#all i gathered is that mars would hate sending mails so much

[caemidraws]

Session notes...

[tsundanire]

Draco Malfoy and the N.A.S.T.Y. Problem Pt 1

First and foremost let me just go ahead and assure you that this is the most un-beta'd, crack-iest, bullshit you will probably read from me...this month? I can't make any promises about the rest of the year this early. Please note that this is based off an image I will drop at the bottom of this part, and a hilariously cracky conversation from the Drarry Discord Server. I will be posting this in several parts over the next few days on tumblr, and then will likely add the completed/polished version to Ao3 all at once at the end. Without further ado... Draco and his N.A.S.T.Y.'s...

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Having grown up in the upper echelons of Wizarding social classes, Draco Malfoy was an expert in social customs. For birthdays, he made sure to send out hand-calligraphed invitations, and matching thank-you cards following the event. For Holidays and other social gatherings, he made sure to Owl an appropriate host/hostess gift, as well as a hand-penned note thanking them for their gracious invitation—regardless of whether he wanted to be there or not.

Professor McGonagall had once received a note of thanks from a much younger Draco, upon receiving his Hogwarts Letter. It hadn���t helped endear her to him in the end, but at least he could look back—nose haughtily pointed high—and say he had far better manners than the future Headmistress.

So, during his first year, when the time came to formally choose his life-time partner arch-nemesis, no one else besides one Harold Jimothy Potter would do. And so, our valiant Slytherin hero set to work, drafting a N.A.S.T.Y. otherwise known in long-form as: Notification of Adjusting Social Terms of Yokefellows.

The neatly scripted font, written in gold ink, and formalised on stunning—and expensive—black parchment, was sealed with the Malfoy crest, and was sent via owl within days to Potter. It was received during breakfast the following morning, along with a bevy of fan-mail and a rather soggy looking Daily Prophet—which Potter insultingly took more interest in than his N.A.S.T.Y.

Breakfast was almost finished, most of his friends—besides Granger—had already set off for class or whatever the hell it was Gryffindors did in the morning, before Potter finally noticed the artfully folded black parchment bearing his family’s seal. Confusion marred his brow, as he tore through the seal, ripping some of the paper in the process. Draco’s brow twitched angrily, but then again, who could have expected anything else where stupid dumb Potter was concerned.

Draco knew the letter’s contents off by heart, having gone through several variations of the draft in order to get the wording just right.

Harold Jimothy Potter,

Below you will find a N.A.S.T.Y. shifting our social arrangement. It is with this that I do declare us Arch-nemeses. Nemesi? Whatever. You’ll find below the terms and conditions for said arrangement, including the things I expect from our new relationship, as well as what I am open to doing for you. Should you have any questions, concerns, or amendments you wish to re-negotiate, please forward this letter back via owlpost with your notes.

Looking forward to a life-long partnership in mutual hate and distaste,

Draco Lucius Malfoy.

Notification of Adjusting Social Terms of Yokefellows

This notice is to inform you of my interest in becoming: Friends Lovers Enemies Arch-nemeses ✔

As such, I would like our relationship to include:

Video games | Make-outs | Sword Fights ✔

Movies | Sex | Ritualistic Sacrifice ✔

Pets | Cuddling | Elaborate Kidnapping ✔

Bees ✔ | Furry Masks | Demonic summoning ✔

Cheese Plates ✔ | Screaming ✔ | Homoerotic Banter ✔ ✔

Please return via Owlpost with your signature attached if you agree to the terms. If not, please use the space below to indicate your concerns or amendments.

Yours amicably Yours adoringly Your reckoning is coming ✔

X___Draco Lucius Malfoy___ X___________________

Potter’s expression was blank for a moment as he read over the words, but then…it morphed into a masquerade of feelings and emotions, nothing sticking long enough for Draco to be able to decipher them. Seeming to settle on confusion, Potter turned in his seat, narrowing his eyes towards the Slytherin tables, clearly in search of Draco, who waved his hand and offered a thumbs up—in the style of lower class muggle-immaturity the Gryffindors seemed overly fond of.

Those emerald eyes narrowed even further. And then, utter prat that he was, rose from his spot, and left the great hall without looking back. At least, he’d taken Draco’s card with him. Maybe he’d take some time to think about Draco’s offer and get back to him? What could he possibly lose by formalising their intentions?!

...

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[allyinthekeyofx]

Finding Miracles

A/U  Alternate ending to season 7  

Notes -  I actually wrote this on request of a fellow shipper, a shipper romantic of heart and hating of how season 7 ended.  And she had a collection of ideas that she wasn’t able to get down in story form.  So she asked me to do it for her. So I did.

 Finding Miracles

 The events of the last couple of days have left me desperately worried about Scully and that worry has driven me to refuse point blank to allow her to come back out to Oregon.

And even as I held her in my arms right there in the corridor outside skinner’s office, all efforts of propriety tossed out the window, no longer afraid that our carefully kept secret would be out, I knew that there was something she wasn’t telling me.

Her assertion that she was exhausted didn’t cut ice with me because in the eight years I have known her, I have seen that woman literally running on empty, so used up that she had nothing left to give, grey with fatigue, stumbling almost blindly beside me, she never ever admitted to anyone, least of all me, that she was too tired to go on.  Never once had I seen her go down in the way she had just a few short days out in the Oregon woods as my heart literally seemed to jump right out of my chest when I had turned around to find she was no longer following me.  That panicked headlong re-tracing of my steps hearing the ragged way I called her name, the barely cloaked desperation born of the realisation that suddenly she was just gone.

And when I burst through the undergrowth to be confronted with the sight of her laying boneless and unmoving on the thick carpet of lush green grass and dead leaves that covered the forest floor, for just one terrible moment my mind told me that she was dead.  So many times she has almost been taken from me, the sight of her down, with no apparent reason, had caused all rational thought to desert me.

Of course it soon became clear that she was very much alive, her chest rising and falling evenly as I dropped to my knees and gently gathered her against me, smoothing the strands of hair away from her face, feeling the coldness of her skin beneath my fingers, feeling her fragility, a fragility she tries so hard to hide from those around her; refusing to admit weakness even to me; especially to me.  She had come round within minutes, eyes confused and barely focusing as she grasped at my arm with a weakness so unlike her and began to cry, imploring me to make sense of what was happening to her.

Twice in the space of twenty four hours she had collapsed.  Twice in twenty four hours she had badly frightened me, especially when she had arrived at the door of my motel room, shaking with a combination of both shock and cold, admitting to almost succumbing to the dizziness that had overcome her as she went through her nightly rituals.  Sure, it had been a gruelling few days, but nothing out of the ordinary for us, certainly nothing to cause her sudden and frightening downturn. And as I led her to the bed to properly take a look at her, I had to face the fact that she looked sick.  Not sick like she looks when she has a cold or the flu or a stomach bug.  The way she looked radiated from somewhere deep inside her, reflecting from those limitless blue eyes, the way her expression had faded, chasing away the essence that was Dana Scully as she battled with unfamiliar territory that had laid her emotions bare.  Right there for me to see.

Because this woman, my perfect other and centre of my world was afraid; A fear born of the knowledge that whatever was happening to her, she had no control over it.

And I had done the only thing I could think to do; I had covered her with blankets and curled myself around her, holding the coverings tightly against her body as I encircled her within my embrace, breathing softly on to the stark white skin that felt so chill against my own. Kissing her softly as I realised, perhaps for the first time that, whether I wanted her with me or not, the time had finally come to set her free from this never ending quest, to let it go finally and for her to at least attempt to live a normal life; live the life she deserved and which had been denied to her for so long.

And I had repeated those sentiments in the hallway just yesterday afternoon, which despite her protests to the contrary, her obvious trepidation at me returning to Oregon without her, she had finally acquiesced on the condition that Skinner accompanied me and to my surprise he had agreed without question; cementing his allegiance to me and to her in this act of implicit faith.

I was still uneasy this morning when we said our goodbyes; after a night spent with her in her apartment where she battled a headache she maintained was just a product of fatigue and heightened stress but which made my heart thump painfully every time I looked across at her and observed the furrows that marred her delicate brow.  A night where instead of making love to her I had simply kissed her tenderly and traced patterns with my fingers on her perfect skin, chasing the demons away for both of us, as we lay without speaking until the shadows lengthened and we both succumbed to sleep, a tangle of arms and legs that remained entwined right throughout the night.

And before I left for the airport, I had held her just a little bit longer, kissed her just a little bit deeper as my throat tightened with an inexplicable feeling of dread that I would never see her again; that leaving her was a terrible mistake; that an unknown danger was just lurking in the background, ready to consume us both. I had cupped her face in my palms, tilting her face upwards as the tears pooled in her eyes in silent apology that she was sending me on this journey alone and I made her promise, without fail that she would spend the day with the Gunmen, that she wouldn’t allow herself to be alone; relieved in some small way when she brought her hands up to rest upon mine and nodded without having to speak.  That she would do as I asked this one last time.  I’m not entirely sure of my motivation at that point, only that it was important to me that she be with people who cared about her, who could support her in my absence.

“I’ll call you the minute I get there”

And before I could change my mind I had left; walking resolutely away from her, knowing that if I weakened and turned back, even for a moment, that I wouldn’t have the strength to leave her behind.  My constant of eight long years who had been a guiding light through the darkness as it sought all too often to consume me.  My touchstone who was now such an intrinsic part of me that I literally felt a physical pain settle within my chest as the door clicked shut behind me and I left her standing in the middle of living room, feeling her eyes upon me; knowing with a certainty I couldn’t explain that she would remain standing there long after I had gone.  

I think Skinner knew something was wrong although he didn’t question me on it and I was eternally grateful for his discretion in that regard as I was so emotionally ragged at that point I believe I would have broken down right there in front of him had he asked me to explain why I had refused to allow Scully to make this journey again.  But he didn’t.  He kept his own counsel and I doubt we exchanged more than a dozen words as we sat in that plane, a plane which took me further and further away from Scully and put hours of distance and hundreds of miles between us.  I had briefly called her before we boarded, somewhat reassured to hear she was on her way to the Gunmen’s lair.  I had already told Byers to expect her, to keep her busy and to call me immediately should they see anything out of the ordinary with her, regardless of how trivial.  He had agreed without condition, just as I knew he would and knowing she was with them had gone at least some way to alleviating the desperate anxiety that had been gnawing on me since that day in the woods.

That sense of relief, small as it was, turned out to be short lived and wholly misplaced because on exiting the terminal and switching my cel phone back on, the screen lit up with multiple messages and voice mails that all spoke of the same thing –

That Scully had collapsed while at their place and had been rushed to DC General.  And right then, my whole world came crashing down around me as that word, that insidious fucking word that I had refused to acknowledge until now slammed in to my consciousness with all the force of a runaway truck.

Cancer.  

Because even as I had tried to deny it to myself, I knew that the sudden symptoms she was experiencing, mirrored exactly her bodies reaction to the undiscovered tumour the last time around.

I think I must have swayed a little on my feet, because I suddenly felt Skinner’s hand grab my arm roughly, his reassuring presence grounding me just a little.

“Scully’s sick.  I need to go back.”

And I think the fear must have played out right there on my face, as realisation hit home that she was there and I was here and X-files or not, I needed to be with her; because to his credit, Skinner didn’t argue, knowing that what Scully and I shared went far deeper than the chaste relatiomship afforded by our positions as partners he simply nodded curtly and directed me to keep him informed.

The plane ride home passed for me in a blur of recrimination, mind numbing fear and several hundred promises to a God I didn’t believe existed.  Because I had left her; I shouldn’t have left her. I had called the Gunmen, tried to reach all three of them with no luck and my pleas to the efficient hospital administrator yielded nothing as to the nature or severity of Scully’s condition; that patient information couldn’t be disclosed over the telephone regardless of how much I wanted them to.  The frustration I felt was so acute that I could have quite literally reached in to that fucking phone and choked the information out of her.

So finally I had given up, waiting it out as best I could and using every credential I had to get me off that plane and out of the airport within minutes of us landing, barrelling my way to the front of the line of people waiting for taxis as I used my badge like a weapon in front of me to get people the hell out of my way. The cab driver raised his eyebrows as I launched myself in to the car but had the good sense not to even try to small talk me as I barked the destination and then lay back against the seat, pressing my thumbs in to my eye sockets, allowing the pressure it afforded to centre me again.   And all the time I could feel myself beginning to unravel, the closer we got to the hospital, the more fuelled with a combination of adrenaline and raw, naked fear I became.

Once inside the hospital, it had been fairly straightforward to be given access to Scully and that at least, tempered my panic slightly, as I realised she was in one of the general areas of the hospital and not laid up in the ICU with her beautiful eyes taped shut and a ventilator doing her breathing for her.  But even so, I had still been unable to simply walk to her room, Instead I had ignored the disapproving glances thrown at me from all directions as I took off down the corridor heedless of where I was or the regulations I was ploughing straight through.

I was breathless by the time I reached her, but opening that door and seeing her sitting up in bed, seemingly unconcerned to be there at all, staring idly through the small window, was cause to finally shift my world back on to its proper axis; to make things right again.

Scully though, was clearly shocked to see me there and her eyes widened when she turned her head in my direction.

“Mulder?…..what are you doing here?”

And the sound of her voice was enough to send me stumbling towards her on legs that suddenly wouldn’t stop shaking, the last few terrible hours of not knowing finally catching up with me, perching on the bed and pulling her in to my arms; confused for a moment as to where the harsh ragged breaths that accompanied the sudden wetness on my face were emanating from until I felt Scully’s hands in my hair, stroking, smoothing, gentling me with her touch.

“It’s okay.  Sssshhhh Mulder it’s okay.  I’m okay.”

I shake my head slowly, denying her words.

“You’re not okay Scully. Byers phoned me.  He told me what hap…”

But my words die in my throat as she pushes me gently away from her holding me in the palms of her hands, locking her eyes with mine and to my surprise, she is smiling, her beautiful blue eyes sparkling with an intensity I don’t think I’ve ever seen before, an expression of sheer wonderment on her face that lifts her to levels I have never seen before.

“I’m okay” she repeats, stroking the tears from my skin as she brings her forehead to rest on mine, breaking eye contact suddenly as she whispers two words that even before I have fully comprehended their meaning, they explode like stars in my head, driving every thought, every feeling away until I am left only with her.

“I’m pregnant.”

Her voice is soft, whispering like promises on a summer breeze as she snakes her arms behind my neck, drawing me towards her until her lips are beside my ear, her warm breath caressing my skin, leaving goose bumps in her wake, because every cell, every neuron, every nerve ending I possess seem to be firing all at once, almost as if I am getting drunk on her words.  Words that I know will change me forever; words that even in my wildest dreams I couldn’t have imagined ever hearing from her after the crushing disappointments we had faced just a few short months ago.

“Your baby; our baby Mulder”

And I feel her smile, as the tears begin to spill, merging with my own just as I now know we have merged.  

That somehow we have found our miracle.

End