#I fell asleep during the end of pearls stream but i loved watching it

[raindropren]

nvm guys I thought I wouldn't do this but I guess it's time to watch every pearl fantasy smp vod. but also I guess the first time pearl is in sausages fantasysmp vods. or find the clip. oh goodness i am-

Fantasy smp how i luv u :3

[kettlewrites]

composure — bc

summary: in sickness and in health, til death do us part but what if it wasn’t death in particular that set you two away? [2.4ishK words]

warning: major angst, female reader (sorry!), age up chan (maybe like late twenties, just know he isn’t twenty-two), miscarriage, profanity, sad chan sitting in the darkness of his office crying, vic is sad and sorry for this, happy ending i promise, no proofreading/caps like always!

everyone thought that the two of you had moved too quickly with your relationship. only being together for a couple of years before getting married and moving to the other side of town to settle down in each others arms. although you always disagreed because what did other people know about your love.

that love that had consumed the two of you and had blinded each other from the other’s flaws. everything was perfect as long as at the end of the night you held each other close and whispered sweet nothings before falling asleep being tangled in each others arms. and that’s how it was for at least a year into your marriage life with bang chan.

the domestic home life was everything you could ever wanted. the early morning laughs with each other when the other would get up for work or the late night dinner-movie sessions on the weekends when you two could finally wind down and relax. not to mention the way chan was so utterly in love with you and gentle whenever it came to the time that it was needed. you had scored the jackpot with him as he believed he had done the same with you. it was you and chan against the world, your love being the shield from the evil monsters that the universe had thrown at you.

this monster, however, was too strong and was completely tearing down the shield that you thought could protect the two of you from anything.

it had started on spring morning. the cherry blossoms were starting to bloom and the bees were buzzing around the sky to do their jobs. you had woken up to an empty bed, something that was common on tuesdays as chan had to take an especially early train to get to work on time. you had another hour before you needed to get up for your own shift, but something in your stomach make you launch yourself towards the toilet.

you had puked up your entire dinner the previous night, leaving yourself feel completely drained and weakened. you continued to think about what could’ve made you this nauseous. it wasn’t the food because chan would’ve been just as sick nor were you feeling feverish. then it had hit you when you curled over the pearl white bowl emptying what felt like nothing left in your stomach what it had been.

two weeks had past before you told chan. your hands were shaking uncontrollably as your face went pale when you sat across from him at the dining table. you still hadn’t found a way to tell to tell chan about that stupid stick that you were hiding behind your back. there were tears pooling in your eyes as chan sat there completely worried at you were going to say.

“what is it baby?” his voice was soft, he reached out his hand for you but pulled back once he realized you were going to reach for him.

you closed your eyes and took another deep breath, the tears that had pooled in your eyes fell down onto the glass surface. everything from your lack of composure made chan fear for the worse.

“i…” you had already talked to him about it, during the winter where the two of you were curled on the couch christmas night. he had given your his opinion on it, all in good terms if it had ever come to that point. he wanted it, but why were you still too scared to tell him?

was it the fact that it was proving everyones theory to be correct? that the two of you had been moving quite speedily in your lives at such a young age or was it the fact that you were unsure if the two of you were actually as ready as you said you were. no one’s ever as ready as they say they are, no one can ever be fully ready for any situation in a world with endless possibilities.

another stream of tears rolls down your redden cheeks as a soft sniffle escapes your lips.

“i’m pregnant.” and you felt your entire world come crashing down onto you as you placed the test on the table.

chan embraced you with the biggest smile on his face, his eyes upturning as his dimple was shining at the corner of his lips. he was over the moon and cried when he saw those faint two little lines on the plastic stick.

“why were you sad love?” he asks, his arms wrapped around you as you both sat on the couch, “it’s not like you knew i didn’t want one, we talked about it during christmas.”

“you remember?”

“it never left my thoughts,” he smiles, “just to know that we could have a little us running around.”

and that’s when you knew that everyone was completely wrong because whatever speed you both were going was the perfect speed for you.

he had accompanied you to the first doctors visit where they had confirmed that there was definitely something growing inside of you and that you were still on the earlier side of the things. when the doctor had offered to let the two of you listen to the faint heartbeat, chan had said yes in an instant crying when he heard the little thumps.

you were eight weeks in, a heartbeat and a crying husband at your side and somehow you were content with this. the next couple of weeks were spent making sure you were taking your vitamins and keeping in check with the app that chan had downloaded for you to track the timeline of your pregnancy. with every morning him kissing your cheek before work and every night kissing your swelling stomach before tangling his arms around you and drifting to sleep.

then you were done with your first trimester with just only a little louder heartbeat and a still crying husband who was telling his parents and friends about how his little angel probably had his nose and little dimples. you had been wary to tell people so early on but chan was persistent on at least telling his parents, so you have obliged.

“we’re so excited!” it was the only thing you had heard for the next week as word had spread fast. han jisung didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut and told your entire circle of friends even if there were only about ten of you.

as you passed sixteen weeks, you had built up a shield so strong with chan that you believed nothing could make it come crashing down. you had found it would be a girl, who would definitely be loved by chan with his entire heart, during your sixteenth week appointment. everything was fine. at the time you had believed that everything would be just fine as you entered the safe zone. oh how were you so naive.

it was close to the end of july, you were sitting on the couch with a small bowl of popcorn as you watched old reruns of a variety show you didn’t really get but there was nothing else on this late at night. chan had been running late at the office and you were just waiting for him to bring you back something you had been craving. you heard his rattling with the doorknob and felt your heart melt with he greeted you with a smile wrapped around his tired face.

“honey,” he coos with the bag of donuts in his hand, “i’m home.”

you greeted him back with a hello and took his kiss along with the donuts with a happy heart. nothing could take your smile from your face right?

you were seventeen weeks in, laying on the cold emergency room stretcher with tears in your eyes and your husband holding your hand tightly whispered that everything was okay on a loop. a weekend full of coming in and out of your doctors office because of some uncommon things you had noticed before you had found yourself laying right here in the hospital at four am. you closed your eyes as you listened around to the other patients in the room, your anxiety lacing itself on every part of your body.

you listened to the machines beeping with the doctors talking over their interns about the diagnosis of their patients. you had been holding your sobs as you didn’t want to be completely vulnerable on the stretcher. you had been here for an hour now, waiting for the doctors to come back with the test results.

and all you could think about was the shield you were holding up to help fight down this monster, but the longer it took for the doctor to come back the more you had felt that this might’ve been a battle you couldn’t win.

“i’m sorry.” it played in your head over and over again.

chan had driven you home after you scheduled the surgery with your doctor. the car ride was silent, it hadn’t been like this in the years that you both had been together. the only thing that could be heard was your silent sobs and chan’s occasional sniffle as he tried his best to keep his composure from breaking down.

a week had past, you were sore from the surgery but otherwise your doctor had said you were physically recovering fine. your heart, on the other hand, was not. you continued to beat yourself up and blamed yourself for everything.

“no one knows what could’ve done this.” chan tried to reassure you after the doctors gave you mindless answers of why or what or when or where or how.

and you snapped. not out of anger but instead out of frustration and grieve that you had snapped because you didn’t know how to deal with this pain that was consuming your entire body. when you snapped was when chan had lost it too.

your first real fight with your husband. you cried and screamed to the point that the home felt like it shook and you could hear you heart breaking into more pieces.

you didn’t speak to each other for the rest of that week. chan would sleep on the couch as you locked him out of the bedroom and he’d leave before you were up so you wouldn’t have to look at him. all you could do was cry even if you felt like there was no tears left in your body.

a week became two before becoming three, then you found yourself in a routine at where you hadn’t spoken to chan in a month. even if you did, it turned into bickering at the smallest things like if he left the trash bin open or you didn’t wash a cup you had left in the sink.

and you had to begin to think that this was it. the last straw that was pulled that caused the vows that were said to be completely broken. you were sitting on the kitchen counter, tears rushing down your face as you stared at the ultrasound pictures that were taped to the fridge because the two of you were too cheap to buy magnets. you stared at the note that chan had written to the baby the day after your first check up.

‘be healthy, mom and dad love you.’

that’s when you had lost it completely, finally realizing that you had made a mistake in avoiding him for so long. you made your way to his office, hearing the somber music being played on the speakers you had gotten him during valentines day, hesitating as your hand hovered over the door handle. you softly opened the door, seeing your husband being taken by the darkness of his office.

his face being lit by his computer screen and the lamp that was turned to face the wall. you could hear his muffed sobs as he stared at the scan of the ultrasound pictures as he continuously asked the screen why as if it would answer back to him.

“chan..” you called out for him softly, afraid of how he’d react of you snooping on him.

chan rushes to wipe his tears away, unknowing that you had already been watching him cry over the last few minutes, and turned to face you.

“yeah?”

you reach to turn on the lights before leaning against the door frame, a saddened expression on your face. everything about your body language was reflected with his, the both of you were suffering without each other.

“we should talk about this.” you mumble, your heart beginning to speed up as you felt the anxious feeling start to take over, “i’m sorry for continuously snapping at you chan.”

his expression softens and that same smile that you had fall in love with all those years ago wrapped onto his lips, “thank god i thought you wanted to… end us. i was so scared of losing you too.”

you don’t know what caused you to start crying at that very moment, the fact that chan thought you wanted to divorce or the fact that you both had come to that point where it was in the air. within an instant, he quickly wraps his arms around you to help you calm down saying that he was sorry for even bringing it up. it took around a minute for you to stop sobbing into his chest and another minute to the point where you both were sitting in his swivel chair.

“there was nothing you could do you know.” he finally says, his breath against the crook of your neck, “but we can always try again because we’re still young and we have so much time.”

“i know.” you whisper, listening to the sound of his heartbeat which reminds you of the time he cried listening to the baby’s.

“we’ll get through this,” he laughs, “we always get through it together.”

you lift your head to look at him, that same smile made you reflect one to him.

“god you know that i love you right?” he says before pressing a kiss against your forehead

“i love you too channie.”

and even if the world was a horrible place, full of monsters that will always continue to break down your shield. you had the love of your life there to help build it back up. because like it always had been, it was chan and you against the universe and you both were always ready to get that little ’us’ whenever time was ready.

[redditnosleep]

The Little Melting Girl

by CynicHappy

When I was eight years old, I was badly burnt in a car fire. My single mother had been driving me to school when she lost control of her Toyota Camry on the icy January road and went crashing into a ditch. The car caught fire, and Mum managed to drag me out, but the damage had already been done. I had sustained second to third-degree burns on fifty percent of my body; my limbs had gotten the worst of it. Mum herself was unharmed, save for bruising on her ribs and a cut across her nose.

I spent the next four months in the burn unit at British Columbia Children's Hospital, and the place quickly became a second home. Doctors worked tirelessly to save me. I underwent a total of fifty operations, including skin grafts and the amputation of all five fingers on each hand. I had an endless stream of visitors, but rarely was my mother among them.

One morning, about a week into my hospital stay, my dad stopped by with a bouquet of colourful tulips and a blue balloon. His girlfriend, Jenny, came with him. Dad had been divorced from Mum for two years, but it had been an amicable split, and he was still very much involved in my life.

"Daddy, why doesn't Mummy come see me?" I asked. My words were garbled, given I could barely move my burned lips, but Dad seemed to understand.

"Oh, honey." He sighed, ruffling what was left of my charred hair. "Mummy loves you, more than anyone else in the world. That's why she doesn't come by very often; it hurts her to see you hurt."

"But I miss her."

"She misses you too, honey. But Mummy... well, Mummy has some problems. It's difficult for a girl your age to understand."

"Is she sick?"

"No, no, honey," Jenny piped up. She bent down and kissed my bandaged cheek. "Just... well, like your daddy said, it's hard to explain."

I knew, even back then, that Mum wasn't quite right in the head. I believe that's why Dad left her, but he still cared about her a great deal; not once since the divorce had I heard him say a single negative word about her.

"Will Mummy get better?" I asked.

"She might never be quite 'normal', Julia. But she'll get better. She will always be your mummy."

I never resented my mother for her absence. I guess I was a lot more understanding than most kids my age. Besides, Mum more than made up for it, sending me care packages and letters saying how much she loved me. She promised to throw me a party when I came home, complete with cake and dancing.

I believe it was Mum's love that got me through the pain.

After four long months, I was finally allowed to go home. My burns were still healing, leaving me with tight, warped skin that itched and throbbed every minute of the day. My hands had been reduced to bulbous stumps at the end of each arm, I was stuck in a wheelchair, and had to wear compression garments to reduce scarring. Still, I was home, and that made it all worth it.

As promised, Mum threw me a party. Family, friends, and neighbours all came to celebrate my recovery. I couldn't dance, but I had a great time anyway. Mum kept kissing me and telling me how much she loved me. "Julia, you are a fighter. I am so proud of you."

She smiled, her blue eyes glittering, but I had noticed the blue half-moons beneath them, as well as her hollowed-out cheekbones and threads of silver woven into her shiny auburn hair. She was still so beautiful, but looked older than her thirty-five years.

That night, I woke up in pain, my skin itching as if I had fire ants crawling all over me, a deep phantom ache in my amputated fingers. I opened my mouth to call out for Mum, but the compression mask on my face and the taught skin beneath made moving my lips painful. I tried to sit up, but it hurt too much. A whimper escaped me, and salty tears rolled down my cheeks.

Then I sensed a presence, something watching me from a dark corner. It didn't feel malevolent, but it made my spine tingle. Glancing nervously over my shoulder, I was shocked to see a dark figure standing in a corner, motionless save for the gentle rise and fall of their chest as they breathed.

Quickly, before I could lose my nerve, I reached over and switched on my bedside lamp. A weak yellow glow broke through the shadows, and there was a sharp intake of breath as the figure shrank back at the light.

It was a little girl, no older than myself. She wore a yellow T-shirt and flowery pink shorts. She was grotesquely deformed. Her flesh appeared to be melting off her body, hanging in heavy folds and bags. It was blackened in areas, pink and raw in others. She was completely bald, and not only that, but her scalp had been charred away, revealing a pearl-white skull beneath. Her eyes were impossibly large, lacking eyelids, and had such heavy cataracts her pupil were invisible. Her arms were shrivelled and curled up grotesquely at her sides. But the worst part was her mouth. Her lower jaw hung down at an impossible angle, and seemed to have fused to her chest, leaving her face in a permanent scream.

I nearly screamed myself. I had never seen anything so horrible, and it scared me shitless. But before I could make a sound, the girl raised a shrivelled hand and brought it to her gaping mouth, as if trying to shush me. I shrunk back against the headboard, shaking, as this mysterious apparition approached me. It appeared she was trying to speak, but her frozen jaw made that physically impossible. She placed her hand on my shoulder, and when I forced myself to look into her eyes, I saw compassion. I saw love.

"Who are you?" I whimpered.

She gently pushed me back into a reclining position, tucked the covers around my scarred, wounded body, and smoothed back my hair. Then she turned and walked silently out of the room, leaving the door open just a crack.

I was shaken. But the pain was gone, replaced by the pleasant sensation of being bathed in warm water. Somehow, despite my fear, I fell asleep.

I never told Mum what I'd seen. She was already so shaken up over my accident, and I didn't want to give her more to worry about. But I couldn't stop thinking about the little melting girl, and part of me wanted to see her again.

Days later, I returned to school. My friends were all delighted to have me back, but many kids avoided me, and some were downright mean. I was still learning how to perform everyday tasks without fingers, which only added a new layer of challenges to the adjustment. During this time, Mum seemed somewhat out of touch with reality. I often caught her staring into space or humming to herself. Sometimes, she would look at me and cry. Dad and Jenny came over a lot to help, and Dad tried talking Mum into seeing a therapist, but she always refused.

Three years passed, and I made remarkable progress. I began walking again, and my burns healed better than my doctors expected. Mum met a wonderful man named David, and they got married when I was eleven. I now had a stepfather and stepsister, and adored them both. By then, I had mostly forgotten about the little melting girl.

Around that time, I was entering puberty, which can cripple the self-esteem of even the most beautiful girls. As well as my injuries had healed, I still had a lot of scarring, and was missing my left breast. My appearance made me a prime target for bullying. One day, when I was walking home from school, a group of older girls followed me home and threw rocks at me. I ran into the house, crying, and shut myself in my room.

I sobbed for over an hour, feeling like a total freak, hideous and unlovable. As I lay on my bed, face buried in a pillow, I felt a hand smooth back my hair.

Mum and David were still at work, and my sister Ava was at band practice. Alarmed, I rolled over and met her cloudy gaze.

The melting girl. She still wore the same outfit, and hadn't aged a bit. Her appearance wasn't nearly as shocking the second time around, but I couldn't stifle a frightened squeal.

"It's you," I gasped.

She nodded, before reaching into the pocket of her shorts and removing a tissue. I sniffled and blew my nose. "What are you doing here?"

The melting girl walked over to my desk and scribbled something on a sheet of notebook paper. She held it up so that I could read: Kids can be cruel, it said.

"I'm so ugly," I whimpered. "I'm a monster."

She shook her head, then jotted down a second note: A few scars mean nothing. You've got beautiful blue eyes, gorgeous, shiny golden hair, and the perfect bone structure. You are amazing.

I suddenly felt pretty shitty for sobbing over my own deformities to this girl who barely looked human anymore. "Are you just saying that to make me feel better?"

She shook her head, then placed her hand over her heart. I didn't know what that meant, but I guessed it must be a sign of her sincerity.

"Who are you?" I demanded. "Are you a ghost?"

Once again, she left my room without a word. I tried chasing after her, but she was gone.

After searching the house top to bottom, I figured she must be a ghost, and that she had died in the fire that warped her appearance. But who was she? What had happened? Why did only I see her?

This time, I told Mum. I left out most details, but stated I believed a little ghost girl was haunting our house. She went whiter than the moon, and her eyes grew shimmery with tears, but she forced a laugh and said, "Oh, Julia. Such an imagination."

She seemed so upset that I didn't dare press the matter. But the following day, after school, I made a surprise visit to Dad and Jenny's place.

"Julia, hi!" Jenny greeted me at the door, her two-year-old baby girl on her hip. "What a pleasant surprise!"

"Is my dad home?"

"Yes, he's in his office. I'll go get him." Dad worked from home as a graphic designer, and often became so engrossed in his work he forgot to eat. But I knew he would want to see me.

After catching up over iced tea, I told Dad I wanted to ask him a question about Mum. I reminded him that I was almost twelve years old and had a right to know, and that he had to be honest with me.

"Okay, Julia. I'll do my best. What is it?"

"What happened in Mum's past?" I asked him. "Why is she so... strange sometimes?"

Dad hesitated, biting his lip, and I lost my temper.

"Tell me, dammit!" I snapped.

"Julia! Calm down." Jenny put a steadying hand on my shoulder. Dad flushed and rubbed his temples. "Baby, I'm sorry," he said. "I'll tell you everything I know, okay?"

"Okay." I took a deep breath. "Okay."

Dad poured himself more iced tea and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Even I don't know a whole lot about it. When I met your mother, she was an orphan at twenty-one, and claimed not to have anyone except her grandmother. It wasn't until a whole year into our relationship that she finally confessed there had been a terrible accident in her childhood. She refused to elaborate."

I sank back against the couch cushion, defeated. "So you don't know either?"

"No. I'm sorry, honey."

"Would she tell me if I asked her?"

"I don't think that's a good idea, Julia," said Dad. Jenny, sitting next to me on the couch, nodded.

I left their house in a frustrated daze, feeling even more confused than before. The mystery of Mum and the little melting girl was like a constant itch that couldn't be scratched, and the idea that I might never get any answers infuriated me.

This time, five years passed before I saw her again. At sixteen, I my confidence had improved. I had friends, good grades, and a serious boyfriend who accepted me as I was, scars and all. That said, I still had to deal with bullies on a regular basis. But now, I could stand up for myself.

One day, at lunch, my friends and I were discussing the upcoming school dance and what we would wear. Rachel Newton, one of the resident mean girls, sneered at me as she and her friends walked by. "You better not wear anything too short, Crispy. Nobody wants to look at your ugly legs."

"Leave her alone, Rachel." My friend Clara stood up, hands on her hips.

"What? Don't pretend it isn't true."

"You're such a bitch, Rachel," I snapped. "Ever considered seeking professional help?"

She scowled. "Ever considered plastic surgery? It would make looking at you so much easier."

I punched her in the nose. She began screaming as if I'd just gutted her with a butcher knife, alerting a teacher. She sent me to the principal's office, and while Mrs. Radcliffe was sympathetic, she wouldn't let me off the hook.

"Striking another student is against the rules, Julia. I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to punish you."

She then told me I would have to clean up the football field every day after school for a week. I understood that I'd been in the wrong to hit Rachel, but I was still pissed. That afternoon, the sky filled with dark grey clouds, matching my mood. As I toiled away, picking up garbage and stuffing it into a large plastic bag, Rachel and her little posse approached me.

"Julia, you bitch!" Rachel's nose was purple and swollen, dried blood crusting her nostrils. "Look what you did to me!"

"Aw, you upset over losing your precious modelling career?" I taunted. Rachel's eyes flashed dangerously, and she lunged at me, knocking me to the soggy grass.

"Rachel!" one of her friends yelled. "Back off!"

I rolled onto my belly and tried to push myself into a kneeling position, but Rachel kicked me in the ribs, knocking me down again.

"I don't think picking up garbage is punishment enough, Crispy." Rachel brought her foot down on my back, pinning me in place. "What do you think, girls?"

"Hell yeah!"

"Get her, Rachel!"

"Stop it! She's had enough."

I began thrashing beneath Rachel's foot, trying to throw off her balance. Dirt filled my mouth. My spine felt seconds away from snapping. I sensed Rachel's fury, her intent on hurting me.

She stooped down and grabbed a handful of my hair, wrenching my head back, and raised her fist, ready to land a punch. I was alone, at this girl's mercy, and I couldn't fight back.

"Help," I whispered.

Rachel's grip suddenly fell away. She staggered back, her eyes the size of dinner plates, mouth hanging open. Her friends looked equally stunned.

"Oh, my God. What is that?"

I followed her appalled gaze to a melted, deformed figure standing twenty feet away. The little melting girl's cloudy eyes were blazing with anger, and her blackened fists kept clenching and unclenching. I was so overjoyed I wanted to cry.

"What the fuck?" Rachel shrieked again. "Who is that?"

The girl let out an enraged scream and charged like a raging bull.

My tormenters took off into the mist, shrieking like banshees. The girl walked over and helped me to my feet.

"Thank you," I breathed.

In her eyes, I saw her words: Let's go home.

She held my hand until we were a block away from the house. Then she hugged me and walked away.

This time, I told Mum everything. When I described the girl's appearance, she burst into tears.

"Oh, God... oh, my God... Julia..." she sobbed.

"Mum! What is it?"

She pulled me into a crushing hug, her chest heaving as she fought for air. "That girl... she's my sister."

I was frozen. "What?"

Mum wiped her eyes. "Oh, honey... I guess I can't hold back any longer."

Finally, after sixteen years, I got to know my mother.

She grew up on a farm in Saskatchewan, with her twin sister, Sarah, and their parents. They lived a happy life until an arsonist set the barn on fire. The girls were inside at the time. In a frantic attempt to escape, Sarah fell and broke her leg. Mum ran to get help, but by then, it was too late. The fire had spread out of control, and Sarah couldn't be saved.

The fire completely broke Mum. She didn't speak for almost a year, and four years later, her parents were killed in a car accident. Mum never recovered emotionally. To this day, I can only imagine what she went through.

"When you got hurt... it brought back so many terrible memories. I couldn't face it. I was a coward, Julia. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be." I kissed her cheek. "You're the best mother, and I love you."

She wiped her nose. "I've seen Sarah a few times since she died, but I convinced myself I was dreaming. But it seems she's been watching over you too."

"Like a guardian angel?"

"She is a guardian angel."

That night, I prayed for the first time in years and thanked God for sending down Sarah.

Twenty-one years have passed since that day. I have a successful career; I'm married; I have children. I still see Sarah every now and then, but I don't need her protection so much anymore. I've grown strong and confident. I've come a long way.

I can't explain Sarah's presence in my life, and I guess I don't need to. I'm just so thankful to have her around. She's been there for me during my darkest hours, protected me from a cruel world when I was at my most vulnerable.

My only regret is that Sarah, unlike me, never got a second chance at life.

[contrivedcoincidences6]

Post-it Poems

@pickingoutchinapatterns

So I fully intend to do one story that includes all of these words but I thought of this idea and couldn’t resist. Enjoy this beautiful sappyness.  (edited by @alittlemissfit of course)

As Scully packed up the apartment that she’d barely made herself at home in, she found herself distracted by things she’d either hidden away when she moved in or that she’d gotten from her mother’s house.

She would find keepsakes from when she was a kid or old pictures of her siblings. She would find old case files that she’d chosen to keep for one reason or another. But she hadn’t taken a pause in her work until finding a simple wooden box. One that held quite a few memories.

Running her hand over the lid she wondered if she wanted to open it. The small cedar box held old notes from Mulder. Poems that he’d given to her over the years, written out in his messy scrawl on post it notes. The tradition started when she was dying of cancer and continued for most of their life together.

Scully rifled around through the post-its and found the first one he'd given her. It wasn’t dated or signed but she knew it was the first from the moment she saw it. She’d found it sticking to her nightstand one day after a nap.

The note read:

Ah, love, let us be true To one another! for the world which seems To lie before us like a land of dreams, So various, so beautiful, so new, Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain; And we are here as on a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, Where ignorant armies clash by night. - Matthew Arnold

At the time it made her cry, hold tight to her pillow to soak up her tears. When Mulder came back later that night she kissed him, was grateful she still had the strength to hold him. She’d run her hands under his shirt, down to the sizable bulge in his pants. He’d taken her hands and held them between them before she asked him to make love to her, convinced it would be their last chance. Every day she’d felt weaker and weaker and when he looked into her eyes he’d been unable to pull away. They moved slowly together on the hospital bed in the dark room and she'd tried to hold on to every moment. Wanting to remember each detail during the pain to come. When she recovered they didn’t discuss it. He would occasionally kiss her on the cheek or forehead, say something that made her smile or melt, but they steered clear of heavy discussions, talking about things like love.

Searching for the next note Scully found it sticking to the bottom of the box. After Emily had died she closed herself off, from Mulder, from her mother, from everything. And he let her, until one day a few weeks later she found a post-it on the window of her car after work. The sad words read:

Tread lightly, she is near Under the snow, Speak gently, she can hear The daisies grow.

All her bright golden hair Tarnished with rust, She that was young and fair Fallen to dust.

Peace, Peace, she cannot hear Lyre or sonnet, All my life's buried here, Heap earth upon it. - Oscar Wilde I’m here when you’re ready- M

She cried after reading it, cried like she wanted to at the funeral. Before she knew what she was doing her car was in front of Mulder’s building. She didn’t have a plan but walked up to his apartment and when he opened the door she flung herself into his arms. He held her until she fell asleep, and in the morning she left before he woke. Again, they didn’t discuss it.

Remembering all the words unsaid, she came upon another note in the box. This one she’d found in her briefcase after she’d rescued him from the Bermuda Triangle. When he was lying in the hospital he’d told her he loved her. She had tried to take it with a grain of salt but at night she’d find the words echoing in her mind, seeping into her dreams. After he was released from the hospital she found the note. It had read:

S, I meant what I said- I have been here before,   But when or how I cannot tell: I know the grass beyond the door,   The sweet keen smell, The sighing sound, the lights around the shore.

You have been mine before,—   How long ago I may not know: But just when at that swallow's soar   Your neck turned so, Some veil did fall,—I knew it all of yore.

Has this been thus before?   And shall not thus time's eddying flight Still with our lives our love restore   In death's despite, And day and night yield one delight once more? - Dante Gabriel Rossetti

That time there was no rushing over to see him. She had worked up the nerve to bring it up one day until she saw him standing close to Agent Fowley in the hallway, having a hushed conversation. She'd tucked the note away and felt like a damn fool for a long time after.

She didn't open up to Mulder again until after his brain surgery, and shortly after received another tender note. It had been inside a file folder holding their latest X-file, one that had come across her small desk. The poem was scrawled on the front and back of the post-it note.

To Scully- There is a lady sweet and kind, Was never face so pleas'd my mind; I did but see her passing by, And yet I love her till I die.

Her gesture, motion, and her smiles, Her wit, her voice, my heart beguiles, Beguiles my heart, I know not why, And yet I love her till I die.

Her free behaviour, winning looks, Will make a lawyer burn his books; I touch'd her not, alas! not I, And yet I love her till I die.

Had I her fast betwixt mine arms, Judge you that think such sports were harms, Were't any harm? no, no, fie, fie, For I will love her till I die.

Should I remain confined there So long as Phœbus in his sphere, I to request, she to deny, Yet would I love her till I die.

Cupid is winged and doth range, Her country so my love doth change: But change she earth, or change she sky, Yet will I love her till I die. - Thomas Ford

The words filled her but she didn’t go to him. Instead Mulder came to her. As she sat on her couch reading the note for the fifth time, he knocked on her door.

She opened the door and they simply looked at each other for a moment before she moved forward. Taking his face in her hands she kissed him, practically devoured him. They wound up stumbling into her apartment and into her bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes behind.

That night he spoke poetry aloud to her, and the next morning she pulled open the top drawer of her nightstand, showed him each of the notes he’d given her before handing him a pen and a stack of post it's.

She asked him to write the one he’d just recited while pillowed on his chest, cuddled close to him and reveling in the afterglow.

Pulling that note out from the box she smiled, recalled the husky tone his voice took on as he spoke the words, kissed and nipped at her breasts.

Have you beheld (with much delight) A red rose peeping through a white? Or else a cherry (double graced) Within a lily? Centre placed? Or ever marked the pretty beam, A strawberry shows, half drowned in cream? Or seen rich rubies blushing through A pure smooth pearl, and orient too? So like to this, nay all the rest, Is each neat niplet of her breast. - Ovid

At the time she’d laughed in delight at the mischievous look in his eyes. He rolled her nipples between his fingers while reciting it by memory and she praised him for efficient multitasking.

Reaching for the next poem, she was overcome with the sadness she’d felt back when she first read it. Mulder had left it for her the morning he left, three days after William was born. It was stuck on the top of the pile of post-its that still sat in her drawer, but it had taken her a week to find it. When she had she'd held it tight to her chest and cried. The tear stained paper read:

I’m sorry that I have to leave. I love you. -M How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of every day's Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love with a passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death. - Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Scully felt the tears gathering in her eyes but blinked them back. Kept sifting through the other notes in the box: From time to time she’d find them in her office at the hospital or hidden in her suitcases when they were on the run. She kept the box all these years and she'd kept them all.

Not hearing the door open she was startled when Mulder’s arms wrapped around her, circled her waist.

“Whatcha doing?” he asked, laying a kiss on the top of her head.

“Your post-it poems,” she answered, leaning back into his chest as he looked at her in surprise.

“You kept all of those?”

Putting the box down she turned in his arms. Laying her hands flat on his chest she smiled, looked up into his eyes.

“Of course I did. Every single one.”

His eyes watering Mulder pressed his lips to her forehead. Pulled away after a beat  just enough to speak.

“Now that I have your face by heart, I look Less at its features than its darkening frame Where quince and melon, yellow as young flame, Lie with quilled dahlias and the shepherd's crook. Beyond, a garden. There, in insolent ease The lead and marble figures watch the show Of yet another summer loath to go Although the scythes hang in the apple trees.

Now that I have your face by heart, I look.

Now that I have your voice by heart, I read In the black chords upon a dulling page Music that is not meant for music's cage, Whose emblems mix with words that shake and bleed. The staves are shuttled over with a stark Unprinted silence. In a double dream I must spell out the storm, the running stream. The beat's too swift. The notes shift in the dark.

Now that I have your voice by heart, I read.

Now that I have your heart by heart, I see The wharves with their great ships and architraves; The rigging and the cargo and the slaves On a strange beach under a broken sky. O not departure, but a voyage done! The bales stand on the stone; the anchor weeps Its red rust downward, and the long vine creeps Beside the salt herb, in the lengthening sun.

Now that I have your heart by heart, I see.”

At some point as he spoke Scully curled her head into his neck, listened to the rumble of his voice. Reaching her hand up she stroked his cheek that was covered with a day’s worth of stubble. They stood in silence for a few minutes until Mulder pulled her back from him, looked into her eyes.

“Let’s go home Scully.” She nodded, holding the box into one hand and held his with the other.

They had movers coming to get the few boxes that remained of the half-life she’d lived in the bare apartment. But she knew that she would have left all of the rest behind to be with him.

(-final poem written by Louise Bogan)