#Save me mexican strokes

[bedupolker]

Do you ever find a song that would have been soooooo fitting for your life but like two years ago?? I wish I listened to you when I was young...

[pixxelminxx]

its stupid that almost all of the beta kids live in the US. jade doesnt but her grandpa is from the US i believe? how is it that theres a handful of kids fated to save the universe or whatever and theyre ALLL american. it would make way more sense if they were scattered all over the globe.

so far i see dave as still living in texas because he very much feels like a product of the american public school system and american individualism. jade also still lives on her island thats fine her gpa is just polynesian to me, and then john lives in hong kong and rose lives in brazil.

rose specifically lives in the southern high planes of brazil bc thats where it snows and for some reason rose living in a snowy location feels important to her upbringing to me? maybe just because of the flashbacks to her playing in the snow. oh also because it makes sense if she lives in a more isolated location.

i think grandpa harley is maori and was originally born in new zealand wow oh my god as im typing this im imagining jade w a kiwi accent and that feels so fitting. anyways i think he sailed out from NZ and found hellmurder island out in the pacific on his travels.

i also like the idea of rose and dave meeting online and dave is fluent in spanish (bro is irish american/mexican) and in english while rose is fluent in portuguese and knows some english. they communicate through spanglish and portuganglish(???)and rose gets better ar conversational english this way. once she starts getting the hang of it (which is very fast) she starts reading more and more english books and quickly accumulates a far bigger vocabulary than dave because dave does not fucking read books like that.

when they talk mainly spanish and portuguese in the beginning dave is like “portuguese speakers sound like theyre trying to speak spanish while having a stroke you’re giving me a headache” and rose is like “sounds like a you problem i understand your spanish just fine” lol.

dave has a weird assortment of spanish vocab that he knows outside of the basics because his only exposure to spanish is from his bro and shitty public school spanish classes.

also bro was raised on dragon ball z and thats part of the reason he styles his hair the way he does. bro has the goku jesus mexican flag hanging in their living room.

[sailorgreywolf-legacy]

Ohhhh I hadn’t seen the prompts!

One person tracing the other’s lips with a fingertip until they can’t resist any longer, tilting their chin towards them for a kiss.

For Alfred and Ale during the Mexican American war?

This one got quite toxic, so fair warning.

He was so groggy that he barely registered the touch at first. He slowly realized that someone was running a thumb over his lower lip. The awareness sent a surge of panic through his body. He sat bolt upright, and his eyes shot open.

He saw that America was leaning in so close that Mexico could see all the flecks of color in his blue eyes. Mexico attempted to scoot back to get away from him, but he hit the headboard and realized there was nowhere to go. He felt distinctly like a trapped animal.

America smiled and continued to hold his chin and touch Mexico’s lower lip, “Shhh, you’re with me. You’re safe.”

Mexico snapped back, “Like hell I am!”

He was a prisoner, and he could not stand when America acted like they didn’t both know it. America was completely unfazed and used his free hand to stroke his hair like he was a child that needed soothing. There was a chilling smirk on his lips when he said, “Calm down. I would never hurt you.”

Mexico could tell that he was staring at his lips, as if the thumb running over his lip was not a clear enough sign of what he wanted. He held back his bitter response. The wound on his lower back contradicted that empty reassurance.

In his silence, America started talking again, “I was thinking about us while you were sleeping. I am ready to have you with me forever. It’s going to be perfect.”

He was practically purring, like he could think of nothing better. Mexico could hear what he meant under what he was saying. His little euphemisms did not hide that he was talking about annexation, being kept in the house like a plundered treasure until America inevitably got bored of him.

Mexico wanted to tell him that it would never happen, but he held his tongue.

Seemingly overwhelmed by the power of his own fantasy, he leaned forward and tilted Mexico's chin up. He kissed Mexico on the lips, slowly like he intended it to be romantic.

Mexico felt himself gag the moment that their lips met. On instinct, he bit America’s lower lip to get him to stop. America growled in the back of his throat and kissed him more deeply.

The hand in Mexico’s hair tightened as a warning. Mexico tried to repress the urge to fight back, but his hands itched to push him away. The way America made a pleased noise in the back of his throat made Mexico feel ill.

When America pushed his tongue into his mouth, his body reacted on impulse. He used his hands to push America away as far as he could. It worked only enough to get America’s lips off of his.

But it came at the cost of an undeniable rage flashing across America’s face. He used the hand in Mexico’s hair to grab a handful of hair and pull until it hurt. He hissed, “Stop being stubborn. Do you really think that Santa Anna is going to agree to anything I ask? Or do you think he’s going to balk and let me have you?”

Against his better judgement, Mexico snapped back, "That's not going to happen. I won't let it."

He was so close that he was speaking almost directly into his ear. Mexico could feel bile rising in his throat as America continued, “I think he’s going to save himself. And when he does, I am going to take you home and marry you. You better start getting used to the idea.”

With that, he left. Mexico sunk back into the pillows and tried to calm his heart, which was pounding like it was trying to escape his ribs.

[jacks-tracks]

Beaches and birds

Despite or perhaps because of the great heat here, i have been to 3 beaches this week. Temperatures have been 33 in the day(90 oldspeak) dropping only to 25 at night. A mild tehuantepc wind stirred from the south bringing big waves, so that when i went to Agua Blanca with Pete, Jill and Lorraine the tide pools were giant washing machines, swirling in breaking foam, then gushing out with terrific force over the sand bar. This made for a swift cruise downstream then a difficult standup. So difficult that i could only plant my feet and wait for the flow to moderate(it really never stopped) before wading out. I seriously considered if I were swept out to sea could I body surf to shore further down the strand.. There were no crocodiles visible, nor fish nor birds in the lagoon, largely because a net caster had muddied the waters.

The beach kitchen we were at had a good palm thatched palapa right on the shore with a 180 degree view up and down the coast., developed to the north btu empty for miles south Good shade and a good breeze. As usual the breakfasts were tepid eggs. I think they cook each plate sequentially, so that by the time the third is done the first is cold. Knowing this from past experience I brought leftover pancakes. and washed them down with a coconut. Some hammock time and good conversations then taxied back to Santa Elaina just in time to step into a van to Puerto. I hopped out at the Mercado and bought the biggest chicken breast I,ve ever seen, bigger than most whole chickens. The bakery had Polvorones, the closest thing a Mexican bakery can come to an edible cookie, and I bought 10, thinking to stretch them out over days. Hah!Ate 3 a day and they are gone!

Trying to get up earlier before the heat bakes the streets, and did get to manzanillo beach for some snorkeling and sand loafing. Palm shade, soft gold sand, a pareau to lay on and a book to read, pretty satisfactory. mind you by 11 AM it,s getting hot and the beach fills with tourists, so I climb the steep stairs and the long hill back to the highway. Home to shower and swim in the bath temp pool..ahh.

Had to get to my favorite beach Carrizillo, which is a perfect golden crescent at the bottom of a very steep hill, 160 cement steps, and a long way up! There was shade under the big sea grape tree, and while the sea was warm,the waves were big, over 40 surfers learning on the inside corner of the bay. I had to time my way out of the surf to coincide with a wave running up the beach over the dropoff. most beaches have Mexicans rolling in happiness in small waves, shrieking with excitement. Even the old Grannies wading in their black dresses get knocked down "accidently" and join in the mirth. Not so at carizzillio, swimmers only. Manzanillo was where Jan saved 2 people from drowning when they stepped over the drop off and had no idea of how to swim. We were lounging in the shade when Jan suddenly bolted down the beach and seal dove into the water. She,d correctly spotted their inexperience and panic and with powerful strokes pushed them coughing back over the drop off edge where they collapsed in fright. I,d not seen the crisis coming, but Jan saved them, receiving the utmost thanks from the anxious family.

All this beaching involves riding combis, the taxi trucks that run a regular route along the highway and indeed off into the hills to remote villages. 12 pesos this year, a 100% increase over 3 years. Flagging a combi is easy after you dash across the relentless traffic and casually wave a languid hand downwards. They stop in the most awkward of places, and sometimes climbing down onto the welded slippery back step is fraught with peril. Being a courteous folk, the locals always help old folks (not me yet!) in and out, passing clinging children and off loading everything from baskets of nopales(cactus leaves) to flats of homemade cake. I always say Buenas Dias as appropriate and true to their culture everyone replys the same. Some drivers a re cowboys running on the theory that the sooner you make the trip the sooner you can come back for more passengers, or maybe they just like speeding. Happily the highway is increasingly dotted with topes(speed bumps) and even the cowboys slow right down to save their trucks a hammering. Most drivers are sane, and all goes well. Traffic here has exceeded the capacity of the 4 lane road, all this increase in the last 5 years since the Carreterra was 2 lanes. The addition of traffic lights(surprisingly obeyed) have broken up the flow, but a t busy times there can be 10 minute backups , rush hour in Puerto!

Birds! Well i have no bird book, but over the years have noted over 100 different species. Most of them were in the Manialtepec lagoon where the migrant birds nest and feed. A surprising number are right here in the backyard where trees overhang the end of the pool. Grackles are common, as a re doves both big and small, pigeons, sparrows, and swooping turkey buzzards, while far overhead the frigate birds glide effortlessly never moving a wing. Recently it,s been small lemon yellow birds with black tail tops and wing bars. They are flighty and twitch their long tails like sparrows. They prefer the ficus tree that shades my cabana, picking insects off the leaves. That same tree often has hummingbirds zipping about, both the thumb sized all black one up to the light orange much larger birds with bright orange big bills. One tried very hard to pull off a trailing fig vine for nesting material. By the pool grows a leguminous tree perhaps 10 meters tall with newly setting seed pods that start pea green , then shade to pink and curl into a coil, finally turning bright red and spitting out brown flat seeds like lentils. Very popular with all the birds, both for the seeds and for the insects that gather there. Finally got a good look at a woodpecker, not the cactus nesting ladderback but a breeding plumage smaller bird with dun feathers and a yellow nape and a red mask. Busily pecking on the loose bark of a dying tree. The female lacked the red face but had the yellow nape in a more subdued shade. All this backyard birding is done while floating in the pool, gazing up at the trees. Good excuse for loafing in the bath temp water.

A neighbours neglected cat has adopted me. Very skinny black and white male, bit of a yowler, but very friendly Probably got worms and ear mites, but I,ll get meds and do a treatment This cat did not know what a raw egg was but did an impressive job chewing a chicken carcass down to a few big bones. Much quieter when fed! Now the cat has taken to lying on my doormat and waiting to be petted or better still fed fish scraps. The hotel has a don,t fed the cats policy, but this one is starving and I,m a sucker. No more squirrel raids on my fruit bowl since I have a cat. My kitchen is all outdoors under the big thatch roof that covers all the cabana, and night raiders were eating avocadoes.

Heavy rains at night . i got up to go to my outdoor bathroom and was puzzled to see the cement path between my cabana and the neighbours was running an inch deep in water. Just had a downpour! the rain helps break the humidiy but by 10 AM it,s sunny and hot. Not complaining, indeed things are going very well. Don't mind having to alternate hammock book reading with pool cooling, and with 3 full on fans I can watch netflics a t night and sleep without a sheet cover till dawn. More as it happens.

[renaerys]

Prompt 50. But Berserk & Boomer😔👉👈💕

50. “I thought you left.”

We’re calling this one Unfortunately, She Impressed Him. This is a pair of characters I love with all my heart in any flavor of relationship and can’t wait to write more of in my ongoing multi-chapter fic Trinity House over on AO3.

This fic is part of a prompt challenge that is now closed to new requests, but you can read all the completed submissions here. Reminder that the challenge is to make everything SFW, so we’re getting creative here.

xxx

Boomer was halfway across the deserted lobby of Faust Keating Rogers, LLP when he realized he’d forgotten his keys at his desk. He groaned aloud because it was 8 p.m. and no one was around to hear him because they had all gone home to their families hours ago like normal people. Boomer didn’t have two to three kids and a house in the suburbs, though, and neither did his boss. The three hour lull reserved for dinner, baths, and bedtimes before the evening work-from-home grind offered him no alternative but to power through. He fully planned to grab take out on his way home and enjoy an episode of whatever was on HBOMax before getting back to the tedious work of reviewing the draft prospectus statement his boss had sent him to proof by tomorrow morning.

Except, his keys were forty floors up and he now had to risk running into her again when he’d managed to slip away so neatly. He’d even removed his tie on the elevator ride down, and now he rubbed his exposed neck, flushed with anxiety over what might happen if she saw him and asked him to stick around to finish the work here.

“Nice going, dumbass,” he lamented as he stepped onto the elevator and hit the button for the fortieth floor.

It wasn’t that Boomer disliked his job. In fact, he didn’t mind it at all. It was better than slinging drinks or waiting tables. He had health insurance, a steady paycheck, and a resumé that could proudly display the name of one of the most elite accounting firms in the country. He could pivot his career if he wanted to, as Brick would say. Boomer wasn’t thinking about his next job right now, though. Right now, he was thinking about this one and how his boss was a hard-ass and a workaholic even if she was brilliant, and how there was a one hundred percent chance she would detect him coming back to his desk (which was annoyingly set up right in front of her office so that he could answer her calls, manage her meetings, and deal with whoever passed close enough to her event horizon to get suckered into the latest heinous audit in need of staffing).

There were his traitorous keys sitting on the desk next to the framed picture of his brothers. He glared at them, as if they were a forgotten household item that had developed a supernatural grudge like in those old Japanese folktales he liked to read online. He half expected them to jingle and alert his boss to his presence, just to spite him.

They didn’t, and he slipped them into his pocket as quietly as could be. He released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and took a beat. It was quiet. Most of the offices were dark, save for a few poor souls in the large conference room stuck on the ongoing year-end audit for one of the firm’s most important clients: Unicorn, Inc. His boss’s office was also lit up behind her closed door, but she hadn’t called out to him like she would during the day when he got back from his lunch break hoping for a few minutes to catch up on emails in peace before she dumped more work on him.

This, of course, was odd. The small legion of assistants who had come before Boomer were notorious for their short-term employment working this specific desk. The work was demanding and so was the boss, but there was something else that set her apart from other senior associates in the International Tax Services division, something that seemed to intimidate away any support the higher ups sent her way. Denise a couple desks down had warned Boomer not to bring too many personal effects to the office; chances were he wasn’t going to last long. Boomer had smiled thinly and thanked Denise for her advice, and brought the picture of his brothers in the next morning because he had his pride and Brick told him it was healthy to indulge that once in a while. Brick would certainly know.

So here he was, uncertain. Anxiety over having to sit here for another two hours finishing work and having tepid Doordash delivered pulled him toward the elevator and escape, while that annoying, rare pride demanded he check on his boss and make sure she knew he was here to support her, lest she get the idea that he needed to be fired.

The longer he stood there, indecisive, the greater his curiosity grew. What was she doing in there? It was quiet, even when he strained his Super hearing. He could hear Dean Matheson pouring whiskey a few offices down (that guy had a drinking problem and everyone knew they only kept him around because he had the Unicorn, Inc. account), Adebayo Hansou on a conference call with Dubai that was escalating to profanity, Shelly Kim with her head down and typing away at an Excel spreadsheet like a pro. Their assistants were long gone for the night, but here was Boomer, loitering and indecisive and what is she doing in there not yelling at me when she definitely knows I’m here?

He couldn’t take it anymore. He knocked on the closed door—rap, rap, rap—and called out softly, “Berserk?”

A beat, then: “Come in.”

Finding his boss in upward facing dog while still in her pencil skirt was not a sight Boomer was prepared for. Berserk had her eyes closed as she stretched at a near ninety degree angle and listened to music on her Airpods. Boomer had never seen her with her heels off and her mane of red hair thrown together in a messy bun; it was so casual that it was almost obscene.

“You’re staring.”

Fuck, he was staring and now she was looking right at him down her nose, even though she was the one on the floor. He stood up straighter, unable to help himself when she took that tone that reminded him so much of Brick’s when he was about to criticize, but he didn’t avert his gaze. “Sorry.”

She breathed in deeply through her nose and hoisted herself up into downward dog position. “Why are you here?”

Forgot my keys seemed like a really lame excuse that she’d probably laugh at him for, but he also was not in the habit of making shit up on the spot if he hoped to make people believe him. “I forgot my keys.” He took them from his pocket to show her, as if she might not know what keys are, as a concept.

“Smart locks.” Berserk exhaled and slowly walked her hands back on the yoga mat until she reached her feet and began to swing slowly left and right.

Huh? he almost said like an idiot, until he caught himself. “Don’t think my landlord would approve of me installing that.” Also, those things were like $200 a pop, which was not worth the occasional inconvenience and shame of forgetting his keys and then catching his boss doing yoga in her office after hours.

Berserk made some noncommittal sound like whatever, peasant and slowly uncurled upward one vertebra at a time. Boomer realized he was back to staring again, literally lingering in her door watching her and trying to equate this subdued, casual version of Berserk with the terse, no-nonsense businesswoman he was used to dealing with on a daily basis.

When she finally achieved her full height, she popped her neck. The hair that was too short for her bun fell in around her narrow face in a stylish, athleisure sort of way. The top buttons on her blouse were undone. She wore a small, golden necklace he’d never noticed before because he wasn’t in the habit of checking out his boss. “I thought you left.”

The accusatory nature of her words were totally at odds with her flat tone, only the barest hint of curiosity dangling there at the end, like she expected him to respond.

Oh, she expected him to respond.

Boomer took another step into her office because he was full of poor judgment today. “I forgot my keys.”

At which point he showed her his keys again and also had a mild stroke, because what the fuck are you doing, mate?

Berserk smiled. “Yeah, I got that part.”

Was she laughing at him? He had never heard her laugh before, unless it was at Dean Matheson, that comb-over in denial who, in addition to being a high functioning alcoholic, also had a reputation for throwing associates under the bus when a client wasn’t happy.

Boomer smiled back, because that was what he did when people smiled at him, and ‘people’ now included Berserk, apparently.

“Well, since you’re here,” she said as she padded around to her desk.

Crap, there was the work he was afraid of soliciting from her by remaining in the building. He debated an excuse to give her: picking up dry cleaning? Plausible, but transparent. Meeting up with his brothers? No, she’d probably make him stay all night for the chance to ruin Brick’s plans.

“Thai or Mexican?”

Boomer stared dumbly. He was becoming quite good at that (10,000 hours and you can become an expert at anything, they say). “Huh?”

The yoga must have put Berserk in an exceedingly gracious mood, because she actually repeated her question without getting that look on her face like she was picturing him getting trampled by stampeding monsters. “Thai or Mexican? I don’t have a preference.”

Oh.

Oh.

Boomer’s stomach picked that time to snarl at him—8 p.m. and still no dinner, the fiend.

Berserk snorted in laughter and fanned herself with her phone. “Jesus. Mexican it is.”

Which was how Boomer found himself on the small sofa tucked in the corner of Berserk’s office, shoes off and belt loosened, with enough tacos, tamales, and rice and beans to feed a small family. He even had a beer from the mini fridge Berserk kept under her desk.

She hadn’t stayed late to work. Well, she had, but only because she didn’t have a reason to go home.

“I just hate getting home to a dark apartment sometimes,” she said in between bites of food. She had her legs tucked up under her on the sofa close enough to brush Boomer’s thigh if he reached to grab the salsa.

“I thought you lived with your sister?”

“Brute got her own place a few months ago. The arrangement was only temporary while she was in between jobs.”

It was weird knowing so little about a person whose whole family had been in Boomer’s inner orbit since childhood. As far as he knew, Berserk wasn’t close to any of her cousins, not even Blossom. Boomer himself had never been more eager to leave a room than when Brat walked into it. Only Butch, Brute, and Buttercup had ever found common ground among each other once the sworn rivalries and blood feuds of their youth gave way to teenage rebellion against their respective overlord fathers and then the slog of adulthood that was inescapable even for a bunch of Supers flying high on Chemical X.

The fact that Boomer had gotten this job surprised him more than anyone. After drifting from restaurant jobs to office temp placements over the last six years, he’d never thought he would dust off his economics degree and land a temp-to-permanent position that seemed way above his qualifications. And he never thought it would be working for a woman he’d most definitely electrocuted in battle at least a dozen times before puberty.

“What?”

Boomer blinked. He’d been staring again, Jesus Christ. “Sorry, I was just thinking… I didn't know that. I’ve been working here for five months and I don’t actually know much about you at all.”

“Hm.”

Her magenta eyes were wine-dark against the murky sky beyond the window forty stories up. Boomer did avert his gaze this time to reach for the salsa, but he didn’t use it.

“I don’t even know why you invited me to stay for dinner in the office if we’re not going to do any work.”

“Why did you stay?”

“For the free food.”

Berserk grinned—the third time she had smiled at him tonight (or ever). He needed to stop counting; he’d be disappointed when it stopped happening tomorrow.

“Don’t get used to it. Much as I appreciate the company now and again, there’s no need for both of us to be stuck here while Matheson’s breathing down the associates’ necks. Can’t have him poaching you out from under me.”

“Well, I don’t work for him; I work for you.”

“It’s sweet how you don’t understand office politics.” She ate a lone slice of avocado with a fork. “He landed Unicorn back when they were early stage, and back when he was still putting in the work to earn his reputation. But since they IPO’d three years ago and make up twenty percent of our revenue now, he’s just another big name coasting by on associate work. You know he regularly schedules client calls and just doesn’t bother to show up? He forgets half the time, and the other half he’s busy playing golf or buying a yacht or whatever the fuck rich, white Boomers do.”

“Well, as a Boomer myself, I can say I’ve spent exactly zero hours buying yachts.”

She chuckled. Fourth time. “Oh, really.”

“Never even thought of yachts. As far as I’m concerned, they’re not even real.”

“Thanks for your expert opinion.”

“Any time.” Boomer turned his body to face her and draped his arm over the back of the sofa. With only the soft light from the floor lamp in the corner, he imagined himself adrift in the darkness, the sky scraper lights nearby stars. It was a lonely thought, one made romantic in the knowledge that she was here too, and he wasn’t actually alone.

“Matheson almost did poach you, you know.”

“What do you mean?” Boomer couldn’t recall exchanging more than a few words with the man.

“When we were filling support positions. Someone recognized you from the news a few years back, when the Cyclops Monster attacked the marina district and you and your brothers took it out. Matheson got it in his head that you’d be able to work at Super speed and help lower his billables.”

“Wow. Maybe you should’ve let him. What do you think the net savings would be in yacht units of measurement?”

Berserk rolled her eyes, but she was smiling again. “I claimed you before he could get the paperwork in.”

Boomer hyper-focused on that word: claimed. He also pointedly ignored it entirely, much in the same way he ignored the new count of five smiles tonight. “Showed him your bending powers, did you?”

Berserk’s Corona bottle turned frosty under her hand in a totally unnecessary, big dick energy display of said powers, and she took another sip. “No. Sharon from HR likes me. And I promised her I wouldn’t fire you after three months like your predecessors.”

Flattered was not how Boomer would describe the feeling of being claimed by Berserk and eluding Matheson’s vampiric clutches. But he was a bit tickled all the same. This was the woman Butch had once described as essentially Brick, if he were constipated all the time.

And then he realized what she was doing. “Hey, you’re sharing things about yourself.”

She clinked her bottle to his, and Boomer shivered at the frosty chill she transferred on contact. “Aw, you figured it out all by yourself.”

“Ha ha.”

She didn’t quite smile, but she did look kind of serene then, content even, as she lay back against the arm of the sofa and yawned. Her gold necklace—just a simple disk with an engraving Boomer could not make out—reflected the lamp light when she moved. It rested just beneath her collarbone, which had suddenly become the single-most interesting part of Berserk, and oh no, was he interested—

“You’re staring again.”

Son of a bitch.

“Sorry,” he said automatically. “I didn’t mean to.”

Hard no. He was not allowed to be any percent attracted to Berserk. First, she was his boss, and there was a cliché here that, while subverted on the gender role spectrum, was still very risky for both of them. Second, she was Berserk, a fellow Super, cousin to his best friend Bubbles and a shrewd, stiletto bitch in Brick’s estimation, which sounded bad. Not that she was bad, or even evil, unless you counted helping rich corporations accurately report their taxes while taking advantage of the many egregious loopholes in the Internal Revenue Code. Which, okay, point taken, but he also worked here and anyway, people should not be deemed good or evil so much as their choices ought to be—

“Are you thinking about fucking me?”

You shrewd, stiletto bitch!

She was smiling again, and Boomer pathetically logged that as the sixth time, although he wasn’t sure he should count it given the overt malice behind it.

Unfortunately, Boomer was, as had been previously established, very bad at making shit up on the fly. So he miserably said, “Yeah.”

“Hm.”

She sipped her beer slowly, and of course he watched. If it was out in the open, as fleeting a bout of insanity as it may have been, at least he could wallow in it without worrying about appearances.

It was the yoga. That fucking upward facing dog, Jesus Christ.

It was more than that too. Over the last few months, he had worked closely with her, watched her navigate the cutthroat halls full of piranhas like Matheson and other account managers, getting herself work on the best clients while managing her juniors with efficiency and professionalism. She was excellent and sharp, and she demanded excellency and sharpness in kind. After years of going it alone or temping for bosses who didn’t care enough even to learn his name, much less provide him with guidance and mentorship, it was an unspeakable relief to work under someone who knew how to rally the troops. Someone who knew how to lead, how to motivate, and how to reward loyalty with loyalty in return. It didn’t hurt that she looked amazing in her daily stilettos, either.

Unfortunately, she impressed him.

“I have some work to get done tonight.” Berserk stood up and smoothed her skirt.

Boomer scrambled to his feet. “Of course! Um.” He began closing food containers and repackaging them in the bags they’d come in, because he was panicking. “I’ll get rid of the trash. Do you want the leftovers in the fridge?”

“You take them. Otherwise my office will smell like a burrito for a week.”

“Okay.” Numbly, Boomer finished packing everything up, while Berserk made her way back to her desk and logged into her computer to check her emails.

Boomer lingered at the door. “I’ll have the prospectus back to you later tonight.”

“Thanks.”

Wow, way to go, stud.

He turned to leave, but her voice stopped him.

“Boomer?”

“Yeah?”

“Friday is good.”

He stared back at her in expert mode. “Huh?”

Berserk poked her head around the side of her large, external monitor. She was smiling again. Lucky number seven. “For fucking.”

“Okay,” Boomer said.

Okay?!

She pulled back behind her monitor. “I was going to get a cat, but you’ll do much better.”

Because she didn’t like going home to a dark, empty apartment alone. With no one to fuck.

“That was a joke.”

“Yeah, I got that,” he croaked.

Friday is for fucking, he thought, which was delightful alliteration and also completely insane and one hundred percent something he was getting more on board with by the nanosecond.

“See you tomorrow,” she said.

Boomer clutched the leftover Mexican food in his fist. “Okay. Goodnight.”

It took him the time to fly home and put the food away in his small fridge to realize that he had a sort-of date with Berserk lined up for two days from now.

He Y-posed at the window and whooped, “Hell yes!!”

Loud pounding in the floor followed by old Mrs. Cruikshank’s muffled Keep it down! couldn’t bring down his mood.

Boomer leaped onto his threadbare, living room sofa with his work laptop and took to the prospectus with alacrity. He’d send over superior work product and make Berserk’s job just that much easier tomorrow morning.

xxx

If you enjoy my writing, check out more of my fics on AO3, link in my profile. I’m currently updating Trinity House (which has a lot more Berserk and Boomer content, btw!) and The Alchemy of Us. Thanks for reading!

[monikafilefan]

Love your writing so much! Can you write a New Year’s fic set in season 6 where they actually kiss? No Fowley angst if you can? Thank you

Thanks so much. This turned out longer than I hoped so I’m a little late, but I hope you enjoy. Takes place just before Tithonus.

——

10:02 PM: Mulder swallows another mouthful of Shiner Bock, letting the alcohol warm him from the inside out. He sets the beer bottle next to the other empty ones with a clink and the beat of the music vibrates along the golden table cloth beneath him. Laughter and muffled conversations of fellow agents fill the silence of isolation he’s purposely surrounded himself in.

He doesn’t want to be here. Not at this New Years Eve bureau mandated banquet, sticking out like a black sheep among the herd of Kersh-loving ass-kissers, and certainly not forced to appease the Deputy Director in the name of another successful year of wielding justice. He sure as hell doesn’t want to celebrate the loss of his life’s work to his ex-wife and Kersh’s errand boy he’s currently hiding in a dark corner from. Wielding justice…

What a crock of shit.

But Scully is here, and the loss of his near constant contact with her is something he will never celebrate acknowledgement of. Not ever. He feels their absence on the files like a missing puzzle piece, teasing him with its existence lingering just out of his reach. Yet as he stares longingly at her across the room in her black satin dress, drinking wine as red as her lips, and smiling with their peers from the bullpen, Mulder can’t help but smile in return.

10:38 PM: Scully turns his way and scans the room, her big blue eyes flickering from person to person. She’s searching for him, he thinks. He knows. He’d told her hours earlier he decided to forgo following rules forcing him to be social. And still she looks for him, hopeful, unable to accept he can truly leave her partnerless for even one night. She’s right. As he sips at another Shiner, Mulder knows the heat of the beer isn’t the only thing warming his chest tonight.

A slow song begins to play as the lights dim. His pulse quickens at the thought of asking her to dance. Of holding her petite body close to his. Of kissing her at the stroke of midnight. He stands, unable to resist the pull of her proximity a moment longer, when another man swoops into his eye-line and offers Scully his hand.

Mulder’s fists clench as an agent from the lab arrogantly claims her bare back with his meaty hand, sloppily twirling her around the dance floor. Her surprised laughter is as loud as it is fake, but she doesn’t pull away. She accepts his hand with a tight-lipped smile and promptly stares at her three inch stilettos instead of at the man attempting to woo her.

Mulder does the same while his nostrils flare with every indignant breath.

Turning away, he picks at the yellow label on the bottle until only the brown glass reflecting his scowl is showing.

10:55 PM: He hears Scully laugh again. Then again and again. He doesn’t know what she’s chuckling about or who with, but it doesn’t matter when she’s enjoying her last remaining hours of 1998. She’s having fun drinking and dancing, he tells himself. She deserves this. He wants her to be happy, always. He just refuses to watch someone else make her that way.

This time, when a high-pitched, unScully-like laughter slices through the sound of his heart thudding against his eardrums, his gut clenches along with his fists.

11:02 PM: One hour and four - no five - beers later, Mulder is ready to leave. To flee, more like it, when a thick hand slaps at his back.

“Agent Mulder,” Skinner’s voice booms over the music. “Glad to see you decided to show up.”

He scoffs, “I was summoned.”

Skinner glances at him, his heavy hand squeezing the meat of Mulder’s shoulder; hard. “You mean she asked or you wouldn’t be here,” he corrects, nodding towards Scully draining yet another glass of wine. “She wants you here, Mulder. I suggest you remember that.”

11:32 PM: Mulder does remember that. In fact, that’s all he’s been thinking about for the past half hour when he lost sight of Scully within the crowd. After dodging both Diana and Spender, three agents requesting a dance, and one persistent secretary’s offer for much more than that, Mulder halts his search for his partner and ducks into the restroom to break the seal.

He glances at his cell phone. No service. Goddammit.

The entire time he’s been looking for Scully, the sickening thought of her having left with someone else has weighed heavily in the back of his mind. He should’ve taken Frohike up on his offer of Mexican and movies and saved himself the heartache.

11:44 PM: “Yes, I do know I’m leaving before the ball drops, and no, I don’t have a date I’m waiting for,” Mulder repeats to Agent Matthews at the coat check.

“You want one?” he asks, smirking. “Because I’m outta here in ten.”

“Oh uh,” Mulder can’t help but smile. “Thanks, but I’ll have to pass.”

“I knew it. But hey, a guy can dream.” The man shrugs and hands Mulder his jacket. “Agent Scully is one lucky woman.”

“You’ve seen her?” Mulder questions, ready to interrogate the poor guy. “Did she leave?”

“Maybe,” Matthews says, chuckling at Mulder’s unabashed desperation. “But I’ve seen her walk by looking for someone special a couple times earlier, though. I guess that someone was you.”

“Yeah, thanks. Have a good night,” Mulder groans as he walks away, feeling more and more like an asshole as the minutes tick by.

11:50 PM: Mulder makes his way down the side stairwell and shuffles past the ladies room tucked away in an alcove at the end of the hall. Fireworks spark outside the window next to him and he can’t help but wonder if Scully is looking at them, too.

He sighs, takes three steps, and stumbles when a flash of red catches his eye.

“Scully?”

“Mulder, you’re here!” she praises, her cheeks flushed with wine. Her eyes flick down to his coat slung over his arm and her smile fades. “You’re leaving.”

He falters, shifting in his Wingtip Oxfords he’d worn just for her. “You know me, Scully,” he feigns nonchalance. “I’d rather pull out my hair than kiss the asses of the ‘powers that be’ more than I’m forced.”

Scully shakes her head and is quiet a moment before boldly brushing a lock of hair from his brow. “Can’t have that now, can we?”

He stifles a moan. The familiar feeling of her touch lulls him where they stand. “A full head of hair means that much to you, does it, Scully?”

“Mm…” She nods while his hand covers hers sliding gently across his scalp. “You do have great hair.”

“Melvin will be crushed.”

She laughs - this it’s time for him - and Mulder swears it’s the most beautiful sound echoing through the hall. They continue to stand in the hallway, staring at one another as her fingers dance through his hair, letting the soft melody of the muffled music fill the silence.

“So why show up then?” she finally asks, her fingers trailing over the shell of his ear, down to his cheek, hovering there. “Why come at all?”

The alcohol that flows through her veins, leaving her open and vulnerable deserves only honesty from him. “Because you’re here,” Mulder confesses.

“I am.” Her eyes hone in on his fingers twining through hers. “And you were about to leave without saying goodbye?” She arches a brow, pins him with an accusatory stare. “Or hello, for that matter?”

“I-you were enjoying yourself out there. You were…” he sighs, guilt washing over him for not being a better partner to her. For not walking out on that dance floor and showing her exactly how much he appreciates her. How much he loves her. “Scully…”

“Mulder, it’s okay. I get it, really.” She rolls her eyes, tapping his tie with a manicured nail. “Plus, Skinner told me that if you’re as smart as your IQ says you are, you’d be here to ring the new year with me.”

“Ha!” It’s Mulder’s turn to roll his eyes, imagining the AD just itching to dance with his beautiful partner. “I’ll bet he did.”

“I told him you were smarter.”

Mulder’s heart began to race at the husk in her voice. “And if I hadn’t shown up?” he wonders. “I have a feeling Skinner and every other person in that ballroom would give anything to dance with you tonight.”

“They asked to dance with me, Mulder, not date me.”

Mulder’s jaw clenches at that, his free hand dipping down to settle gently at the base of her spine.

“And besides,” she arches into him, amused and emboldened. “There’s only one person I wanted to dance with tonight.”

“Scully.” His voice catches when her sapphire eyes snap up to lock onto his, imploring him to say more. “I-you looked… you look...” The liquid courage swirling though his mind gives him the nudge he needs. He touches her face, softly tracing the slope of her jawline from her ear to her chin. She hums and he melts. "...Stunning, Scully. You look stunning.”

Her half-grin twitches higher. "Bet you say that to all the girls, Mulder."

“No,” he denies in earnest. “Only you.”

She nods slowly, unblinking, as if she’s always known. Her eyes are large and luminous in their dimly lit corner, the deep blue sea of them beckoning him into dangerous waters. Lashes fluttering under his gaze, she leans into him like a feral kitten, fierce and unyielding in her affection. And it’s a good thing, Mulder thinks as he leans in too, that he’s an excellent swimmer.

“You showed up, Mulder,” she whispers. Her tiny hands skim down to his waist and tug his body flush to hers. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me for that,” he begs. “Don’t thank me for anything.”

He palms her neck and she allows his hand to wander up into her hair, tangling the silky waves through his fingers. He watches her eyelids flutter half shut, her lips parting.

“And why did you come, Scully?” he blurts, curious.

“Why do you think?” she retorts, challenging him. Suddenly, Mulder knows exactly why she came. Why she’s still here, staring up at him with dark eyes and rocking against him with hardened nipples.

He forgets to breathe.

“Tell me,” he says, cradling the base of her skull and letting his forehead fall forward against hers.

“No,” she breathes while stroking the curve of his ribcage, nudging the tip of his nose with her own. “I’ll show you.”

Her eyes flutter shut and a gush of warm breath tickles his cheek. As he leans down, her cushy lips press softly to his and his heart threatens to burst from his chest.

Her mouth tastes of red wine and sugar - a tart sweet-filled sin laced with a hint of blush-colored lipstick. She tastes more satisfying than any dessert. She tastes like raw desire.

Reluctantly, he pulls his hips away from her soft belly when his rock hard want for her becomes impossible to ignore.

She whimpers with her arms now wrapped around his neck, tugging him down for more.

Mulder gulps and kisses her nose, her cheek, inhales the fruity scent of her shampoo. He breathes her in while keeping a lung full of her essence within his chest. The warmth of her baby soft skin beneath his lips makes him wonder if he’s having an out of body experience: an erotic X-File, as his soul quite possibly ascends into the unknown.

A sudden cacophony of cheers bursts through the cracks of the heavy ballroom doors. Mulder jumps while Scully clutches at his back, keeping him close. Their heavy breathing mingles with the chorus of Auld Lang Syne playing in the background as fireworks boom outside the window pane. Bursts of copper and cerulean stream across the ink-black sky and it rumbles the carpet beneath their feet, reminding him that, yes, his feet are still on solid ground.

Two hours, two minutes, and one kiss from Dana Scully are all it takes for his world to tilt on its axis.

“Wow. Wha… what was that?” he gasps dumbly.

Scully arches brow. "I would have thought that's fairly obvious," she purrs. "You asked me why I came here, so I kissed you."

"Yeah, I know that, Scully, believe me. But...” Fuck, he berates himself. Why does his conscience hate him so damn much?

“Shh, just shut up and kiss me again,” she slurs.

His eyes flutter shut. He wants this - wants her - more than his next breath, but she’s been drinking, he remembers. They both have. “Shit, I want to, badly. But I think,” he hesitates, no more than a whisper, “I should hail us a cab.”

“Mulder…”

“In case you don’t remember these last few minutes when you wake up in the morning,” Mulder explains further. “Or worse, you regret them when you do.”

“But…” Scully frowns, hiccuping as she sways within his arms. “Okay…” she sighs, rolling her forehead against his sternum and mumbles to herself, “Fine, but the cab’s on you.”

“Deal,” he chuckles, his love for her growing with each passing second. His lips brush against the crown of her head, his palms smoothing over her hair and down to the lithe bare blades of her shoulders. “I can do that.”

“Happy New Year, Mulder.”

12:10 PM: This year, Mulder thinks as he waves down a cab. This year will be different. When Scully’s pinky loops through his, he squeezes it in promise. This year, he will do better.

“Happy New Year, Scully.”

And next time, when he looks into her eyes and tells her he loves her again, Scully will finally believe.

Tagging @today-in-fic

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

KID WARNING!

Johnny “Coco” Cruz x Reader

Anon 1 asked: okay, so i just read “family” and it’s a freaking masterlist❤️❤️🥰 could you write a fluffy family time imagine with coco , reader and letti, like a movie night or something

Anon 2 asked: may I request coco x reader public flashing, like their in a store or clubhouse and when no one around she just randomly showed him the goods

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: NSFW, smut

Thanks to my lovely beta reader @chibsytelford 💘

Author comments: I hope you all enjoy. Gif isn't mine, credits to the author.

Tag list: @starrynite7114 ​ @chibsytelford ​ @dazzledamazon ​ @mara-mpou ​ @sammskellington ​ @gemini0410 ​ @1-800-imagines ​ @briana-mishell24 ​@sassymox @whyisgmora @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada @samcrobae @jade770 @witchy-wish @rebel-without-cause-x ✨ (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

Spend your free night at home, now that you feel you have one, is the best idea Coco could had have. By morning, Leti and you went to the supermarket to buy a lot of junk food. Pizza, nachos, guacamole, popcorns, candies, chocolate… Definitely, tomorrow you will not be able to move unless you roll. And beer. Too much beer actually. You also had to threaten your boyfriend to not forget the family night all week long.

But he's late. He's always late.

“Yo! 'Am home!”

Coco's voice finally interrupts the silence in the living room, whilst Leti and you are putting everything on point in the kitchen. The younger goes out to greet him with a soft hug and a palm on his chest, listening how she says “you're gonna clean it all”. Yes, that's the punishment for being late. The mexican chuckles, crossing the hallway and wrapping your waist with the tattooed arms, as your back meet his chest. Raising a hand to his mouth, you offer him one of the piece of jam you're using to make the big pizza. He takes it with the incisors, eating it before kissing your neck so gently holding you closer.

“I love you”. He whispers on your left ear so dearly your legs shake for a second. “Is gonna be the secon' best nai' of ma' life”.

“What was the first, ah?”

“The one I met ya'”. Using the same low voice, he rest his forehead on your shoulder having a deep breathe of your scent. “Tha' was the best nai' of ma' life, mami”.

He doesn't need some words like his back, he's pretty good and satisfied with the goofy smile your lips are drawing on. How couldn't you love him? That's impossible. Turning under his grip, you place your hands on both sides of his neck, standing on your tiptoe enough to reach his lips kissing them peacefully, taking your time and enjoying the taste of tequila on the other tongue. Seems like he has forgotten that Leti is around, setting up the table, when he cups your ass with his hands, squeezing it. And that's the sparkle that lights the wick. Your hands touring his abdomen under the shirt he's wearing, dragging your nails over his skin giving him some chills.

“KID WARNING!”

Leti's scream scared the shit out of you jumping for a second, aa your heart does, whilst she's breaking in laughs.

“It was her fault, givin' me that… jam so sensual. You're the devil, mami”. He chuckles kissing your forehead.

“I didn' know you were into meat, I thought you were more into fish”. His daughter jokes on him, making you laugh covering your mouth with a hand before continuing making dinner.

“I didn' know I was livin' with a clown”. Your boyfriend palm her forehead, walking away to your room.

“All ready?” Leti ask then to you, looking around in case she's missing something else.

“All ready. The pizza will be in five”. You nod putting it inside the oven, turning after to her. “Beer is cold, and the rest is on the table. Netflix on point?”

“Netflix on point”. She replies imitating you.

“Cool”. You say highing five with her.

Of course, you two chose the movie. One of those that mix comedy with action. The night passes by, eating the whole pizza even if Leti said maybe it was too much, and all the junk' you bought as the empty beers were piled up along the table. The younger was lying down on the couch, while you were on Coco's top on the sofa. Your hands touring his chest under the shirt with smooth caresses, with his tangled in your hair. In a moment like that, you're already thinking about what happened before in the kitchen, trying to get somewhat comfy over his body. You're not gonna kick out Leti. You're pretty happy of spending some family time without nobody bothering you. But you has to recognize that you missed your boyfriend a lot today, waking up by morning with him already gone.

Saved by the bell.

Leti's phone rings on the table with Gabri's name blinking on the screen. She practically jumps off of the couch hanging the call and getting somewhat nervous.

“I'm sorry. It was amazing, but Gabri had a date with EZ an—”.

“Just leave, mija”. Coco chuckles moving his hand, no needing an explanation.

You wait impatiently for her to leave the house, feeling guilty for needing him so much that you're happy Leti is going out with her friend. When the door gets closed and you can hear her steps walking downstairs, you attack Coco's lips so hungry you can't handle it. His hands squeezing again your ass, pressing it down to make you notice the lump under the sweatpants he's wearing. And it's pretty delirious. You moan against his tongue, mixing your saliva and tasting the beer on them. Your hips moving looking for more friction with your panties getting somewhat wetted because of him. And you two are so focused on pleasing each other, that you don't hear the door.

“SHIT, KID WARNING! YOU DIDN' EVEN WAIT TWO MINUTES!”

“FUCK OFF, LETICIA!” Coco shouts, making her laugh.

“I'm stealing you fifty bucks fo' the new trauma. Bye!”

Licking your lips as you see how she disappears again crossing the door, your boyfriend bites your neck raising up a little his waist looking for more moves of yours, knowing he's too much needy.

“C'mon, mami… You've been provoken' me since I came hom'”. He almost sobs wit a scratchy voice, sucking your skin.

One of his hands pulls off your shirt, throwing it to the floor before catching one of your nipples with his lips. A soft gasp escapes from yours, touring your left hand to his hardness. You stroke him tightly above the pants, drowning his wailing and some curses against your breast.

“You wan'me to ride you, papi?”

“Fuck, stop playing!” He claims pulling down by your legs the panties you are on somewhat angry.

You love to tease him and seeing how fast he gets furious. Sitting up a little on top of your man, you throw away the only clothe you were wearing, before grabbing the waistband of his doing freeing himself. Licking your lips as soon as you rub your clit over Coco's sensible skin, he nails a hand on your ass and guiding his dick pushing it inside you without no more wait. You can't help but screaming out his name, needing a simple touch from him after being the whole day away.

Bouncing on top of him, spreading your legs and supporting one feet on the floor, you go deeper. Your nails dragging his chest as your moans flood the living room. You know how much he loves watching you riding his hard cock and your breasts jumping as if they were dancing. With his hands nailed on your hips, he forces you to dig his waist harder against your legs. And it's feel amazing.

“Fuck, mami… You drive me crazy…” His voice is hoarse and full of pleasure, closing the eyes and showing you his parted lips.

Leaning back your head a little, arching your back and placing both hands on his thighs, you move your body front to back. Fast. So fast. And you don't care if it's going to be quick, you're desperate and he's totally anxious for cum inside you, feeling the heat that emanates from your body. Coco is totally in love with you, since the first moment. And took him a little to recognize his feelings for you, but even if it's not all about sex, he wish he had done it before just to have seen you more times like this.

You lie down over his chest as he tangles a hand on your hair to push you closer. The mexican bites, sucks and licks your lips, sliding his tongue into your mouth to finds the other to take a pulse in a filthy and dirty kiss. Coco slaps your ass twice, making you growl because of the pleasure, squeezing it as his waist dance with yours needing to go faster thrusting you heavy. Your whole anatomy stirring under his hard grip, giving you shivers up your spine. And without expecting, he turns you above the sofa, putting your back on it without pulling away his cock. He pounds you harder, crashing his abdomen against your body making you move at time. Coco wraps you with an arm, placing the other on your throat.

“Who is your papi, ah?” He spit to your lips, almost touching them with his.

“You!” Screaming because of the thrust, you feel how he's pushing you to the limit.

“Who owns this wetty and delicious pussy, ah?”

“It's yours, daddy!” You almost sob arching your back because of an another hard pound. “Please… make me cum… I beg you, daddy… Please”.

Drawing a petty smile on his lips, he squeezes a little bit your throat under his fingers. Sinking his lips on your neck, pulling away his thumb enough inches to bite it and suck it, leaving a reddened bruise there. That's the magical move that makes you crash down into a delirious orgasm, with your shaky legs surrounding his body, pushing him deeper inside you with loud groans stuck in your mouth. He fills you with his seed, howling because of the pleasure above your skin, bristling it.

Some tired kisses trails up your jaw to your lips, drinking your air as he tries to recover himself.

“Fuck, mami… You're a fuckin' blessing”. He whispers with trembling breath and his heart racing, making you laugh low. “Wha'? It's true! I fuckin' love ya'”.

“I love you too, Coquito”. You mutter back, licking his salty lips with the tip of your tongue. “Mi papi…”

“Solo tuyo, mami”. He nods lightly caressing your cheek and pulling away some bristles of sweaty hair.

[christian-boy33]

RICHARD RAMIREZ/JEFFREY DAHMER

What if...

Richard: * hitchhiking in Milwaukee *

Jeff: hey, do you need?

Richard: Yeah, I should go for a ride around town but I think I'm lost

Jeff: come I'll take you * smiles slightly *

Richard: Thanks amigo, you're saving my day

Jeff: * laughs slightly and opens the car door *

Richard: * walks in and adjusts his AC / DC shirt * do you mind if we stop by your house? I'm hungry as fuck and I have no money, I'm uhm, ran away from home * laughs *

Jeff: Sure, I hope you like meat * smiles *

Richard: I'm not complaining * smiles and leans against the window looking out * do you play baseball? you have the beseball bat on the back

Jeff: * puts his hands on the wheel while driving and looking ahead * I was playing baseball, but I had to stop, my teammates kept bullshitting me

Richard: Bad story, I'm sorry, some people know how to be real ass

Jeff: * puts on the radio while listening quietly *

Richard: Did you hear about Ted Bundy? he is very smart

Jeff: Yeah, but I'm glad they got him, by those poor girls I mean

Richard: * nods * true, he wasn't even ugly, I believe girls fell for him * laughs and pats on the window * not even to say he was ugly like Gacy, you know him?

Jeff: I see you like serial killers

Richard: I find them interesting, who knows what's on their mind, of course I would like to talk to a killer, I don't think I would be afraid

Jeff: * laughs * what a fool, you risk dying you know?

Richard: well a new experience isn't it? * smiles and looks at him *

Jeff: * nods and smiles *

Richard: Do you want to do some baseball shots? I warn you, I suck, I bet you hit really well

Jeff: I'm good at it

Richard: okey, we'll see * leans back in the seat closing his eyes and falls asleep *

.....

Jeff: * park in front of the house * hey sleeping beauty we arrived

Richard: * opens one eye * do you know that in the story Sleeping Beauty was awakened with a kiss? I demand the same treatment * laughs * just kidding

Jeff: I figured out * laughs and gets out of the car *

Richard: What's it like to kiss a man? I mean, have you ever wondered? * go down and look at the house *

Jeff: I don't have a clue man, I mean, who would ever do that?

Richard: I suppose a gay man, after all they must ... I mean ... you understand right?

Jeff: yes I think so * laughs and walks into the house * it's my grandmother's house, you don't mind right?

Richard: it's okey * shrugs * I have no problems

Jeff: Just relax on the couch, I'll make you a drink

Richard: * nods and goes to the couch to relax humming in Mexican *

Jeff: * makes a drink by putting morphine in a glass and going to him * Mexican? that looked Spanish if I'm not mistaken

Richard: My father is Mexican, I like Mexico to be honest, but now I live in Texas

Jeff: I've never been there but I'll be sure

Richard: * smiles and takes the glass from his hand, bringing it to his lips *

Jeff: Now that I think about it, how did you get here?

Richard: * takes the glass away before drinking * hitchhiking strangers, going into trains or buses at random and escaping, I mean, somehow I came there

Jeff: You should go home, this is dangerous for you here

Richard: Do you mean the missing men? I don't worry, if a gay kidnaps me and kills me it means I'm attractive

Jeff: You underestimate people

Richard: you underestimate me * winks and smiles *

Jeff: and if it were me what would you do?

Richard: what is your modus operandi? Why am I attractive to you? what drives you? did you come out? did they accept you? good or bad family? harassment? have you ever-

Jeff: wo wo stop, you look like a cop * laughs *

Richard: Agent Ramirez, not bad

Jeff: Ramirez? nice surname, I'm Jeffrey Dahmer

Richard: My name is Richard, nice to meet you Jeff

Jeff: * smiles slightly * come on, I'll take you to catch the train, I think your parents are worried

Richard: Maybe my mom and anyway I'm with my cousin momentarily ... I had ... some problems * looks away *

Jeff: * nods lightly and strokes his shoulder * I hope you can fix them

Richard: * laughs bitterly * I don't think we can go back now

Jeff: * nods and gently squeezes his shoulder * I don't fully understand, but I hope you can move on

Richard: thank you * smiles *

......

Reporter: * watch The Night Stalker * what do you think of Jeffrey Dahmer?

Richard: the cannibal? * smile * well ... he looks like a guy you'd happily have a drink with at his house and only then would you realize you're dead and eaten * laughs slightly *

[maxwell-grant]

What would a spider man: life story look like for the shadow?

Now that I've actually read Spider-Man: Life Story I can give this one a response. I'm gonna obsess about this question for a while because man what a ride Life Story was.

To those not in the know, the premise of Spider-Man: Life Story is: "In 1962, in AMAZING FANTASY #15, 15-year-old Peter Parker was bitten by a radioactive spider and became the Amazing Spider-Man! Fifty-seven years have passed in the real world since that event — so what would have happened if the same amount of time passed for Peter as well?" and basically it tells the story of Spider-Man as one continuous narrative spanning 57 years, from his beginnings to a potential future, allowing Peter Parker and his cast and world to age in real time and factor in elements from the character's major stories over the decades.

And it's got a lot into it that the premise doesn't convey and there is no way I can even begin tackling a project like this for the 90 goddamn years of The Shadow's history without seriously just writing an entirely different fanfic continuity (and I already have 5, plus multiverses, possibly more) and tipping off way too much about my own plans for the character. Even I have my limits.

So instead, what I'm gonna do is go over the broad strokes of The Shadow's history as it would look like if you could try and condense it all under a consistent narrative, if you could focus on each decade's highs and lows, what kind of story would arise if a deranged Shadow maniac like me were to try and build a basic skeleton for a The Shadow: Life Story story.

Basic rules first: I'm sticking to the idea of Life Story and spanning every decade from the beginning of the character's life to the end of it. The aging and death parts are important so I’m sticking to those. The character's canonical birth date is 1892, so he's not making it intact to the 2000s. We're capping this off in the 90s, although it doesn't mean no further stories can be told. I will avoid mentioning specific historical events like Vietnam and 9/11 for this post to instead focus on The Shadow's trajectory. I will also not be including other characters, only somewhat referencing whatever aspects I deem relevant. I'm not sticking to any continuity, I'm pulling literally everything I can for this one

And putting this one below the cut

The 1930s: The golden years. In 1930, after a long line of life experiences in the Great War and traveling around the world under dozens of names, the man formerly known as Kent Allard has taken to fighting crime in the Great Depression. This chapter would be more of a standard narrative showcasing the trajectory of The Shadow's 30s career, how he's started off as a urban myth fighting gangsters and then progressed to urban avenger with dozens of allies fighting spies and supervillains. Despite being in his home element, he is restless. Another war is on the horizon. We gotta know where he starts, to get a clue of where he's going.

The 1940s: Despite it being the "family friendly American hero" Shadow era, shit gets very, very chaotic in the 40s, way more so than The Shadow could have anticipated. The pulps were relatively tame for this period, by this point instead you have the radio with it's constantly rotating writers and sensibilities, and comics that had far less reservations about either being really boring or really wacky. Far more encounters with the supernatural than before and with supervillains like Devil Kyoti and Monstradamus and Solaris, plus Khan is still around. The Shadow is forced to spend a lot more time traveling the world to deal with the war, spending a prolonged period establishing headquarters in Japan to aid Japanese underground organizations opposing the military. The agents perform rescue missions on concentration camps, and this is the period where you could have the "real" Lamont Cranston start filling in for The Shadow a bit while he's overseas.

There's a particular blurb that got released during this period that explains The Shadow acquired the power to cloud men's minds not by training, but by journeying to Tibet in an unrecorded adventure that forced him to beg the monks to grant him assistance in saving the world. I have some very mixed feelings on this whole backstory but I think there's something to this idea. Some shit went down in the 40s that was way beyond what The Shadow could have anticipated, and to protect the world from it he had to tap into forces that perhaps should have been left untouched.

The 1950s: The Shadow has dissappeared from America alltogether. He gathered up his agents and announced he wouldn't return for at least a decade, and left them with enough money to last a lifetime and retire should they feel like it. Burbank and Cliff Marsland dissappeared with him, and this chapter would probably be told from the Agents's perspective as they face the 50s while we get snippets from Marsland on what The Shadow's been up to. Some of it involves The Shadow helping protect Tibet after Mao's takeover of China. The real Lamont Cranston doesn't put on the costume anymore and instead operates as a fairly regular detective, although he's training on the skills and powers he's picked up overseas. Whatever fantasy madness haunted the 1940s is all but gone.

The 50s had basically nothing in Shadow content other than the last legs of the radio show, which are 200 episodes from 1950 to 1954 that currently don't exist anymore outside of a few scripts. During this time, The Shadow's sole appearence in US content was a parody in MAD Magazine. Overseas however, there were original Shadow novels published in Norway (a story for another day), as well as a Mexican radio and film series, which also featured Cliff Marsland. I have little information on either.

The 1960s: The OG Shadow is still embroiled in conflicts overseas, but the rise of the criminal organization CYPHER forces him to mobilize Burbank and agents old and new alike to deflect CYPHER away from where he's at, although most of them have retired by now. He still cannot return, but he has been secretly instructing Lamont Cranston on furthering along his own latent abilities if he intends to take over in his stead, and Cranston's powers have grown and developed to a point that, although he is pushing 60, he is able to do things even the original Shadow could not. He also invests a lot in merchandising and costume changes, which...doesn't pan out. Nothing in this era really pans out. It's just a really, really frustrating period of bad luck and supervillains that the aging superpowered detective Cranston is able to stop. Lamont Cranston seems to die in this decade.

The 1970s: Inspired by The Shadow's DC series, and most importantly Michael Kaluta's spiffy redesign.

The original Shadow returns to a crime-torn America, intent on starting anew, and sets to rebuilding his network. But something is off about him. He's leaner, meaner, less compassionate and trusting. Just as what happened the first time he returned to America following years abroad, what happened in his sojourns overseas has fostered something inhuman in him, another sacrifice of his own identity for the sake of a world where the weed of crime has only proven more insidiuous. His powers have grown and so have his resources, but despite that, he's bordering on 80 years old by now, and cumulative trauma deep within his bones hampers his effectiveness. He's doing a lot better than he should, by any rights, but he can't keep this up and he knows it. And so, as before, he starts planning for it.

The 1980s: This was the decade where Walter Gibson died with his final Shadow story incomplete, all the movie plans from the 70s were canned, and Howard Chaykin happened, plus the other DC runs. It's the SHIT decade, basically, where everything goes to hell. Whatever plans The Shadow had blew up, dipshit copycats start ruining everything, his network crumbles, and this is probably the ideal decade to kill off Kent Allard.

But this is also the decade where something weird started happening outside of the story: The Ghost of Gay Street hauntings, where visitors on the hotel Gibson wrote the stories in repeteadly claimed to see a ghostly visitor looking exactly like Lamont Cranston, and Gibson himself claimed that to be a tulpa he created by accident.

Kent Allard may have died. But death can never claim The Shadow.

The 1990s-onwards: Somehow, The Shadow is still active. Still elderly, in a much more limited fashion, but still as sharp as ever if not more so. His powers have grown more so than ever before, even blossoming into a limited form of telekinesis. Is he a ghost? Did he somehow survive the events of the previous decade? Somehow, both Lamont Cranston and The Shadow linger on, but is it Kent Allard or Lamont Cranston? Is it someone else?

Who knows?

This is the decade in particular where he's going to be interacting with more prominently with a new generation, whether it's descendants of the original agents, or new heroes that have found themselves in his orbit. Inspired mainly by the Dark Horse Shadow comics, Ghost and The Shadow, and Peter Straub's Mystery and modern takes on the character like Batman x Shadow and the 2017 mini that play up the miserable immortal and ghost teacher aspects, also inspired by my recent realization that The Shadow's ideal future in-universe may be getting to age and mentor the next generation in some capacity.

Anything beyond that, only The Shadow Knows.

[lol-jackles]

Very interested in your take on Tarantino's take (love story?) and Harvey Keitel's intent regarding Mr White and Mr Orange in Reservoir Dogs. Your posts abt Jensen improvizing Dean's super tactile touches (brushing hair etc) with Sam made me wonder. Keitel is famously method & also fond of improvizing & asking amenable costars to improvize. All the touches (carding through Orange's hair and stroking his ear before the Mexican standoff, keeping a hand on Orange after Brown dies). Was that Keitel?

I think it’s 65% Keitel and 35% Tarantino.  It’s not QT’s style to have his male characters to be physically affectionate with each other and he originally wanted a younger James Wood to play White, therefore making the two men closer in age.  So the pseudo-father-son relationship explaination by QT doesn’t fly.

It’s been many years since I’ve seen this film so I’m going by memory -  the film started out with a fatally wounded Orange and going by White’s reaction I immediately assumed they’re old friends.  Turns out they’ve only known eachother for a few weeks.  Flashbacks showed us that White didn’t meet Orange until Joe started planning the diamond heist.  White knew Joe and Eddie for a long time, yet he was willing to shoot and kill both of them in defense of Orange when Joe (correctly) guessed Orange is an undercover cop.

On the surface, White believes there is honor among thieves and when Orange got shot, he was defending the defenseless and believed he was doing the right thing.  He believed anybody but Orange in the group had set them up and yet Orange was suffering the worse of it.  Now I have difficulty believing someone of White’s age and experience truely thinks there is honor among thieves.  He is way too emotionally attached to Orange for it to be a burgeoning father-son mentor relationship especially when QT had to explain their relationship in that context off-screen.  Remember kids, general audience don’t follow director’s interviews or commentaries, they go with what is on screen.

SPN fans joke that Dean Winchester has one rule for Sam and a different set of rules for the world.   Same here, White seems to have one set of rules when it comes to Orange and another set of rules for the rest of the world.

My guess Is Keitel took it upon himself (with QT’s blessing) to sell it as an unspoken love story otherwise the audience isn’t going to believe White would kill others so easily to try to save Orange whom he only knew for a few weeks. 

[prophecy-is-inevitable]

Day of the Dead

Xavier x Fem Reader

Halloween had always been Xavier’s favorite holiday, and it’s not the same without him this year. After a child in a cemetery shares some words of wisdom with you, you decide to pay your final respects at Camp Redwood.

Warnings: Angst, Grief/Mourning a Loved One, Fluff, Smut, Soft!Ghost Xavier (Let me know if you’d like me to add anything!)

Word Count: 3344

Here is the Xavier “Halloween” Oneshot! I thought it would be good to at least mention the other holiday celebrated this weekend, and who better to do that with than our favorite pastel-wearing ghost! The incorporation of the Day of the Dead into this story is meant with respect and acknowledgement to those who celebrate. ¡Feliz Día de los Muertos!

--------

It had been hard to believe, even with all of the news coverage and the funeral. It was all the people of LA could talk about all summer long. The beach waves hardly drowned out the murmurs of sunbathers and surfers recalling the latest articles or how they’re pretty sure they’d had an aerobics class with Montana Duke as one point. It made you sick. A man was in a coma. One of your acquaintances was in prison. People had died--your friends...your loved one. 

You still couldn’t accept that Xavier was gone. When he had told you he was going to Camp Redwood to work as a counselor with his friends, you had kissed him goodbye and told him to have fun. If you had known that the only time you would see him again would be in his casket, you would have said more. You would have told him that he was the only one you wanted to spend your days and nights with. You would have told him that you loved him. 

Los Angeles was a place that offered so many possibilities and so many options. The both of you had agreed to keep your options open, even as you found yourselves falling back into one another when things didn’t quite work out with said options. This summer trip with his friends would be a good chance for him to unwind and take a break from the city and maybe meet someone new. He’d invited you, of course, but he knew as well as you did that the summer job wouldn’t cover your rent, and you had a decent job in the city. Again, maybe if you had known how much you would miss seeing those frosted tips walking through your door or the sassy sway of his hips when he came to wrap his arms around you in the kitchen, you would have gone. Maybe you could have saved him if you had been there. Maybe he could have lived instead of you.

Xavier was always stronger than you. He had a smile that could light up the room and make those around him beam in return. Everyone wanted to be him or be with him. He had a confidence and charisma in the way he carried himself and treated those around him that you couldn’t help but admire. Even if his beautiful steel eyes found their way to others, they always managed to come back to you. To be fair, your own eyes often appreciated others, as did your hands and lips. Subconsciously, you always found yourself comparing the taste of another’s kiss or the feeling of their lips on yours to the pillowy soft caresses or passionate captive embraces of Xavier’s.

Halloween made it even harder. Xav had always, always loved Halloween. He’d thoroughly enjoyed the ability to find a costume and dress up and take on a character for a night. As an aspiring actor, it was good practice and something he was passionate about. It hurt you deeply to know that he could no longer take part in the things he loved the most. Without him, these things were just painful reminders of how empty your life felt now. 

You didn’t bother dressing up this year. Some of the day you simply spent by his grave, placing tiny pumpkins as decorations or telling him your happiest memories from years prior.

“Do you remember a couple years ago, Xav? When we tried to carve pumpkins and forgot to get those special little serrated knives to make it easier? You tried to use a butter knife, because you were afraid you’d cut yourself with anything else. The knife was so dull it hardly cut through the damn thing and ended up pushing it off the table.” You laughed softly at the memory even as tears trickled down your cheeks. “It exploded all over the floor and we were finding seeds under things in the kitchen for weeks.”

Many Mexican families had come to the LA area in hopes of better prospects, and you watched as many of them trickled into the cemetery throughout the day with arms full of flowers and food and photographs of loved ones in celebration of Día de los Muertos. You watched, enraptured, as a family situated themselves a couple graves over from you and began decorating the tombstone in candles and flowers. Their child caught you staring and smiled. Their tiny hands placed a large loaf of bread in the center of the altar they had created before they joined you.

“You look sad.” You couldn’t help but smile softly at the child’s innocent observation.

“Yes. I miss someone very much. He meant a lot to me.” Your hand reached out to graze the top of Xavier’s tombstone. He’d had no family, or at least no family that you knew of, and his other friends had shared his fate. The child smiled at you brightly and that confused you. They seemed to notice your confusion and they tilted their head.

“You don’t need to be sad. As long as you remember them, their spirit will live on and be happy in the afterlife,” they explained. Large tears brimmed in your eyes and a tightness took hold of your throat. “If we don’t forget our loved ones, they can always come back to us.” You blinked up at them, surprised at the way their words comforted you as you sat in the damp cemetery grass. They darted back over to their family for a moment, and then returned to you with something in their hands. It was a small sugar skull. You placed it carefully at the center of Xavier’s gravemarker and admired the bright blue details of the eyes and yellow swirls around the crown of the skull. Xav would have appreciated the resemblance.

The next day, you decided to visit Camp Redwood and say your final goodbyes. Maybe it would help you get some closure or feel momentarily closer to Xavier if you saw the last place he had been alive. Seeing the wooden sign gave you goosebumps, and you stopped your car before crossing beneath it. Were you ready for this? You swallowed thickly and eased down the gas pedal to drive towards the camp. 

Everything looked...so normal. It looked exactly like you would expect a summer camp to look during the fall. There were leaves and needles everywhere, and the smell of damp earth and trees filled the air. A morbid part of you was expecting something awful, something that gave away the terrible events that happened here. You got out of the car once you reached the main area of the campgrounds where you could see the cabins. It was getting hard to breathe.

Several minutes passed before you mustered up the courage to actually open the door and get out. There was a strange silence in the air that even the birds didn’t want to break. It was still and peaceful, and it made the hair at the base of your neck stand up. Upon reaching one of the picnic tables, you pulled a small framed photo of Xavier from your purse. You propped it up and smiled softly at the goofy grin on his face. He’d gone for headshots not long before his trip to the camp, and you remembered him telling you how hard it was for him not to smile. The photographer had liked the picture so much that they had printed it anyway. You loved the look of excitement on his handsomely sculpted face. There was a small tea candle in your purse that you placed with the picture and watched the flame dance on the glass of the frame.

“I’m so sorry, Xavier. I miss you so much.” You crossed your arms on the top of the picnic table and rested your head on them as you wept. “I should have been here with you. Or at least told you what you meant to me.” You sniffled and choked a quiet sob. You’d never said the words out loud, and they lodged painfully in your throat when you tried to express them to the empty air. “I love you, Xavier.” But it was too little too late.

“You...love me?’ a voice asked quietly behind you. Your head instantly shot up from your arms. You were hearing things. Slowly, you turned around, and your mouth dropped open at the man standing there. You were on your feet instantly, nearly tripping over the bench of the table to do so, and you took a step towards him.

“Xavier? But you...you died. I was at your funeral… How..?” The shock had your heart hammering in your chest, and you found it hard to catch your breath. A sad smile crossed the plump lips that you had missed so much, and he shrugged as if what he said was the most casual thing in the world.

“Yeah. I’m dead, babe. I know.” Slow steps brought him to you as if he were approaching an injured animal preparing to bolt into the wilderness. “But did you mean what you said? That you love me?” Your mouth opened and closed without knowing exactly how to respond. What was happening?! His hand came up to stroke your cheek, and a shuddering breath pulled from your lungs at the familiar warmth. It felt so real. You instantly covered his hand with your own as more tears streaked your cheeks. “Please. Say it again.”

“I love you, Xavier.” In that moment, you didn’t care how it had happened or what was happening. This was your Xavier and you had a second chance. You were not going to let it slip away. “I love you so much.” Both of your hands reached up and cupped his face, your thumbs stroking his high cheekbones, and he did the same to you. His eyes were brimming with unshed tears at your words, and his body tensed like a spring prepared to snap.

“I love you, too.” Xavier leaned in and captured your lips desperately in his. You didn’t want to breathe for fear of having to break the kiss. You were afraid that if you opened your eyes there would be only air in front of you again. Thankfully, that wasn’t the case. Xavier was there, perfect tears trailing straight down his cheeks. Your thumb brushed them away as you stared at him in both joy and disbelief. Of course you wanted to ask how it was possible, but questions could come later.

Xavier grabbed your hand and led you quickly to one of the cabins that still contained fully dressed beds. In a few short moments, they were the only things dressed in the room. Xavier pulled your shirt off with frantic movements as if he was afraid you would disappear. Once your skin was exposed, however, he immediately slowed. He dropped feathery kisses over your chest and stomach, paying careful attention to your bare breasts before journeying downward. You clutched at his shirt and tugged it over his head so your hands could trace the smooth planes of his muscled back and upper shoulders. Your head tipped back as he ran his tongue from your navel to the waistband of your pants. 

“Please, Xav,” you moaned, one hand sliding into his perfectly sculpted hair. His wide, baby blue eyes gazed up at you with pupils blown wide by desire. You knew your eyes must have looked the same. Your breath hitched when he slowly rolled down the tops of your pants, taking your panties with them, and he placed sweet kisses down the entire length of your leg. Occasionally, he flicked his tongue across the skin before moving further down. He removed your shoes and socks so he could follow with the rest of your clothes, repeating the trail with his lips as he had on the precious leg. “Xavier…”

“I know, baby. Don’t worry--I’m going to take care of you.” Xavier stood up again to press another kiss to your lips. You followed when he attempted to pull back, not entirely ready for it to end. He chuckled against your lips and teased his tongue along your cupid’s bow. You were all too happy to allow him entry, and you groaned when you could finally taste him on your tongue again. He walked you back to one of the beds until you were forced to sit on the end. He kissed his way back up from your ankles to your lips, and you quivered beneath him.

Xavier was already throbbing in his shorts, and he tipped his head back with a groan when you began to palm him. His breath ghosted over your cheek as he looked down at you, seeming to take in every feature of your face.

“You are so beautiful, and I am such a fucking idiot for not making you mine every single day.” He dove in for another kiss that drew a whimper from your throat.

“I’ve always been yours. Always have and always will.” The tender exchange left you both eager to prove yourself to the other, and your fingers hooked into his shorts to help shuck them off. The tip of his cock immediately pressed to your entrance, but Xavier held back to make sure you were ready. A few lazy rolls of his hips coated his length in your wetness and assured him that you needed no further preparation. Neither of you would last long at this rate.

The unified groan reached every corner of the cabin as Xavier sank into you, his head dropping to your chest. You stroked his hair, one hand tracing shapes over his back, and whispered loving words while he panted against your skin. If only you could have stayed like this forever. This was how it was meant to be. He began moving with languid thrusts, savoring the feel of your tight heat clenching around him with each re-entry. Xavier curved his body over your own to seek as much skin-to-skin contact as possible. 

“I’ve missed you so much. You feel so fucking good,” he panted and steadily began to increase his pace. Your legs dangled over his hips, and you ran your feet lovingly along his calves while sucking his earlobe between your teeth. He cried out softly, thrusting sharply into you in surprise, and you reciprocated his pleasured shout. The old wooden bed creaked beneath you with each thrust Xavier made deeper into you. The gentle touches of his hands along your sides and the worshipping kisses he left on the arms around his neck made you quiver around him. You were so close. The pace increased when you voiced your impending climax to your lover. His forehead was slick with sweat, and you could tell he was holding back.

“I’m so close, Xav. Come with me, please,” you begged, arching your back off the bed to feel his cock push farther into your warmth. He moaned loudly through his teeth, twitching inside of you from the words you spoke and the physical signs of you clenching around him sporadically. You moaned his name over and over, kissing the sensitive spot on his neck just below the cross earring he always wore. His hips rocked into yours and you angled your hips to meet his thrusts each time. A few more well-timed thrusts into your g-spot had you careening over the edge of a blissful orgasm. The clutching of your core around him as Xavier chased his own end left him shouting out his pleasure in the form of your name, and his warm seed quickly filled you.

“I love you…”

“I love you, too.”

The two of you remained that way for several minutes, too sated to want to move or lose the contact with each other. Eventually, you ended up laying on your sides to face each other. Your fingers danced along his toned arms, and he drew shapes and patterns over your hip as he held you close. Xavier explained everything to you, or as much as he could at least. You still didn’t quite understand it. All you knew was that you had been able to see the man you loved one more time and be in his arms.

“You’ll have to go soon,” he sighed. You frowned and cupped his cheek.

“What do you mean? Why?”

“We aren’t the only ones here--Me, Montana, and the guys. There are others, and I can’t let them hurt you.” 

“I don’t care, Xavier. I want to be with you.” He quickly shook his head and held your wrist to remove your hand from his cheek. You could see the pain on his beautiful face in the way he squeezed his eyes shut.

“No. No, I won’t let you die. Not here, and not because of me.” 

It seemed that time was passing all quickly, the sun beginning to set through the tall redwoods the camp was named for. Xavier hadn’t stopped touching you the entire time, with one exception, and you were grateful for it. The only time his hands weren’t on you was when he jogged over to the table to grab his picture and handed it back for you “to remember him by”. You stopped beside your car and he cupped your face in his large hands. 

“Promise me you won’t come back here.” The whisper made you shiver. You searched his eyes and tried to fight the burning in your sinuses. This truly was your final goodbye. His throat bobbed as he swallowed down his own emotions. You nodded reluctantly, and the relief from Xavier is palpable. His hold on you loosened slightly until he brought you in for one more kiss. It lasted longer than the others, your hands slipping into his hair and his thumbs removing the tears from your cheeks once more, and you take in everything he is in that moment. The warmth of his hands on you, around you, the pressure and gentle massaging motions of his lips on yours, the scent of his cologne and hair gel. Everything you would never have again and never be able to forget.

You were driving down the road before you knew it, and you stopped just outside Camp Redwood grounds. Xavier was standing just inside the sign when you leaned out the window to look back. It took everything you had to simply blow him a kiss and continue down the road towards the highway. Your only consolation was that the last words the two of you spoke to each other were the three words you had always wished you could say. 

Static came over the radio between one of the valleys, and you slammed your palm against the piece of junk. Between the mix of untuned stations and noise, you barely made out a few words:

“A child born of human and spirit will usher in the end of times.”

You groaned at the usual AM station interference and decided to turn it off until you got closer to the city. There was no room in your mind for music right now anyway. All thoughts were of Xavier and hours you had spent together. Had what the children in the cemetery said been true? Was it your remembrance of Xavier part of the reason he remained here? He seemed trapped, and that was not what you wanted, but you knew you would never be able to forget him.

At the end of July 1985, you gave birth to a beautiful blond child. He has his father’s gemstone eyes that sparkled with wonder and mischief. The angelic curls atop his head were what you knew Xavier’s looked like when eased up on the blow-dryer and products. Now there would always be a part of your lost love with you. You named the child Michael, and you loved him more than life itself.

You could not have been happier. The Day of the Dead had left you with a new reason for living.

[frogsmulder]

Maybe There’s Hope: chpt 4 Home is What I’ll be Dreaming of

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

6k words; rated e; tagging @today-in-fic; read on ao3

  "Mom?"

 "Dana?"

The image of opening the door to her daughter's frightened face flashed before her eyes as she put the key into the lock of Dana's apartment.

 "I'm sorry, mom, I don't have much time... but I'm leaving."

 "Leaving where? Dana, you're not making any sense."

Margaret Scully stepped into her daughter's world still smelling fresh like the owner had popped out to work that morning. She half expected Dana to appear around the corner at any moment.

 "I can't say. I don't even know myself. The trial– it's–"

 "Fox. I understand."

Running her finger along the top of a cabinet, she rubbed the particles into the pad of her digit– the dust had barely started settling on the surface. She remembered embracing her daughter, Dana clutching back like it would be the last time she would get to. Maggie liked to believe she had more faith than to believe that.

 "Mom, there's something I need you to do for me because I won't be there and I don't know if I'll be back."

She picked up the envelope on the side; held it firmly in her hands as she took a long look at the room; all the idiosyncrasies scattered about, neatly organized on bookshelves and the mantelpiece in the way that was so Dana. Sitting down on the couch, she sized up the task at hand: pack a life into boxes, for everything must go. She opened the envelope– the lease on the apartment ended next month.

She started in the bedroom, where all of Fox's possessions hadn't been unpacked yet. They were stuffed into the bottom of the closet, hidden away like bad memories. Maggie knew what it was like with her husband away at sea, not knowing when– if he'd be back. But she'd had her children, her friends, her church group, her faith. She may have felt lonely at times, but she was never alone. She knew her daughter; knew her tendency to shut people out when she needed them most; her need to prove her strength. She worried for Dana.

Pulling the first box out, she lifted the lid and looked inside. Scraps of newspaper clippings littered the bottom, disguising a picture frame and what she suspected was a case file.

"Oh, Fox," she sighed, returning the lid and his privacy. She was transported back to her own doorstep again, hugging Dana before she left. "You promise me one thing: you look after him."

In another box were all of his university books, editions of the Lone Gunmen magazine; another family heirlooms like silverware sets, photographs, inscribed books, a velvet box, a pocket watch. Maggie sat down on her daughter's unmade bed: the only sign that Dana had left in a hurry. The pillow askew revealed a knot of cloth, the top of William's baby hat. "Oh, Dana." She whispered like when she had hugged her tighter on the doorstep. "And you let him look after you."

Maggie shook her head. She wouldn't do it. All of their things, they were not things to be thrown out. She took the hat and carefully folded it, putting it away in a box, saving the good memories, saving all of them.

----------

 "Mom?"

 "Dana?"

Dana stood dumbfounded on her mother's step, pinching herself with excitement, relief, and nervousness. She rushed into her mother's waiting arms, finally coming home after what had been an eternity. "Oh my God, mom, I've missed you so much!"

The thud of crashing into the embrace jolted Scully, opening her eyes to the bright Mexican sun beating down through the windscreen of the car. Gasping, she bolted upright, clutching her hands by her thighs, before she bolted out of the door. Stood in the bright sunlight, she caught and held her breath. In. Hold. Out. It wasn't the first dream like it she'd had, but she was shocked every time by how real they felt and how tangible her mother seemed. Calmer now, she looked at Mulder in the passenger seat, drifting roughly in and out of sleep. His eyes opened groggily as he slowly stirred, stretched, and groaned. He offered her a warm smile that melted some of the ache in her chest and watered a different, better kind into bloom. When he stumbled out of the car and over the dusty ground to join her, Scully turned away, looking out across the open land. He slipped his hands around her waist from behind, stooping to rest his chin upon her shoulder.

"You had a bad dream again," he mumbled into her shoulder.

Scully leaned her head defeatedly against his. She turned in his arms and buried her face into his t-shirt, breathing in his warm, sleepy scent and sighing. Rubbing her hands up and down his sides, she huffed and pushed herself from the wrap of his arms. "I thought I was home again," she said simply, looking up at him.

"Yeah, me too," he hummed. "Well, actually, we were in the office and you were throwing paperwork at me, telling me you would chew my ass before Skinner could even get to me if it wasn't done on time."

She might have chuckled but Mulder doubted that she would share her dream so freely, despite his effort to tease it out of her. He understood her need for privacy but he wished at times she would be a little less unforgiving, building her walls twice as quickly as he could chisel them away. Resolutely, he stood up straighter, holding out his hand out in invitation. She queried him with her eyebrows, so he flexed it imploringly. "Take a walk with me."

"Where?" she laughed.

"Anywhere, everywhere." He chipped away at her guard with a smile. "This fine foreign land has many fruits to offer."

"Okay–" she took his hand cautiously– "but not too far."

They ambled awhile aimlessly with no destination in mind. Taking each step at a time, it was pleasant living in the moment with no expectations. The liberation of no judgement from the open expanse drew them closer together. Between them, they spoke in silences, admiring the craggy landscape decorated with scraggy bushes. As Scully walked along, her thoughts drifted like the thin, wispy clouds on the breeze, back to her mother and the home she no longer had. She hadn't told Mulder yet, not because she couldn't bring herself to tell him, but because with all that had happened, it had slipped her mind. Everything she had now was all ahead of her and everyone to the side of her, holding her hand and swinging it gently like a pendulum. Life seemed simple when reduced to its basic measures: food, water, shelter, Mulder. She wondered how long she could live on that.

Mulder's voice broke through the cloud of her thoughts like a siren returning her to the moment. "Tell me what you're thinking."

Scully looked at him, surprised that he could see into her mind so easily.

"You may keep things closer to yourself these days, but I know your thinking face when I see it." He said it kindly but the honesty of his words punched a hole through her gut. She tried to tell him these things but she also had to figure them out for herself first. She only regretted that she'd ever hurt him in any way being caught in the brunt of her storm.

"It's been a month." The words surprised her as they tumbled out without her knowing.

He cocked his head. "What has?"

"Us..." she breathed. Scully made a point of looking him in the eye, even if it stole the breath from her lungs to see him focused on her so intensely. "... living like this."

His thumb shakily stroked the back of her hand. "You're counting?"

"I find it hard not to."

Mulder nodded.

She sighed. "I– I couldn't tell you what day it is, but I... I don't know– have the need to keep a tally; a record of some kind." It was like her body clock was scratching tally marks on the walls of her mind. Like she was a prisoner in her own skull. "I do it to keep me sane but does it make me mad?"

"Sometimes the only sane response to an insane world is insanity," he answered.

"That's not helping."

"Sorry." He paused in thought, taking a breath whilst trudging onwards. "I know what you mean... When Samantha first went missing and I was waiting for her to come through the bedroom door, I used to count the nights she didn't."

Curiosity claiming the better of her she asked, "When did you stop?"

"If I'm honest, I don't think I have. I just lost count somewhere along the way; found other days to count. Like when I was in hiding–" He took her other hand and pulled them to a stop, standing in front of her and looking into her blue eyes flickering with worry. Mulder could tell she would take what he was about to say the wrong way, so he tried to assure her with a squeeze of his hands and a loving look. "Every night I would cross off another day until I could see you and Will again... Sometimes that was the only thing that kept me going."

He felt her tense in his hands anyway, saw her eyes mist up as the walls grew thicker, yet she refused to let the tears spill. He steadied her at the shoulders, rubbing tender circles gently through the cloth of her t-shirt. Bending lower, he brushed his lips softly over hers, pulling her from the pain she harboured. Yet Scully remained frozen, unresponsive to the warm life of his lips, the hole in her gut tearing a little more. Pulling away to see her stone-faced, he whispered, "Scully, please don't do this to me. You have nothing to be sorry for."

She licked her lips and swallowed, allowing herself to sink to the bottom and the troubled waters calm over the top. Moving out of his grasp, she continued on their wander as if she could physically leave the memories behind.

Mulder's hand loosened on her shoulder, trailing down her arm as she walked away. A sharp tug drew him from the well of despair. As their hands met, she held on tightly coaxing him to follow, which he did so gratefully. She stopped them after a few paces, placing a hand upon his chest. On tiptoes, she raised herself to meet his lips, returning his kiss with mellow grace, not breaking until she had to breathe.

"Scull–" he questioned but was cut off by the press of her lips back against his, delicately answering him.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled against his mouth.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," he repeated in a whisper. His hand rested at the small of her back, guiding her as he turned back the way they had come. "Come on, let's get some breakfast."

----------

Along the back roads of Mexico, they traveled for some time before they came across a small town. The one street through it was lined with sand-coloured buildings that glinted in the sunlight, some rising tall, others spread wide. All of them looked welcoming and homely and Scully, gazing out of her window, wondered what it would be like to live in one of them. As they drove past, she wondered about the lives of the people who did live in them. Did they argue about who took the trash out? Did the children constantly ask what was for dinner? Did they gather around a television in the evening with their families? It was a life that for the longest time she had dreamed of and at one point had mourned the loss of. Now, she was indifferent to the idea of getting out of the car, hardened by years of abnormalcy, or so she told herself. Home was just a dream; the car was all she had for a life. Yet still a small part of her dared to dream; dared to envy the people in this town of their families and their homely comforts. And at the same time, she feared that normalcy wouldn't be enough for her.

Mulder pulled up outside a storefront, eyeing the swathes of people moving in every direction. Despite its size, the town was full of bustling people going about their daily lives.

"How good's your Spanish, Scully?"

She gave him a withering look. "You know I took German in college."

"Mhmm, and I did French in high school. Where's Monica when you need her?"

Scully followed his line of gaze to the crowds of people. "Mulder, I don't think we should go in together."

"What?" He whipped his head around to look at her. "Scully, we're fine. Nobody knows us out here."

"I still think we'd be better off if only one of us went in."

"But what if one of us needs help?" he questioned quietly, scared by her sudden urge to be alone.

"I'm sure I'll be fine," she smiled, unbuckling her seatbelt. "Anyway, you need to drive the getaway car."

Scully left him in the car to his own thoughts spiraling with concern.

It was eerily quiet inside the store. The jingle of the bell above the door and the radio playing quietly in the background only heightened the silence within. Scully perused the shelves, picking up odd pieces like cereal bars, bottles of water, and a packet of sunflower seeds. By the counter, there was a rack of postcards, mostly just pictures of the map of Mexico or the flag with writing she didn't understand. She picked one up and thought of her mother who had no idea where she was or how she was. It would be too complicated to send without revealing their location, she knew that, but maybe when she got home she could give it to her mother like documentation of where they had been.

Scully had always wondered what it would be like to go traveling– her father's worldly trips had partly inspired her and she had been raised with what he called the Scully Adventurer's Spirit. Charlie had started his world trip in Mexico, although his journey had been an entirely legal affair. He hadn't crossed into new territory miles away from border control. Scully turned the postcard over in her hands, reminding herself how far from home she was. Yet strangest of all, she didn't feel like she was.

"Do I know you?"

The voice made Scully jump and instinctively she held the postcard behind her back.

"I'm sorry?" she asked, trying to keep her tone as calm as possible whilst blood pulsed in her ears.

A man, who looked to be in his late forties, had appeared behind the counter with his brow furrowed in concentration and his sight set on her. He rubbed his chin contemplatively. "I know you. You are American, no?"

Scully stuttered, unsure of how to answer. "No, I– I don't–"

"Yes!" he interrupted her. His smile grew with his enthusiasm, unnerving Scully more by the second. "I see you before somewhere, on the television perhaps?"

"I'm sorry, I have to go."

Scully left some money on the counter and swiftly weaved back through the aisles. At a brief glance, she plucked a random box of hair dye from a shelf, self-conscious of her entire appearance. If she had to, she would scrub down her skin until she looked like someone else, but first, she had to get out.

The man behind the counter clicked his fingers in recognition. «¡Ah! ¡Cops! ¡Y el hombre lobo con el FBI!» he laughed and shook his head.

Mulder saw Scully burst out of the shop, arms laden with groceries and an expression he couldn't fathom. She crumpled into the passenger seat, quickly stuffing the things into the footwell. "You'd be no good in a robbery," she quipped.

"Scully, what's wrong?" he immediately asked.

She gave him her usual answer, passing him a cereal bar and his seeds. "I'm fine. Let's just get out of here."

Mulder took the food and started the engine, driving away despite the uncomfortable feeling that told him she was hiding something. He didn't want to press her further though, so he bit his tongue and focused on the road.

After a couple of minutes, Scully turned to him, worrying her lip between her teeth. She relented, speaking softly. "There was someone in there, Mulder, he recognised me."

Mulder let go of a breath that he didn't know he was holding, relieved that she had finally said something. "Are you sure? I mean they couldn't have been mistaking you for someone else?"

She shook her head, doubting herself already. "I don't know, he said he'd seen me on TV. Mulder, what if they have our pictures out on the news?"

"I don't think they'd do that. They don't want to draw unnecessary attention to themselves," he reasoned.

"But they could dress it up as something else. Get the unsuspecting populous to do their dirty work without telling them who or why. Mulder, seriously, how haven't we been caught yet?"

"Don't know, but I'm not going to question it either."

"But don't you think it's strange that if they really wanted to find us they could have easily done so already?" She looked at his profile, judging the minute movements of his jaw muscles, saw them flex unconsciously as they did whenever he was forced to admit a hard truth.

"Perhaps we're not as important as they would have us believe," he tried, glancing at her for reassurance. "Maybe they're busy developing a vaccine or ordering their super soldiers into neat, indestructible lines. Everyone's got bigger aliens to fry." He chuckled perfunctorily.

"Mulder, they were determined enough to kill you that they rigged your trial," Scully turned to gaze at the roadside zipping past and said quieter, "I think there's something bigger at play here."

Mulder properly laughed and she stared at him with a frown stitched upon her brow.

"You're doing a very good impression of me, Scully," he chortled.

She smiled despite herself, trying to hide it in a dip of her head. She hummed, having to agree. Maybe she was being paranoid, maybe she should be. The little Mulder voice played in her head, It's not paranoia if they're really out to get you. Shifting in her seat, Scully scuffed her feet on the box of hair dye in the footwell. She was reminded of the haunting feeling of being reeled into the snare, the need to change shape and escape. I see you before on the television.

"Could we find a motel tonight?" she asked warily, cognizant of the contradiction to her previous argument.

"Yeah, sure." He reached out for her hand, lacing her fingers with his.  "You sure you're okay?"

"Yes," she smiled. "I'm fine."

----------

Scully stood behind Mulder at the front desk, listening vaguely to him trying to communicate to the owner of the motel. She stared out of the window at the fading light, smiling as she clutched their only bag of belongings. Resting her cheek to Mulder's shoulder, she heard the muffled sound of his broken Spanish.

«Uno habitación. Uno err noche,» he stuttered earnestly.

She chuckled, remembering of all the times they had booked two rooms just to keep up appearances and Human Resources of their backs. It wasn't that both rooms never got used, more the connecting door left open was an invitation too tempting to resist taking. Mostly, she relished the frequent nights he had slipped into her bed under the cover of darkness and fallen asleep curled around her.

«¿Te gustaría una o dos camas?» The man nodded towards Scully and she smiled politely.

«¿Excusa?»

«¿Una cama o dos?» the man repeated.

«Una cama por favor, señor,» Scully answered.

Mulder muttered, "Feel free to save me from looking like an ass any time."

"I was enjoying listening to you butcher a beautiful language," she teased.

As soon as Mulder was through the door, he flopped onto the bed and sighed contentedly. "One day, Scully, we'll have a place of our own and I will never sleep on a couch again."

She eyed him suspiciously as she rummaged through their bag. Was this where he thought this was going? The end goal a house out in the country with a little wooden porch and surrounded by fields to play baseball in? She tried to imagine it, sitting on the porch, drinking ice tea on a sunny day, a good book and Mulder for company. A cozy log fire crackling in the stone fireplace on long winter evenings. She sometimes thought about the fairy-tale ending but she couldn't imagine herself in that story. Somehow, Scully was always on the outside looking in.

Clutching the box of hair dye behind her back, she stood purposefully. "I'm going to use the bathroom."

Mulder followed her with his head until the door clicked shut behind her. Hearing the water run in the en-suite, he turned over on his side. The creaking of the pipes was oddly comforting and he closed his eyes to it. The mechanical lullaby was, however, annoying enough to keep him from drifting off even though it was the first time he'd laid his head down on a pillow in a month.

A month– Scully was counting. Every day he had woken up next to her and gazed into her clear, blue eyes, she had been counting. He now understood half of what had been wearing her thin, forcing her to guard herself as he'd forged ahead to try and break through. Maybe now was not the best time to pick at her walls. Instead, he promised to find a small window and let in some light. He lay flat on his back, exhausted, and rubbed his hands down his face. Maybe he shouldn't find a window. What if he did find one and somehow manage to block the light out against his own intentions? Perhaps all she needed was space and time to heal. Time away from him and pain he brought with his existence. It was so hard to know what to do when she didn't speak to him. Not about the important things; the things that truly mattered. Not that either of them had been very good at it in the past. It had only ever been drips of conversation at a time, providing a Petri dish for overthinking and false assumptions and doubt. Things that built up like a damn over time until the structure burst and it all came flooding out at once. He didn't want to lose Scully and he didn't want her to get lost.

Restless, he turned onto his other side.

Emily's little face peered up at him from over the side of the bed.

"Jeez, Em," Mulder laughed nervously. "You scared me."

Her young face, too innocent still to be morose, hung dejectedly before him. Her eyes were wide, almost tearful, trying to tell him something he wished he could understand.

"Emily, what is it?"

She simply padded over to the bathroom door and pointed.

"Dana," he breathed, rushing onto his feet and knocking on the door. "Scully? You okay in there?" he called urgently.

"It's open," she replied and he noticed how she avoided his question. Turning the handily delicately, as if he was intruding, Mulder opened the door ajar and peered inside.

"Scully?"

Her t-shirt was crumpled on the floor with a towel next to the bathtub. She had her head hung over the ledge, damp tresses of hair dangling before her face. Various bottles from a box were scattered around in an unorganised mess that was so unlike her.

"If you need to use the toilet, just be quick," she said.

He cleared a path and kneeled down beside her. "Scully, what are you doing?"

Scully turned her head to look at him, dragging her tongue across her top lip in a condescending manner. "Mulder, what does it look like I'm doing?"

"Is this why you wanted to stay in a motel tonight?"

"Does it matter?"

He carefully reached for her hands, untangling them from the ribbons of her once red hair. "Of course it matters. Why didn't you tell me?"

She looked down at their hands. "Am I obligated to tell you everything, Mulder?" she quizzed, returning her gaze to him as she uttered his name.

"No," he searched her eyes for some meaning, but it was hidden away in some depth he couldn't swim to. "But you hardly tell me anything anymore. I think I see a glimmer of what you keep locked away in your heart, but I don't know if it's just a smokescreen, Scully, I can't tell."

She pulled her hands away, combing her fingers through her hair again. "I would never lie to you, Mulder," she said candidly.

"That's not what I said."

Huffing, she stopped, resting her arms over the rim of the bath and giving him her full attention. "Then what are you saying?"

He didn't know. He'd lost sight of his thoughts when he'd seen her troubled; only ever her in mind. He paused, taking a breath. "Why do you need to change yourself?" he uttered softly.

"I'm not changing myself, I'm just dying my hair. It's nothing new or special."

"Why now? Why so suddenly?"

She stared at him in disbelief. "I told you: someone recognised me. I can't just shrug that off like it didn't happen because it did. This is our reality, Mulder, we can't wander through it blindly an– and just hope we'll make it out alive!"

She caught her breath, taken off guard by her own sudden outburst. Licking her lip, she composed herself, affecting an even tone. "I'm not shutting you out, Mulder, if you'd just listen..."

He watched her silently, absorbing her words. Eventually, he nodded timidly. "Let me help then," he whispered.

"No, I'm fine," she brushed him off.

But he refused to lose her. "Scully, let me help."

She sighed, giving in. Snapping of the rubber gloves, she handed him the pair: they had been too large for her hands anyway. "I've died my hair before, but this is bleach, and all the instructions are in Spanish," she admitted.

"I think you're doing fine, Scully," he smiled, rubbing the mixture from the tips all the way to the roots of her hair. Once he'd checked everywhere was covered, he sat with her, waiting patiently by her side until it needed to be washed out. Grabbing the showerhead, he made sure that the water temperature wasn't too hot and massaged her scalp. Scully hummed in appreciation as the warm water cascaded over her head and his fingers worked their magic.

"Do you think I should bleach my hair too?" he asked, partly to make her laugh and partly because he knew that she was right: this was their reality. And she did laugh: the shaking of her shoulders accompanied by a small chuckle made him sigh in relief.

"What's so funny?" he teased. "Would I not look cool with bleach blond hair? I could take up surfing."

Laughing again, Scully elbowed him playfully, making the shower spray everywhere. Her giggle was a welcome sound for sore ears, breathing life back into the empty silence that had followed the burst of the damn.

He turned off the water and handed her the towel. She sat on the ledge of the tub, patting carefully at her now blonde hair, eyeing the alien colour curiously. Mulder grabbed another towel and started on her other side, drying her hair with just as much care. He seriously thought about how he should change his appearance, although he didn't want to. He didn't want to look in the mirror and see someone else's reflection staring back, his own image lost and forgotten. Seeing Scully now, she didn't look like the same person he had known for nine years. The blonde brought out the ice in her blue eyes; her stares once hot like fire now cold and hard. He knew it was just a costume to wear; an act to play, but he feared it becoming a warped version of reality. He should find his own costume to don too; if not becoming the obnoxious surfer-dude type, then what other outfit should he assume? Mulder doubted novelty glasses with the big nose and moustache would cut it, not least because he already wore reading glasses and his nose– well...

Absentmindedly, he asked, "What if I grow a beard?"

Scully turned suddenly serious. Her icy, blue eyes, still fiery, melted his heart.

"Don't," she said definitively and pulled him into a searing kiss. Her fingers curled through the hair at the nape of his neck, dropping the towel and bringing him closer. She felt a well of hunger for him build in her like she'd been starved of his touch.

His hands traveled from her sides, down around the shape of her thighs, lifting her from her perch on the bathtub. He pulled her body into his, pressing them together, all the while she stole his lips with fever. With his hands under her ass and her legs wrapped around his waist, Mulder maneuvered them towards the bedroom.

"No. Here," she breathed.

"Dana–"

She rested her forehead again at his. "Please."

Mulder turned around and placed Scully on the corner of the sink unit. Grinding softly into her, he traced a hand up to cup her jaw, locking lips reverently. She tightened her grip, pulling him closer at the hips and binding her ankles behind his legs. She sucked his full bottom lip, ripe and refreshing like a plump summer fruit, biting it and soothing it with a swipe of her tongue. He hissed when she continued down his neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses and lovebites until she reached the neckline of his t-shirt. Impatiently, she tugged at it and set him free, dropping it by his feet.

Her hands wandered his torso. It was softer than before, leaner and less muscular. There was still tension in his muscles, a defined shape to them, but she could feel the difference. She reached the waist of his jeans, slipping her hands down further, but Mulder grabbed her wrists, making her look up at him. When Scully saw into his eyes, she understood that he wanted to slow down, but there was a fire unfurling through her, setting her body alight and cultivating an insatiable thirst. The last time they had taken things slow, she'd had too much time to think, and she didn't want to think: just feel.

The moment passed between them, eyes locked onto one another, their telepathy flying with the sparks.

Mulder tenderly let go of her wrists and cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb across the rose flush that tinted it. Scully sighed, leaning into his hand and placing her own on top. He bent down to capture a kiss, his lips soft yet firm with resolution. She responded in kind, opening up to the taste of his tongue, of desperation, of hope, of the sunflower seeds he cracked between his teeth all day. Her fingers wound around his hand, bringing it from her cheek to her hip. She slipped down off the cabinet and he unbuttoned her pants. They fell to the floor with a rumpling sound that seemed to echo off of the tiled walls. She stepped out of them, climbing on top of the unit, tugging him between her legs. A second rumpling of jeans and he was buried inside of her, clutching her closely.

He began to move leisurely, kissing her with indulgence. But his body was strung like an archer's bow, taut with resistance, holding something back. Scully moved against him insistently, one hand scratching at his shoulder, the other twined through his hair. She kissed him like a diver plunging into deep waters; the taste of exploration too sweet not to bite.

"Faster," she pleaded in his ear.

Mulder complied, giving in, releasing built-up tension with the snap of his hips forward. In quick and jarring thrusts he drove into her until it was too much and she came with a gasp, collapsing into his chest. Time seemed to slow. The pulsation of where they were joined throbbed up through him to his ears and pounded through his chest. He heard every lungful of air he took; every small, panting breath Scully puffed. Every plunge pushed him further until he too, gasping for air, broke the surface, floating euphorically on the waves of the ocean.

An indeterminate amount of time later, when it was moving at roughly the normal speed again, Mulder lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling with his arm outstretched and Scully's head resting on it. She was drawing aimless patterns around the scar tissue of where she had shot him. Moby had been rescued from their bag of belongings and the white whale was snuggled in the space between them. Everything should have felt easy.

"Scully..."

"Yes?"

"I– I..." He thought of Emily's face staring up at him. He wanted– needed to tell her about the hallucinations that haunted him but he didn't know if he could place that kind of burden on her. He shuffled onto his side and watched her watch him back. He was about to open his mouth when he saw Emily sat on the bed behind Scully, frantically shaking her head. He itched to make Scully turn over and see for herself the impossible. But there was something in that little girl's eyes, so like her mother's, that made him think of Scully first: how angry she would be if he said he could see her; how broken she would be if she saw her for herself.

"Why did you get those sunflower seeds?" he eventually fabricated to fill the silence, bottling his ghosts up and burying them for another time.

"What?" she asked, understandably bewildered.

Ignoring the nagging feeling that he was walking down the wrong path, aware it was still early enough to go back, Mulder sighed and continued, "You didn't have to get them, so I just wondered why you did."

"Because you like them and I saw them." She leaned away from him, questioning him and trying to gauge what was running through his mind. "Did you not want them?"

"No, it's not that. I wasn't expecting it– I didn't ask you to get them..." he continued to ramble.

She silenced him with a kiss, smiling. "You didn't have to."

When Scully pulled away from him, Emily had disappeared and he wondered why at all he was taking advice from his own deluded mind. Mulder looked up at the ceiling again. There were things he needed to get off of his chest, but Emily was right, even if she was only an apparition or a figment: he couldn't tell Scully, not at the moment. Maybe sometime in the future when the moment was right. Yet the longer he left it, the harder it would be to explain what was happening– to explain why it had taken so long to confide in her. The longer he left it, the harder it pressed against his chest; another weight to carry around. The harder it pressed, the more it weighed on his mind; another thought to worry about. The more he thought about it, the harder it pressed against his chest. It was like something inside him wanted to scream when he reflected upon it. So, he didn't. Instead, he pulled Scully closer and lost himself curled around her. Her warm skin against his own grounded him; her scent wrapped itself around him and tied him down. He focused on her breathing, matching his own to the same pattern until he was made up of a tiny piece of Scully that kept him sane and whole.

"Mulder," she mumbled. "Are you okay?"

"Shh, it's nothing," he whispered. He stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. "Try and get some sleep."

[loving-all-for-loki]

Voiceless Love Chapter 9: Evermore

(Bucky’s route)

Bucky x reader

Word count: 2264

Warnings: fluff, some angst, SMUT (unprotected sex, you know better).

Tag List: @caffeineoverloadandstudying @zizzlekwum @daddysfavoritesexkitten @magicalpieex @buckylokisimp @lokiyoulittle

A/N: So, because I originally intended for this to be a Loki x reader, I couldn’t bring myself to write a ton of more Bucky chapters. I kind of got bored with it and I don’t know how to write Bucky well for long so this is the last Bucky chapter. I want to thank everyone who made it to the end. I feel very blessed for how well this series was accepted considering how new I am to writing fanfiction. 

There’s this old Bruce Lee quote that goes, “Love is like a friendship caught on fire. In the beginning a flame, very pretty, often hot and fierce, but still only light and flickering. As love grows older, our hearts mature and our love becomes as coals, deep-burning and unquenchable”. It’s completely accurate. 

When you first met Bucky, it was a friendship. He took you under his wing as a friend and as a mentor, one newbie to another. He was quiet and civil. It’s what drew you to him, but after months you became infatuated. Neither of you left each other’s side, until Loki came around.

That’s the flickering, or your flickering. He swooped in like a knight on the back of a donkey. He was unlikely, a rare and unstable love. You remember when you first met him. Quiet like Bucky, he had a strong presence, one that was to be noticed. Unlike Bucky, he wanted nothing to do with you at first until he got to know you. He realized you were more, but he left. His light flickered out and your flickering like with Bucky vanished. It returned full and brighter than before.

It became unquenchable. You were once again glued to him and him to you. Bucky was there through heartbreak, injury, joy, and accomplishments. After some convincing, Tony eventually let you join the team on missions and help heal on the battlefield. Had it not been for you, Steve, Bucky, and Sam would have died multiple times. Every time healing them sent you to the hospital, Bucky would stay by your side until you were dismissed.

Bucky at one point fought for you, telling the team you couldn’t keep giving them all of your life. They decided to keep you as an emergency or slight injury medic. If they barely got scratched, you would quickly heal them or if they were about to die as well. You stopped healing broken arms and pulled muscle, letting yourself recover from missions.

Now, going through your boxes to put away, you find photos of when you first joined the team. Photos of you with Bucky on late nights, you with Nat and Wanda drunk, you with Steve, Bucky, and Sam drunk. A lot of photos of you with the team drunk. You laugh at Bucky’s expression in some of the photos. Happy. Tired. Drunk.

“Why do you have so many photos of us drunk?” Bucky laughs. 

He turns to see Bucky looking over your shoulder at the photos. You chuckles as you hand him some more of you and the team. 

“Man, we had some fun.”

“Had? We still have fun with them?”

“Not as much. Do we forget who wanted to be on “emergency mode” for the team?”

“I see it as temporary retirement.”

Bucky laughs at your comment as he hands you the photos back. He goes back to putting dishes away into the cupboards. Had anyone told you that two years after you met the super soldier, you’d be moving into an apartment with him while engaged, you’d smack them and chuckle. If anyone told you that you’d be talking to someone as if you’ve always talked, you’d laugh even harder.

But here you are with Bucky, unpacking boxes into the new places and cleaning the surfaces. You set up an old record player he had bought for you last Christmas and put one some old records from Bucky’s childhood. Every so often, he’d stop what he’s doing and make you dance with him. Most of the time it would be a slow song you’d waltz around to, him kissing your neck and making you giggle.

After hours of unpacking, Bucky and you sit down on your new couch. You both take in a deep breath and fall on each other’s shoulders, laughing. Bucky wraps an arm around you and pulls you into him, you laying your head on his lap. He runs his fingers through your hair and looks out the window. The scenery of New York is so calm and familiar. You two debated between moving somewhere far or staying in the area, but knowing how the Avengers are always getting themselves in trouble (and how Bucky still goes on every mission with them), you decided to stay in New York.

You’re not complaining though. It’s such a beautiful sight and it’s home. Having lived in New York for two and a half years now, you feel at home here. It’s almost as if it’s always been home, but now Bucky is home, too. Your heart lies with him and this city. Sure, Loki took a piece of your heart with him to Asgard, but you remind yourself that muscles can get stronger.

You try not to think about Loki often. It only depresses you and puts Bucky in a bad mood, but you can’t help it. Losing a love is hard and sometimes you wish you could forget him entirely, as if it would be easier, but you know you can’t. Bucky has respected your feelings for Loki throughout the time. When you two moved and were packing your things, Bucky didn’t make you throw out the photos of Loki. He never made you get rid of the memories. You kept them in a safe box in your new closet.

But seeing your whole new life, the photos with Bucky, it reminds you why you moved on. You knew you couldn’t hold onto Loki forever, especially after you found out Thor was no longer fighting Odin for his freedom. It was hard, but you knew to save your heart, you had to. Bucky made it easy. He let you talk about him. He let you cry and rant about Loki. It broke his heart to see you in so much pain, but he knew it would pass.

It did pass after a while. You found a new yet familiar love in Bucky. Something warm, comfortable, easy. Bucky’s quietness and security made it easy to love him. He was a man of few words, except with you and you were a woman of none, except with him. It’s a dynamic you can live in and a dynamic that works. Anytime you were out of words or didn’t feel good, you didn’t speak and he was okay with that. He doesn’t take it personally anymore.

“I love you,” he mumbles. “I love you, too.” 

He smiles at your words, knowing how much they mean and how much sentiment they hold. After so long, he lingered on every word of yours, not wanting to miss a single one. Even the avengers quieted when you spoke. You eventually got comfortable enough in front of everyone to say a few words. They managed to coax a couple ‘yes’ and ‘nos’ out of you and then a little while after, they got a few ‘thank yous’ and ‘no problems’. Steve watches Bucky whenever you speak, seeing the smile spreading on his face.

Getting engaged to Bucky brought the greatest smile and that changed Steve’s opinion on everything. Even after dating Buck for a year, Steve wasn’t sure about your relationship with the soldier. He still thought you two were too dependent and immature, but he saw the way you grew together and he knew. He knew you both were good for each other in the long wrong. 

“You want to get Mexican or Chinese?”

“How about Japanese?”

“Sushi?” You ask with a cocked eyebrow.

“Yeah, I’ve never had it.”

“I’m shocked.”

“Well, Hydra wasn’t one for non-mush paste foods and all Stark ever bought was shawarma.”

“I never understood his love for shawarma.”

“Neither did I.”

You both laugh before order yourself some food. You continue to unpack as the food is delivered. When Bucky opened the door for the delivery woman, he was stunned to see her drop the food and walk away fast.

“I think the food lady was scared of me,” he chuckles.

“Well, do remember what the whole world thinks of you.”

“You’re right, but I hate it.”

You sit down to eat and put on some show. After eating all the sushi at record speed, you find yourself yawning and falling asleep on the couch. Bucky watches you as your chest rises and falls in your deep exhaustion. He can’t fathom how beautiful you are and how lucky he is that you are his. He continues to watch you for ten more minutes before picking you up and sets you down on your shared bed. 

Bucky crawls in behind you, wrapping his arms around your body and holding you close. You rustle around and push yourself closer to him. Bucky tries to swallow the feeling he gets when your butt rubs against him, knowing now isn’t the time to start anything with you, but he can’t help it. He thrusts into you, startling you.

“Bucky, what the-”

“Shhh.”

Bucky gets on top of you and kisses you hard.  You tangle your fingers in his hair as you deepen the kiss. You can feel his smile against your lips, making you internally giggle. His metal arm rests on your cheek, his thumb brushing against it, as his other hand strokes up and down your waist. It leaves bruises as he goes, squeezing you, getting closer to you. You buckle  your hips against him, drawing out a moan from his lips.

He leans back for you two to take a deep breath, stripping yourselves of your clothes as you do. You admire Bucky, who sits shirtless in front of you. His scars and bruises mark him perfectly, depicting a man of strength. Bucky’s eyes can’t leave your body, the way it curves and rests. He sees you as this goddess of grace and beauty, something to be worshiped.

And he does worship you. He leaves trails of kisses down your neck to your stomach, stopping right over your mound. His hot breath fans over your fold, sending chills down your spine and making you want more. Your whining begs him to get closer to you, which he teases with kisses on your inner thighs. Your wetness drips on to the bed, capturing his attention, which he replies with by capturing your slickness. His tongue presses against you, sweetly and warmly. Your moans encourage him, but he stops coming back up and hover over your bod.

Bucky slides his pants off and holds the base of his cock. He’s thicker than you imagine and for a brief second you think he won’t fit until he slowly slides into you. You can feel your walls stretching around him as the sting settles in. 

“Move,” you command.

He starts thrusting slowly until he sees the way you whine, bursting into a gruesome pace. You scream out in pleasure, gripping his biceps as he hovers over you, pounding relentlessly into your wet.

“Fuck,” he moans, “feel so good.”

He leans down further and places a hand on your throat, gently squeezing. A smile spreads across your face as he does.

“Kinky little girl,” he chuckles.

His grip becomes tighter until you can feel yourself struggle a little. There’s a buzzing feeling in your lower abdomen, signaling the closeness of your orgasm. Bucky can feel you clench a little on his cock which is now buried deep in you. He stops his fast pace and changes it for a painful beating. He thrusts long and hard, surely leaving bruises from where your bodies collide. You feel your orgasm coming closer and Bucky can tell.

“Don’t cum, yet.” “B-Bucky, please.”

“Not until I say so.”

He continues to choke you as his hard thrusts become unbearable. It’s impossible to hold the orgasm back as you let it go, cumming all over his thick cock.

“Bad girl,” he growls. Bucky pulls out of you despite your complaints and flips you over so your ass is in the air. “I didn’t say you could cum.”

You feel a hard sting on your ass after Bucky smacks you. He smiles when the red mark on your skin appears, matching it on the other side of your cheek. There’s no time in between the spanks. Your ass turns bright red.  

All of a sudden, you feel an intrusion as Bucky slams into you unexpectedly. You cry out in pleasure and pain as he thrusts as hard as he can. The bed shakes and hits the wall in time with Bucky’s thrusts, as well as your moans. They only spur him on, drawing another orgasm out of you.

He doesn’t stop to let you recover for a second. He grunts as his orgasm comes close, his hands gripping you harder and leaving bruises on your waist. The pace starts to stagger.

“Fuck, baby.”

“Cum for me, Bucky,” you order in a sweet tone.

Your words put him over the edge as he cums inside of you, his dick twitching against your walls as he paints them white. He lets out a large deep grunt as he releases, making you even wetter. Pulling out, Bucky takes a deep breath and disappears.

You fall foward on your stomach and breath as he returns with paper towel. He smile and shrugs, you both knowing it’s the only thing you have while unpacking. He cleans you both up before getting in bed next to you, pulling you close to him. You rest your head on his chest as he wraps his metal arm around you, kissing your forehead.

Laying here, you knew you made the right choice, moving on with Bucky. He was home.

[fantasticstoryteller]

New Amsterdam Chapter 8

Deadpool ducked into one of the many labs on the floor, around security. There were six people in this lab, and five faces turned to him and contorted in horror. He pressed a finger to his lips to signify quiet and the sixth one, with headphones on, could be heard singing softly. The pretty boy—

{And he is a pretty boy!}

[Not like we have a chance, idiot!]

—was paying no attention to what was going on around him. Suddenly an alarm blared through the building and Deadpool launched one of his swords through the speaker on the wall, silencing it. The ones who had noticed him backed away. “Sorry,” he said apologetically as the one singing looked up at the still wobbling sword. “I panicked.” Several faces went pale as they regarded him.

The pretty boy jerked off his headphones. “Hey,” he said pointing at the sword, “can I borrow this?”

“Sure?” said Deadpool, intrigued.

“All right!” The boy picked up several pieces of paper and began using the sharp edge of the blade to cut them into what appeared to be equal sized strips as Deadpool watched, fascinated.

{Hoo! That’s hot!}

[Down boy. We don’t know if he’s legal.]

{Sh! Don’t ruin our fun!}

“Parker!” said an older man firmly.

“Just a minute sir,” said the boy without even looking up from his self appointed task. “Almost done.” He lined up the papers at his work station and then looked around. He saw his fellow lab mates staring at him in shock and frowned. “What?” he asked.

Deadpool just chuckled, stepped forwards, and grabbed his sword. “You,” he said, “are funny.”

The pretty boy, Parker, just grinned at him. “You’re sword’s sharp,” he said. There was a hint of teasing in the tone.

“Parker!”

“Yes Sir, sorry Sir,” said the boy, instantly reverting to submissive as he gathered the strips. “On the way.” He brushed past Deadpool on his way out of the lab and gave the costumed mercenary a saucy wink before continuing on.

[…]

{…}

[I’m not sure how to respond to that.]

“Deadpool!” snarled a voice and he turned to see old Iron Dick himself in the door of the lab.

“Hey Tin Can!” said Deadpool amiably.

{I hate him. Why can’t we kill him? He’s not in his suit now; it would be easy.}

[Because we’re trying not to kill people, dumbass.]

Tony Stark’s face suffused with rage.

{Does it count as killing him if we give him a stroke?}

[That’s—a good question, actually. Hmm. We’ll have to ask Spiderman later.]

“Deadpool,” said Tony with a deep breath, “why are you in my tower?”

“To annoy you!”

Deadpool almost heard the audible snapping of Tony’s last nerve. “Mission completed, asshole! Now get out!”

Deadpool danced out of the lab and out of the tower with a huge grin under his mask.

[We’re going to be stalking that poor boy, aren’t we?]

{But—he’s not scared of us!}

[Not yet, but nothing says, “Oh, I’m a big scary person,” quite like a scarlet and black two meter tall leather clad stalker!]

Deadpool sighed. “White,” he said ignoring the stares of the people around him, “you’re such a kill joy. And we don’t need to stalk him, just Shiny Dick.”

[Why are we doing this again?]

{He wasn’t scared of us!}

“I already told you,” said an irritated voice, “everything I know!” Deadpool rounded a corner and saw the fabulous Parker, still in lab coat, in conversation with a man in a cheap, three piece suit.

Deadpool sidled over and saw the man glaring at the boy. “This is a serious situation,” the man said.

“You think I don’t know that?” demanded Peter.

“She’s been missing for months—”

“I just found her while I was out—”

“Yeah, you just happen to find a lot of them while you’re ‘out’,” snarled the man.

“Ooo!” interrupted Deadpool as he draped himself all over the sexy scientist—who didn’t scream and try to run away. “What are we talking about?”

The man blanched and took a step back before taking a couple of deep breaths. “Last night, we received an emergency call from this guy,” he said with a point, “who had found a child beaten and left to die in an alley.”

“So he saved the child!” said Deadpool. He looked down at Parker who looked back up with wide eyes. Not frightened eyes; he knew that expression well. He wasn’t really sure what emotion was in the young man’s eyes.

[He might not even be LEGAL!]

Deadpool turned back to the officer. “It sounds like he deserves a medal,” he said and the young man in his arms let out a breathy chuckle. “It does!”

“I couldn't do anything,” Parker said. “All I could do was call for help.”

“And that’s more than most people do,” Deadpool assured him before looking at the man. “And you know that. Why are you harassing this totally bootylicious—”

“Wait, what?”

“—good Samaritan who is way too fascinated by swords—seriously kid, you freak me out just a little bit and are you even legal? Oh, you have got to be legal or I have to turn myself in for unnatural desires towards a minor!”

“I’m twenty,” the scientist said looking up at Deadpool.

[This is weird. People are normally screaming to get away at this point. Why isn’t he?]

{Because he’s awesome!}

“We’ll continue this conversation later,” the man said before turning and stalking off.

Parker sighed and relaxed. Actually relaxed, in Deadpool’s grip. The merc was shocked. No one relaxed when Deadpool was around.

[Something is off about this kid.]

{But he’s legal. You did hear that, right? LEGAL!}

The kid looked up and grinned at him. “Thanks for saving me,” he said.

Deadpool suddenly felt bashful and nervous. Being thanked for saving someone wasn’t something that usually happened. “Aw, shucks,” he said nervously releasing the kid and stepping back. “I’m no hero.”

The kid frowned. “What? Of course you are, you just saved me.”

“Aw, you only think I’m a hero because you don’t know who I am.”

“Deadpool, master mercenary,” said the kid suddenly, startling him. “You managed to complete the chimichanga challenge at Mama Maria’s Mexican restaurant last month.” At the silence he waved a nervous hand. “I part-time at a paper and covered the story. Not that anyone published the story,” he muttered.

[I remember that chimichanga. It was so huge it made our stomach burst.]

{Eh, we healed anyway. And Spidey got to eat for free, so…}

[He always eats for free when we pay.]

{But he nearly bust a gut laughing at us! It was great!}

Deadpool ignored the voices in his head and held out his hand. “Deadpool, also known as the Fantastic Wade Winston Wilson, at your service.”

The boy grinned. “Peter Parker,” he said as he shook Deadpool’s hand. “Hey, since all your names start with ‘W’, can I call you Triple?”

“Sure thing, Baby Boy,” said Deadpool teasingly. Peter laughed.

[…we are in so much trouble.]

{I thought we were in love with Spidey?}

[idontwanttospoiltheparty]

I got tagged by @sergeantpeppa, @monkberrymoon-delight and @ourladylennon in this one, so thanks all of you 🥺

nickname: faf (it was a weird acronym-shipname thing, meant to taunt me but it stuck)

zodiac: capricorn but I really don't care much for astrology oops

height: 1.67m which is *googles* 5'5''

last movie I watched: God I haven't watched non Youtube in SO LONG. I'm really not sure… OHHH!! Silly me, I went to see In The Heights at the movies just this Tuesday.

last thing I googled: lmao "1.67 meters in feet"

fav musician: Taylor Swift Is My Goddess (sorry Bugs, you are my favourite non-consenting psychiatry patients though <3)

song stuck in my head: I'm currently listening to Mrs Robinson so… that? But I often sing it to myself these days. (READING THIS OVER AFTER I STOPPED LISTENING TO MUSIC: The answer is now Ram On)

other blogs: I've saved the urls paulmccatty and norwegian-would... does that count lol?

blog follow: 5 away from 100 🥺 it's crazy to me

amount of sleep: it used to be 8 but this year it's been more like 6 to 7 most of the time.

lucky number: not much for lucky numbers, but 15

what I’m wearing: old 1989 world tour merch, shorts. this is the shirt: https://www.ebay.com/itm/Taylor-Swift-1989-Concert-Tour-Grey-Long-Sleeve-Shirt-Size-Large-/254070020261

dream job: ugh this question makes me sad.

dream trip: Tour of Scandinavia. Also visit the Cap Horn!!

favourite food: I adore Mexican food

do I play any instrument? I'm an intermediate piano player, take singing lessons and am on my way to maybe decently playing guitar (chords). I also have a uke and a few other small instruments (a kazoo, a melodica, some others I can't remember right now. Next on my list is a harmonica, so I too can be rhythm guitar and mouth organ)

languages: I speak English with my mum, French with my dad and have grown up in the German part of Switzerland. Also I've been learning Norwegian on Duolingo (over 800 day streak [yes with some streak freezes >:( ])

fav song: *points at url* Dear John by THE Taylor Swift

random fact: I'm pretty good at useless geography trivia. flags and capital cities. geography quizzes are my bread and butter.

describe yourself in aesthetic things: colourful but comfy sneakers, hands stroking blades of grass, jumping into leaf piles really not sure who's already done this but tagging @muzaktomyears, @cinnamontoastandtears and @a-queen-of-the-clouds if you wanna <3

[daily-best-jokes]

A man suddenly appeared at the gates of Hell… (Story Joke)

He looked up to see the Devil sitting at a chair.

“Hello my friend,” The Devil said kindly, “How are you this fine eternity?”

“A bit confused,” the man replied, “I didn’t realise that I was dead.”

“I understand,” the Devil said sympathetically, “Why don’t you tell me how you got here?”

The man sighed, “I was eating a delicious burrito when I choked. No one was with me and I suffocated.”

“Killed by a burrito!” The Devil roared, flipping his desk, “What an unjust way to go. Did you at least go out eating a super sized one?!”

“No, just a regular size.” The man replied sadly, hanging his head in shame.

“This is even worse!” The Devil cried.

“What can you do about it?” The man replied sadly.

The Devil thought for a moment, before stating, “I will send you back. I’m not having you end your life on a sacred Mexican dish. Go back to Earth and continue your delightful life! Eat more Mexican until the toilet bowl quivers at your approach.”

With a clap of his hands the Devil sent the man back to Earth.

After a few minutes another person appeared, this time a woman. She looked at the Devil and sighed.

“Damn,” she said.

“What happened my dear?” The Devil replied, offering her a glass of sparkling water.

“I was trying to be environmentally conscious with a metal straw instead of plastic.”

“Good for you!” The Devil nodded, “We have just recently pledged to go 100% renewable in Hell. Slave labour is an underrated renewable asset you know.”

The woman gave a reluctant nod in agreement.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the Devil said, “continue please”

“Well,” the woman said, “I was walking with my drink when I slipped. I fell forwards and the metal straw landed up and skewered me straight through my eyeball and brain.”

The Devil promptly threw up.

“My golly goodness,” the Devil groaned, wiping vomit off his chest, “this is a travesty. Helping the planet and you get turned into a human kebab.”

The Devil stroked his horns, thinking.

“I’m feeling good today,” he said, “You my dear can go back to your life!”

The woman cheered in joy, showering the Devil with praise.

“Oh stop it you,” the Devil said cheekily, “just promise you’ll stick to plastic straws. Screw the turtles and save your eyes.”

He clapped his hands and the woman disappeared in a puff of smoke.

A few minutes passed before a third person appeared.

He was different from the others. It was his eyes, they were lifeless, as if all the soul had been sucked from them.

“Hello my friend,” the Devil said cheerfully, offering him some bread sticks.

The man stood gloomily, accepting the food.

“How did you get here?” The Devil asked, eager for some conversation.

“I was at my computer working,” the man said, “I’d been working for endless hours doing a thankless job. I stood up and tripped over a power cord. I must have fallen badly and broken my neck because here I am.”

The Devil threw his hands in the air, “This will not do! You were simply pouring your heart and soul doing your job and died in the process.”

The man shrugged.

The Devil summoned a cup of tea from one of his minions to calm his emotions.

The Devil smiled, sipping his tea, “My friend, I am feeling generous today. I am going to send you back to your life! What do you say to that!”

The man looked around at the swirling pools of lava behind the Devil. The sound of wailing souls echoed around abyss.

“I think I’ll stay in Hell,” the man replied.

The Devil spat out his tea.

“I’m sorry what?” The Devil, wiping his mouth.

“I’d like to stay,” the man repeated.

The Devil was still dumbfounded, before he finally managed to recompose himself.

“Fine mortal, continue down the path to get your orientation pack from the information kiosk. Be up early tomorrow for lava swimming at 7am and then at lunch we’re streaming the final season of Game of Thrones.”

The man nodded and went to walk past the Devil.

“I’m sorry, I have to know,” the Devil said, holding up his hand, “What ridiculous job did you have that makes you want to stay here?”

The man looked up at the Devil, his eyes empty and replied,

“I was a Reddit moderator”

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