraced Fire Nation prince?”

“Are you asking?”

Zuko moved them both through a wide turn, dipping Katara and holding her there.

“Not yet.” He replied.

“Then you’ll never know.” She whispered. Zuko pulled her up and Katara took the step in, kissing him in full view of the gathered group.

Perhaps it was even more impressive that she could make his whole world come to a complete standstill.

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merry little christmas

summary: A How the Ghosts Stole Christmas AU: what if Mulder hadn’t been alone for Christmas?

this felt necessary after the evilness of my other htgsc fic. this fic is fairly unangsty; just mulder and scully and various holiday-themed stuff. part of my series that i write as i rewatch the x files.

Two days before Christmas is something of a sad affair at the FBI, at least half the agents in the bullpen having taken off to go visit family. Scully sips coffee under a sad little spring of holly in the breakroom, surveying the empty desks. Someone has set up a little Christmas tree on their desk. It’s the tiniest amount of spirit that counts, she supposes. Down in the basement, there’d usually been nothing in the way of decoration.

“It’s certainly a holly, jolly Christmas in here, huh?” Mulder materializes at her shoulder, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Tis the season,” Scully agrees dryly, taking a sip of the coffee. A year ago, she would’ve been out for the holidays herself, but she would like very much not to think about what happened last year. She’d flat-out refused to go to San Diego, threatening to skip Christmas all together. Her mother had suggested that she be the one to host this year, and Scully had been grateful. But the pressure of family coming to town, the overhanging cloud of Christmas, lingers in her mind like a heavy stone. Christmas has never been the same since she was little, has never been the same since her father and Melissa died. “Do you have any plans for the holidays, Mulder?” she asks him, chipping off a bit of paint on the handle with her fingernail.

“Nah,” he says, reaching around her for the coffee pot.

She blinks in surprise, setting the cup down in the sink. “Really? You’re not even going to visit your mother?” She realizes just then that she has no idea what he does for Christmas; how could they have been partners for over five years without her ever knowing where he goes every December?

“No, the Mulders aren’t big on family gatherings, and my mom doesn’t really celebrate, anyway…” The coffee sloshes its way into the cup. He sets the pot back down. “What about you, Scully? Do you have any big plans?”

She turns on the water, rinsing out the mug. “My brother and his family are coming into town. I’ll be spending the day at my mother’s with all of them… Will you really be alone on Christmas, Mulder?”

He’s shrugging at her. “Sure, why not? I’ve spent enough of them alone.” The casualness in his voice isn’t quite as strong as it should be; it’s strained, just a little.

Scully switches off the water, watching him drink his coffee out of the corner of her eye. An idea springs up in her mind, too tantalizing to push away. “You don’t have to spend it alone, Mulder,” she offers, her voice going quiet at the edges.

He looks up from his mug in surprise, eyebrows raising at her. “What do you mean?” he asks.

“I mean… look, I have a lot of shopping and wrapping to do tomorrow. My nephew is about to turn one, and I’m buying into my mother’s conspiracy to spoil him rotten.” He chuckles a little at that, watching her carefully. She half-shrugs, her shoulders hunched up almost protectively. “You could come along if you wanted,” she offers.

It’s not the most absurd suggestion she’s ever made; they’ve been spending more time together outside of work, anyways. Chasing down X-Files and almost getting fired, or just keeping each other company outside of the long, droning hours of background checks. Outside of the incident with Gibson Praise in the summer, they’ve been companionable. It’s not absurd at all, for her to ask her best friend to spend Christmas Eve with her. But the silence that transpires between them directly after makes her feel like it is. She swallows, waiting for his reply.

“So I’d have to follow you around stores?” Mulder asks finally. “Listen to Christmas carols and be full of holiday cheer?”

She pokes at her cheek with her tongue to keep from grimacing. “Look, if you’d rather not…”

“Oh, no, no. I didn’t say that.” He’s smiling now, teasing, reaches out to nudge her shoulder. “Just wanted to know what I was getting into, Scully. You know. For reference purposes.”

“Oh.” She crosses her arms over her chest in an almost protective manner. “Well. Yes, like I said, I have shopping and wrapping. But we have tomorrow off, so it doesn’t necessarily have to last the entire day…”

Still smiling, he runs his hand down to cup her elbow. “Sounds great, Scully. I think I owe you a few after you repeatedly bailing me out with Kersh.”

“Careful, Mulder,” she says, only half joking. “You've clearly never gone last-minute shopping on Christmas Eve.”

“C’mon, Scully. I've faced down terrorists and aliens living under the ice in Antarctica. How bad can it be?”

---

Pretty damn bad, in fact.

It turns out, as she expected, that having Mulder with her is entirely necessary, if only because checkout lines are worse than rush hour on the 95. The stores are ridiculously busy, packed elbow-to-elbow with all the other last minute shoppers, who have all the ferociousness holiday specials would have you believe. After the first store, Scully is done. Necessity only forces her to come up with the theory of divide and conquer. She digs into her purse and finds an old receipt from a gas station, makes Mulder a very specific list and sends him to the opposite ends of the stores so they can, assumedly, save time. It doesn't help. He looks slightly pissy the entire time, and she's probably doing no better, annoyance building steadily the entire time. “If I hear Silent Night one more time,” she tells him after their last store, her voice as dry as the winter wind, “I'm going to start taking hostages.” He laughs at this, genuinely, the fingers of his bag-free hand coming down to rest at the small of her back.

They do, eventually, get back to her apartment. Scully dumps bags on her kitchen counter and slumps down at her table. Mulder is moving through her kitchen behind her, opening the fridge and poking at the contents. “That was worse than the feral cats, I think,” he comments. “We may have stumbled into an X-File, Scully.”

“I'm sorry, Mulder,” she says wearily, rubbing her forehead with the tips of her fingers. “That probably wasn't any improvement on your holiday.”

“Eggnog?” He shakes the plastic container at her.

She nods without looking. “Bourbon’s in the cabinet.”

“Merry Christmas to us.” The sounds of things shifting in her cabinet, liquid pouring, and then he's handing her a cup. She thanks him, sipping slowly.

He sits down across from her, hands flat on the table. “Wrapping?” he asks, conversationally.

She nods grimly. “Wrapping.”

---

The wrapping actually does go quicker with Mulder's help, even if he wraps like an elementary schooler: sloppy and with too much tape. Oh, well; Matthew won't care. They make their way through half a roll of wrapping paper while A Christmas Carol plays in the background.

“I'm surprised you didn't want to do something like this with your Christmas,” Scully comments as the ghost of Marley visits Scrooge.

Mulder's struggling with a wad of tape stuck to a piece of wrapping paper. “What, you mean being haunted by the ghosts of my past who teach me to be a better person?” He swears as the paint comes up off the wrapping paper with the tape.

“No, that's not what I meant.” She shakes her head, feeling a bit foolish. “I meant… out pursuing some X-File.” He'd spent the Christmas of 1996 on a case that she'd refused to go on for obvious reasons; she'd spent half the holiday on the phone with him, in part worried that he was going to get himself killed and in part not wanting to face the absence of her sister, too large in the room. Onscreen, Marley shakes his chains at Scrooge, and she adds on lamely, “Ghost hunting or something.”

Mulder doesn't look particularly upset. He balls the wrapping paper up, tossing it in a corner. “Actually, I almost did.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Seriously? Ghost hunting on Christmas?”

“Sure, why not? All holidays have their ghost stories, Scully.” He raises his eyebrows suggestively.

“Oh, really.” She crosses her arms. “And what's this story? Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future?”

“Oh, no. It's much more traditional than that. Macabre spirits with a holiday twist.”

“Hmm.” She creases the corner on the side of the box she is wrapping. (A noisy toy that is sure to drive Bill mad.) “All right. Fill me in.”

He grins at her mischievously before rearranging his expression to reflect the story, and beginning in a mysterious tone. “Christmas, 1917. It was a time of dark, dark despair. American soldiers were dying at an ungodly rate in a war-torn Europe while at home, a deadly strain of the flu virus attacked young and old alike. Tragedy was a visitor on every doorstep, while a creeping hopelessness set in with every man, woman and child. It was a time of dark, dark despair.”

“You said that already,” she says, amused, sticking a bow on top of the package on her lap.

“But at 1501 Larkspur Lane in Maryland, for a pair of star-crossed lovers, tragedy came not from war or pestilence, not by the boot heel or the bombardier, but by their own innocent hand.”

He looks to her questioningly, as if unsure if she wants him to go on. “Go on,” she says, finishing with her package and propping her feet up on the table as she sets it aside.

“His name was Maurice. He was a… a brooding but heroic young man, beloved of Lyda, a sublime beauty with a light that seemed to follow her wherever she went. They were likened to two angels descended from heaven whom the gods could not protect from the horrors being visited upon this cold, grey earth.”

Mulder and his flare for the dramatic. She smiles a little to herself, asks, “And what happened to them?”

“Driven by a tragic fear of separation, they forged a lovers' pact, so that they might spend eternity together and not spend one precious Christmas apart.”

Macabre indeed. “They killed themselves?” she asks, surprised.

“And their ghosts haunt their house every Christmas Eve,” Mulder says eerily. She laughs, somewhat amused. “I just gave myself chills,” he says.

“It's a good story, Mulder, and very well told, but I don't believe it,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You don't believe in ghosts?” he asks, shocked, leaning back and putting his feet up beside hers.

Having spent the past six years debunking each and every myth he throws at her, she's surprised at his surprise. “That surprises you?”

“Well… yeah. I thought everyone believed in ghosts.”

Scully rolls her eyes. “Well, I don't.”

“Oh, of course not,” he says haughtily. “You wouldn't believe a ghost if it got right up in your face and showed you how it died.”

She slugs him in the shoulder, amused and annoyed all at once. He makes a face at her, playful, and she smiles back. Onscreen, the Ghost of Christmas Past draws aside Scrooge's bed curtain.

“So why aren't you there?” she asks, poking his foot with hers.

“What?”

“Why didn't you go investigate? A ghost story sounds a lot more up your alley than a shopping apocalypse at your local department store.”

“I didn't want to go alone,” he says.

He's totally playing her, side-eyeing her to see her reaction, and goddamnit, it works. She made him fight off angry Christmas shoppers and wrap presents for her nephew and her brother who hates him, and it's not even nine o’clock yet. Humoring him and going to investigate a certainly-not-haunted house is better than sitting here and letting her own Christmas ghosts creep in.

“Well,” she offers. “Christmas Eve isn't over.”

---

Scully doesn't believe in ghosts. And she isn't sure what transpires over the next few hours at 1501 Larkspur Lane. But she does know that, after crawling in pools of her own blood and walking away completely unscathed, she's much more willing to listen to Mulder's ghost theories. Or perhaps never, ever go to a haunted house again.

---

She drives Mulder home sometime after midnight. They're both mostly silent on the car ride home, which is understandable, all things considered. Being shot by someone or something who looks like your partner is hound to shake anyone up, even if it's happened to you before. She's very much regretting suggesting they go. Mulder's likely regretting suggesting it in the first place.

Besides that, the things that those people—Maurice and Lyda or whoever—said have her nearly as shaken as the part where she thought she was shot. Calling her life small, claiming that her only joy in life is proving Mulder wrong. That Mulder had brought her there so that he'd never have to be alone again. She wanted to argue that she suggested it, that he hadn't tricked her into anything. That he wasn't alone, because he was spending Christmas Eve with her. But maybe he was thinking of when she would go to be with her family tomorrow, and all the Christmases after that he'd spend alone. She swallows, eyes on the road. On the Christmas lights flashing by.

When they get back to Mulder's apartment, she pulls over to the curb and leans back in her seat. Mulder doesn't make a move to get out. “You must be exhausted,” he says quietly. His fingers are hovering near the window, the heat from his skin fogging the glass in tiny starbursts.

“I don't know if I could sleep.” Scully's fingers tangle together in her lap. “Mulder… none of that really happened out there tonight. That was all in our heads, right?”

“I-it must have been,” he says uncertainly.

“Mmm.” She looks up, turning to face him. “Not that my only joy in life is proving you wrong.”

“When have you proved me wrong?” he asks, a little challengingly.

Surprised, she asks hesitantly, “Well, why else would you want me out there with you?”

“You didn't want to be there?” He raises his eyebrows at her, and she reminds herself in the pause that follows that she did suggest it. But he's already backtracking, says, “Oh, that's, um… that's self-righteous and… narcissistic of me to say, isn't it?”

“No, I mean…” She licks her lower lip, considering. “I did want to be out there with you.” Maybe not in the sense of getting-shot-in-a-haunted-house, but with him. She did want to be with him.

They are quiet in the following moments. Mulder smiles a little, looking down at his lap. “Now, um… I know we said that we weren't going to exchange gifts but, uh… I got you… a little something,” he says to his lap. “It's upstairs.”

She's filled with a sudden rush of affection, one of the fleeting urges to kiss him that come and go. “Mulder…” she says, voice soft, touched.

He looks up to meet her eyes, smiling at her. “Merry Christmas.”

She turns in her seat, reaching into the back and grabbing the package she'd wrapped for him from the floorboard, the one she'd hidden under an old coat all day. “Well, I got you a little something, too,” she says, passing it to him.

He laughs a little, taking the package and shaking it a little. She laughs a little, too, caught up in the kid-like joy of Christmas. They are not shot, they are not trapped in a haunted house for all eternity, and they are not alone.

“Want to, uh… to go upstairs?” Mulder offers uncertainly, scraping his teeth over his lower lip.

It's just past midnight, and she really, really isn't tired. And she'd like to stop reliving their ordeal inside the house, and she knows if she has to go home alone that she won't be able to not think about that. “Sure,” she says, switching off the car. “I believe you owe me a present.”

---

After they open their presents, she makes no move to leave. She burrows into the corner of the couch, leather warm against her skin. Mulder has flipped on the TV in the background, and it's some Christmas movie, of course, the soundtrack unsettling to her ears. He shoves aside wrapping paper and reaches out to touch her ankle. “Hey, Scully,” he whispers. “You look like you're about to fall asleep.”

Her eyelids are drooping in a way that is very indicative of her sleepiness, and she doesn't actually care. “Hmm,” she mumbles, motioning towards the window. “Is that snow?”

The thunderstorm has turned to white, snowflakes fluttering down outside his grimy window. “Yeah, I guess it is,” Mulder says, rubbing his thumb in circles around her ankle.

She nestles further into the couch, crossing her arms over her stomach. “Roads’ll be terrible. Can't drive now. Too sleepy.”

“What about your family? Don't you have to go see them in a few hours?”

“Mmm, I need sleep first.” Her eyes are all the way closed now. Someone is singing a Christmas carol onscreen, their voice cheerful, and it makes her feel almost happy.

“Thought you weren't tired,” Mulder says from somewhere above her, teasing.

“I changed my mind,” she says firmly. “Now let me get some sleep.”

“Okay.” He pushes hair back from her face, and she can suddenly feel him leaning over her, pressing his mouth briefly to her forehead. She shivers, eyes still closed. “Merry Christmas, Scully,” he whispers, and it's what Mulder said after he shot her (except it wasn't Mulder, she thinks, and she has no idea what the hell happened), but it sounds different this time. Not ominous. Just sweet, like he's happy to be with her.

“Merry Christmas, Mulder,” she mumbles, everything inside her heavy with exhaustion. She's not awake, not really.

She thinks he sits beside her,  leaning back into the couch. She think she might move towards him. Because it's cold. She thinks he puts an arm around her, drawing her into his side so that her face lands pressed against his shoulder. She thinks she falls asleep.