#big thanks and props to hosts of those events!!

[anawrites3]

It's already a tradition that I'm always late but do you guys have any favorite prompts for the brudick week? Asking for totally no reason

[prisoner-000]

from millionaire waltz!

[Wouldn't it be nice to have one of those little moments to share with him? Kazui doesn't like being greedy. Just one little thing, just a few minutes of his time is all he wants.

So, it slips from his lips sooner than he can actually consider his words:

"You've danced before, right?"

Hook…

"Well." Shidou starts, slightly taken aback, "It depends."

Kazui traces the edge of his now empty glass. "Mmh, you seem like a waltz guy."

Shidou raises his brow, amused. "...What does that imply?"

"You know, you're…" He pauses. "Very formal. Courteous. I think, if I were hosting a ball, I'd send you an invitation to visit - Does that make sense? Don't mind my rambles…"

A ball? Right, because Kazui loves the social pressure that comes with events that expect you to bring partners.

"That's an odd way to phrase it." He smiles. "But, I believe it does. Why do you ask, anyways?"

"Just thinking." He props up his chin with his hand. "That's the kind of experience she really liked back in the day."

"You used to dance, then?"

"I had to practice for the wedding. I was never that great at it." He sheepishly cocks his head to the side. "I stepped on her toes a lot. Curse of having two left feet, I suppose."

Line…

Shidou hums, amused. It sounds gentle, pleasant. What a sound. "I'm sure it wasn't that bad."

"Trust me when I say it was." He rubs the back of his neck.

"Any interest in improving your skills?"

Sinker.]

Thanks so much for your ask & i'm glad you liked this passage! it's one i like quite a lot too :) commentary under the cut!

ok. i'll get right into it !

'He doesn't like being greedy'.. When we know very well from his MVs that, in his own words, 'getting greedy' was the thing that doomed his relationship. But he can't help himself! He's been supressing this stuff for ages, and once the oppurtunity presents itself, he might as well, right? He might as well try to do those things with a man that he's never been allowed to do. me when the desires catch up to me

He's a pretty desperate guy, I feel. But he's been really good at ignoring his own desires. So, getting someone to indulge him is a Big thing for him.

As for the 'it slips from his lips faster than he can think' thing - Kazui wasn't really planning on this situation, but the heart beats faster than the mind!!! & now that he's in this situation, he gets more into planning. Hence: Hook, line, sinker. (That was actually an idea I recycled from my older fic 'facade', where Kazui's hanging out with his childhood friend on a boat. Would've fit the location better, but it just didn't fit the scene. I liked it enough to reuse it though :))

-> Also, Hook, line, sinker... Since he's putting out bait to essentially 'catch' Shidou to do this for him & help him indulge in that desire/love of his... I do personally read Kazui as someone who knows exactly what to say to someone to get them to do something for him. It's not a very genuine thing, but he's always been a great actor and that kind of acting skill carries over. He's good at appealing to what people want.

As for Shidou in this & Kazui's comments on him! Shidou is a pretty fancy guy. He WOULD enjoy ballroom dancing. He's a doctor. He's got the money for it. So why not?? Plus, I imagine him to be very graceful and eloquent. He's just very Fancy with a capital F.

...........And I feel Kazui would also like that. Considering (from my reading) his crush was working in a pretty fancy bar. Wearing suits all the time.

"That's the kind of experience she liked back in the day" <- SHE WOULD HAVE LIKED IT MORE, EVEN, IF THE MAN SHE LOVED REALLY DID LOVE HER BACK! sorry. cough cough. Anyways, I will always stick to my headcanon of Hinako liking a lot of 'classical' events such as opera, theater, dances. She wouldn't be stuck-up about it, but she'd like spending time with her loved ones at events she likes. My headcanon is also that the dances that Hinako & Kazui went to were partially associated with Kazui's parents, perhaps they would attend the events as well. Since Kazui's dad is a police captain, he'd definitely have the money for it. And taking your son and his wife is a good thing!

-> Related, the wedding thing... I still don't think Kazui is a very good dancer. He's okay at it, but he's sort of stiff in his movement, he doesn't twirl around with anyone. He's a little too ashamed to let his true love of anything bleed through. (Which is why their wedding dance also happened to be a little awkward. But all good, for Hinako.)

In the end, from Shidou's perspective, I believe he's also very good at making kind of meaningless late night conversation. And, in a way, he's also using Kazui to indulge himself in the fantasy of dancing with his late wife again. He likes Kazui - sure, he's his friend. But he's been with his wife ever since they were kids. He could never see anyone else hold his hand and sway to the music. (LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER) MEN TOO ABSORBED IN THEIR GRIEF TO PROPERLY LIVE IN THE MOMENT

..........That Is All. I believe. if you have any questions in particular feel absolutely free to send another ask my way, anon!! :D. this fic is one of my personal favorites in terms of internal dialogue :3

[bruhlsbees]

Blurb idea! Okay so I wear alot of goth and punk clothing and I just love the idea of opposites attract pairings so like maybe a goth/punk/alternative reader with Alex? Like they meet at the bar on open mic night while she's preforming and he's like whoa she's so cool! But so out of my league💀 and he thinks he'll never get a chance and all of a sudden the reader comes up and is like hey you're cute wanna hang? And he is baffled lol

opposites attract || alex kerner x fem!alternative!reader

gif credit to @/lovecafes

summary: while singing at an open mic night in the bar, you catch the attention of someone least expected

pairing: alex kerner x fem!alternative!reader

word count: 2,313

warnings: drinking (alex and reader), alex being incredibly awkward, reader loving it and teasing him

a/n: hope you like this one!!! i thought this was an incredibly sweet idea - i imagine reader is singing something from the cranberries, like zombie or linger - this is also set a couple years after the events of goodbye, lenin! - i'd say in mid 90s

The last act had just left the stage when the host jumped on the stage, grinning out at the audience who continued to hoot and holler. It was open mic night down at the local bar, The Sour Apple, and for a last minute event, a lot of people turned out. The Sour Apple wasn’t your usual hangout. Typically you were in the basement smoking pot with the rest of your friends, or performing in backyards with your band - but you wanted a new change of scenery that night, and you thought - hell, an open mic might be fun.

You had invited a few of your friends and bandmates, hoping that maybe you’d be able to perform some of your new songs to test the crowd and see if they were feeling it or not. Only a couple of your friends showed, but the whole band came out and you were pleased. It took quite a bit of convincing, especially for your drummer, Reed, to tag along since apparently he had a bad history with The Sour Apple.

Not only that, but you all stook out like a sore thumb. Leather, studded belts, platform boots, multicolored teased hair, heavy makeup - you weren’t fazed by the stares you received when you walked in, all typical reactions when you went into a new place. Maybe that’s why you stuck to the typical spots, to avoid the judgement. It wasn’t like you cared, but it did get tiring after so long - feeling the stares on the back of your head while you just tried to enjoy life.

“Okay everyone, last call for anyone who wants to get up and participate in open mic!” The bar fell silent into hushed whispers, looking around to see if anyone else wanted to get up on stage. “Any takers? Come on now, don’t be shy!”

Turning towards the rest of your bandmates that were seated along the bar, you grinned their way before the bassist, Lee, shot up - beer spilling from the cup as you gained the host’s attention.

“Right here! We’ll come up!” He exclaimed, stepping off the barstool he was propped on and onto the main bar floor, turning and holding up his hand towards the bartender, “Five shots of jäger my good man!”

While the bartender poured out five shots, the rest of the band groaned, wishing that Lee hadn’t been the one to pick the shot. He was the only one to like the taste of the thick licorice. You only wished it was something more easy, like fireball or hell - Jack Daniel’s would suffice. But you braved the shot, clinking glasses with the rest of them before dumping your head back and letting the warm shot run down your throat.

You held in your gag as you sat the glass down, being pulled now by the guitarist, Winny, through the crowd and up onto the stage. As the singer, you took center stage, the spotlight blinding you as you held your hand up to block the light while you adjusted the mic stand, the rest of your band getting set up behind you.

“Hey everyone! We’re the Toxic Cats and we’ll be singing-” You stopped short, what were you going to sing? Turning around, you glanced towards Lee who shrugged before the other side at Winny who came up to the mic.

“You all know the Cranberries! How about their new song that just came out! You all liked that?” When the crowd erupted in cheers, you smiled weakly, looking at Winny who winked your way, “Looks like we got our song. Go kill 'em, Tiger.”

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

“You gonna sing tonight, Alex?” Denis teased from his spot at the bar, downing the rest of his pint while he glanced over at Alex who was facing the stage, shaking his head. “I heard you got a real pretty voice.”

“Well whoever told you that is lying. Don’t think anyone wants to hear me sing. Sound like a rat stuck in a trap.” He explained, lifting his own pint up to take a drink from. He sighed and leaned back against the bar, blinking slowly as he watched the last act get off the stage before the host jumped on. Shaking his head, Alex exhaled slowly, turning back to face the bar.

As he turned, he caught the laughs that came from the other end of the bar. The group of alternative folks catching his attention. He didn’t mean to stare, but they were just so...different. They weren’t the typical crowd that hung around The Sour Apple, and it surely didn’t go unnoticed.

“Weird folk they are,” Turning, Alex furrowed his eyebrows at Denis who was drinking a new pint now, glancing at Alex, “They’re in a band...not a big fan of their music, but they’re pretty popular I’d say. I’ve seen a couple of their shows. Always doing something with fire or chanting in another language. Gives me the heeby jeebies.”

“I think you’re drunk, Denis.” Alex noted, rolling his eyes as Denis waved him off, insisting that he wasn’t while sloppily sipping from his pint. His attention fell back towards the end of the bar, towards the band as they now took shots before heading up onto the stage.

Through the crowd, Alex only noticed the red hair on you. It reminded him of a Coca Cola can - maybe that wasn’t the best comparison, but it’s what he thought! His posture returned to his original spot, leaning against the bar while facing the stage where you now stood center stage at. While your teased dyed red hair stood out the most, he also noticed your outfit, which surprisingly impressed him.

Starting at your feet, he noticed the high platform boots - you were probably taller than him in them. Alex also noticed the ripped tights, wondering if they came that way or if you did that yourself, under the black skirt that was tattered. You were wearing a band tee of some sorts, not recognizing the band. He had seen alternative girls before, but never once did he look at them the way he looked at you. You were pretty and Alex was awed by your mystery.

When you finally began to sing though, the familiar tune of the Cranberries, Zombie, harmonizing through the bar, his lips turned into a smile, straightening up to really be intune with the song. He had heard it a thousand times, but your cover, hearing it from you - it was more haunting and beautiful than anytime he heard it on the radio.

Alex felt hypnotized to your voice, leaning forward with his mouth gaped open as he listened, gaze remained fixed on you as you swayed on the mic or leaned against one of the other band members. He hadn’t even realized it was over until Denis shoved him, his attention snapping towards him.

“Jesus man, you’re drooling!”

His cheeks went hot, face red as Alex reached his hand up to his mouth, wiping away the drool with the back of his hand before turning back towards the bar, doing his best to ignore Denis who was laughing and in a drunk fit.

“Oh man, you got the hots for her don’t you? The singer! Man, I don’t think I would have ever taken you as the type,” Denis watched as the band made their way back towards their spot at the bar, high-fiving those in the crowd as they passed by them. When you were settled back in your seat, Denis stood up and grabbed the back of Alex’s jacket, pulling him up and with him towards the end of the bar, “Come on, go introduce yourself!”

Before Alex could protest, Denis shoved him towards you, stumbling forward and knocking into you. You turned around, ready to yell at whoever had knocked into you and made you spill your beer before your gaze softened, seeing Alex cowering.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to-”

“Hey, it’s fine...relax,” You let out a weak laugh and turned towards him, placing your now empty pint on the counter, “I’m a little disappointed though, someone just bought me that. I didn’t even get the chance to drink it.”

Alex smiled back at you, staring at you for a little too long before he knocked himself out of his trance, turning towards the bartender and holding up his hand.

“Two pints please!”

It didn’t take long for the bartender to fill up two new pints for the both of you. Scooting them forward while Alex picked up his, you picking up your own. You clinked your glass against his before taking a drink, setting your glass back down with a sigh.

“I don’t think I caught your name,” You introduced yourself and leaned forward, your right index finger swirling around the rim of the glass, “I’d like to thank the cutie who bought me my drink.” You sent a wink his way and grinned, seeing him look down briefly as his cheeks went pink.

“Alex, I’m Alex!” He introduced, sitting down finally on the barstool beside you. When you called him a cutie, his chest tightened, feeling flustered as he tried to think of what to say next.

“My favorite color is red!” He blurted, “How do you get your hair so big?”

Alex cringed at his question, closing his eyes and mentally slapping himself in the face. He was sure at that point he had lost all chance of impressing you, and he hadn’t even been talking with you for more than two minutes. But when you laughed and didn’t throw your drink in his face, he opened his eyes and smiled weakly.

“Lots of hairspray and teasing. Unfortunately I’m not the most eco-friendly with this hairstyle. Mother Earth is probably taking her revenge with all my split ends.” He let out a laugh at your joke, glancing at the guitarist of the band who turned in her stool, leaning forward.

“Or maybe it’s because you’ve just fried your hair. I’m telling you, you should just let it go natural.” You waved off Winny and nudged her back, your attention keeping fixed on Alex.

“So, Alex, did you just want to come over and ask me about my hair?” You took another drink from your pint, your gaze fixed on him as you watched him get flustered again, trying to think of the words to say. “You know, guys like you don’t usually go for girls like me. Did your buddy set you up for this?”

It had happened plenty of times. Pretty boys always got a kick out of embarrassing the alternative girl. You wouldn’t be hurt if this was what was going on, but you would be pissed to have your time be wasted. To your surprise though, Alex seemed to be different.

“No! I mean, well he pushed me over here, but not like that,” He rushed, leaning forward slightly in his stool, as if ready to catch you if you tried to turn away. “Your singing, I’ve never heard you guys before. You sound great! God, part of me was thinking that you sounded better than the Cranberries-”

“Better than the Cranberries? Now you’re just pulling my tail,” It was your turn to blush, cheeks red as you waved him off while he continued to praise you, his hand falling to your knee. You looked down briefly at his hand, smiling before back up at him, “Well, maybe you should come see one of our shows? I’ll get you a front row seat on the best couch in the basement.”

The best couch in the basement. Why did he have a feeling that this wasn’t something he had experienced before. He watched as you pulled a napkin from the bar, digging into your coat pocket before pulling out a pen, scribbing your number down before handing it over to him.

“Here’s the house number. If you call just ask for me, I’m usually around.” You looked up at him and smiled, opening your mouth to say another thing before hearing your bandmates call you for you behind, insisting that it was time to go. Frowning, you grabbed your coat and stood up, towering over him in your platform boots.

Your gaze kept on Alex who stared at the napkin, his smile stained on his face as he ran his thumb across the number. He looked cute, innocent, pure. All things you weren’t used to. When you heard Reed calling for you name, you nodded and waved them off before resting your free hand on Alex’s shoulder, leaning down to kiss him on the cheek.

“I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

But before he could answer, you were already turned and heading out of the bar, catching up to the rest of your bandmates who were climbing into the taxi to head back home. Standing up, Alex held the napkin in his hand, staring at the dark doorway that led outside of the bar. Of course he was happy, but damn - did you have to leave so quick?

Turning, Alex tucked the napkin neatly into his own jacket, making sure it was secured before making his way back to Denis, sitting back in his original spot. When Alex settled back in, he turned and looked at Denis who was laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

Without saying a word, Denis motioned towards his own cheek, signaling for Alex to check his face. He reached his hand up and swiped at his cheek, noticing that your black lipstick had made it’s way onto his skin. He smiled to himself, feeling giddy inside before cleaning the rest off.

“So I take it went well?” Denis asked, leaning closer towards Alex. Smiling, Alex nodded and took a final sip from his pint.

“It went great, now come on, let’s get you home.”

[theyreonlynoodlesmike]

Six Strangers Walk Into a Bar: Part 3 (Severen x Fem!Reader) fic

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

Warnings: cursing, blood/gore/violence mention

Word Count: 3755

It took you fifteen minutes to leave your room and rejoin the group. It had only taken about five minutes for you to calm down, but you spent the other ten running the events over and over in your mind. After those feelings of anger subsided, other less manageable ones surfaced. 

Like your attraction to Severen. You reached up to touch your neck, and you could almost feel the coldness of Severens lips on it still. It made you shiver, and you rubbed your hand over the length of your shoulder. Even when you'd been with your ex, you couldn't remember a time when someone had so blatantly protected you. When someone had made you feel the way Severen made you feel. You replayed the anger you'd seen in his eyes from even the mention of how he'd hurt you, and then the way he'd stopped your ex the second he'd looked like he was going to do something rash. Your ex had never hurt you before, but Severen hadn't been willing to take any chances. You bit your nail, wondering just how you got to a point where a murderer could be considered attractive to you. 

But, when you pushed those feelings away, other ones swallowed your stomach. If you were honest, you were mighty embarrassed. You hadn't meant to lose your temper, and you were sure that you weren't being as much as a gracious host as your mother had taught you to be. You'd yelled at someone, had a fight with your ex, in front of Severen, and his entire family. The only modicum of relief you gave yourself was that, technically, they'd done worse in front of you. Still, after you had completely calmed down, you left your room to apologize.

You stood in the hallway, and saw that all of them had seemingly gone back to what they'd been doing before your ex's intrusion. They all looked up when you re-entered the room, from the sound of someone approaching more than anything, and you tried not to let your face flush from the six pairs of eyes that found you. You pushed your hair behind your ear and said,

"Sorry y'all had to see that." You said, and went to busy yourself by getting a glass of water. You earned a round of chuckles in response, and Jesse soothed your nerves with a simple,

"Don't worry about it, kid." You looked over, seeing that he had found your ashtray and was letting a cigarette dangle from his lips. You looked over, seeing that Severen was doing the same. You quickly looked away, trying to push away the budding flower of attraction that was blooming in your stomach. Of course, he smoked. It seemed Severen had a habit of finding every little thing you thought was attractive in a man.  "Now, I still need you to make sure Severen doesn't cheat." Jesse continued, and you bit your smile back before hiding it behind the cup. Severen hadn't even glanced at you as he lifted his arm and gestured for you to come over, simply looking at his cards instead. You didn't know why you found it attractive, the utter certainty that you would listen. But, listen you did. 

You came over, deciding to stand and lean against him. It wasn't more than you had already done, you assured yourself. It was the only way to properly see his cards, and there was no harm in it. Those were the things you told yourself as his hand wrapped leisurely around your waist, and your arm wrapped around his shoulder. You saw the way Diamondback smiled at the sight, and you looked away to hide the growing blush on your cheeks. After a moment, your hand lifted to curl in his hair. It was surprisingly soft to the touch. Severen didn't say a word, but he grinned to himself. After watching for a moment, you said, 

"How will I know if he's cheating?" And this earned a laugh from the couple in front of you. You didn't exactly know what game they were playing, but Severen did a quick run down of the rules. You hummed, looking at his cards. It had bothered you before, his moment of cheating, but it dawned on you then that Severen would probably never do anything of the sort. Whether that was because of the watchful eyes of his parents, or the fact that he was of better moral standing. You bet on the former, but quickly you were asking yourself why it even mattered.

When your eyes started to get heavy and it became hard to stand, you decided that you were going to have to take your shower now or never. You'd excused yourself and grabbed a pair of pajamas to bring with you into the bathroom and a clean towel. You locked the door to the bathroom, stripped yourself out of your clothes, and let the warm stream of water wash away the events of that day. Or, well, night. After you'd done a thorough job of cleaning yourself and shaving, you stood there for an extra few minutes and tried to think of just what was supposed to happen the next night.

You weren't dead yet, and it was close to dawn. Neither Severen nor his family had tried to hurt you after the bar, and it almost felt as though you were- Well, there was no other way to put it, but one of them. An accomplice. Accessory to a crime. You let out a small sound, covering your face with your hands when you realized that's exactly what you were. Even if they left the next night, that was never going to change. And you still didn't have any answers as to what had happened while you'd been in the bathroom, but you didn't have the nerve to ask. You didn't think you ever would. You sighed, rinsing your hair one last time before turning the water off. You dried yourself, changed into your pajamas, and were attempting to dry your hair as you stepped out of the shower. Your eyes were heavy and your body was relaxed, ready for sleep. You thought to leave some towels out and a pack of toothbrushes you hadn't yet gotten into, so they could shower and brush their teeth if they wanted to, and called a simple goodnight to your guests. If you could call them that. Just after you called down the hall, Mae passed you. It seemed she was going to take advantage of your offer, and you decided you could stay up a few more minutes to offer both her and Diamondback some of your clothes.

"Just to use as pajamas," You stopped to stifle a yawn. "And I can run a load." You said, gesturing to a closet next to the bathroom, where the washer and dryer were tucked inside. "And I think he left some of his clothes behind too," You said to yourself, walking away to go to your previously shared bedroom to check. You'd thrown all of his clothes out of the drawers, and whatever you had hanging up in the closet. But, tucked towards the bottom was a suitcase of his winter clothes or things he hadn't gotten around to donating. You lugged it out, but Severen was quick to jump up to help you. He grabbed the suitcase while you carried a trash-bag full of the clothes he'd wanted to donate, and Jesse cleared the table so Severen could set both of them on top of it. You gestured to the clothes as you said, "Have at it. There's sweats in the suitcase, but the bag is full of stuff that was too big." You ended the sentence with a mumble, your nails making their way in-between your teeth before looking over to Severen as you said it. He was taller than your ex, so you guessed that any luck he'd have would be with the bag.

"You sure he won't miss them?" Caleb asked, and you looked over at the light-haired brunette. He seemed to be the most considerate of the bunch, and you shrugged. You pulled your hand away from your mouth as you said,

"I'm the one that packed them, so…" As far as you were concerned, he wouldn't even know that they were gone. You left the boys to filter through what your ex had left, and went to let Mae into your room. She stood there in a towel as you gestured to some of your older clothes, or some things that you thought would fit her. When she decided on what she wanted, you left her in your room to let her change with her clothes in hand, and saw that Diamondback was going to use the shower next. She stopped you, reaching out to hold your arm as she said,

"Thank you. You've been very kind to us." And you could feel your face growing hot from the sincerity of her words. You tried to joke by saying,

"Just don't do to me what you did to those people in the bar, and we'll call it even." And you were relieved when it earned a grin. When Mae left your room in a comfy pair of your old clothes, you had already put her old ones in the hamper. You yawned again, and she placed a hand on your back as she said,

"You can head on to bed. We can do the laundry ourselves." And you assured her you could stay up a bit longer. Still, when Diamondback came out of the shower and picked out her clothes, she told you the same. You had a harder time arguing with her, and you accepted defeat by retreating back into your room and letting yourself curl under the covers.

You'd woken up with a dry mouth about half-way through the day. The only good thing about not having a job was that you didn't have anywhere to be, and you stumbled out of your room in search of something to drink. You tried to be as quiet as possible, noting as to where everyone had decided to sleep. You'd figured that Jesse and Diamondback would've picked the guest bedroom. Mae and Caleb were curled up on the couch, tight in eachothers arms. Homer was nowhere to be found, but you thought you could hear snoring coming from the bathroom. And Severen? He had obviously tried his best to make himself comfortable in the corner booth. His legs hung over the end of the booth, even from his slightly propped up position. His head was lolling to the side, and you were sure he was going to have a crick in his neck by the time night-time came. You'd figured out as much to know that they wouldn't be up until then.

You took the time to move their load of clothes, which they hadn't decided to separate by color, into the dryer so it'd be ready when they all woke up. You drank down your water, set the cup in the sink, and hesitated at the hall. You didn't know what pushed you to do it, but, the next thing you knew, you were reaching over to brush your fingers through his hair and lightly stir him awake. He blinked his eyes open, lifting himself up a bit and looking up to find the source of the touch. When he saw you, you couldn't help but smile when he relaxed.

"C'mon. You'll sleep better in my bed." You whispered, nodding your head towards the hall. It didn't take much else to convince him. You didn't know what you were doing, or what had compelled you to do it. Perhaps it was his stupid face. Or the look he'd had when he'd been sleeping, completely relaxed without a smirk, smile, or flash of anger. Or, how, without his leather jacket and in his pajamas, he just didn't look nearly as mean as he once had. You crawled into your bed and Severen closed the door behind the two of you. It was a double bed, one big enough for the two of you. Severen toed off his shoes, but he didn't take off much else. He kept the jeans and tank top he'd chosen from the pile on, and you guessed that was for your sake as he climbed into the bed next to you. He shifted, trying to find a way to get comfortable before he ended up on his back. Almost as if he wasn't used to sleeping in a bed. He curled one of his arms behind his head and laid the other on his stomach, almost as if he was keeping the side towards you open, and you silently asked yourself why you had suggested this to him once more. You stayed on your side of the bed, he stayed on his, and you tried not to wonder when you'd stopped being scared of him.

It had taken awhile to fall back asleep. You weren't used to sleeping through entire days, but there wasn't much else you could do. You had a feeling that they wouldn't take to it kindly if you decided to leave your trailer, for obvious reasons. So, you had no choice but to stay put. And, if you didn't want to wake them up, that meant staying in your room. You fell asleep after Severen did, and after you tucked into yourself.

When you woke up, it was because you felt someone playing with your hair. You blinked your eyes open a fraction, making a noise before you buried your face back into whatever was keeping you comfortable in the summer heat. Denying the suggestion of getting up. The smell was familiar, a smell that had comforted you for years. And your ac had stopped working weeks ago, so you couldn't remember the last time you hadn't woken up with your sheets tossed off of you and sweat beading down your skin. You were perfectly comfortable, and you didn't want to get up. You wrapped your arm around the weight besides you, holding onto it like a cool pillow. Only when he laughed did you realize that it was Severen. 

You pulled your hand back, lifting it up in confusion. You'd ended up on his side of the bed, so one thing was clear. And it didn't help your embarrassment when Severen noted it by saying,

"Evenin', cuddle-bug." With a wide grin on his handsome face. Sometime during your sleep you had shifted over to Severens side of your bed and wrapped yourself around him. Arms around his waist, head on his chest, and even your legs were tangled together. You weren't necessarily surprised. You'd been used to cuddling up to someone every night for a long time now, and it seemed like you'd just gravitated towards him. Still, you blushed bright scarlet, and you moved to detach yourself. "Hey, hey, it's alright. You don't gotta go nowhere." He quickly said, and you paused. He stroked your head once more, and, for a moment, you leaned into the touch. It felt nice, nice to be in someone's arms again. Nice to wake up next to someone again. Someone that hadn't cheated on you with someone else. But, you quickly reminded yourself of the massacre from last night, and, suddenly, it was a little bit harder to let yourself relax.

He seemed to notice your shift the instant it happened, and he pulled away his hand to let you pull away completely. You sat up, crossing your legs criss cross and pushing yourself backwards until your back hit the wall. You stared at him, and you forced yourself to ask,

"What happened last night? What- Why-" But there was no way to properly ask the question burning in your mind. Or at least, no way to do it while keeping your composure. What did they do? Why was there blood all over their faces? Even if you hadn't gotten the words out, Severens face went grim. He sighed, drumming his fingers on his stomach before he suddenly sat up all at once. The suddenness of his movement made you jump, and then he slowed. Like a predator trying not to scare off its prey. He looked over at you, mimicked the way you sat, and reached for your hands. You let him take them, and you watched him closely as he began.

"We don't have a word for it, but," He paused, shaking out his hair. "I'm not like you. I've been around a long time, and," It looked like it was hard for him to explain, like this was something he'd rather show you than tell you, but he continued on. "We can do all sorts of things, amazing things, but the night has its price." It was like he was trying to make it sound not as bad as it was, and he gave your hands a squeeze. But, to you, they sounded like the monsters that hid in the dark. They only came out at night, hid behind human faces, and were capable of things you weren't. Straight out of a horror story, you thought. After a moment, you urged him on,

"And that price is..." You weren't going to leave any blanks, especially if it was something that was going to bother you for the rest of your life. But the way he looked at you? He didn't need to speak for you to understand. You already know what that price is, his eyes said. It was you that finished it then. "Killing." You whispered, and his lips quirked down into a frown. His voice lacked any of its usual humor as he said,

"Well, if we don't then they'll become one of us." And you stared at him for another long moment. That answered one question. Monsters weren't born, they were made. And, in this case, they were made by a bite. At first, you thought that it wouldn't be so bad to just let them turn, but then you thought about how many of them there would be. Perhaps not. You couldn't stop the question that left your mouth before you said it,

"And you don't feel bad about it?" You asked him, and he really frowned then. He gripped your hands tighter and leaned forward, the usual cruel humor in his voice when he asked,

"Do you feel bad every time you eat a steak? It's the food chain, darlin'. We just happen to be higher on it." And you stared at him. The way he said it so carelessly, without an ounce of regret, nearly made your skin crawl. He backed off a bit, and you guessed your distaste for his reply was showing through your eyes. But, he didn't try to apologize or make you feel better. You guessed he wasn't the type.

"Then, why didn't you kill me?" You asked, but this time he smiled. It was a wide grin, similar to the one he'd given you when he'd seen you first at the bar. He shrugged his shoulders and said,

"Because I like you." As if that was that. You stared at him for a moment, waiting for him to continue. But it seemed like that was it. Your eyes left his gaze, moving down to your hands instead. He gave them a squeeze, and your eyes caught a bit of movement. He'd leaned in to catch your eye, and you quickly looked up. He smiled when he had your gaze again, and your eyes followed him as he leaned back again. "And you said that you liked me." He added, and you looked away again for a different reason this time. Embarrassment edged at your mind, as did the flurry of emotions that you weren't willing to admit to yourself. You still found him attractive, even if you knew it was messed up. He was a killer. A predator. The only true predator to the human race that you knew of. But, you liked him, and he liked you too. 

You pulled one of your hands away to rub at your heated cheeks, trying to make them cool from the coldness you'd stolen from his hands. But, you found that another cold hand was catching your chin, making you look at him. His eyes were swirling with something, something you weren't quite naive enough to not be able to place. His thumb brushed against your chin, and he whispered, 

"It drives me insane whenever you do that. Littlest things make you nervous." He commented, almost as if he was saying the last bit to himself. You watched him closely as his hand travelled down so he could massage the side of your neck. Right over one of your arteries. His words made your heart beat faster at what they suggested, and the roughness of his hands made you shiver. That, or the lack of warmth from them. The idea that you got him tangled up the same way he did you hadn't really occurred to you, but it made your stomach do backflips. "I can hear your heartbeat getting quicker. Pounding out of your chest. Thinking about something, huh?" He said, chuckling lightly as his eyes drifted down to the expanse of your neck. It made you gulp, and his eyes were quick to retreat back to your face once he saw it. Your mouth was dry and your tongue was frozen, caught by his gaze and unable to think of a thing to say. A flirty response to match his. But, Severen liked to talk and he was fine to continue by himself, "At first, I thought you were still scared of me, but," His thumb brushed over your jugular, and you bet your heart was only thrumming louder. "You're not, are you?" It was a rhetorical question, and he was right. You weren't scared anymore, even if part of you knew you should be. He leaned in, pausing a moment when he was only an inch away. You let out a soft gasp, but you didn't pull back. Didn't reclaim the distance between you. Your loosened tongue didn't make a noise to stop him. Instead, after a moment of silent words passing between the two of you, you leaned a bit closer and reached up to cup his jaw when he closed the gap.

[thewritingginger]

Hi, what about Jumin/fem!Reader with “sucking on ‘candy canes’” prompt?☺️

Thank you for the request and sorry for the wait. 

Just a word of warning this one was almost entirely written and edited on sleep deprived brain . . . 

Enjoy ~ 

Prompt: Naughty #03: Sucking on ‘candy canes’ Fandom: Mystic Messenger Pairing: Jumin Han x F! Reader Word Count: 2,,384 words Warning(s): 18+ NSFW, oral sex, rough oral sex, pet names, degrading, dirty talk, dom & sub

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Sipping your champagne and grazing the snacks you have chosen from the bar, you observe the well dressed people floating around the room, talking and laughing.  Contemplating whether you being here was necessary, not that you weren’t welcomed. You went there to accompany your lover who you’ve seemed to have lost in the sea of businessmen and women. You’re at a “Holiday Party” hosted at Jumin’s office building but it’s really less of a party and more of a business event. So to occupy yourself you decided to let him do his business thing as you enjoy the complimentary food and alcohol until he’s finished.

It’s been roughly two hours since you parted with Jumin and you’re about four flutes of champagne in when you spot the dark haired man. He’s in font of the bar conversing with a few older men in expensive looking suits. ‘They must be big shots with how Jumin is acting.’ You thought to yourself. Crossing your knees together as you lean into the back of your chair watching the interaction. About to start picking at your small plate of food you notice candy canes, each with a red ribbon tied in a bow at each place setting.  Picking up the candy you begin to peel away the plastic wrap around it. Resting back in your chair enjoying the fresh treat a mischievous idea pops in your head.  

As Jumin listens to the men talking to him about their ideas he spots you in the corner of his eye. Having not seen you in a while he looks towards you to give you a slight smile but his crescent lips soon flattened into a tight line. Flicking his eyes away from you, he swallows. Trying to focus on the men in front of him but unable to ignore the scene in his peripheral. You, sitting at a table in the back, knees crossed the high slit in your red satin dress - to match his tie - exposing your leg. Your elbow relaxed on the table top, candy cane in hand as you gently suck the tip of the striped treat. Your eyes, boring into him as you rack your vision up and down his figure. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t trying to get at least a little reaction out of him, and that could be due to the alcohol in your veins but either way this “party” was much too boring for your taste and you’ve already spent too much time on the sidelines watching. So now it’s your turn to have a little fun.

You can’t help but giggle while you watch the dark haired man, the way his gray eyes flick to you every so often to catch a glimpse of your suggestive behavior. How he balls his fists on his blazer to adjust his collar. Wishing it were you those hands were grabbing. The scandalous thoughts whirling in your head of all the things he could do with them made you cross your legs tighter. The warmth that had started on your face from alcohol slowly made its way down due to more intoxicating stimuli.

As time goes on you’re no longer satisfied with just watching and waiting, the feeling coursing through your body is leading you to a different plan. Standing up, smoothing the front of your gown, you down what was left of your champagne before making your way over to Jumin and his little group.

Jumin catches a glimpse of you sauntering over towards him and the others his sights on you directs the other men to look over. “Hello gentleman.” You say with a slight nod of your head. Looking up to your lover you smile, “Hope I’m not intruding.” You say.

“Of course not Darling.” Jumin responds, turning towards the businessmen, his hand resting upon the small of your back. “This is my girlfriend Y/n.” He says introducing you. The men all politely greet you, “You’ve caught quite a beauty Mr. Han.” One of the men says. Making you chuckle a bit and innocently bite on your candy cane,  flicking your gaze up to Jumin as he laughs as well. “Yes, she’s really something.”

You wrap your arm around Jumin’s back as he gently holds you close. Talking about travel the businessmen are not only speaking with Jumin but with you as well now. “So Ms. Y/n do you ever get to attend Mr. Han on his business trips? I’m sure a young woman such as yourself would enjoy exploring new places when given the chance.” The older man said. You smile, “Yes I do go with him when I can. But for me it’s more about being with him rather than where we’re going.” You say sweetly. Jumin grins at your response. “Now that’s a woman in love, you better put a ring on her finger before she grows tired of waiting.” A younger man said, pulling laughter from the whole group. “I could never grow tired of him.” You say with a smile. “He’s too fun to mess with.” You say playfully, getting another laugh from the men. While laughing you give Jumin’s butt a light squeeze causing him to clear his throat a bit. “Yes, she can be quite the trickster when she wants to be.” Jumin says, with a tight lipped smile, his hand on your waist tightens. Ignoring his warning you push a little further. “He loves it though, as you men might know it’s good to keep things exciting in a relationship.” You say. The other men agree.

Leaning in Jumin whispers to you, “Watch yourself Y/n.”

“I'm just having a little fun Ju. Although I am growing bored of this candy cane, perhaps you can help me find something else to suck on.” You whisper back. Looking back at the men talking, your face not mirroring the naughty words that just came from your mouth.

Interrupting the start of the next topic Jumin says. “Well Gentlemen it was great speaking with you but I believe my partner and I shouldn’t take up anymore of your time.”

“Oh nonsense, it’s been lovely. You should’ve introduced her earlier, she's quite a gem.” The older man said. “Thank you, the pleasure was mine.” You say with a slight curtsy. “Yes, well I have some business to attend to, have a good night gentlemen.” Jumin says. Saying your goodbyes, you’re led by the small of your back towards the entrance.

Before reaching the doors you’re stopped by Jaehee’s voice. “Mr. Han, Mr. Chairman said he’d like to speak with you.” She says. “Tell him I’m busy. I’ll be in my office.” Jumin says flatly. “Oh okay.” Jaehee responds, thrown off. You give her a smile as you and Jumin head for his office.

Once in, Jumin locks the door behind him. Walking further into his office you take a seat on the edge of his desk. Palms resting behind you, propped up on the surface. “Why so serious Ju, I was just having a bit of fun.” You say tilting your head to the side with a small smirk. Walking towards you, his lips form a tight line. “You know, I let your little actions from across the room slide but teasing me and saying those things in front of those men was too far.” Jumin says, standing before you, staring down with eyes that could kill.

“Oh really? Then what are you gonna do about it?” You say, taunting him. You give him a mischievous grin and without missing a beat he responds.

“Get on your knees!” He commands, taking his blazer off.

Standing, you laugh. “As you wish, Master.” You say with a smile. You could almost hear a growl in reaction to your words. Looking up at him you run your palms up his legs to then grip on the band of his belt.

“You seem happy to be on your knees.” He says.

“Well I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t what I asked for. This seems to be more of a reward than a punishment if you ask me.” You say. Your words make a sadistic grin cut across his lips.

“Oh you don’t really think I’m just gonna give you what you want after what you did, do you? No no no.” He tsks. Jumin bends over to be nose to nose with you, balling his fist in your soft locks he pulls your head back. “I’m gonna fuck that slutty little mouth of yours till you can’t even utter one more damn word about what you want. Am I clear?” He says, his words course through you like a wildfire. Your breath hitches when he releases his grip on you.

Your previous confidence in your position has shifted, looking up at your domineering lover as he loosens his tie, your hands begin to make work of his belt. Pulling down his trousers to pool at his ankles you unconsciously lick your lips at sight of his growing member stowed in his black boxer briefs. A low chuckle vibrates through the room, “Already drooling for my cock before it's out, huh. Go on, take it out now.” His teasing words leave no room for questioning. Doing as you’re told you slowly pull at the waistband. His erect member springs free, the tip already wet with precum. Wetting your dry lips you grab the base of his penis as you look up at him. Sticking your tongue out, eyes locked as you flick the tip with your tongue. Taking the head of his cock in your mouth you close your eyes as you begin to bob up and down.

Watching you suck him off, he’s grown tired of your leisurely pace. Removing his tie entirely, he takes the expensive silk fabric and wraps it around the back of your neck pulling you forward taut. The sudden action makes you gag as you gasped around his length. Using this as leverage he begins to pump into you. His hips hit harder every few strokes, groaning at the sight of your eyes beginning to well with tears and the sensation of your hot throat swallowing him as he sheaths himself completely.

“Is this what you wanted? For me to use your mouth like a toy?” He says through gritted teeth. His pace, aggressive, white knuckling the tie that holds you in place. Unable to speak you just let out a choked cry. “Oh I’m sorry I didn’t hear you Princess. I guess it's hard to speak now with my cock down your throat.” He says with a sinister chuckle.

Tears stream down your cheeks, as Jumin continues is assault on your throat. Your grip on his hips tighten with every pump, the coil in your belly tightening with every growl from his chest. The room is filled with the sounds of muzzled moans, whispered curses and the muffled music and people on the other side on the door. “Do you think the people outside can hear you slobbering on my cock? What do you think they’d say if they saw you now? Would they still think you’re that pristine beauty they met earlier or do you think they would see you as the filthy whore you are?” Jumin says. His degrading words make your head spin. You’re unable to even put together a single sentence in your head let alone give any kind of response. Even if your mouth wasn’t full of him you still wouldn’t be able to give a coherent answer.

The minutes tick by and you sense Jumin is nearing his end. His movements are becoming a bit sporadic, his words being cut short by grunts and moans. The sensations of your hot mouth around him with the gentle grazing of teeth crossed with your nails digging crescent shaped scars into his thighs makes his head roll back and release a deep pleasurable sigh. Looking down, his end near. “Come on, take it. Take it! You want me cum in your mouth?” He asks through gritted teeth, watching as you nod your head as best you can and give a staggered yes against his member. His pace slightly quickens, chanting for you to take it and strings of curse words like a song till you taste salty ropes of cum coating your mouth. Jumin doesn’t halt his movements, riding out his climax with a guttural moan. “Yes. Drink it up Kitten, like the good little cumslut you are. Fuck, look at you.” He says. His hips slowing down much like the aftershocks of his orgasm. Pulling out, you fall to your hands gasping as drool drips from your mouth. Fixing his pants and suit, waiting for you to catch your breath Jumin then kneels down in front of your crumpled form. Gently taking your hands to guide you to your feet, placing you back on his desk for support he looks at you. Your cheeks stained with the streaks of your tears and mascara, red lipstick smudged around your lips. Taking out his pocket square he begins to help clean you up. Whipping away the tears, then the left over drool and misplaced lipstick from your chin. Your heart still racing, aching as your calming down from your high and your breath still shaky. He smooths your hair down, hand resting on the nape of your neck. “I didn’t hurt you did I?” He asks. Eyes glossed with concern, to calm his worries you reply. “No you didn’t. It was kinda hot how aggressive you got.” You joke, getting a chuckle from him.

“If that’s so then there might be more where that came from when we get home. That is if you can manage to behave till we get there.” He says. “I can’t make any promises.” You say teasingly. Rolling his eyes he takes your hand. Smoothing your dress and hair as best you can you head for the door. “We’ll take the back way out to avoid any questions.” He says opening the door.

“Sounds good to me, Sir.” You say.

Walking out in front of him, you sway your hips just a bit more to top it off for him to see and think about how he wants to ‘punish’ you next.

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Thank you for reading hope you enjoyed it :)

💛 ~

Masterlist

[arieswonjin]

softbound; p.1

title: softbound; (modern royalty au)

pairings: bookshop owner!allen ma x princess!reader

genre: fluff, some angst

word count: 4.3k (p.1) 

navigation: teaser; p.1; p.2; epilogue;

warnings: none

masterlist | request here! | how to request |

story playlist; (pls this is cute)

a/n: first part of my fic exchange with @cravicton​

the one-seater sofa you were nestled in was threadbare and faded, but its old charm was what made it the perfect finishing piece to your little nook. 

it sat between two wooden shelves, the excellent fit making it look like it's been specially made to be placed in that very corner of the downtown bookshop. the seat dipped down significantly after hours and hours spent carrying weight as people momentarily escaped from their mundane days and glided through one fictional world into another where they could live some other life apart from the one they had in this modern 21st-century town. 

it was probably fate telling you to savor life’s simpler pleasures, having found the bookshop in one of your low-profile tours of the kingdom—one of your responsibilities as a ruler in training. you’ve been coming here ever since to no one but your assistant’s knowledge.

in the three years that passed, you couldn't remember if you have seen the seemingly insignificant yet inviting piece of furniture you were sitting on ever look new or if there was anybody in your town who has used it as much as you have.

what you did know was that every time you came to get lost in reading, a new trinket prepared by the bookshop's only owner, allen, would always be waiting on top of it. a book with a marked page, illustrations that reminded him of you, or simple items that made you smile were always accompanied by a mug of dark cocoa placed on top of a nearby shelf with a neat coaster. and don't forget the little note signed with a tiny, almost reluctantly-drawn, heart. 

tonight, it was a newly-bought knitted blanket the color of lush forests in autumn. you wrapped it around yourself the moment you sat down and you noticed that it smelled like old books and oat-scented candles. "because it's almost your favorite season," the note said. 

“how's my best customer enjoying their favorite spot tonight?” allen's face appeared peeking through a small space between the books to your right. he smiled, eyes and all, seeing you cradled in the knitted blanket with a book propped up with your knees, his warm mug in your hand.

allen was doing his nightly rounds, making sure new book arrivals were well stacked and sorted before he called it a day and went home. seeing you still immersed in reading a few minutes before the shop's closing time was not a new sight to him. in fact, it was how he finished many of his more enjoyable workdays.

"you know, if you treat every customer like this, they might end up falling for you." you took a sip of the dark cocoa and raised an eyebrow at him, ignoring the question. "with hot cocoa like this every time they're here? i'm surprised people aren't lining up outside."

allen didn't stop smiling and raised an eyebrow back to tease you, "so that means you're enjoying it?" he asked, making his way around the shelves and towards your sofa, plopping himself down on one of its arms.

the answer to his question was apparent with the relaxed way you were sitting, but you answered him anyway. "yes, allen. as always. thank you." you looked up at him, smiling sincerely and noticing how his warm stare didn’t falter.

"i like this one." he tapped the spine of the book you were holding, the white palace, by tom lee. allen always liked discussing books you’ve both read, going over details you yourself would have missed. he looked at you, taking the softbound item in his hand. “princess…”

you kept yourself from choking on your drink. for the past three years, a set of unusual circumstances led to allen still being clueless that you, his bookshop’s most avid patron, were indeed a crowned princess. 

did he finally hear about who you were? you really wanted to be the one to tell him and you were planning to do it soon, but he must’ve found the timing impeccable, seeing you read a novel about royalty then and there. 

you braced yourself for the questions, gathering up remnants of an unfinished explanation that you wanted to save for later.

“….princess mary, was that her name? the main character?” you inwardly sighed in relief and nodded.  maybe not. but soon.“how are you liking it so far?”

"i think it's quite exaggerated, the way they described the king and queen's private life. you know, they have an ordinary side to them, too. more than you would think.” you replied.

"mmhmm." he nodded thoughtfully like he always does when you expressed your opinion, like he was doing his best to grasp your perspective. “fiction has that tendency. and what are the chances of the princess getting married to a commoner?” 

you shrugged and patted the small space beside you on the one-seater. what are the chances of the princess getting married to a commoner? you turned the question over and over in your head. 

"i already closed up the entrance, but we can stay for another hour again if you want? wouldn't be the first time," allen said, accepting your silent offer and laughing at how both of you fit snuggly on the sofa, his chest pressed against your shoulder and his arms draped behind you. 

"how about just another five minutes? i actually have to go earlier today. work." you offered him a sip from the mug to which he obliged, putting his hands over yours as he sipped up the warm drink. "but this is just too comfortable to pass up." you finished. 

after a few lovely minutes, you helped allen close the bookshop. both of you walked side by side, taking the small path to the main road. the space between you two was almost nonexistent as the cold fall evening made you seek for each other’s warmth, however slight. 

you loved this, the comfortable silence he always gave you when you were about to part. he wasn’t too keen about asking you questions and was contented with listening only to what you wanted to share. he never asked, for instance, why you always refused to let him bring you home. instead, he told you almost a hundred times to be careful on the way. 

"i'm glad you enjoyed your nook today.” he faced you and you smiled at his words, giving him an intuitive peck on the cheek to which he scrunched his nose in delight. i enjoyed it too much, you thought. sometimes, being there made you forget that you were in line to rule an entire kingdom. you wanted to say this but decided against it. next time. i promise. “be careful on the way back, okay?” 

you nodded at him to go ahead. he never ever failed to look back at you at least thrice while walking away. 

tonight, you counted four. 

finally, he turned a corner and you sighed.

"your highness." a car stopped in front of you not even a minute after, its front windows rolling down to reveal your assistant. you remember specifically asking him not to open the car door for you when he drops you off and picks you up a block away from the bookshop, things he still remembers to do until now. 

you opened the door and sat yourself down on the backseat. "thanks, serim." 

upon getting in, you knew serim was ready to update you about any developments on your current dealings, the most pertinent one being the donor’s ball, the first-ever palace event your parents, the king and queen, were letting you host on your own. 

“there are some catering concerns that need to be finalized and i was told the guestlist for the donor’s ball is ready for you, your highness. when would you want to view it?” 

“tonight is fine. it would be great if it was brought to the drawing-room when we arrive.” 

“i’ll have it arranged. and a slot needs filling. one of the donors said they were withdrawing the donations for the children’s home, your highness,” serim reported, an undertone of annoyance just barely showing through at the said withdrawal.

“is it kim’s pages inc.?” you leaned your head on the window of the car and saw serim nod. “that’s fine. we have two weeks. that should be enough to find a replacement. let’s have a message sent to similar companies in town.” 

“right away, your highness.”

you made a mental list of your commitments for the rest of the week, knowing you’d have no free time to have another one of your nights at the bookshop with allen for a few days. but this was your reality and you weren’t complaining. you were bringing people the help they needed. telling allen would have to wait.

"oh, and serim?” you leaned forward to peak at his face through the rearview mirror. 

"yes, your highness?” 

“remember when i told you not to call me ‘your highness’?”

“yes….your highness.” he shifted in his seat, holding back a snort.

"you don't have to call me that when we're alone. we're practically siblings and it feels weird. just casually, okay? and take those sunglasses off, it’s evening.” you patted his shoulder playfully from the backseat, all the walls of professionalism crumbling down with your high-pitched laughter.

"alright, y/n." he laughed and cleared his throat, loosening up at your signal. 

serim, the only person inside the palace you could freely confide in when you were growing up, became your assistant at your request. his family has worked for the palace for years and no one could do the job better than him. ”since we're acting like actual buddies now, how's that bookshop owner doing? you told him already?” he asked, pulling up to the front gates of your residence which opened automatically at the sight of your vehicle.

"i will. soon.” 

your decision to not appear on television, or any platform for that matter, even while you were accomplishing work for public service was something your family never questioned. in fact, they supported it, knowing what scrutiny could do to a young woman still finding her character. 

that said, allen not knowing that you were a member of the royal family was not a big surprise, as you were less of a household face than the rest of the monarchy. you deliberately avoided media and the public eye with the help of your dedicated staff, but this didn't mean you dodged your responsibilities. you were busy as can be, meeting partners in private meetings, arranging food and basic support for local shelters, and making sure the palace helpers were well-compensated. 

allen’s bookshop was your breath of relief after a long day. in fact, the morning after spending hours at your small second home always made you feel like you were living a double life—from the worn-down sofa and aged bookshelves to the grand halls and luxurious decorative pieces of the palace.

“honey, i heard you were working until 2 am last night. you should really be getting rest. you know how busy we’ll all be on the day of the ball.” the queen greeted you with a frown as you approached the breakfast table set under a small gazebo in the middle of the palace garden. you sat down and were faced with a complete breakfast setup of the best eggs, toast, fruit, and all kinds of beverages, ready for you like they always were in the mornings. 

“good morning, darling.” the king greeted you after taking a sip of coffee. he eyed your mother, urging her to greet you good morning before the rest of her concerned reminders. “have some breakfast. you’ll need it with the way you’re bustling nowadays.”

“yes, father. and don’t worry, mother, we just had some unexpected things to iron out,” you assured your parents. with you taking care of the event for the first time ever, you knew they just wanted things to go smoothly.

the donor's ball was hosted every fall. its main purpose was to gather potential partners that will support the charities under the royal family’s care. it did mean going out and being seen more than you would like, but it was the perfect opportunity to bring more to your constituents. you couldn't pass up the additional support for your advocacies. 

but to add to that, your parents seemed to think the donor’s ball had another purpose.

“the kangs are on the guestlist. i heard they were bringing their heir, minhee,” your mother shared, trying to sound nonchalant, but you knew exactly what she was hinting at. “right?” she nudged your father who almost choked on his buttered roll. 

“right. jungmo is coming too. remember him? your horseback riding partner?” your father asked. 

“when i was 12? yes, father. i remember. and for the nth time…” you smiled at both of them patiently. “i’m marrying neither minhee nor jungmo.”

the king and queen merely looked at each other. their attempts to push you to meet potential grooms in the donor’s ball were now out of the picture. 

“it’s alright, i got it, thank you.” you smiled at the palace helper and took the pot of tea from her hands, pouring your own cup. 

“then who will it be, y/n? you know we always let you do what you think is best for you, but we only had one request: good in-laws.” the king asked, still sounding gentle as ever despite his hard exterior and the ever-so-pressing question. 

“you get a choice, dear.” your mother smiled at you over the breakfast table. “you can find someone to marry yourself or you can entrust the task to me.” 

“i’m on it.” you said almost inaudibly before taking a bite of your breakfast. 

“come again?” your parents were all ears now. never hearing anything about the state of your heart was the norm for them, so you suddenly saying that you were ‘on it’ was quite the surprise. 

you figured that if you were going to tell allen who you really were and how you really felt about him soon, your parents might as well know before they did anything funny, like set you up with kang minhee for example. minhee was great, but he was not allen. 

“what if i want to marry the owner of that small bookstore?” you asked more confidently than before. they were silenced for a few seconds, again exchanging looks, but later on, they merely shrugged like they realized just who they were talking to. by now, they would have gotten used to how unpredictable their only child could be. 

“then they had better pass their background checks. oh, and of course, we will have to interview them.” your mother explained. “—and don’t worry, i’ll tell your father not to scare them away.” she added after seeing that you were about to protest. to this, your father simply rolled his eyes, making the palace helpers giggle behind you. they always loved witnessing the rather casual exchanges you had with your parents. 

“alright.” you smiled, grateful that you three reached an understanding. you were anxious, yes. how is he going to take this? but you were also visibly giddy. you had too many butterflies in your stomach to worry about anything else. the technicalities would have to be taken care of some other time. “you’re going to love him.”

your parents smiled at you purely, “we can’t wait to meet him.”

“if you treat every customer like this, they might end up falling for you.” allen shook his head, chuckling by himself inside his humble studio apartment. he was cooking up a simple lunch when he remembered what you told him the day before. unconsciously, he caught himself hoping that it was a masked confession. allen knew it was a reach, trying to deduce how you felt just from those words, but seeing how close you two have become—the lingering gazes, warm hugs, and pecks on the cheek—he hoped he had a chance to have his feelings reciprocated openly. it’s probably time to clear out where both of you stood. it’s been 3 years after all. 

the first time you ever stepped inside the bookshop, allen thought you were terribly overdressed. it was just at the break of spring and summer. you entered the shop alone and almost unnoticed, with allen’s back turned and you making the door chimes sound softer than they usually do. he actually only realized you were inside the shop when he saw you perusing the aisle containing contemporary mystery novels. with the beige sundress and huge sunglasses that you wore, one wouldn’t assume that you were from that town. 

“hi, uhm, are you a tourist?” allen asked, ready to offer his help if you said yes. however, he was not looking directly at you but at the book you had in your hands. it was one of the novels in his shop he was not very fond of due to its unnecessary wordiness and lack of research. 

“uhm, no. but i am new to this shop. they have a good selection, huh?” you paused and chuckled at the expression on allen’s face. “don’t worry, i’m not fond of his writing, either.”

“huh?” with a confused expression, he looked up at your face for the first time.

“i noticed you were squinting at it,” you said, raising the book up to eye level. 

“ah, i’m sorry.” a bashful laugh sounded throughout the bookshop. allen looked like he could be your age but he carried himself like a young child meeting someone for the first time. “but you have to admit, his book covers feel very satisfying.” 

“that’s the only reason why i was holding it. to feel it.” you laughed along with him and noticed that he was carrying a stack of at least 10 books. you removed your sunglasses to have a closer look at the titles. “you’re buying all of that?” 

“no, no. i— uh, own the shop, actually. just reorganizing.” he said shyly, not used to introducing himself to a customer because everyone in the neighborhood who came to buy from him already knew this fact.

“oh! and here i was asking you about your own selections! lovely shop, by the way, sir…?” 

“allen. just allen.” he held out his hand. when he asked for your name with complete curiosity and with no trace of recognition on his face, you knew that this was going to be a new and interesting place to be. from then on, his bookshop was the only place outside the palace to witness your unquenchable thirst for reading. 

with every visit, your relationship with allen bloomed from awkward exchanges of greetings and smiles to a routine of long-winded discussions—ranging from the sweet and the natural to the borderline debate-like—a welcome sign that you have grown comfortable in each other’s presence. aside from the fact that he still did not know a single thing about your family background, both of you could say that you’ve come to know each other well, even up to the smallest habits and preferences. 

allen could not remember when he realized that he always missed you terribly on the days you wouldn’t come. he did not know when he started to want to hold you while you had your nose up in a book. he also couldn’t tell at what point in time in the past three years his heart started beating faster at every soft tinkling sound of the door chime, always wishing it was you who entered when he turned and looked.  

although he was not sure exactly when he fell for you, he’s more than certain that he wanted to be able to spend time with you and maybe have a future with you outside of the confines of his store. 

“if you treat every customer like this, they might end up falling for you.” the next time you came, he was going to tell you that he’s never done special gestures like that for any other customer. his heart simply becomes happy making you smile and he’ll be glad to continue doing so for as long as you let him. 

allen smiled by himself again, thinking about the mug of hot cocoa and heartfelt confession he was going to give you when you come back.

it’s been a few days since you last got the chance to take a break from your endless meetings. the two weeks leading up to the ball clouded your mind with nothing but work, work, and work. the one free night you had before the ball was tomorrow and you would usually be feeling excited at the thought of seeing allen and being cradled by pages of fiction in your spot between the shelves. but with the case at hand, all you could do was worry. the excitement upon telling your parents about him was now replaced with a rabbit hole of concern. 

“i can hear your heart racing through the phone lines, y/n…” your best friend said through the phone call. staying in your room cooped up with your thoughts just wasn’t going to do it. you needed someone who was not on edge to put you in the right mindset for tomorrow and no one could do it better than your childhood best friend, who just so happened to be the young prince of a neighboring kingdom. 

“i know, hyeongjun. be the prince that you are and give me your thoughts, please.” you leaned your back on one of the pillars of your balcony, staring out at the wide expanse of your town and the few flickering lights in the distance. you wondered if allen was closing up his shop right this very moment. 

“before that… tell me. why do you like this allen?” hyeongjun asked. as you knew he wasn’t one to judge based on status or occupation, you obliged. 

“well…” you started to fill him in right from the very beginning. your eyes were still looking out at the town, but your mind was replaying your typical visits to the shop like a movie reel. 

you told hyeongjun about how your heart would do somersaults seeing allen sitting on the front desk, looking dashing even in just a simple sweater; about how his eyes would light up when he turned and saw you enter the shop; how he would look down and have a tint of red on his cheeks, catching himself in the middle of a rant when you listened to his stories with a loving gaze and undivided attention.

you smiled dreamily as you continued to narrate how you found the very first note allen left for you. it was placed on top of a stack of aged books at the shelf you frequented. the note said: “y/n. because i noticed you seemed to love horror fiction. these are some of my favorites. tell me what you think about them? :)” you looked over at the front desk, meeting his eyes which were already looking in your direction. you gave him a thumbs up, earning an excited smile from him. 

before you left the bookshop that day, you noticed a bunch of crumpled post-it notes inside the bin beside the front door, some of them with longer messages, some with scribbled out hearts and more smiley faces. you chuckled, imagining how flustered he must’ve been while deciding what to write before finally settling for the simpler message instead.��

you jumpily described your surprise at how, several months after you first met, allen dared to hold your hand and pull you between the wooden shelves to show you the seat he set up just for you; how he would smile when you told him his shop brought you comfort; how the hours spent with him are the longest you could go without being served or addressed as a noble, but as a beloved friend and maybe even more.

“and his mind… he knows more things than i could possibly know. he’s smart. but he still listens to me like everything i say is brand new to him. he’s no prince, but he’s left me more to think about than any other prince i’ve met. no offense, hyeongjun. you know i love you.”

“none taken.” hyeongjun breathed out, taking in everything you said. “just now, it sounded like you were reading me a fairytale. y/n, i know you’re already a real princess, but you saying such things makes me think you’re a princess out of actual fantasy.”

“hyeongjun…” you whined, not understanding where he was going with this. 

“okay, look. i don’t think it was for the fear of him treating you differently that you still have not told him about your background,” he rationalized. hyeongjun has always been a bubbly friend, but you could rely on him to be wise and objective when you needed it the most. “it was the comfort that he brought you after a long day. maybe it was the way he treated you like an equal that kept you contented with what he knows about you at this point in time.” 

you stayed silent and felt the waves of worry ebbing away because of how accurately he described your situation.

“my point is, y/n, if he was everything you described him to be, he would understand why you took this long to tell him. don’t get ahead of yourself, okay?” hyeongjun asked. “but if he reacts negatively, i can always send some of my personal guards to talk it out with him and—“ 

“hyeongjun!”

“i’m kidding! i just wanted to make you laugh,” he said giggling. you shook your head and laughed along with him, feeling yourself gaining more will to face the next day. the sigh you had now was one of partial relief

“thank you… i mean it.” you told him. “see you at the ball?” 

“it’s your first donor’s ball. i wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

[babbushka]

Can you possibly write anything with mob Kylo and him and the wide going to an event like an opera, a charity ball or something like that and you're just looking so good in a fancy dress that Kylo just has to have you right there and then and smut ensues. I just can't stop thinking of having sex with kylo while he's in a killer suit. Thank you so so much x

(imagine his scar is there lol)

You get invited to all sorts of things, you and Kylo. Galas and fundraisers mostly, events which you’re more than happy to attend, causes you’re more than happy to contribute to. You’ve got the money to spend, and you like to spend it on things that matter to you. Does it also help if you have a track record of supporting good civil causes for when the IRS and cops come sniffing at your income reports? Yes. But that’s beside the point.

The point is that you’re at an event now. Something hosted by a politician looking to get re-elected, some big campaign fundraiser. You like them, you want to support them – and you’ve got a new dress you’ve been wanting to debut for some time now.

It’s gorgeous, a floor length gown with a long train. You wore a beautiful purple color that complimented your skin-tone beautifully, your hair done up nicely so it was out of your face. The silhouette of the dress was flattering to your shape, with beautiful draping around the bodice to add some grace and elegance, and Kylo was absolutely fucking entranced by it.  

He had been eyeing you the entire time you had been wearing it, eyeing you like he was going to pounce, like he was going to tear it to shreds. You wonder if he would, if he’d let a couple thousand dollars go down the drain like that.

With the way he was looking at you as you dance together in the soft glow of the chandelier, you think he just might.

“We’re going.” Kylo informs you when he can’t take it any longer, pulling you impossibly closer on the dance floor.  

“Honey we’ve only been here for an hour.” You murmur as your cheeks are pressed together, his warm palm on the small of your back.

“And I’ve been restraining myself for an hour.” He huffs out, just as softly, his voice handsomely dark and deep.

You pull back just enough to look into his glittering eyes, that handsome scar of his gleaming in the orange glow of the ballroom. His pupils have nearly swallowed his irises entirely, blown wide open with a lust that has you filling with pride.

“Is your cock hard?” You whisper in his ear, feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “Are you hard for me?”

“Yes.” He answers, never one to lie to you, not even here, not even in the middle of this gala.

Your hand searches down between your bodies discreetly, sandwiched between your stomachs as you tease him, fingers seeking lower lower lower. No one is paying any attention to you, all too wrapped up in their own affairs and conversations, and you take advantage of that.

“You want to fuck me?” You egg him on further, your lips pressing soft kisses to the shell of his ear, tongue accidentally brushing against his neck when you lick your lips, sending a full body shudder through your husband when you ask, “In front of all of these people? Want them to watch me come on your big dick?”

“(Y/N).” Kylo swallows around the hard lump in his throat, lest he start drooling, and his hand winds around yours and gives it a squeeze, asking to go home with a, “Please.”

“Answer me.” You say firmly, and Kylo swallows again.

“I’d have to kill them, every single one of them.” He looks around, surveys the packed crowd, and bites the inside of his cheeks when he regards you seriously.

You grin at the response, removing your hands from his body and instead cupping his face, pulling him down by his darling ears to kiss you.

“Maybe I want you to.” You hum against his mouth, indulging him in your tongue for a moment before nodding, “Take me home.”

You don’t get as far as the car though, before he’s all over you. He practically slams the Bentley door shut, grabs a hold of your body and maneuvers you so that you’re lying down across the leather seats, your dress taking up too much space in the limo.

“Dopheld put the fucking window up.” Kylo growls out at the poor young driver, who nods quickly and does as he’s told.

Dopheld’s driven you around for years and years now, he’s seen just about everything happen in the backseat of the cars, including this.

Kylo fumbles with his tuxedo pants for a moment, yanks the buttons open and the zipper down enough to shove the pants down his thighs.

“C’mon,” You lick your lips, giving him a nod of permission, “Fuck me honey.”

He groans as he slides his cock between your folds, as your foot props itself up against the headrest of the seat, trying to spread your legs wide for him. He wraps a hand around the small of your back, lifts your hips up so that it’s a better angle for him to push himself all the way in.

“Oh Kylo,” you breathe as he doesn’t even wait to bottom out before thrusting, “You feel so good.”

He gets deeper and deeper with every thrust, his cock pushing itself further into you, spearing you through with it. It’s rock hard and leaking, you can feel it, can hear the way it squelches as it spreads the pre-come all over your pussy. Or maybe you’re just that wet for him, always ready to take him, always turned on.

He looks so fucking handsome in that suit, that tuxedo, his little bowtie endearingly crooked no matter how many times you try and fix it.

He grunts in your ear as you clench your cunt around him, as you tighten your grip on his hair as he licks and sucks on your breasts. He’s managed to pull one out, has his lips suctioned around your nipple, making you whine and gasp from the shocks of pleasure that stimulate your spine.

“Close,” is all he says, as he braces himself against your body, hips pistoning inside you as Dopheld navigates the streets, “Fuck I’m close.”

“We’re almost home,” You tell him quickly, not having any idea of if that’s actually true or not, “If you can hold off until we’re home, I’ll let you tie me up and have your way with me all night.”

That part is true, and you mean it – Kylo can feel how much you mean it. So he curses loudly, grips the leather too tight until it’s creaking, and staves off his orgasm by sheer willpower.

He fucks you hard, hard and fast and rough, in the backseat. He fucks you until you’re crying, until you’re so wound up from pleasure that if you don’t come soon you’re going to start screaming with it. Your voice is already rising up up up, already too high, your moans have turned into pants and your eyes won’t open because that takes too much energy, all your attention honed in on the feeling of his hard cock in your cunt.

You’re almost about to chastise Kylo when he does come, when he comes with a shout and a pounded fist against the tinted window. You’re almost about to complain when he drops his other hand to your clit, fucks you through it and rubs your pussy with his huge calloused hands, and then you’re coming too, thighs tensing around his thick waist before going limp, your body suddenly feeling overheated and suffocated by your dress.

You’re about to say something, when you notice that the car has stopped moving, parked in front of the apartment building.

The window rolls down, and Dopheld timidly meets your eye in the rearview mirror – careful not to look absolutely anywhere else, other than your eyes – as he squeaks,

“We’ve arrived.”

And then you break out into a big, blissed out grin, as you pet Kylo’s hair back from where he’s collapsed on top of your chest, and he mumbles out a cheeky,

“So about those ropes?”

[pennamesmith]

Skeletor Takes a Holiday

Catra thinks on the past. Adora gives out presents. Glimmer looks to the future. Entrapta drives a tank. Hordak and Bow do their best. A She-Ra Day Special. 

More “Skeletor” stories here! 

*

“Blast you, you miserable cat! Let me go!” Skeletor squawked. 

“Reel it in, bonehead,” Catra replied coolly. She was leading Entrapta’s rebellious reprogrammed robot by what amounted to an ear, his arms full of stolen sugar plums. 

“Please, let me explain!” Skeletor protested. “I must save the children!”

“Tell it to the queen,” Catra shrugged back. “If you really wanted to get away with it, you wouldn’t have let me catch you. And anyway, Wrong Hordak says we need more help at the snack tables.”

“You overgrown fur coat,” Skeletor grumbled. “How dare you embarrass me in front of everyone?”

They were walking down a hallway of Bright Moon palace, making their way toward one of the large common rooms. On most weeks, Wrong Hordak used the space to hold a support group for clones and other former members of the Horde, who met to talk about their lives and their feelings. Together, they healed, held on, and let go. And, with great bravery and reluctance, they tried new ways to be themselves. 

Today, they were hosting a wellness afternoon. 

Catra pushed open a pair of double doors and was greeted by the sight of a warm, bustling room. The therapy group regulars were there, but so were various palace staff and citizens of Bright Moon, as well as former Horde soldiers cautiously following the flyers distributed by an enthusiastic flock of clones. Mixed together, they mingled, tentatively. 

Stations were set up in this and the adjoining rooms, each providing sample servings of various simple self-care options. In one area, Netossa and Spinnerella taught comics and cartooning to a circle of curious clones. In another, Swift Wind pranced at the head of an aerobics group. Glimmer had set up a portable kitchen by the window and was showing some palace guards how to make vegetable dumplings. Just about everyone looked like they were having a good time. 

Catra waded through all of this and found Wrong Hordak teaching an improv comedy workshop — alongside the regular support group’s newest member, who was currently hanging off the cheerful clone’s shoulder like a feathered boa constrictor. 

“Yes, and?” Double Trouble prompted the group, raising an emphatic hand. “Tell me what comes next! Show me passion! Show me imagination!”

“Start the performance! I demand to be amused!” interrupted Skeletor. 

Everyone fell silent and turned to look at Catra. “I got Skeletor back,” she said simply, showing off her perturbed prisoner.

“Wonderful work!” Wrong Hordak exclaimed. He pulled a small instruction manual bearing the seal of Dryl out of his pocket and flipped through the handwritten pages. “Skeletor, please perform…” He squinted at the messy longhand. “...Relationship-building subroutine eighteen. Ah, I think I see what the problem was.”

Skeletor abruptly saluted, dropping most of his plums in the process. “I hate to leave this touching scene, but I see my plan has failed! I’ll be back another time, my friend,” he said, marching off to greet new arrivals and attend to the snack tables. 

Catra turned to go, but found her way blocked when Double Trouble materialized in front of her. 

“It’s good to see you back, kitten,” the lizard smirked. “We almost thought you’d abandoned us! And speaking of, look who I found while you were away.” They pointed. “Some old friends of yours!”

Following the gesture, Catra looked around and felt her insides do a flip-flop as she recognized Kyle, Lonnie, and Rogelio among the group. Double Trouble seemed about to say more, but was instantly distracted when Wrong Hordak winked and called them over for help with an armload of props and costumes. 

...Which left Catra alone to face her three erstwhile friends. Who had already made eye contact and started walking towards her. The former force captain wished furiously for an alien abduction, or to be struck down by lightning, but she had no such luck. 

“Hi Catra!” Kyle squeaked. Rogelio rumbled something in a friendly tone. 

“Catra,” Lonnie greeted simply, wearing an unreadable expression. 

“Oh wow,” Catra stammered. “It’s, uh, it’s been a while guys. Haven’t seen you since…” 

“Since you went off the deep end and we deserted the Horde?” Lonnie finished for her. 

Catra shrank a little. “Yeah. Since that. I’m… really sorry about all that, by the way. Have you all been okay?” 

“We stick together. We have a good life. And we heard that you and Adora got married, so now I guess I owe Rogelio money.” Lonnie laughed. “No invitations for us, huh?” 

“It was really small,” Catra muttered, feeling worse by the second. She touched her ring. “Just a few guests in the park. Nothing major.” 

Lonnie held up her hands. “Hey, it’s cool, none taken. I just hope you treat her better now than you did when we were in the Horde.” 

Catra felt her hackles rise and did everything she could to squash them back down again. “We’re fine,” she managed, eventually. “You haven’t seen her around anywhere, have you?” 

“Yeah. Over by the board games with the science princess and, you know...” Lonnie mimed a tall, fanged figure with a squinting scowl. “Though I still don’t know how I feel about those two.” 

Kyle and Rogelio looked at each other.

“Thanks,” Catra muttered, and slunk away. 

Catra found herself stuck in her own thoughts as she wandered in the direction Lonnie had pointed, barely able to muster a friendly wave as she passed Scorpia in Perfuma’s yoga group or Bow at the jigsaw puzzle table. She kept replaying the conversation in her head, thinking about things she could or would or should have said. 

In the pit of her chest, she could feel the faint fear of a voice that said she hadn’t changed at all. Unbidden, the image of her own hand on the portal lever came to her. Stupid, stupid, she thought at herself, until the self-loathing drove away the shame. 

Catra sighed. She was working on it. 

Fortunately, she didn’t have long to perseverate. Sure enough, Adora was in the board games area, seated around a table with Entrapta, Hordak, Emily, and Imp. All five of them were thoroughly engrossed in a heated round of Betrayal at Horror Hall. 

“I’ve rolled a three,” Hordak declared as Catra approached. “Is that good?” 

“No, it means you’re still trapped in the Dark Dimension,” Entrapta explained evenly. “My turn! I move into the throne room and attack the ghost!” 

“Attack! Attack!” Imp echoed in her voice. 

Emily beeped. 

“Hey Adora,” Catra sighed with relief as she joined them. “How’s it going?” 

“Emily betrayed us all, the Dark One has escaped, and I’m dead!” Adora wailed. “In the game, I mean,” she clarified, gesturing to her battle figurine, which was tipped on its side. Catra smiled and settled in, already feeling more assured of herself. 

“Oh, and you have got to try Hordak’s new coffee,” Adora continued, proffering a steaming paper cup. “He called it a… peppered mint mo-cah?” She looked at Catra with immeasurable eyes and giggled. “I think I can hear space.”

Catra had a thought. She glanced at Entrapta. 

“That reminds me,” Catra started cautiously. “You know that charity stunt or whatever you goons have planned for the night before Adora’s birthday?”

“You mean She-Ra Day Eve?” Adora asked, a huge grin plastered on her face.

“Yeah, that one. I changed my mind about staying home. I want in.” 

“Oh, yay!” Adora nearly fell out of her seat leaning over to hug her wife. “We’re gonna have so much fun!”

“It will be a significant benefit to have extra helpers,” Hordak added with approval as he looked up from the game board. “Entrapta has engineered quite an undertaking for this event.” 

“She has? Uh, how elaborate are we talking, exactly?” Catra asked, already beginning to regret her decision. 

Entrapta leaned across the table. “Oh, it’s gonna be big,” she boasted, grinning. Then she sat back in her hair and laughed madly, swinging her feet with delight. 

Catra gulped. Somewhere, she could hear a bell ring. 

*

They were standing outside in the starry night. 

It did not snow in Bright Moon, but the air was chilly, and everyone assembled was wearing heavy winter coats. Catra, sinking into hers like a turtle, leaned against Adora’s arm and groaned. 

“I’m gonna be so bad at this,” she complained. 

“You’re gonna do fine,” Adora cajoled. “You’ll get to throw stuff at people! You love doing that.”

“It wouldn’t be the same without the whole Best Friends Squad anyway!” Bow added, as Glimmer nodded beside him. 

“It’s better with you here,” the queen said, smiling. 

Catra felt her stomach twist and looked away. But that only faced her toward the group’s tallest member, looming lazily on her other side. 

“You seem stressed, Catra.”

Catra glared back up at Hordak. “Easy for you to say! Your wife’s birthday isn’t a national holiday!”

Hordak huffed. “Perhaps not where you come from.”

“I can’t take much more of this,” moaned Skeletor. 

Catra threw up her hands. “Okay, and why is Skeletor here?” she asked helplessly. 

“Silence, you furry fool!” Skeletor retorted. “You ought to know me better than that by now!” He crossed his arms and sulked. 

“We require a full crew for this endeavor,” Hordak explained, more calmly. “Entrapta insisted upon using one of the larger models.” 

“Models of what?” Catra demanded. 

As if on cue, a loud rumbling sound filled the air. The ground began to shake, and an enormous Horde tank rounded the corner, trundled down the road, and came to a juddering halt in front of the gathered friends. It was covered in tinsel and had been repainted with jolly, festive colors. 

“Speak of the gremlin,” Catra mumbled, staring. 

The tank’s front hatch popped open and Entrapta emerged astride Emily, hefting a huge burlap bag. Imp was sitting on her shoulder, wearing a new pair of booties with curled and pointed toes. 

“Merry She-Ra, one and all!” Entrapta crowed. “Welcome aboard the Wrapper Tank!” As they filed past her up the ramp, she rummaged in her bag and passed out what appeared to be accessorized figurines resembling each member of the group. 

Skeletor stared long and hard at his. “Only one is really me! Which one is it?” he mused. 

Glimmer was delighted with hers and immediately set about making it hold hands with Bow’s. Catra held hers uncertainly while Adora toyed with the miniature She-Ra’s sword arm action. 

“Look, it’s a tiny Hordak!” Entrapta squealed with glee as she presented her partner with his own likeness. “Isn’t he cute?”

Hordak smiled as he accepted the gift. “Your craftsmanship is remarkable, as always.” 

Inside the tank was a command bridge the size of a throne room. Several more bags stuffed with small toy princesses rested in the center of the floor. On every surrounding wall there were blinking control panels and swiveling gunners’ chairs. Skeletor sat down in one and spun giddily. 

“I made tiny versions of all the heroes of Etheria!” Entrapta exclaimed, sweeping her hands over everything. “Bow helped with the designs. And then I used my fabrication lab to mass-produce them!” She held her sides and cackled wildly. 

“We’re going to give them out to all the homes in Bright Moon,” Adora added, settling into another chair. “Something for the kids, you know?” Catra, already brightening at the sight of weaponry, grinned and joined her. 

Entrapta tossed herself back into the pilot’s seat. “If this experiment goes well, we’ll be able to expand the operation to other kingdoms next year! Maybe even the whole planet!” 

“Okay, but how are we going to be able to deliver presents to every house if we only have one night?” Bow asked. 

“That’s easy!” Entrapta bragged. “Behold, the power of the Wrapper Tank!” 

With a flourish, she dropped one of the trinkets into a large funnel near the control panel. In seconds, automated arms had bound it in wrapping paper and a purple bow, and fired it out the front cannon at high velocity. 

“This baby can do thirty of these things a minute!” Entrapta shouted proudly as she continued shoveling toys into the machine. 

“Is everyone comfortable?” Skeletor asked. He didn’t wait for an answer before pushing as many buttons as his bony arms could reach. 

With a roar, the engines came to life, and then they were rolling down the road, strafing the kingdom with presents that mostly landed where they were supposed to go. The inside of the tank became a bustle of activity as the crewmates passed gifts to one another and sent them shooting off into the night. Distantly, they could hear people cheering, as well as the occasional sound of something breaking. 

“Is this what we’re doing all night?” Catra asked. She flipped a switch and raised her eyebrows as a Frosta doll hurtled through someone’s window. “You were right, it is kinda fun.” 

“This is the main event, yeah,” Adora replied, launching a volley of Sea Hawks down the block. “We’ve got a few more personal stops to make on the way, though. The first one’s in the Whispering Woods!” 

Catra froze for a moment, imagining the ghosts that were waiting for her in those dark and shifting trees. She shook her head and ignored the thought. 

“What idiot started this whole thing anyway?” Skeletor griped. 

*

The tank made its first stop at a tiny cottage, so small and low that it would have been easy to mistake for nothing at all. 

“Madame Razz?” Adora called as she ducked through the doorway. The others followed behind her in a curious huddle. 

“I brought you some cookies and sweets and stuff,” Adora said, setting the goodies on the table. Bow and Glimmer gazed with interest at the many mystical odds and ends decorating the walls. Entrapta struck up a conversation with the broom. Hordak, who was taller than the ceiling, crouched in as dignified a manner as he could manage.

“Who knows what evil lurks behind these doors?” Skeletor hissed in a hushed whisper.

At the far side of the cottage, Razz sat in a rocking chair and tipped slowly back and forth, staring at nothing. Catra felt her hair stand on end. 

Adora looked worried. “Razz? You there?” 

Madame Razz blinked and snapped out of her trance. “Yes, yes, deary! Come in! I remembered this was going to happen.” Leaping to her feet, she held out a stuffed doll with pointed ears, blue hair, and soulless eyes. “Look here! I have a gift for you also.” 

Adora took it gingerly. “How… nice. What is it?” She turned the doll over in her hands. It wore a rainbow jumper and a plastic smirk. 

“It’s a Loo-Kee on a Ledge!” Razz explained cheerfully. “You put it in your home. Move it every night. Tell the children it can see them. Makes the young ones more obedient!” 

“Thanks, that’s terrifying.” Adora passed the doll to Catra, who seemed far more interested in its potential applications. “I bet it’ll make a nice game.”

“Game?” Razz turned and stared through her glasses in confusion. “We are not here for games, we are here for fruit cake!” 

Before Adora could stop her, the old woman had rushed to her little cottage oven. She made a show of reaching inside with protective mitts and extracted a cold stone brick, which had been placed in a pan with some wild nuts sprinkled on top. 

“You want a slice now?” 

“Oh, absolutely!” Entrapta pushed her way to the front of the group, producing a small buzz saw and a sample jar. “I’ve been reading up on geological gastronomy!” 

”Uh, hey, Entrapta!” Adora intervened. “Did I ever tell you that Madame Razz knew some of the First Ones? Like, personally?” 

“What? Really?” Entrapta turned toward Adora in surprise, and then back to the old woman with renewed interest. She peered through a pair of multi-lensed goggles and raised her eyebrows. “Though that would explain all the tachyons in here. Quick, how many temporal causalities am I holding up?” 

“Ah! You’re a sharp one, deary!” Razz laughed. 

Entrapta shook her hands and pulled a recorder from her pocket. “Aah! You — you’re a walking quantum event! Tell me everything!” 

And in her own way, Razz did. As they chattered back and forth, Adora looked between the old witch and the scientist and wondered why she hadn’t introduced the two of them sooner. 

“That’s a handsome, strapping lad you’ve got there!” Razz whispered conspiratorially to Entrapta. “Does he have a brother?” 

Entrapta smirked. 

“You have a brain that could warm my heart,” Skeletor said. “If I had a heart!” 

*

Much to Catra’s consternation, their next stop did not take them out of the Whispering Woods. While Entrapta and Skeletor tuned up the tank, George and Lance cheerfully embarrassed their youngest son in front of his friends. 

“We’re delighted by your presents!” George punned as his husband passed out mugs of hot cocoa. Hordak took two and carefully decanted the extra into several tiny thermoses. 

Bow handed his fathers a huge stack of neatly handwritten pages. “We brought these for you — Adora’s been helping me translate some of the First Ones records you found at the ruins!” 

“It’s… not very exciting,” Adora admitted. “There’s a lot of complaining about this one guy who just sold really terrible etherium.” 

Despite this, George and Lance seized upon the pages and flipped through them eagerly, talking over each other in excitement. While they sat and chatted energetically with Adora about what the writings contained, Glimmer dragged Catra away to show off her increasing knowledge of the expansive library. 

This left Bow standing alone with Hordak for the first time in the night. The archer and the ex-lord looked at one another, the former desperately searching for something to say while the latter gently nursed his cocoa. They both seemed to sense that some sort of social interaction would be appropriate, but were entirely unsure of what that ought to be.

“Excuses, excuses! I’m tired of all your excuses!” Skeletor yelled from outside. “Fix the problem and go!”

Hordak cleared his throat. “Entrapta tells me you are the one who gave my brother his rather... derivative name,” he tried after a moment. 

Bow made a noise. 

“He thanks you for it,” Hordak said sincerely. 

“I’m sorry! I mean, what?” Bow cautiously opened his eyes. 

“He considers it an essential part of his journey to freedom from Prime’s grasp.” Hordak studied his claws with a careful expression. “Many have encouraged him to take on a more singular moniker. I am among them. Perhaps someday he will. But for now, it is as beloved to him as that theatrical lizard seems to be.” 

“You’re… welcome?” Bow ventured. 

“You are a highly competent engineer,” Hordak stated. “I once mistook your work for Entrapta’s. When we were still enemies, that is.” He hesitated. “I… am pleased that we are not enemies any longer.” 

“Thank you?”

Hordak bowed.

Skeletor popped his head around the door.

“Get a move on, you slugs!” he called. “Hurry! Faster, faster!”

*

Eventually, the Wrapper Tank rolled to a stop at the front gates of Bright Moon palace, precisely where it had begun. There was only one visit left to make. 

“Micah! It’s so good to see you!” Entrapta chirped. “How have things been since we both lived at the mercy of techno-organic island monstrosities?” 

“Quieter,” Micah remarked. “And my food doesn’t get stolen nearly as often.” He smiled. “It’s good to see you, too.”

“I made you She-Ra Day crackers!” Entrapta exulted, holding out a pile of shiny paper cylinders. “They’re an old Dryl tradition, ever since last year. When you pull the ends, tiny snacks come out! And I’ve improved these ones with twenty percent more explosives!” 

“It should be quite a blast!” Skeletor chuckled. “Enjoy the fireworks!”

Gingerly taking the armload of gifts and setting them down as carefully as she possibly could, Castaspella welcomed everyone into a warm and cozy den. She and Micah had lit a roaring fire in the fireplace and were decorating a fir tree with glowing light-charms. A small table held a large platter of cookies, which Adora immediately set about devouring. 

Skeletor paused at the door. “Tell me a riddle!” he demanded. 

Castaspella looked confused. “Excuse me?” 

“He thinks it’s what sorceresses do,” Entrapta told her. “You gotta humor him!” 

“Oh.” Castaspella tapped her chin. “Well, in that case, um… why did the twigget cross the road?” 

Skeletor considered this for a great deal of time before surrendering. “Oh, I’m horrible at riddles,” he groused. “Who’s good at riddles here?”

However, everyone else had already settled in around the fire, tired from a long night of bauble bombardment.

“What do you think of our She-Ra Day decorations?” Castaspella asked proddingly. “Micah wanted a fake tree, but I set him straight on that. Honestly, I don’t know how my brother survived on Beast Island without me.”

“You certainly would have helped scare the monsters away,” said Micah. 

“Y’know, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have a sibling,” Adora thought out loud. “Could you imagine me with, like, a long-lost First Ones twin? We’d kick so much butt!”

Hordak, Bow, Micah, and Castaspella all shared a look that spoke to something universal. 

“It’s a mixed bag. Casta used to trick me into stealing food for her,” Micah complained. “Pretended it was a game and I got more points if our parents didn’t see me sneak into the kitchen.”

“He hit me with a tree branch once, you know,” Castaspella responded.

“I did no such thing!” Micah argued. “All I did was lead your horse under a tree. It’s not my fault it had remarkably low hanging branches. Or that you didn’t duck in time.”

“Anyway,” Bow cut in, “I think what Micah and Castaspella are trying to say is that despite their differences they get along now and they’re glad to still have each other after all this time.” He glanced at Hordak. “...Even if they used to be enemies.” 

Micah nodded sagely. “That is precisely what I meant,” he lied. 

While they continued with their conversation, Glimmer noticed that Catra was standing alone at the far side of the room, her back to the others, staring at a small portrait of Angella hung above the door. 

“Fascinating,” Skeletor said. “That little insect is feeling sorry for itself!”

Glimmer whispered something to her father and stood up to approach the fretting feline. “Hey, everything okay?” she asked. “You’ve seemed off a lot tonight. You didn’t even laugh when I showed you that book of dirty First Ones jokes in George and Lance’s library.” 

“Huh?” Catra looked up, surprised to have company. “I guess so. Maybe. I don’t know. I mean… are you really sure I should be here?” 

“Well, it’s all Adora has been talking about for the past week, so yeah, pretty sure.” 

Catra shook her head. “No, I mean here at all. Being happy, instead of rotting in a dungeon somewhere.” She scowled. “I know we’ve talked about it, but I just… I did so much bad stuff, back in the Horde. I hurt people. I was awful to Adora. I’m even the reason your mom…”

Catra trailed off. A deep gulf of silence stretched between her and Glimmer. The queen appeared pensive. 

“I’ve done some really bad things too,” Glimmer said eventually. “So I guess maybe I’m the wrong person to ask?” She gave a lopsided smile. 

“But what do you do when people hate you? And you deserve it?”

Glimmer looked concerned. “I don’t think anyone here hates you. Not currently, anyway. Where’s all this coming from?”

“I’d hate me if I were you,” Catra quietly admitted. 

“Maybe. But I’m not you, and you’re not me.” Glimmer turned away and hugged herself. “I’m always going to miss my mom. And it’s always going to hurt. But… I don’t think it’s much use to make that hurt worse by hating you.” She looked back up. “I think anyone can make up for a mistake, as long as they really know it was a mistake. I hope so, anyway.”

Catra scratched her head. “So, what, feeling bad means that I’m good?” 

“Something like that,” Glimmer giggled. “Seriously though, there’s responsibility in this. We never stop working on it.”

“Was that a royal ‘we’?” Catra quipped. 

“No, it goes for both of us. All of us. I mean it.” Glimmer gazed around the room. “Mistakes… never really get completely fixed, you know. It took me a long time to get that. But we can grow something better and stronger with the lessons we learn from them.”

The queen smiled again. “Besides, I’m happier being friends. Look at us all!” 

Catra did. 

Everyone, in one form or another, was relaxing around the glow of the fireplace. Entrapta and Imp knelt by the hearth, doing something with chestnuts and an acetylene torch. Hordak and Micah sat on the couch, swapping horror stories about Shadow Weaver. Bow watched closely as Castaspella instructed him in a new knitting pattern. And Adora appeared to be trading pleasantries with Skeletor as though they were age-old friends. 

“Here, She-Ra! A gift!” Skeletor said. He held out a freshly-baked doomberry pie.

Catra laughed. Suddenly feeling lighter, she went to join them. Glimmer followed. And the great world spun on. 

*

Entrapta clapped her hair. “Thanks for coming, Catra! This was loads of fun!” 

It was early morning and they were all going their separate ways again. Glimmer had already dragged a dozing Bow back to the palace, while Catra and Adora disembarked in front of the small home they shared together. 

“The mission was a great success,” Hordak agreed as Entrapta leaned into his side. “You showed exemplary courage in the field.” 

“Thank you,” Catra said, and meant it. 

Adora, gazing at the sky in contemplation next to her, suddenly realized that the stars weren’t the only things twinkling. 

“Entrapta?” she asked. “You know the space tree?” 

“The large plant growth that overtook Horde Prime’s flagship when She-Ra defeated him and which remains in low Etheria orbit as a constant reminder of the power of love and healing? Yes, I’m familiar with it.”

“Did you put lights on it?”

Entrapta beamed. “Yeah, little blinky ones! Or at least they look little from here. They actually have a diameter of about one Darla each. Alternating current, naturally. Aren’t they great?” 

“You know,” Adora smiled, “I really think they are.” Catra concurred.

They turned and went home together, which left Entrapta and Hordak to return to the Wrapper Tank hand in hand, relaxing into each other’s arms as they sat and shared a tiny thermos of hot cocoa. Under Emily’s supervision, Skeletor and Imp drove the tank back to Entrapta’s Bright Moon lab, and only argued over the steering wheel once along the way. 

As soon as they returned, Hordak sought out their bed and fell gratefully into the soft sheets. Entrapta made to follow him, but before she did so she pulled Skeletor aside with one ponytail, hands hiding something behind her back. 

“And what do you think you’re doing?” Skeletor questioned. 

“Skeletor, you’ve been a big help over the past year,” Entrapta said to the spindly robot. “And I wanted to say thank you. So, I made you another present. You deserve to have a helper too!” 

She pulled her hands from behind her back and revealed a lop-eared robot puppy with wide and innocent eyes. It sat up in her arms and fixed Skeletor with a curious gaze. 

“His name is Relay! What do you think?”

Skeletor gasped in surprise, reaching out to take the robotic canine. “Even Hordak doesn’t have anything like this!” he gushed in a joyous tone. 

The puppy wagged its tail and let out a tiny synthesized bark. It licked Skeletor’s face. 

Skeletor hummed happily. “This is perfect!”

Above them, the stars and the lights shone brightly. And even Skeletor, despite his better instincts, was merry. The world was at peace. 

“A season of love? Caring? Joy? Ugh! Very clever, you muscle-bound moron,” Skeletor conceded. He patted Relay on the head. “Another time, She-Ra! Another time!”

[sunnynardelli]

MERROCK TASK #1 ALL ABOUT AUTUMN & HALLOWEEN

1. What’s your character’s fall aesthetic like, are they more into the spooky season, or do they like the cozy feeling of fall?

Sunny doesn’t have complaints about either. She loves everything that has to do with the fall and so that includes Halloween and all that intels. She enjoys getting to take on a new look and vibe on Halloween. It’s a time when she can break out of her own mold a bit.  She also really, really loves all the little once a year treats that pop up around this time of year.  Those little Reese Pumpkins are literally something she’d do anything in exchange for. 

2. How does your character feel about the Halloween holiday?

She is very fond of Halloween. It’s always been an exciting time of year for her. Growing up her dads’ ensured that she and her brother had elaborate costumes.  It was always a big thing getting to pick out the perfect one. She might have own grown trick or treating but she certainly never outgrew the dressing up. She always enjoys the Halloween parties too. There is something exciting about never really knowing who someone is underneath a little makeup or a mask.

3. When it comes to Halloween weekend, are they more likely to go to a Halloween party, or stay at home handing out candy?

Sunny has her moments where she enjoys being at home but when it comes to major holidays like Halloween she is definitely the kind of person that is out looking for the Halloween party or event if she isn’t hosting something of her own at Bonne Merde. 

4. If your character had to be any mythical creature, what would they be, and why?

She would be a Siren.  Growing up, some of her favorite bedtime stories were Greek Mythology.  For some reason, the stories of men jumping to their deaths in the sea to try and follow the voice only to drown stuck with her for some reason.

5. What is your character’s favorite go-to Halloween movie?

It’s not technically a Halloween movie but she won’t be dissuaded from saying that the Rocky Horror Picture Show is definitely one of her favorites and she has been known to go to a showing of it pretty much every year with a group of friends willing to dress up and go all out with the call backs and props.  It’s a tradition she isn’t looking to change honestly.

6. What is your character’s favorite kind of Halloween candy?

She loves those Pumpkin-Shaped Reese Cups.

7. What was your character’s favorite Halloween costume that they’ve ever worn?

There have been a lot of them through the years.  When she was like five she really wanted to be Princess Lolly from the Candyland game. Of course, there wasn’t anything remotely like that available in stores. With some thanks from friends and her dad, the dress came to fruition.   

8. When it does come to costumes, in general, does your character go the do-it-yourself route, or are they more into buying something?

Over the years, it’s really gone both ways. She isn’t fantastic at doing things herself but she is capable of calling up friends with the necessary skills and getting to help to put things together. Sometimes, she just wants to do things that can put together with a trip to a costume shop or a thrift store though.

9. On the spooky side, does your character believe in ghosts?

Sunny definitely believes that there is some paranormal stuff out there. She isn’t certain she’s experienced it for herself but  she isn’t about to go and tempt the fates anytime soon.

10. What animal screams ‘Halloween season’ to your character? Or makes them think of autumn?

She would go with bird in general - owls, crows and bats seem to be a fall sort of thing in her point of view. 

11. What hot beverage does your character reach for on a chilly day when they just want to warm up a little bit?

She is fine with hot chocolate but she’ll also do warm tea from time to time too.  

12. And what about food? Is there a certain treat that they have to have in the fall?

Homemade Apple Strudel is definitely one of her favorites. She also loves fresh seasonal bread. 

13. Pumpkin spice everything – yay or nay?

She isn’t really a fan of pumpkin spice everything. There is such a thing as over saturation. 

14. Pick the weather – is it a windy fall afternoon, or a rainy autumn evening?

She loves a rainy autumn evening. There is something about sitting inside with some candles going and just listening to the sound of rain that she honestly loves.

15. What is your character’s favorite fall scent? Something that really sets the mood?

If we’re going with the specific scents she like the smell of Bonfires or anything that is like flannel or outdoor leaves.  She tends to be more on the apple side of the apple to pumpkin spectrum.

16. When it comes to fall and Halloween, does your character go all out with decorations, or do they prefer to keep it simple? Or don’t decorate at all?

She has a roommate so she sort of negotiates the level of Halloween decadence with Stella. Her dads do go all out though and she usually helps them with their decorations.

17. Favorite autumn related activity to do during the season?

She enjoys any adventure to go look at the changing leaves. Like maybe a ride to cabin somewhere that they can just sit under a blanket inside a cabin with a fire and enjoy the scenery.  She also like bonfires.

18. There’s a pumpkin in front of your character… what are they going to do? Paint it? Carve it? What will they make it look like?

It depends on the year and what she is in the mood to do. This year she bought plastic pumpkins and did this whole melted spray paint sort of look on them.

19. Is there a certain song that your character hears that just screams 'Halloween’?

It might be cliché but the Monster Mash will get her in the mood for Halloween every single time.

20. The leaves are falling. Is your character more likely to rake them, or let them lay in the yard?

She would do what needs to be done but she pays someone to do most of the yard work. She’s definitely the kind of person who would play in them though before they’re bagged up if given the opportunity.

21. When it comes to fall fashion, is your character more into sweatshirts and sweatpants, or skinny jeans and warm sweaters?

She is a leggings and oversized shirts or sweatshirts kind of girl.  She still has to dance pretty reasonable for work so she will do leggings under a skirt or dress if she has to. 

22. What about color palette, is there a certain color that your character reaches for in the closet when fall rolls around?

No, she doesn’t have any color that just magically comes out around the fall. She wears a lot of black throughout the year with pops of color so there is nothing special added.

23. Does your character get scared easily? Do they feel more on edge this time of year?

She can be when the mood hits her. Different things have a different effect on her. If she hasn’t gotten much sleep or she is alone at the bar sometimes she can get a little freaked out trying to get to her car if she feels like someone is watching her.

24. Let’s light the fire – where is it? Are we talking indoor fireplace, or outdoor campfire?

Listen, she loves all three. She probably wouldn’t live if she lit the one in her house as there is a lot of work to be done and the fireplace is kind of low on the totem pole of projects. She has a heater though. She does love a good fireplace or bonfire though.

25. Probably the toughest question that they could be asked… is your character more of an apple or pumpkin pie person?

Apple pie. All the way.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

C’est La Guerre

Word Count: 840 Warnings: some language.  Character: Logan Delos A/N: “C’est La Guerre” is French and roughly translates to “That’s war.” 

(ARTIST APPRECIATION SUBMISSION)  

Howdy folks! Ready to appreciate some amazing art?! I was so thrilled when I got this submission from @something-tofightfor​ who wanted to surprise @valkblue​ , because I absolutely ADORED this piece when it was first posted, and to be entirely honest, it was one of the pieces of art that I knew that I wanted to write about for this event. It just brought so much fun and lightheartedness to Logan, which I just love. He’s so much fun when he’s allowed to be, and this extremely talented artist showed that side of him so perfectly here.

(also shout out to @pheedraws​ for inadvertently tipping the dominoes that made this happen.)  

So, from Rachael (and I) to you, you talented beast: THANK YOU FOR GIFTING US WITH THIS MASTERPIECE. YOU ARE TALENTED. YOU ARE APPRECIATED. YOU ARE A TRUE GEM. Keep shinin’, darlin’. 

(Ugh. I just want to start trouble with him, don’t you?!)  

.

“I just… don’t get it, Logan.” 

Juliet slapped her neck, swatting at a fly that had landed there. One side of her face was scrunched, little creases forming around her eye where her cheek had pushed up into it. She groaned, having missed the fly only managing to smack her sweat slicked and sunburned skin.  The sleeves of her blouse were rolled as high as they could go in an attempt to stay cool under the desert sun but it did little to help, the thick homespun cotton of her ankle length prairie skirt sealing in the heat. It had to be this park, didn’t it? And it had to be in the summer. Juliet liked Westworld enough the first few times that she had experienced it as a guest, but unlike Logan, there were others that she enjoyed more. No one likes this place as much as he does.  

She stepped out of the way of the makeup artist that had just finished spritzing some kind of setting spray over the prosthetic slash wound on Logan’s face, moving closer to her brother but still out of the way of the production crew. Why do I have to stay in costume when none of them are? Why can’t I just change for my part? A young man in a tank top and shorts bustled past her, shouting to someone across the makeshift set. The park’s closed while we do this, and they- she shot a glance to her left, where a small cluster of Hosts in Confederate Army attire sat quietly awaiting instruction- won’t remember any of this anyway. She sighed and used both hands to lift her curls off of her neck, turning back to face Logan again. How is he not melting? 

Logan shifted his shoulders and tilted his head to the side, a teasing and mischievous grin playing on his face. He hadn’t spared a single layer, sporting a long sleeve button down under a blue-gray vest with silver fastenings and topped off with a period appropriate officer’s coat that hung halfway down his thigh. Even though she was less than pleased with the entire project, especially Logan’s insistence that she take part in it, she felt herself smile inwardly at the accessories that she knew he had chosen for himself- the brooch, the belt. He always goes all in, I’ll give him that. 

“What about this don’t you understand, Jules?” 

He sat up a little straighter, widening his legs so that the stamped lettering on the crate he sat atop could be read. DANGER NITRO. Except there was a large red X emblazoned over the second word, replacing it with the word NOT. He looked down at the crate, then back up at her, his long hair flopping over the artificial dirt smudges the makeup team had seen fit to smear across his forehead. A production assistant appeared at Logan’s side and handed him a sterling silver goblet and a glass bottle of Coca-Cola before touching their earpiece and hurrying off in the direction of the cameras. All of it? 

“I mean,” She began, gesturing at the props he held, the wooden box he was perched on, and the swarm of “Confederados” that was being led over to act as extras behind Logan. “How does any of this make sense? Coke wasn’t even a company until at least thirty years after the Civil War, for one, and...I don’t know, since when does Delos Destinations cross promote like this? Isn’t it...beneath us?”

“All’s fair in marketing,” he answered with a shrug, raising the bottle so that another assistant could come by and pop the aluminum cap off. He made sure to scoop it up from the ground before jogging back behind the cameras so that no wayward Host found it in a decade and spiraled into an existential crisis. “And those shitbrains at Pepsi decided to team up with fucking Hilton over us, even after I pitched the whole tie in with their dumbass new Nitro product line, so,” he took a sip of the ice-cold beverage and grinned through an exaggerated ah. “C’est la guerre!”    

Juliet rolled her eyes but gave in to the humor of the situation with a small exhale through her nose in the form of a laugh. At least he’s happy. I’m gonna kill him for making me do this, but- she smacked at another fly, aim true this time. Someone showed up at her elbow to escort her out of the shot until it was her turn to hop in, someone else shouting for quiet on the commercial set. She watched Logan put on his game face, the serious little folds in his brow that she knew were there were hidden by his mussed hair, but under the concentration she saw that little spark in his dark eyes, the one he got when he was closing in on a big deal or delivering the final blow to the competition with a brilliant ad campaign. But at least he’s happy.

.

.

.

I laughed my butt off writing this, almost as much as I did when the original artwork was posted. I hope you had as much fun reading as I had writing. Thank you a million times to all you fabulous artists! If you are an artist in the Ben Barnes fandom, or if you want to surprise an artist with a quick drabble/ poem/ whatever comes out, send me a message or link me to the piece of artwork that you would like me to write about. Let’s show these talented folks how much we appreciate them and the things that they create!  

[vannahfanfics]

And for my second fluff alphabet, I'd love Morinozuka Takeshi from Ouran Highschool Host Club, please. 💙🌹

Honestly expected this; I know how much you adore Mori LOL. Can’t blame you. He’s gorgeous. Enjoy! 

Fluff Alphabet- Takashi Morinozuka

A-   Activities: How do they spend their time with their s/o?

Takashi’s a movie buff, specifically for martial arts movies. One of his favorite things to do is snuggle up with his s/o for a night of binging his favorites or having an outing to the movie theater to see the latest release. In particular, he likes to comment on the battle choreography and whether it’s realistic or not. Takashi gets really pumped about this topic and talks way more than usual, and the way his eyes light up and cheeks flush is particularly adorable.

Takashi also likes to go play with animals at animal shelters with his s/o. It makes him really sad that he can’t take all of them home, but he knows how important socialization is for them, so it’s a weekly thing for him and his s/o to go spend some time with them. If his s/o is into activism, he’s totally down for organizing and attending promotions and events for the shelter! This boy wants to see all those animals get a good home!

Although these are the things Takashi himself enjoys, he’s so down-to-earth that he’ll enjoy anything his s/o wants to do. It doesn’t take much convincing to get him to do pretty much whatever; as long as he can see his s/o smile, that’s plenty enough for him.

B-    Body: What does this character appreciate about their s/o? What part of their body are they most proud of, and in reverse, what body part are they ashamed of and how do they respond to their s/o gushing over it?

Takashi loves his s/o’s hands. He loves to hold them and press little kisses over their knuckles or palms or the tops of their hands, rub little circles into the skin, whatever. It’s just such a meaningful thing to him! Takashi also loves his partner’s smile. He will do anything, including make a complete fool of himself, to see them smile. It has the power to light up his day.

Takashi’s not really the type to think about his body. He just really doesn’t care, but he does get a certain satisfaction from his physique. He’s a very healthy and fit guy thanks to kendo and karate. In the same vein, he really doesn’t have any issues with his self-esteem, body-wise. Honestly, he’ll get flustered no matter what his partner compliments about him. Compliments of any kind from his s/o embarrass him easily, and it’s totally adorable.

C-    Cuddles: Is this character a cuddler? What is their favorite way to cuddle?

Not the cuddliest of the hosts, but my mans still won’t deny a snuggling. Takashi’s favorite way to cuddle is to have his s/o seated between his long legs, laid back against his chest with his arms around their waist. It really gives a lot of options- propping his chin on their crown of their head, running his hands over their arms or sides, and plenty of areas to drop little kisses. When they’re watching movies, he likes to lay behind his s/o on the couch. Takashi’s so easygoing, though, that he’ll cuddle whatever way. He’s just happy to get snuggles from his s/o!

D-   Dreams: How do they picture their future with their s/o?

Believe it or not, Takashi isn’t that much of a forward-thinking guy; he very much takes it day by day, the perfect epitome of “go with the flow.” Still, after a while, Takashi muses on the idea of a future with his s/o. Mostly simple visions of a house in the suburbs in a good school district, white picket fence and cute little flowerbeds kind of life. He fancies having children eventually, a couple, maybe a girl and a boy to have the best of both worlds. They’ll have nice successful careers. Rather than spending all their money on some great big grandiose manor, live a little modestly and invest to have something to pass on to his children and maybe donate to charity when they pass on. Takashi just wants a nice simple life with a good partner, nothing fancy at all.

E-    Equivalence: Is this character the dominant force in the relationship, are they passive, or is the relationship more or less even?

Takashi may be easygoing, but he isn’t a pushover, as we see numerous times with his best friend Mitsukuni. The relationship will most definitely be an even split, because as much as he wants it to be a smooth ride, he won’t allow his partner to make all the decisions and basically carry the relationship. He knows that dating it a mutual, give-and-take kind of thing. It’s for this reason that a relationship with Takashi is actually pretty stellar, because there is a lot of communication and compromise.

F-    Fights: How does this character respond to arguments with their s/o? What would they fight about, and who would cave and apologize first?

Takashi does not like confrontation. He’ll speak his mind, but once it delves into actual arguing and fighting, he shuts down. This can actually make it kind of frustrating, because the man just won’t talk for a good hour or so. He’s already apologizing, repeating “I’m sorry” and “I don’t know what to do,” and after a point it’s a little heartbreaking. Once his s/o calms down and it able to rationalize better, he’ll open back up and real discussion can occur. Takashi just doesn’t respond well to raised voices and conflict, so his s/o will have to be mindful of that.

G-   Gratitude: How does this character show their s/o that they are grateful?

In true Host Club fashion, Takashi gets his s/o their favorite flowers- a single one for small, everyday gratitude and nice colorful bouquets for the big, meaningful stuff. Takashi isn’t the best with words so the accompanying message will be a pretty simple “I’m lucky to have you” or “I’m grateful you’re with me,” but his bluntness has a charm of its own.

H-   Honeymoon: If this character had a honeymoon with their s/o, where would they go?

Takashi would love to go somewhere with distinct culture, like the Mediterranean or South America. Honestly, just taking a two-week jaunt around Europe to see major cultural landmarks is the ideal trip for him. However, if his s/o has their heart set on a tropical island getaway, Takashi will oblige; they have the entire rest of their lives to travel, after all, and certainly have the means to do so.

I-      Insecurity: What is this character insecure about? How do they deal with their insecurities with their s/o?

Takashi sometimes finds himself wondering if he’s too boring because he’s so down-to-earth. He doesn’t think on it a terrible amount, because he isn’t the type to stress about these things, but once in a blue moon he’ll ask his s/o if they think he’s dull. Takashi will feel a lot better when his s/o basically laughs in his face and tells him that he isn’t dull at all, and that will be that. Takashi has a lot of trust in his s/o to tell him the truth and trust in their relationship, so it’s not something he dwells on for long.

J-      Jealousy: Is this character the jealous type? How do they deal with being jealous?

As I just said, Takashi has a lot of trust in his s/o and the relationship. He is not the jealous type, at all. He gets no sneaking suspicions if his s/o is spending a lot of time with someone else, and completely ignores any lingering looks his s/o gets. He knows his partner loves him and that’s all that matters. His s/o would literally have to openly flirting and kissing on someone else for him to get even slightly jealous, but by then a hard boundary has been crossed and Takashi’s little heart is broken. Don’t do that to this boy; he is literally so soft and trusting.  

K-   Kiss: What does the character want their first kiss to be like with their s/o? How does it end up happening?

Again, Takashi is a go-with-the-flow kind of guy, so he basically figures that the first kiss will happen when it happens. The first kiss will likely be after the second or third date while he’s escorting his s/o up their driveway and they linger by the front door to say their farewells… And the mood will just strike him and he’ll give them a sweet, chaste kiss. Just your good ol’ typical first kiss kind of business, but no less riveting!

L-    Love Confession: How does this character first profess their love to their s/o?

Takashi’s blunt and going to say what’s on his mind, so once he gets the feeling that he’s in love, he’s going to come right out and say it. Of course, he has the presence of mind to do so in the appropriate situation. He’ll likely set up a nice date with his s/o to set the mood right and give him time to work out exactly what he wants to say, because Takashi isn’t flowery with his words. However, when the time comes to it he’s just gonna bluntly stare at his s/o and tell them he loves them. Could be intimidating and make his s/o gush a little, but hey, that’s how he feels!

M-  Marriage: How does this character view marriage? What is their ideal wedding like?

Takashi of course wants to marry someday. It’s a thing people do and an appropriate step in a relationship. Why wouldn’t he? Takashi doesn’t really care about what kind of wedding it is; he’ll let his s/o decide, because even though it’s a day for the both of them, they’ll likely be more into the particulars than he is. As long as all his friends and family are in attendance, he doesn’t much care.

N-   Nicknames: What does this character like to call their s/o?

Given he referred to Mitsukuni as “Honey” for almost their entire lives, it’s weird to him to call his s/o that. Takashi actually sticks to calling his s/o by their name most of the time, but ever so often a “dear,” “beautiful,” “angel,” or “gorgeous” will slip out.  

O-   On Cloud Nine: What is this character like when they’re in love? Is it obvious to others, or are they good at hiding it?

Takashi is the king of being stoic and stone-faced, so of course no one notices when he’s in love. The signs are exceptionally subtle, and only someone with acute observation skills like Haruhi can notice- lingering gazes, slightly closer proximity, an increased number of instances of helpful behavior. There is not even a hint of a blush or nervous fidgeting on Takashi’s part. It’s quite masterful, even though he’s totally unaware that he’s even doing it. For a while, the other guys don’t even believe Haruhi saying he’s in love with somebody until she publicly asks him without his s/o around and he’s just like “LOL Yeah, why’s it a big deal?” Instant KO for everyone in the room.

P-    PDA: Does this character like PDA? If so, what kinds of things do they do in public to show off their s/o?

Takashi isn’t the type to initiate much PDA, but he doesn’t care if his s/o touches him in public all the time. If they slide their hand in his, he won’t let go or pull away and may even intertwine their fingers; if they go in for a kiss he’ll turn his head to reciprocate; if they hug him randomly he’ll immediately throw their arms around him. It’s funny because he’ll just react and won’t even break the conversation he’s having or alter concentration on whatever he’s doing. It’s a skill he’s acquired from Mitsukuni randomly throwing himself at him for years.

Q-   Quirks: What random traits or quirks does this character have that positively affect the relationship?

Because Takashi speaks what’s on his mind, surprise compliments or flirts are common. He can fluster his s/o so easily by just randomly saying something sweet because it occurred to him, and he won’t even get why they’re embarrassed because he just thinks it’s nice to compliment them when he feels like it. Truly amazing.

R-    Romance: Is this character a hopeless romantic, or a bit on the low-key side? Are they cliché when it comes to romantic gestures, or can they get a little bit creative?

Takashi is definitely the most low-key of all the hosts when it comes to romanticism. Takashi likes to keep things simple- typical outings, typical gifts, the like. Still, Takashi can get a little creative if he notices his s/o likes certain things and will tailor his gestures to such. The man is very observant and pick up on the tiniest of things.

S-    Secrets: Are there any secrets they hide from their s/o? If so, how do they deal with it when those secrets finally come out?

Takashi is an open book, mostly because he has no secrets to keep nor any care to keep them. He’ll answer anything his s/o asks him matter-of-factly and truthfully, because there’s just not any point in lying or embellishing in his eyes.

T-    Thrill: Does this character prefer routine in their relationship, or do they like to shake things up every once in a while?

Takashi is more spontaneous than routine mostly because he just does what he wants when he feels like it. Definitely expect random calls of, “Hey, I’m at your door, let’s go do this” or a package that reads “I bought this because it made me think of you.” Also, there is no routine knowing a bunch of rich goofballs, and since he’s dragged into the ridiculousness his s/o is too. Still, he likes the idea of one routine thing, so he has weekly things planned like movie nights or the shelter visits, just to keep things from being too chaotic.

U-   Understanding: Is this character level-headed and empathetic toward their partner, or do they sometimes have trouble figuring them out, which leads to some butting heads?

Takashi is hyper-observant and therefore knows his s/o extremely well. His temperament also affords a degree of understanding and empathy. If anything, his s/o will have trouble figuring him out, just because he’s so flighty and quiet. Because he’s relatively open to talking about things, though, there’s no butting heads because he’s just gonna answer any inquiries. The epitome of chill, this guy.

V-   Value: How does this character value their relationship with their s/o? How does it hold in comparison to their goals, ambitions, etc.?

Takashi isn’t necessarily passionate about anything except for maybe his friends, so his relationship pretty much is the most important thing in his life. Sure, doing well in college and getting a good career are important to him, but not nearly as crucial as loving his s/o! It’s just something he feels the need to do well with and invest in, so he’s a bit more excited about it than most things in his life.

W-  Wild Card: Any random fluff headcanon that does not fall within the other categories!

Piggy back rides! Takashi loves to give them, after all the ones he gave Mitsuki. Definitely a bonus for s/o’s that are smaller than him, because all they have to do is take off running towards his back and he’s already squatting down so they can vault up on his back.

X-   XOXO: How does this character show affection?

Takashi mostly shows his affection through gifts and acts of service- he’s not poetic with words and he’s not the touchiest person, so these are the ideal ways he can express himself. He’s always doing little random things for his s/o to help them out, like little chores or errands or pretty much anything they ask. He’ll drop everything to attend to a problem of theirs. Again, gifts are very much a thing for Takashi. Chocolates, jewelry, clothes, that thing his s/o has been talking about for three days but won’t buy- the whole nine yards.

Y-   Yearning: How does this character deal with time apart with their s/o?

Takashi understand distance is an inevitable part of relationships and is able to rationalize it pretty well. He keeps regular communication if he can, but if that isn’t an option, he’s more or less able to busy himself with other things to keep from thinking about it too much. If it drags on for a long time he may get a little blue, but talking it out with one of his friends and getting it off his chest does a hard reset on him. King of long-distance right here; he’s in it for the long haul and is gonna make it work no matter what.

Z-    Zeal: Is this character willing to great lengths for their relationship? If so, how far, and how long does it take to get to this point?

As I mentioned, a relationship is something Takashi invests himself in, and honestly it’s like that pretty early on. It’s just something he gets zealous about, while most things in his life don’t get him to react that way. Takashi is going to do everything he can to make it work out, compromise and communicate.

[aloysiavirgata]

Petrichor

Title: Petrichor

Rating: Explicit

Summary: He could tell her that her prefrontal cortex was the revelation to the thief on the cross.

Spoilers: Early S7

Author’s Notes:This is a casefile inspired by many things. The Season 7 timeline is a mess, I don’t know what else to say about that.

Early November in the temperate mountain valleys of southern Appalachia. The ground is carpet-soft with plush moss, and the hidden pools are still riotous with life. Ree needed only a pullover that morning, her doll Cordelia peering out of an old tote-bag stuffed with scraps of bread and feed corn. Her mother sent a lunch for her too, tucked in with her books and binoculars and a thermos of hot chocolate.

Ree in faded jeans and a lavender sweater picking her way over rocks and pine needles and fallen leaves, watching for the birds she can name and trying to mimic their calls. She points them out to Cordelia, who stares solemnly with blue-glass eyes. There are foxes, but they hide still. Ree dreams of befriending them. She can lure some of the deer within twenty feet now, and wishes she were Fern Arable, from Charlotte’s Web.

She takes a right instead of her customary left, wanting to test her new binoculars from a different vantage point. She skips over tree roots and rocks like a mountain goat, scarcely needing to look at the ground to keep her footing. The path curves sharply for a hundred feet before Ree finds herself at the edge of a wide pond, dense with duckweed. It is bordered with stands of ancient pine, with mossy boulders and half-sunken logs furred with algae. The silence is deep, but not frightening. It feels holy, like church. Godlight filters through the evergreens, the color of new peas. Somewhere, not far, falling water.

“Ohhhh,” Ree whispers to Cordelia. The beauty makes her chest hurt a little. She fumbles in the bag for her binoculars, laying Cordelia on a rock. Bread crusts and pencil ends spill from a loose seam. A rattle of deer corn on the stone.

Binoculars in place, Ree spots a heron across the pond, squirrels peeping from between the gold and red leaves of elm and sugarberry. She recognizes a deer she’s seen many times before, with a wide white blaze down her nose. Sudden movement catches her eye - a slim figure with long hair moving among the trees. Ree adjusts her lenses but cannot focus properly; the figure is blurred, always moving among the evergreen boughs.

The heron again. Squirrels. The deer now much closer. Then a pale ankle, a woman’s laugh.

“Helloooooooo,” Ree calls, braver than she feels. “I’m just lookin’ at birds and stuff! I’ll go if you want.”

Silence. 

She chews her lip, uncertain. The woods don’t belong to anybody on paper, but there are chancy folk out here with their own laws. “Cordelia?” she whispers. “What do we do?”

Cordelia offers no opinion. Ree grabs a handful of corn and climbs onto a flat boulder. Just beside it is a little patch of grass, and she hopes the doe will come into it. 

The laugh again and this time it’s much closer, just to her left. Were those fingers at her neck? Ree turns to look but tunnel vision sets in, the binoculars slapping hard against her chest when she drops them. The strap twists at her throat and she gasps, her hands springing open in surprise. She slips on the fallen corn and goes down hard on her spine against the rock. 

The deer steps into the glade, her unusual face cautious but curious. She knows Ree will not make sudden movements like the others do.

Ree, dazed, watched the deer nibble the corn with her velvet lips. She tries to sit up, but it’s like her brain will not connect to her body. Her feet seem very far away. 

Something pulls her hair and she manages a thin cry of pain. She’s freezing suddenly, the world glassy and distorted. Ree opens her mouth to call for help but she can’t; the greenness of the glade is in her throat now, and behind her eyes and inside her blood. The laugh again, so pretty, and then long arms are wrapped around her and Ree thanks Baby Jesus for saving her but oh!

Such teeth.

***

A quick glance in the rearview confirms once more that his hair’s pretty well grown back from the surprise birthday neurosurgery, and at thirty-eight such victories cannot be taken for granted. He tries to peer around the tight curve along the mountain road, but can make out only shadows. The bag of sunflower seeds ran dry twenty minutes ago, but he’s got a couple more in the trunk.

Beside him comes a rustle of paper. Scully’s printed out directions from MapQuest, checking off turns like a shopping list. “Still another three miles before the access road,” she says, not looking up from her trim navy-blue lap. She takes a sip of coffee.

Mulder coughs, says nothing. Things aren’t strained exactly, it’s not that. It’s more a liminal space. Everything’s fine, he tells himself. Everything’s fine.

He  checks his hair again.

***

The town is shabby but proud; the roads are clean and there are no cars propped up on the trimmed lawns. On this block a hardware store, a stone church, a fire station, and a bakery. Despite the Fannie Flagg charm, Mulder expects the local homeowners are dying for a Wal-Mart and a McDonald’s. There’s a billboard advertising a newly opened Cracker Barrel, which must count as progress to some.

The Ross home is a small, weatherbeaten clapboard in a stretch of small, weatherbeaten clapboards. Many of the houses have elaborate neo-classical porticoes taller than the actual roof. At the Rosses’, the mailbox is shaped like a dog, with a moveable tail instead of a flag. There are purple balloons hanging limply from its neck. Mulder noses the Crown Vic up the cracked asphalt of the driveway, engaging the parking brake before turning the engine off. 

Scully gathers their files, straightens the picture of Rhiannon Ross paperclipped to the manila envelope. Her little face is joyful in the school photograph. She wears a sweater with purple hearts and has sun-bronzed skin. Her big hazel eyes are laughing, framed by golden braids. 

“You ready?” he asks Scully.

She sighs. “Are we ever, with kids?” 

“Nope.” Mulder straightens his tie. So strange to do these little rituals again, to convey authority and professionalism through a strip of ornamental fabric. 

“You sure you’re okay?” Scully asks him again, fussing with a Post-It. “You know I still don’t think you should have been cleared for this, Mulder. You’re scarcely three weeks past severe trauma, and you haven’t even been back to the office.” She looks up, concern furrowing her brow.

He could tell her that when the gyre widened and spun out, it was she who held the center for him. He could tell her that the cool silver stream of her unvoiced voice stemmed the hellish tide of thoughts and premonition that threatened to drown his sentient mind. He could tell her that her prefrontal cortex was the revelation to the thief on the cross. 

Instead he crunches on a peppermint LifeSaver, washing it down with the rest of his cold coffee. “I get in the most trouble when I’m left to my own devices. You should be glad for a federally mandated excuse to keep an eye on me.”

She smiles at that. “Fair enough.”

They leave the stale air of the car for the fresh autumn breezes of northeast Alabama, the air so crisp it tastes like spring water. Mulder, a devout New Englander, is wary of the South, but cannot deny this to be a beautiful patch of it.

He puts his jacket on as Scully clips several paces ahead of him, bandbox fresh as always. He joins her on the little porch, and the front door opens before they have a chance to knock. Before them is a lanky blonde woman in worn jeans and a striped blouse. The shadows around her eyes look like bruises, lips papery and dry. For 26 years, these mothers have always been his mother, their homes his house in Chilmark.

“Y’all the FBI people?” she asks. Despite her stretchy vowels, brittle tension suffuses her voice. 

“Yes ma’am,” Scully says. They display their badges for her perusal.

The woman nods, then ushers them in. She gestures to a floral couch, taking the chintz armchair across from it. Mulder settles at one end of the couch while Scully, less leggy,  perches at the edge of the other. She is a slim smudge in the pastel room.

“I’m Iona Ross,” their host begins, rubbing a chewed thumbnail across raw knuckles. “I’m Ree’s mama.” 

Behind her, on the wall, are family photographs. Ree has three older brothers. The largest photograph shows the four children arranged on a park bench, smiling in white shirts and blue jeans. Ree is missing her two front teeth.

A man enters the room, rawboned, with the same wheat colored hair as his wife. He’s got on a gray sweater beneath Carhartt overalls and carries a coffee tray. He has big hands with ropy tendons standing out, and it's clear he’s not used to playing host. His face is haggard.

“This is my husband Wyatt,” Iona says, as he puts the tray on the small table between her and the couch.

Mulder looks at the pristine coffee cups and saucers. He guesses this is their wedding china, only brought out for “best.” That it will be carefully placed back into a breakfront after hand-washing.

Wyatt sits in a blue La-Z-Boy, relieved to be finished with his task. “They told us y’all were the best ones to find Ree,” he says in a choppy voice. He reaches out to grip his wife’s hand. 

Mulder, as he always does, longs for this to be true. “I can promise you there is no one at the FBI who will work harder for you,” he says.

Scully smiles sadly in his peripheral vision. “We have the police report, Mr. and Mrs. Ross. But it’s always better if you can walk us through the events yourself.”

“Iona and Wyatt, please,” Wyatt says. “Anyhow, it was Sunday morning and Ree had just got new binoculars for her birthday on Saturday. She, uh, she’s nine now. Real smart little thing, likes nature and all, really likes birds.” His voice breaks. He scrubs at his face with his hands.

Iona takes over, voice raw but steady. “Well, she packed up her little bag with some bird food you know, and her binoculars and some nature books and all. Her doll Cordelia of course, and I made a lunch. She’ll go out for hours in the woods. And whatever, uh, happened it was before she ate ‘cause all the food was there.”

Mulder glances at his notes, just to look at something other than Iona’s desperate face. “The police report says her doll and her bag were found by a pond with the lunch still inside, but her binoculars were missing. The items were found Monday morning by a search party. That’s correct?”

“Yes sir,” Iona replies. “And there was algae all over Cordelia and the bag and the food, even though it was still wrapped up. It was even in the hot chocolate in the thermos.” She looks eagerly from Mulder to Scully. “Y’all think that means something, the algae being on closed-up food? I never heard of it. Maybe it’s like a, whaddya call it, an MO.”

“Unusual details are always good details,” Scully says in her gentle way. “Unusual facts can certainly help narrow things down, Mis- Iona.” She leans forward now, palms splayed over her sharp knees. “I know this next question is painful, but I do need to ask. It says that the pond was searched and that neither Ree nor any of her clothing have been found. But, from the photographs, it seems like there’s a bit of debris in the pond. Logs and large rocks, mostly, and lots of algae and duckweed. Is there any chance that Ree would have gone into it on her own?”

Wyatt gets to his feet. “She ain’t stupid,” he snaps, pacing. “She didn’t do nothing wrong, and despite what you may think, we’re not backwoods morons too ignorant to raise children.” His pain seeps a dark aura into the air, ink through clear water. “Our other three are still fine, you notice. Police report say that?”

“We don’t doubt you at all, sir,” Mulder says. “No one is trying to blame Ree or your family for her disappearance. Agent Scully and I just have to review all lines of questioning to make sure the police have done everything they can thus far. We want to make sure we’re starting from a helpful place as we take over the investigation.”

Wyatt leans against the wall, looking hollow. “Jenny Greenteeth,” he mutters.

Iona, with shaking hands, pours four cups of coffee. “Wyatt,” she hisses. “Not now.”

“Jenny Greenteeth?” Scully repeats, writing it down. “Is that som-”

“It’s an old story,” Mulder says, surprised. “A nursery bogey.”

He is met by three blank stares.

“A nursery bogey is a story created by adults with the specific goal of making children avoid certain behaviors, or to encourage generally good behavior,” Mulder says. He is intrigued by Wyatt invoking the name. “The Namahage of Japan, the Scottish bodach, Russia’s Baba Yaga - all of these legends are about mythical beings who will in some way harm misbehaving children. Sometimes they get specific. Jenny Greenteeth, like the kappa and bunyip, is said to snatch children who venture to close to dangerous water.”

Wyatt is staring at him. “How’d you know all that?”

Mulder spreads his hands in a vague gesture. “These kinds of stories have always interested me.” He feels it best not to elaborate.

“He’s an internationally recognized expert,” Scully chimes in, rather generously. “Can you tell us why you mentioned this particular legend?”

“Don’t mind him,” Iona says, passing around the coffee. “We’re just both about to fall to pieces.”

Wyatt scowls. “I’m telling you,” he says stubbornly. “It’s her.”

Mulder adds cream to his coffee and takes a sip. It’s worlds better than the gas station dregs he just finished. “I know the story of Jenny Greenteeth comes from the north of England and from Scotland. This area has a big Scots-Irish influence, doesn’t it?”

“Yessir. There’s a big Scottish festival hereabouts, and both our families are Scottish from way back. Ree’s named after my Granny Rhiannon. You think that means something?” Iona’s voice is strained, hungry for any morsel.

Mulder shakes his head. “No, not necessarily. Probably not, and I apologize for getting off topic. Wyatt, tell me more about this, uh, theory you’ve got.” He finishes the coffee in a long gulp.

Wyatt rubs his face. “Well, listen. I know how it sounds to me, and I reckon it sounds even crazier to y’all. But growing up around here, every kid knows about the little pools in these hollers. Real deep ponds will spring up practically overnight, I guess ‘cause the ground is weak from all the mining. In the spring you get these real fast streams from the snow runoff. So kids run wild through the woods but they know to be careful. All the meemaws tell ‘em if they aren’t careful, Jenny Greenteeth’ll grab ‘em at the water. She’s got, you know, long black hair and real long arms and green teeth.” He shrugs, a bit sheepish.

“And you think this, uh, this creature took Rhiannon?” Scully asks, managing to sound both compassionate and deadpan at the same time.

Iona and Wyatt exchange a glance.

“Well, there’s a bit more than that,” Iona says, turning her mug in her hands. “Over the summer a woman moved in out in the woods. She, uh, took over some old hunter’s shack not real far from where Ree went missing. Her name’s Tallulah Church. She’s real tall and skinny, probably at least six feet, and I’ll be damned but she’s got green teeth.”

“Green teeth,” Mulder repeats, intrigued. He glances at Scully, who’s scribbling.

“Pale green like jade,” Wyatt says, warming up to his subject. “The kids are all scared of her, call her Jenny Greenteeth ‘cause they know the story. They say the dogs won’t go around there even.”

“A few hunting dogs have gone missing up that way,” Iona adds, her reluctance clearly fading. “Tallulah comes into town every month or so in her station wagon, gets some supplies, then rattles back up into the mountains. She seems okay I guess, just never really talks to nobody.”

“She gives every kid around here the evil eye,” Wyatt asserts, returning to his recliner. “She’s bad news. There’s things going on with her.”

Iona shoots him a hard look. “I’m sure the FBI isn’t interested in a bunch of mountain superstition.”

Scully pipes up. “When you say there are things going on with her, is there anything specific you can point to? Anything stand out in your memory?” 

A glance between Wyatt and Iona. “Just gives me a bad feeling,” Wyatt says. “You ever meet people like that?”

Mulder is curious as to what they won’t tell him, but decides not to create conflict just yet. These things always out themselves, but for now it’s clear he’s learned all he can. 

He exchanges a quick nod with Scully, who has already closed her notebook. “Wyatt, Iona, we’re going to do our best to find out what happened to Ree. It sounds like talking to Tallulah Church may be a good start. If she lives nearby she may have seen something or someone involved in the disappearance.” 

Wyatt snorts. “The police already talked to her. Doesn’t know a thing, they say. Search parties are still out though, and we’re heading out again when we’re done here.”

Scully gets to her feet, and Mulder follows. “Thank you for talking to us,” Scully says. “We’ll review all of this information and be in touch as we can. We’ll let you get back to the search.”

The Rosses rise, hands are shaken. Iona runs her fingers through her hair before crossing her arms tightly back across her chest. “Please bring her home,” she says. “Even - even if…” She trails off, weeping.

Wyatt draws her close, and Mulder and Scully slip past them, barely noticed.

***

It’s just past six by the time they get to their motel, but the sky is black. The parking lot gravel smatters against the fenders as Mulder parks in front of the little office. He gets out to contemplate a luggage cart when Scully emerges. She promptly turns her ankle on the uneven ground, but Mulder manages to grab her by the upper arm before she falls.

“You okay?”

She stares up at him, her breath quick. 

Scully glances at his hand and he remembers to let go. She looks away, tests her footing on the gravel. “I’m good,” she says. “I’m fine.”

“Scully fine, or regular fine?”

She smooths her jacket. “How’s your cranium?”

Mulder goes to the office at that, and retrieves their room keys from the drowsy clerk. A part of him hopes the reservation got messed up, that there’s only one room. But both are available, a queen en suite for each. They’re on the first floor around back, next door neighbors, the clerk says. Mulder swipes the bureau plastic and heads back out to Scully, who has found safer footing on the sidewalk.

He passes her the key. “You want to get some dinner? I saw a Cracker Barrel back yonder.” He drawls for her amusement.

“Sure. I want to take a shower first though. Give you a call when I’m done?”

“Okay.” 

“Okay.”

He wants to kiss her but won’t. He wants to suggest a joint shower to conserve water, but won’t. Her eyes do a quick scan of his face, perhaps reading these thoughts. It would only be fair if she could, really.

Scully grabs her bag and heads to her room. He waits until her door clicks shut before heading to his own.

***

Mulder thought of Jenny Greenteeth in the shower, of skeletal arms grasping at him through the drain. It made the tops of his feet tingle, and he hurried out to towel off. 

From what he’s read, Rhiannon Ross seems like a steady, responsible child, unlikely to go haring off through dangerous parts of the woods, or testing the limits of a slippery embankment. And the algae troubles him, the presence of it on her belongings. 

Mulder dresses in jeans and a t-shirt, pulling a parka on for warmth. He forgot his hair gel, and his head looks a bit like a startled sea creature. Scully doubtless has something in her portable salon.

She meets him in front of the car, Scully-casual in grey slacks and a black sweater. Her hiking boots put her shoulders about level with his ribs, and he is reminded that the love of his life is built on a songbird’s frame. Mulder recalls the fine velveteen skin at her inner thigh, like the breast of a chickadee.

“Nice hair,” she says. 

“Thanks, I’m trying to channel Lyle Lovett.” He strums an invisible guitar.

She slouches against the rough brick of the building, backlit by neon. At her feet are bunches of plastic flowers jammed into the white quartz around the ragged boxwood hedge. “So. Cracker Barrel, huh?” 

“Sure, I figured we could sit in the rockers and talk about the old days. Those kids with their jazz and soda pop, am I right? Spit some chaw, vote Republican. Besides, it seems to be either that or a dubious establishment called A-1 Panda Kitchen. The diner closes at 7.”

Scully wrinkles her nose. “Cracker Barrel it is.”

***

There’s a MISSING! flier of Ree on the table, dog-eared and slipped into a plastic page protector. It’s sporting the same school photo from their dossiers. Mulder pushes it gently aside, feeling like he should apologize.

Scully frowns at the menu, taps at it with an immaculate fingernail. “I don’t see how anyone eats here regularly and lives long enough to reminisce about the old days in a rocker. Even the salad has fried chicken in it.”

He remembers when she would cheerfully put away a plate of ribs, but now she cares about fiber and antioxidants along with her tailoring. And her stupid bee pollen crap. “Aw, Scully, you’re citified. Surely you’ve got some kin in these parts. Hardy mountain folk descended from fleeing Irish potato farmers. You can hand le these vittles, little lady. It ain’t possum.” He considers the chicken-fried steak with interest. It comes with gravy.

“Stop talking like you’re on Hee-Haw.” She looks thoughtful. “I suppose there probably are distant cousins out this way, but none that I know of.”

He blows a straw wrapper past her shapely nose, which she ignores with practiced dignity.

“Pork tenderloin, that seems all right.” Scully closes her menu with an air of resignation. She does not like being fussy with her ordering.

The waitress comes by and he commits to the fried steak over Scully’s clear distaste. 

“Re-myelinating,” he assures her, handing over the menu.

“That’s not-”

“Shhh.”

They amuse themselves with several rounds of a little peg game, and Mulder decides to purchase one before they leave. 

“Mom was pretty calm there, don’t you think?” Mulder drums his fingers on the table. He doesn’t really suspect the parents, but the sad fact is that they’re most often the perpetrators. It at least bears discussing.

Scully shrugs. “Police don’t seem too concerned. Growing up in a house with four kids, I remember my mom keeping her cool in completely insane situations. Charlie had a compound fracture once, when my dad was away. His femur was poking out the front of his thigh, he was in shock, and mom just handled it like a skinned knee until the ambulance came.” She shakes her head, remembering.

“Must be a dominant trait.”

She squeezes lemon into her water, then picks out an errant seed. “Hardy mountain folk. So there’s no body in the pond, she probably wouldn’t have wandered off without her food and doll, and there’s no ransom demand or strange footprints at the site. So where the hell did she go, Mulder? Where’s Ree?”

“I think she was in the water at some point.”

Scully narrows her eyes, suspicious. She twirls a peg between her fingers. “At some point? Not terminally?”

“You know I hate to speculate, Scully,” he says, in tones of wounded innocence.

She snorts. “At last we come to Jenny Greenteeth.”

“It was Wyatt’s idea,” he reminds her, chewing his straw. He is excited by a new monster to mash with Scully.

“Sure, blame the other kid,” she says, with a kind of weary amusement.

“I’m withholding judgement until we talk to this Tallulah Church tomorrow. I’m interested in those teeth.” 

“It’s always teeth with you,” she says. She captures two pegs, then looks up at him. She is well pleased with herself, smirky and bright-eyed.

He doesn’t want to say anything. He wants to find Ree, dead or alive, and go home. But he feels pretty sure he can’t do that until unburdened. Holman Hart’s repressed emotions may have controlled the weather, but Mulder knows his own can control the fate of this case. He brushes his fingers against her palm. “Scully.”

Her expression tightens, but she doesn’t respond.

“We have to talk this out.” He is concerned with where it may lead, but this particular truth is in her. He no longer doubts her feelings at this juncture, only her willingness to do anything more with them.

Scully sighs. She toys with a sugar packet. It amuses and aggravates him that she can pore over dead infants and handcuff mutants to her bathtub with little discomfiture, but talk about emotions and she squirms like a kid in church. 

“I don’t think there’s much to talk out, really,” she says, terse.

She wouldn’t, of course she wouldn’t, and there are times he could wring her swan-like throat. 

“Well, humor me then,” he says, with exaggerated patience. “Because you woke up in my bed two weeks ago wearing nothing but smudged makeup, and we’ve been avoiding any real mention of that. And now that I’m properly back to work, I’d kind of like to know what the hell we’re doing.”

She looks around, like anyone’s listening to two weary Feds on a Wednesday night. “I really don’t see any reason to have this conversation right now, Mulder.” 

The waitress delivers their food and, sensing tension, scurries away.

In the past few weeks he’s thought back to that hellish summer when a bee had saved Scully from addressing the fact that she’d clearly been willing to jump his bones before skipping town. Well, anaphylaxis wasn’t going to rescue her this time. “Why are you being like this?” he asks, as though she’s ever different.

She leans forward, piqued. “Like what? Not wanting to talk about my… my… personal life in the middle of an Alabama Cracker Barrel while looking for a missing child?” 

Her personal life, Jesus fucking Christ. “You’ve been avoiding me other than some medical check-ins since you left that morning, so I’m trying to figure out what happens now. Come on, Scully. It’s not like I left those underwear on the desk for you before we headed out here.”

She blushes, bless her, and talks to make him shut up. “I can tell you that I don’t regret what happened.” Scully applies herself to the tenderloin with an intensity usually reserved for the mysteriously deceased. 

Mulder knows it’s the best he’s likely to get from her at the moment, that he’s pushing her to give him something he can’t even define. But he remembers with longing the intricate ocean of her thoughts, the fractal beauty of them as they wove into his own. He was still bathing in the quantum entanglement of her when she’d checked his pupils that evening, when he’d kissed her in the certainty that she’d drop both her little flashlight and her guard.

Scully had kissed him back like a mermaid with a half-drowned sailor.

He looks at her again, knows that he sees only the surface of her now. “Scully, I’m not asking you to go steady.”

She laughs a little at that, looks up at him with wary interest. “So what do you want, then?”

It’s a damned good question. He has general ideas of lying in bed with her while she declaims on the marvels of the quadrupole ion trap. He would like to map her freckles, like a star chart.

“For now I’m just glad to know you don’t regret it,” he hedges.

She searches the ceiling for inspiration before returning her cool gaze to him. “It was absurd of me to act like nothing happened, to treat you like any other patient since you weren’t back at work. It was easy to ignore what we… what happened. I’m sorry, Mulder.” 

She still can’t say it, he notices. But it’s something. “Your other patients are dead, Scully. So I’m a special case no matter how you look at it.”

There is warmth in her eyes. “You really are,” she says.

***

Scully’s got their peg game in a Cracker Barrel bag on her lap. Mulder had wanted to stockpile cheese blocks and sausages against future car trips, but she had put her foot firmly down. “Do you think we’ll find her, Mulder? Her remains, probably, but still. It would be something for the family.”

He shrugs. It’s hard to separate hopes from expectations sometimes, especially in their line. “I really don’t know. We need to get a better look at the area she went missing, and I’m pretty curious about this Tallulah woman.”

“Children can have green teeth if their mothers took tetracycline during late pregnancy,” she tells him. “It crosses the placenta and binds to the calcium in the fetus’s developing teeth.”

He grins at her. “Only one alternate explanation? You’re slowing down in your old age, Scully.”

Scully bares her little fangs. “Neonatal hyperbilirubinemia.”

“Attagirl.”

***

He parks around back this time, right in front of their dreary rooms. “I figure we’ll head out around 9 or so tomorrow,” he says. “Let the air warm up a bit before we hit the woods.”

Scully nods, yawning. “Pond first, or Tallulah?”

He considers this. “I think it’s best if we have the lay of the land when we talk to her.”

“Okay.”

Mulder turns the car off, but they stay in their seats with the inertia of food and time difference and mental exhaustion. Even the lost children they manage to bring home are haunted afterwards. It’s hard to imagine a good outcome here. 

Scully unbuckles her seatbelt, turns to him with sleepy eyes. She yawns again, then reaches out to muss his hair. “Come by in the morning,” she says. “I’ll help you out.”

She goes to her room then, the bag dangling from her fingertips. She doesn’t look back at him before she shuts the door.

***

He stretches out on the bedspread, mulling over her words at dinner, and annoyed at himself for the distraction from Ree Ross. What could he have expected from this, though? Scully’s not Diana. Scully wouldn’t flaunt their shared bed to other agents, wouldn’t drape herself over his desk while reading grimoires and classified documents. Christ, he could marry her and she’d probably think a wedding band was unprofessional at work, his uptight darling.

It’s strange for Diana to be dead. He’d stopped trusting her in the final hours of her life, but he didn’t want her dead. She was a rare and capable creature, however dangerous. She was solitary and sleek and fast.

He recalls the choices he’d made what she glided back into his life, her ruthless intellect and legs as long as a midwinter night. He recalls Scully’s face when he swore Diana was playing a long game, all for a nobler cause.

He recalls the dusky labyrinth of her mind and what he saw at the center of it; a beast slouching towards Bethlehem to be born.

***

Diana slips through his dreams again, but not in bridal white, not with the round belly of Taweret. She is dead, but not the dead of his other visions. She is weeks dead, greying and skeletal. He can see patches of bone through her ragged dress but her eyes, her eyes are vivid and whole and the color of cabochon emeralds. They are luminescent in the nightmare forest of his dream, beckoning him. It is a leafless forest, bleak, with bony-armed trees looming over him. 

He finds her in a blackwater creek, standing in the middle of it as the water surges past her calves. She smiles at him with too many teeth. “Hello, Fox,” she says. She bats her lashes. “I apologize for my appearance, but they didn’t embalm.”

“Do you need help?” he asks her, casting about for a long branch.

She shakes her head, hair still lush and glossy. The water rises up her legs.

“Is this real? I mean, are you a ghost or is this all in my head?”

The water whips around her thighs. “What’s real?” she asks. “Perception is reality. If you believe it to be true, it’s true enough for government work.” Diana laughs at her own joke.

A white deer walks up to him, with softly furred antlers like fresh snow. It looks at him with black-irised eyes, wet and bottomless voids. There may be constellations in them. Mulder reaches out to stroke its muzzle as Diana looks on. The deer opens its mouth and dried corn comes pouring out.

The water swallows Diana then, before receding fully. She lies on the bank as he remembers her, whole and striking. Her dead eyes are their usual smoky blue, her dress no longer decomposed. 

He wakes up when the ground swallows her.

***

Morning, bright and chilly in the mountains with light of a purity that never touches DC. He remembers a dream with Diana, with water and deer and a general sense of Jungian dystopia. It’s nice to see his subconscious branching out from its usual reruns of family fare.

Wary of fungal spores embedded in the matted carpet, he steps into his untied dress shoes and clomps to the bathroom wearing nothing else but his boxers. He brushes his teeth in the tiny sink, then wets his unruly hair. 

There’s a knock at the door and he groans. “Just a minute!” he yells around the toothbrush. He hopes it’s someone with the extra towels he asked for.

Mulder clomps back towards the door and, lacking a peephole, he pops it open a fraction to accept his linens. Instead of the housekeeper he’d been expecting, he finds Scully kitted out for a hike, brandishing a canister of mousse.

Cold air sweeps in with her laugh.

“Good morning to you too,” he grouses, ushering her in. He secures the chain when he closes the door.

“Nice outfit,” she says brightly. “What’s with the shoes? Is this a formal hike? I wasn’t sure because you’re not wearing pants, but…”

He scowls, sitting on the bed. “You’re mighty chipper. I’m trying to avoid athlete’s foot, if you must know, and I couldn’t find my socks.”

Scully rummages through his bag for a pair of thick socks, which she tosses to him. She gestures at the bed. “May I?”

“Not if you’re going to be mean.” He kicks the shoes off and tugs the socks on.

Scully sits beside him, shaking the can of mousse. “Thought I could do your hair before we prank call some boys. French braid?”

Mulder stands to pull his jeans up, and the weight shift makes her bounce a little on the mattress. “Let me have that mousse.”

She gestures for his hand, then sprays a lilac-scented pouf into his cupped palm. 

“Thanks,” he says, and scrunches it into his hair. He styles himself before the dresser mirror while she watches, amused.

“You left before my beauty regimen last time,” he remarks.

In the mirror, Scully shakes her head but doesn’t seem bothered. “I made some calls this morning about Tallulah Church. There’s no phone or plumbing up there, but the sheriff’s office said she’s usually right around her home. And the motel clerk drew me a map of how to get to the pond from the access road, then how to get to Tallulah’s.” She waves several crumpled papers.

He pulls a t-shirt over his head, then a fleece. “Aren’t you a busy little bee? Looks like someone’s getting her cartography badge this week.” Mulder returns to the bed to put his boots on.

“I’ve got evidence vials too,” she says, producing them from her pockets. “We’re going to find out what happened to Ree.” Her eyes are big and solemn.

Scully masquerades her tenderheartedness as honor, but Mulder didn’t need a God Module to know why she took that terrible dog in years ago. The depth of cold Dr. Scully’s compassion would shock their colleagues, and he likes this secret knowledge about her. Even Skinner, who reveres her only just below the Constitution, underestimates the fierceness of her empathy. 

“What?” Scully asks.

Mulder cups her splendid jaw, thumb at her sphenoid bone. He kisses the space between her eyebrows, and she makes a small noise.

“We have to go,” she breathes, and is outside before he can stand.

***

Not a word about it in the car, just miles of silence broken only by Scully giving directions. The drive ends in a flat patch of dirt by the forest’s edge, a scrubby path poking out from the ferns and overhang.

“Our little forays into the forest never end well,” she observes. “But at least tick season is winding down. After you, Mulder.”

He pushes into the woods, holding branches back so Scully doesn’t get smacked in the head. “Been a while, though. We’re tougher now. We’re hardened woodspersons.”

“And I have a lighter,” she adds.

He grins. “Show off. Hey, how far is it?”

Scully consults her map. “Well, we’re coming at it from a different angle than Ree would have probably taken, but this is the most direct. Looks like maybe a hundred yards up ahead before it opens into a clearing.”

The path unfolds as she said, and suddenly a storybook pond is before him. Squirrels frisk in the branches and birds call to each other across the glen. The surface of the water is velvety with duckweed, like a perfectly clipped baseball field. Shafts of sunlight illuminate red and white mushrooms at the bases of oaks, the feathers of golden-green ferns. He sniffs the air, lush and tannic.

“Oh, wow,” Scully says, coming up behind him. “Mulder, this is unreal. It’s like a Waterhouse painting.”

They pick their way down to the edge of the pond, startling several fat bullfrogs and a garter snake. “Imagine being a kid here, Scully.”

She shakes her head, admiring. “It’s a Wonderland. I’d be out here all the time too.” Scully crosses her arms, staring upwards with a rapturous expression. “From what her dad said, Ree’s a lot like I was as a kid. I didn’t have my own binoculars though. Had to steal Bill’s.”

“Fuck Bill,” he says cheerfully. “You deserved them.”

They circle the perimeter, looking for...what? He never quite knows. The pond makes gentle rippling sounds as the local fauna heads for deeper water under his scrutiny.

Scully pauses at a section of churned-up dirt. She squats for a better view, pokes delicately at the earth. “They made a mess of this, Jesus. At least they had enough sense to band their shoes.” In the dirt, distinct tracks marked with horizontal rubber band lines around the soles distinguish the CSI team’s prints.

Mulder crouches bedside her, spots something golden half-buried in the soft ground. “Tweezers, Scully?”

She passes them over and from the ground he plucks a kernel of deer corn, half coated in dried algae. “Mulder, look. There are more of them, maybe twenty, all pushed in or smashed on this rock. And most of them have algae on them.” She frowns. “The footprints on the ground over it, they’re not marked and they’re too small for an adult.”

Sure enough, there’s a mess of kid-sized sneaker tracks all over where the greenish corn is, muddy smears on the rocks adjacent. They’re algae-covered as well, and too far from the water for such a coating. He stares, thinking.

Scully, meanwhile, is labeling tiny evidence jars in pencil, filling them with samples of algae and earth and corn. She finds the cap of a glittery marker. “Who processed this crime scene? Ray Charles?” She seals it up, tags it. 

“No kidding. Hey, look. There’s a gap between those two big boulders over there. If you wanted to watch someone and hide, it would be a good spot. You think they searched it?”

She snorts with derision. 

“Me too. I’m gonna go take a look. You stay here. Sit on that rock there, it’ll put you at about Ree’s height.”

Scully passes him a few vials and a pencil, settles on the rock. “I think this is where she left Cordelia, based on the photos, though they were mostly closeup. I don’t remember any good overviews.” Some algae remains on the rock, and Scully looks sad.

Mulder jogs around the pond as best he can, but the bracken is heavy and he has to climb over a few logs. Is it really so crazy to think Ree tripped and fell out here, slipped quietly into the pond and snagged on a submerged rock or branch? Lots of little nibbling things in the water; it happens.

His mind returns to the algae. But if Ree went in, how did it come out? Who stepped all over that deer corn?

He’s between the boulders now, with a clear view of Scully across the way. He walks a little grid by the boulder, looking for bits of trace evidence. Snagged hair, footprints, forgotten belongings, anxiously chewed nails. But there is nothing. Either he misjudged the hiding spot, or the perpetrator has been very mindful of Locard’s Exchange Principle

.

“SCULLY!” he calls, setting off flurries of birds.

“MULDER?” She scans the area where he’s hidden.

“CAN YOU SEE ME?”

“NO!”

He climbs up one of the rocks, waves to her. She waves back from her perch. From atop the boulder, he scans the ground below. There aren’t any footprints but, squinting, he can see trails of dried algae along the edge of the ferns, where the rocky area begins.

He calls Scully over, and she moves through the forest as lightly as the squirrels. He points at his finding when she arrives. “That’s weird, right?”

She scoops some up in a vial, the holds it to the light. “Maybe she was playing at the edge, got her hands dirty, went to wipe them, and slipped.”

Mulder shakes his head. “That doesn’t explain the algae on the unopened food, Scully.”

“It could have been simple contamination. Her parents say she’s out here all the time. If she uses the same thermos and bag, brings the same books and toys, it’s not exactly far fetched to think some of it remained from last time and grew in the sun. Busy mom with four kids, how thoroughly is she going to scrub everything down for a kid who’s always outside? Algae are extremely tenacious, and it was out here in the sun for about 26 hours.”

He gazes at the duckweed, lets his vision swim until everything is a green blur. “Maybe,” he says. “But I want to talk to Tallulah.”

“Greenteeth was my delight,” Scully sings, appallingly off-key. “Greenteeth was my heart of gold.”

“You’re a riot,” he says dryly. Delightedly.

“Exposure to copper or nickel,” Scully says, clambering over a log. “Septic cholestasis.”

He might marry her after all.

***

Tallulah’s little shack looks old as the mountains, with log walls and a shake roof. There’s a tiny porch tacked on the front, and a wall of firewood being gnawed by two spotted goats. They stare at Mulder with their rectangular-pupiled eyes.

He reaches out to pet them and startles when they bleat loudly at his overture. They scamper off behind the house.

Scully pokes the toe of her boot into a plastic bucket, rights it. “Her car seems to be here,” she observes, indicating a battered old Volvo wagon. 

“A European car, no wonder everyone here hates her.”

Scully smirks.

They walk up to the house, Mulder withdrawing his identification. It generally gets a snappier reaction the further West and South it travels, but Mulder is also wary of a demented libertarian streak that runs through the country at odd intervals. Seams of it appear throughout Appalachia, and federal agents of various stripes have been fired on by feistier residents.

Scully, thankfully, is a quick draw and a dead shot.

They don’t get the chance to knock before a woman who must be Tallulah Church stands before them on the other side of the screen door. She’s close to Mulder’s height, thin to the point of emaciation, and pale enough to make Scully look freshly tanned. She has beautiful black hair to her waist, and eyes the color of ferns. They seem too bright in her gaunt, colorless face. She’s dressed in a Huck Finn ensemble of castoff men’s work clothing. On her hands are faded canvas gardening gloves.

Mulder shows her his badge and introduces them. Scully wordlessly displays her own identification.

Tallulah grins widely, her teeth perfect and straight and pearly green. “Well come on in,” she says, turning back into the house. Her feet clomp loudly in their heavy boots.

Mulder glances at Scully, who still seems taken aback by this gawky apparition. He holds the door open and they follow Tallulah into the house. 

The little shack creaks with every step, and smells of woodsmoke and earth and herbs. The interior walls are the same weathered gray as the outside. The whole thing is just one room, with a bed in one corner and a kitchen consisting of a fireplace, a dry sink, and a table with several mismatched chairs. Tallulah is occupying a black metal one, and her impossibly long, thin limbs make Mulder think of Jack Skellington. He can’t tell if she’s twenty or fifty.

“Sit down, please,” she says. “The table’s not much but I reckon it would be weird to offer you the bed.” She smiles again. Her voice is as drawling as everyone else in town, but there’s something different about it, something strangely polished and almost British. 

They take their seats. “Miss Church,” Scully begins.

“Tallulah, please.”

“Tallulah. Agent Mulder and I are investigating the disappearance of Rhiannon Ross. She went missing on Sunday morning. Given that you live not far from the area where her belongings were found, we wanted to ask you some questions.” Scully opens her file folder, pen poised like a hovering dragonfly.

Tallulah levels her remarkable eyes with Scully’s. “No ma’am. I know who Ree is, it’s a small town and she’s out here a lot, but I didn’t see her that day. Real nice little girl though. She feeds the deer sometimes.”

Mulder perks up. “Yeah? We saw some deer corn out where she went missing. Did you see her feeding them that morning?”

Tallulah sighs. “No, I’m sorry. As I’ve told the police, I didn’t see a bit of her on Sunday. Which is sort of odd itself, because she’d always be out on a day like that. Too shy to come up to the house, but she liked to watch the goats. They’re not even mine, but I leave them food and water, so we’re friends now.”

Behind her, on the dry sink, Mulder notices green smears of moss or mildew. Or algae. 

“I know you’ve spoken to Sherriff McLeod already,” Scully continues. “So we appreciate your patience.”

“It’s a terrible thing for a child to go missing,” Tallulah says, shaking her head. “I wish I did have something to tell, but I just don’t. I’ve seen the search parties around - I guess they searched the pond.”

“You say you knew who Ree was because it’s a small town, but I got the sense you didn’t mingle much with the good townsfolk,” Mulder observes.

Tallulah chuckles at this. “No sir, not much, which suits them and me just fine.” She lifts her hands to eye level and wiggles her bony gloved fingers. “They think I’m spooky.”

Mulder smiles in spite of himself. “I know a little bit about that. So tell me, Tallulah, you from around here?”

She shakes her head. “Not from anywhere, really, but I was raised outside Savannah in a rich ladies’ orphanage. That’s why I sound like Dixie Carter.”

“An orphanage?” Scully repeats.

“Yes ma’am. I was left at the Baptist Ladies’ Home when I was a day or so old. Nothing with me but a plastic laundry basket and a gingham tablecloth. They said I was a frightful looking little thing.” She smiles ruefully, showing them her green teeth again.

Scully, true to form, tackles that bull head on. “Tallulah, I’m also a doctor, and I’m compelled to ask about your teeth. Do you know why they’re green?”

An expansive shrug. “Oh, the doctors that saw us there had all kinds of ideas of what was wrong with me, but I never got anything official. Marfan Syndrome, that was one.” She snorts. “‘Course, the other kids heard Martian and with the green teeth they decided I was an alien.”

“There’s a genetic test for it now,” Scully says. “You could find out for sure.”

Tallulah chuckles again. “Thanks, Doc, but it doesn’t matter much. I feel just fine. Always have, and I don’t plan to have any kids. I’m twenty-six and haven’t had anything worse than a cold.”

Mulder watches the Doc jot this down and he returns to the subject at hand. “So you moved here over the summer. Where’d you live before this?”

“Oh, gosh, just lots of tiny towns like this one. I find these empty little cabins, you know, and stay for a while. Then I move on when I get restless.”

“The Rosses said you come into town every so often to get supplies and gas. May I ask where you get the money for that?” Scully looks up to ask this.

Tallulah looks sly. “I don’t know that I want to discuss that with the FBI,” she says.

Mulder exchanges a glance with his fellow narc, who nods imperceptibly to any eye but his own. “We’re just here to find Rhiannon,” he reassures Tallulah. “Not do the DEA’s job for them. Neither Agent Scully nor I wish to fill out extra paperwork.”

Tallulah considers this, glancing between them. “Well,” she says at last. “I reckon you could say I’m real good with plants; I can coax anything to grow. And in boring little towns there’s, uh, a lot of people who like plants.”

Scully looks unimpressed by this attempt at euphemism. “Plants,” she repeats.

Tallulah shrugs. “I’ve said as much as I’m going to on that subject without a lawyer. But anyhow, what’s that got to do with Ree?”

“Just trying to get to know a bit about you,” Mulder says. “Sometimes we find witnesses have seen things they don’t even realize they’ve seen, and talking generally can help.”

“I know everything I’ve seen,” Tallulah asserts. “You live out here like this, you don’t miss much. It’s not like I have a lot to distract me.”

“What were you doing last Sunday morning, then?” Mulder asks.

She shrugs. “Woke up, ate, got dressed. Went over to the pump for some water.” She gestures at some distant point through the back wall. “Then I went looking for some mushrooms and things to eat. Eggs. Lots of greens out there.”

Scully narrows her eyes. “Ree was in the woods that morning too. You’re certain you didn’t see or hear anything?”

Tallulah scoffs. “The woods are pretty big. Might as well say we were both in Alabama.”

“Wyatt and Iona are under the impression that you don’t like children,” Scully says. “Have there been any particular incidents that would make them feel that way? Any encounters with Ree? It must have been irritating to have her running all over the edge of your property.”

“No, she’s all right and besides, it’s hardly my property. Scared of me like the rest of them, but all right. I like the way she is with animals, real gentle and all. Got a kind heart, that girl, and I wish more were like her. But here’s the plain facts. My mama didn’t want me, none of the parents who came to the Home wanted me, the other kids thought I was an alien, and I learned to just keep mostly to myself because I can take a hint. I go walking outside a lot, do some fishing in the little ponds and all, and that’s how I know who Ree is. You know the kids call me Jenny Greenteeth.”

“We’d heard that, yes,” Mulder says, feeling uncomfortably sorry for Tallulah. He knows empathizing with suspects is his weakness, and that it drives Scully up the wall.

“It’s not the first time, won't be the last. But I know Ree’s daddy thinks I hurt Ree. He’s pretty disapproving of my...plant business and I think he half believes that stupid old fairy tale.” She rolls her eyes.

“I saw you had a whole lot of firewood,” Mulder says, shifting gears. “You staying here all winter?” 

“I never know, but I’d like to. Doubt I will though, with this, uh, situation.” She picks at her gloves. “People can start to get unkind.”

Mulder gestures to the dry sink. “Seems kind of damp. Looks like you have some mold or something growing over there.”

The three of them follow his finger with their eyes, where bright green streaks the wall and sink. Mulder sees that there is far more than he originally noticed, spread over much of the wall all the way to the bed.

“Oh, yeah, these places always are,” Tallulah says. “You can always find these old cabins if you look a little, but it’s hard to keep them snug. Part of why I move so much. They just sort of collapse around you.”

Mulder glances at Scully, and they agree in a blink. 

“Well, I wouldn’t move any time soon, Tallulah,” Scully says in her Bad Cop way. “And I’d take a break from business until the situation - as you called it - is sorted out.”

Tallulah looks uncomfortable, but nods. “Yes ma’am.”

“Thanks for your time,” Mulder says. “We’ll see ourselves out.”

They rise from their rickety chairs and head out the front door. On his way past the bed, Mulder opens an evidence vial and scrapes it along the wall to gather a film of algae. If Tallulah notices, she doesn’t remark.

The sun feels over-bright after the dim cabin and, squinting, they pick their way carefully back to where they parked. One of the goats is on the hood of their rental.

Mulder is delighted by this, if only because he can write “GOAT ATTACK” on the return form. He hopes it will find its way across Kersh’s desk and make him chug Mylanta straight from the bottle.

Scully, far more vexed, begins throwing fallen pine cones at it. 

“Nice arm,” Mulder says. “Try bringing your knee up next time.”

She glares at him, exasperated. “Where’s a chupacabra when you need one?”

***

They’re back at the Cracker Barrel, playing Pegs, with Ree’s flier propped up against the napkin dispenser. Scully is picking at an anemic salmon fillet, and eyeing Mulder’s chicken fried steak with disdain.

“You know you want a bite,” he says around a mouthful of mashed potatoes and gravy. 

She looks irked. “I didn’t have time for a run this afternoon because I was on the phone with the eponymous Baptist Ladies.”

“I wasn’t going for leisure,” he says with an air of wounded dignity. “Talked to a lot of people while I was out and about. The crotchety old ladies on their porches love me, I’ll have you know. I’m charming, for a Yankee.”

Scully rolls her eyes. “They just thought you looked good in your running shorts.” She pauses, then looks mortified.

“Oh yeah? How about you; you think I look good in them?” She’s so easy to torment sometimes and besides, he’d kind of like to know.

“Your vanity needs no help from me,” she says primly. “So what did you hear?”

“Nothing official, of course, but there are rumors that the oldest Ross siblings, the twin boys, were getting weed from Tallulah, so Wyatt has it in for her.”

“Plants,” Scully corrects. “Geraniums, probably.”

“Doubtless. Some people think Ree stumbled onto Tallulah’s crop and Tallulah killed her, but given the fact that the geranium sales are an open secret, it’s pretty unlikely.”

“Plus I doubt Ree would know it if she saw it,” Scully adds. 

“She might if her brothers are dope hounds with the reefer madness, Scully. Mary Jane. Grass. Wacky tobaccy. It’s ruining good Christian families.” He shakes his head somberly. “Ganja.”

“Devil’s lettuce,” Scully adds and, for whatever reason, this undoes them both and they dissolve into laughter.

This earns them startled glances from nearby patrons who seem to generally disapprove of their dark clothing and clandestine ways.

It feels incredible to laugh. Less than a month ago his head had been cracked open like an oyster while Scully and Diana played Spy vs. Spy. And here he was now in this awful little town, safely away from all major conspiracies, having had carnal knowledge of the enigmatic Dr. Scully, and he had just won at Pegs.

And Scully thinks he looked sexy in his shorts.

She is glaring at the peg board when he asks about her phone calls. “So what’d you learn, other than a tuna casserole recipe and how to tease your hair?”

“Weird stuff, your favorite.”

“Lay it on me, mama.”

Scully settles back in the booth. Delivering information is her comfort zone. “Well, Tallulah’s basic facts were right enough. She was left on the front steps of the Home in a white laundry basket. By the look of the umbilical stump, she wasn’t a hospital delivery. No one was ever able to identify her parents. But about a week before she appeared, a baby girl went missing from the Home. There were no signs of a break-in, and the baby never turned up. Everyone just assumed her parents had taken her back and the whole thing was swept under the rug.”

Some quick math, and Mulder realizes this wasn’t long before Samantha went missing. He frowns, and Scully’s expression makes it clear that she’s done the same calculation.

“It was April,” she offers gently. “In the South.”

“Go on.” 

“The woman I spoke to said Tallulah did have lots of problems with other kids, but not just for her appearance. She did get teased for the teeth, but apparently she was an aggressive kid. Biting, pulling long hair. They went to the Y once a week for swimming lessons, and Tallulah would drag kids under the water under the guise of playing. She was banned from the pool eventually.”

“Jesus,” Mulder says. “Someone needed more time with Mr. Rogers.”

“Oh, is that how they addressed abandonment issues at Oxford, Dr. Mulder?” Scully asks, archly.

He grins. “Hey, the NHS budget isn’t unlimited. So how’d she end up here?”

“Well, apparently when a kid turns 18 they give them some money and set them up with a job in the community, which isn’t a bad situation. But Tallulah took off at 15, said she was sick of handouts. The Baptist Ladies put the word out, but Tallulah was good at hiding and was 19 before anyone found her. And only then by sheer accident - a former employee bumped into her in Macon, Georgia.”

“Were they able to tell you about her movements at all in the intervening decade? Places she’s lived?”

Scully shakes her head. “No, and there’s no records on her at all. No arrests for anything as minor as vagrancy or trespassing, much less dealing. Her fingerprints aren’t in the system. She’s like a ghost. I was going to call the sheriff’s office to ask about the weed, but I thought better of it. I don’t want to walk into anything unprepared.”

He sighs. “I’d like to look at missing child cases in the past ten years, ones where the kid went missing around freshwater. We’ll narrow it to prepubescent girls.”

She nods. “I’ll see what Danny can scrounge on ViCAP. The Baptist Home is supposed to be faxing Tallulah’s medical records, thin as they are, and I want to see what I can pull out. Oh, and here’s another thing. Marjorie - that’s the woman I spoke with - Marjorie said Tallulah was always going out at night to wander in the woods. Her bed and storage cabinet were always covered with green stains and - get this - what appeared to be gold dust. Her hair was wet and had algae in it, like she’d been swimming in a pond or lake. No matter what they did, she’d manage to get out. Eventually they gave up because she kept returning and it seemed to keep her violence down.” 

Mulder considers this. He’s had an idea since yesterday that he’s been hesitant to voice, but what the hell? “I was thinking about her gloves when we visited this morning.”

Scully raises a non-committal eyebrow.

“Hear me out. All of Ree’s stuff was covered with algae, right? And there was algae where it shouldn’t be at the crime scene and all over Tallulah’s wall. She said she’s good with plants too, right? What if algae grows when she touches things? What if that’s why she was wearing gloves when we came by?”

Scully puts her fork down. “She’s an algae witch?”

He sighs. “I’m saying it’s maybe a...like a manifestation of something else. It’s something she can’t control.”

“Let me guess. You think the missing baby was taken by Tallulah’s unearthly mother and that Tallulah is actually a changeling left in her place. She’s from a race of some kind of evil water fairies, and has stolen Rhiannon Ross as her mother stole the other child twenty-six years ago.”

A slow smile spreads across Mulder’s face. “Scully, are you trying to get me back in bed?”

She reddens, rolls her eyes. “Textbooks could be written about your deviance.”

“Oh, no doubt. But details aside, you have to admit there are some weird details there.”

“All our cases have weird details. But the algae is notable. I’d like to take some samples from Tallulah’s cabin and compare it to the algae on Ree’s belongings. I’ll have to see what equipment the sheriff's office has. We’ll need to send some out for DNA testing to be sure, but I could at least do some microscopic analysis. It could place her at the scene.”

Mulder passes her the little vial he’d collected that morning. It’s fuller than he remembered.

“Sneak,” Scully says, approvingly, sipping at her Diet Coke.

“I know you like bad boys. Apropos of which, why do you think the sheriff has left Tallulah alone about this weed thing? I mean, this doesn’t seem like a hip and swinging town, does it?”

“I was wondering that too. And Wyatt never mentioned it either. I’m also wondering why, if we go with your hypothesis, Tallulah would steal a grade schooler rather than a baby. And Mulder, that cabin was one room. There’s nowhere she could have stashed a child. What’s more, shouldn’t some changeling child should have shown up by now? I mean, by your logic.”

Mulder wipes his plate with a roll. “I admit there are complex facets involved here,” he allows. He has ideas percolating, but they need more time to steep. “But whatever the reasons she may have had, there’s no one else who even seems remotely likely. No dubious strangers in town, no evidence of any kind at the crime scene. No one I talked to today indicated there were any grudges with the Rosses.”

Scully curls back into the corner of their booth, looking modish with her dark clothes and sleek hair. “I hate this,” she says. “Autopsies are so clear. Manner and mechanism. You just read the body and it tells a story. Sometimes it’s a challenge, but it’s always there. Missing persons are nightmarish, especially children.”

Mulder, as he is prone to do, thinks of Addie Sparks. “Missing still has hope, I guess.”

She looks chagrined. “I didn’t think, Mulder. I’m sorry.”

He hates that his missing sister has consumed her life too. Hell, Melissa was murdered and Scully’s moved on in a relatively healthy fashion. “No, don’t be. I just mean that there’s cruelty there, in that hope. Schroedinger’s crime, you know. That last heart of Roche’s is the end of someone’s hope, only they’ll never know.”

She reaches across the table to take his hand in hers. “The sense that an answer exists but isn’t knowable is a miserable feeling,” she says. “Especially if it’s an answer that could redefine one’s status quo if only it were revealed.”

He’s pretty sure she’s not talking about the case now, and traces her fingers with his thumb. “So you wanna kill this thing, then? Perform a post-mortem, write it up, and move on?” He doesn’t want this, but at least he’d know.

Scully draws infinite circles on his wrist with her nail, and gooseflesh rises over his body. “Hope doesn’t have to be painful,” she murmurs to the table. She looks up at him with her summer sky eyes in the fading autumn light.

Mulder’s heart squeezes hard, then expands. “It’s kept me going for a long time, even when it is,” he tells her. 

She nods, lets go of him. “The motto of my first  profession is hic locus est ubi mors gaudet succurrere vitae. But I tend to forget the maxim that should drive the second one.”

He has a flashback to scanning the plasma-vivid mind behind that perfect face. “Yeah? What’s that?”

“Dum spiro spero,” she says.

“While I breathe, I hope.” He smiles.

They get the check and go to the car.

***

The drive holds the easy silence of a pizza hangover, the kind when they’re wiped out on Scully’s couch with half-eaten slices and paperwork on the coffee table and floor.

Scully has her feet propped up on the dash and her seat reclined. She has a manila folder on her face, her eyes closed.

He thinks, as he sometimes does of late, about what a shit he was to her after Philadelphia. He’s never asked if she knew then that she was dying, but he’s always suspected she must have. 

All he’d known at the time was that she’d blown him off for a good-looking psychopath, let the man brand her like cattle, then poured her herself into his bed. He’d hated Jerse for the bruises on her face and body and psyche, but the man was under guard and therefore beyond his rage. He siphoned some of it onto Scully instead, for daring to need more than him and for seeking it. He wanted it to be about the desk because he could have given her the fucking desk. He could have easily fixed that without having to fix anything else between them. He could have kept going in a straight line instead of trying to make a map.

He thought of her in Jerse’s arms, in Jerse’s bed. Beaten by Jerse’s fists. He imagined the needle biting into the flawless canvas of her back and leaving that turning serpent there. He noticed that it went in a circle and at the time, he’d let that be about him too.

Later, when he understood that she was even more ephemeral than he feared, fits of self-pity left him wondering why she went for Jerse instead of him. Surely she knew he was available for emotionally destructive sex if that’s what she craved before dying. 

But it turned out that sleeping with her had been like losing his virginity all over again. In twenty years or so, if they were still alive, he might find the balls to tell her that.

***

Scully yawns when he parks the car, batting the folder off her face. “I was awake,” she insists.

“Very convincing,” he assures her. 

She swats his arm, straightens her seat. “I’m wondering if she was dealing elsewhere, maybe giving a kickback to LLE. Someone gets wind, she gets kicked out of town and moves along to another friendly hamlet. You know how these networks run.”

“Local law enforcement,” Mulder sighs. “The eternal bane of my existence. It would certainly explain a few things.”

“And if the Ross twins really are buying, you can see why Wyatt wouldn’t mention it to us. He can throw her under the bus without dragging his kids in too.”

Mulder rubs his eyes. “But how does it all come together? I mean let’s say Tallulah slides into these little towns, she deals to make ends meet. Pays some kickbacks. But why risk it on a serious crime like kidnaping or murder? This is the South, Scully. They do not fuck around, and kidnaping’s federal.”

She shakes her head, still frustrated. “I don’t know. We’ll have to wait for Danny, I guess. I’ll leave him a message when I get back to my room. The internet connection out here is a nightmare, so maybe he can dig it up while I’m at the lab.”

Scully unbuckles her seatbelt, but makes no move to leave the car. She plays with the edge of the folder. “I know you said you weren’t looking to go steady, but now that I’ve put out I was hoping I could get your varsity jacket.” 

He feels some of the tightness leave his neck at her willingness to play. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s a pretty sweet jacket. That’s more than a one-nighter. Maybe if you swing by in a cheerleader outfit I’d think about it.”

She looks up, smiling one of her rare smiles that show her teeth. “I think my mom still has my high school uniform in mothballs somewhere.”

He tosses his phone onto her lap. “Call. Now.”

Scully laughs her throaty, chuckly laugh. “Good night, Mulder,” she says, opening her door. “See you tomorrow.” She passes his phone back and slips into the dark.

He grins all the way to his room.

***

Diana comes to him again that night. He finds her at the edge of a meadow on a large rock, a vivid rainbow overhead. She wears a floor length evening gown of shimmering gold fabric, and her flesh is whole. She pats the rock, inviting him to sit.

“Hello, Fox.” 

He scowls, sitting. “As a manifestation of my subconscious, you could have the decency not to call me Fox.”

She laughs. “As an alleged manifestation of your subconscious, maybe you just want to be acknowledged as a fox by a desirable woman. How is Agent Scully this evening?”

“Spare me. Nice dress, Diana.”

She stands up and twirls. The gown flares out from her graceful waist into a narrow bell. Her feet are bare. “It is, isn’t it? It’s cloth of gold. Very Eleanor of Aquitaine, I think.”

“Is it heavy?”

Diana sits back down. “Oh, yes. Terribly heavy. And costly.”

He rubs it between his fingers. The fabric is stiff and itchy, like tweed. “Well, nothing’s too expensive when you’re dead, I guess.”

“Not expensive. Costly,” she corrects.

He furrows his brow. “Okay. What’s the difference?”

She shrugs. “It’s just that the cheapest way to pay is usually money. Some things cost much more than money. Surely you know that by now. But there’s no need to be dour, Fox. It’s beautiful out, and look at the rainbow.” 

He does. “Someday we’ll find it, the rainbow connection, the lovers, the dreamers, and me,” he sings softly. Even in his dreams his voice is terrible.

Diana gets to her feet again, spinning in the grass. She starts to twirl faster, her hair whipping out around her. Her skin greys again, her face turning cadaverous, and little crawling things flying from her into the grass.

Mulder scuttles back from her on the rock, repulsed but captivated as she becomes a formless blur. 

Then she stops, stares at him from her cavernous eye sockets. Her bony chest is panting.

“Diana?” he breathes. 

She steps towards him and flickers back to her earlier smooth-skinned appearance.

Step.

Flicker.

Step.

Flicker.

He is transfixed.

“Is it real, or is it Memorex?” she muses.

Step.

Flicker.

He wakes up gasping before she can touch him.

***

He’d hoped this kind of shit would end with his neurosurgery, but apparently his subconscious is tenacious. Unless it’s not his subconscious, in which case he needs to get some tips from Scully, who sees an awful lot of ghosts for someone who doesn’t believe in them.

Yawning, he gets the in-room pot gurgling and clunking with whatever factory sweepings pass for coffee in the sticks. The room fills with an aroma reminiscent of burning tires.

A knock at the door distracts him and he opens it to find Scully holding two styrofoam cups steaming from their plastic lids. “Went for a quick run,” she says, stepping under his arm into the room.

He shuts the door.

“Mulder, prop that door open. It smells like wet asphalt in here.” She sets the cups down and turns the coffee pot off with a look of contempt.

“Ah, Scully,” he says, sipping from the cup marked M.

“You can take the car today,” she says. “Someone from the sheriff’s office is giving me a lift to the lab in Huntsville. It’s about an hour each way, so I doubt I’ll be back before dark. What are your plans?”

“I want to talk to Tallulah again,” he says. 

“Watch out for those goats,” she warns darkly. “I think the little one cost us the deposit.”

“I’ll bring pine cones.”

Scully frowns, steps closer to him. “Mulder, you don’t look so good. Are you feeling alright? Maybe you should have them bring her into the station for questioning instead.”

He waves her off. “Bed’s not great,” he says. “I’m just tossing and turning some, but the coffee should perk me up.” He takes a large gulp. “Mmmm, perky.”

She narrows her eyes. “You’re a liar, but if I try to actually examine you you’re just going to be cranky or perverted. At least make sure your phone’s charged so you can call me if you keel over or something.”

He pouts, preemptively deprived of the opportunity for a predictable playing doctor joke. Damn her. “You suck the fun out of everything,” he informs her, sitting on the bed.

She walks over to him, standing between his knees. She puts her empty coffee cup on the night stand, then grips his t-shirt with both hands.

He swallows.

“As your physician, I ask that you try not to die in a stupid and avoidable fashion,” Scully says. Her mouth is inches away. She shakes his shirt for good measure before leaving.

He goes to the shower and stays there for some time.

***

Mulder stops off at the farm store where Scully obtained the coffee. He selects a raspberry danish, then adds a loaf of fresh bread and some local milk in a quaint glass bottle. 

“Five dollar deposit on the bottle,” the clerk informs him. Fahv dahlah dipawsit.

“What’s it made of, crystal?” he grouses, swiping his card.

“You that FBI guy?” the clerk asks suspiciously. “It’s pasteurized, it’s perfectly legal milk.You can test it.” 

“It seems fine,” Mulder assures her. He’d had no idea that there was a black market in milk. He takes his bag and makes for the door.

“It’s not homogenized though,” she calls after him. 

Mulder takes his unhomogenized, perfectly legal milk up into the mountains.

***

Tallulah’s chopping wood when he pulls up. She has on the same Carhartt overalls Wyatt did, and thick leather gloves this time. There are splinters and sawdust in her long braid. She’s not a bit beautiful, but has an appealing serenity.

“Hey,” Mulder says to the goats, who have come to sniff him. He scratches the big one behind the ears. The little one makes for the car.

Tallulah straightens up, wipes her wrist across her brow. “Mornin’, Agent Mulder. Where’s your partner?”

“She’s the science half of this outfit,” Mulder says. “She’s peering at things through microscopes and running them through unpronounceable equipment.”

“Like that algae you scraped off my wall?” Tallulah sounds amused.

“That would be one of the things, yes.”

She frowns thoughtfully. “You sure that doesn’t violate the Fourth Amendment?”

“California v. Greenwood says I can search your trash,” Mulder informs her. “Besides, you invited us in.”

“Like vampires,” Tallulah observes, and adds the split wood to her growing pile.

Mulder holds out the bag containing the bread and milk. He ate the danish on the way up. “Here,” he says.

She takes his offering and peers in. “What’s this?”

“Call it a belated housewarming gift,” he says. 

Tallulah looks at him for a long moment. “You know, some of the old mountain women believe it’s wise to leave a little offering of such homey treats to the Good Folk. Oh, they go to church of a Sunday and preach the gospel just fine, but come Saturday night, there’s little biscuits and butter at the forest’s edge, wrapped all in leaves.”

“I heard something about that,” Mulder says. “I guess it’s like wearing suspenders and a belt.”

She wipes down her hatchet with a faded bandanna, then puts it in a little storage bin next to the house. “Funny what people believe, isn’t it?”

“Funny.” He doesn’t take his eyes off her, even when the little goat jumps on the hood of his car.

Tallulah opens the milk and takes a deep gulp of it from the bottle. “That’s very good,” she says. “Now your partner would roll her lovely eyes at such a thing as you’ve brought, but she’ll kneel for wafers and wine.”

Mulder doesn’t ask how Tallulah knows this. “There’s a five dollar deposit on the bottle,” he says. “All yours, since you’re out of business at the moment.”

She smiles greenly at him. “Come in, Agent Mulder.”

He follows her up the steps and into the cabin, looking at her round-bellied stove, the faded patchwork quilt on the narrow brass bed. Mulder sees the appeal of this simplicity, a pared down life to strip away all foolish distraction. He recognizes his own romanticization of it, a rich boy with summer homes and an Oxford education wanting to play at Saint Jerome. He also considers that the Unabomber went to Harvard and lived this way too. Minimalism may not be inherently enlightening. 

Tallulah is sprawled in a chair, her steel-toed boots kicked off. Mulder sits at the table across from her, bread and milk between them. A ham and a cleaver are out as well.

“You hungry?” Tallulah asks. “That ham is from Sam Oakley out by the grain elevator. Just delicious.”

Mulder shakes his head. “Can she come back?” he asks, without preamble.

“Agent Scully? Any time she likes, though I’d ask for more of that milk if she does. I’ll pay you the deposit.”

Mulder senses a shift in her demeanor. She’s not the friendly, country orphan any longer. There’s mischief rising in her, something tart and maybe wicked. Her posture is languid rather than awkward now.

“You know what I mean, Tallulah.”

She works on loosening her braid. It’s hard in the thick gloves. “You mean Ree. You still think I know something about that.”

Mulder realizes that she is enjoying herself, remembers that the fay are supposed to love riddles and wordplay. “Well, we can talk about something else. I heard the Ross twins are customers of yours.”

She laughs. “The thing I absolutely love best about people is that they make rules to stop themselves doing everything they long for, then do it anyway while pointing their lying fingers at the next fellow for the same. I don’t really need the money, but I do think it’s funny to watch these fine upstanding people condemn me with one hand and pay me with the other. It’s pleasurable money to spend, and it passes the time.”

Mulder’s anarchic soul cannot deny the schadenfreude. “I notice you used third person instead of first.”

“I don’t make those kinds of rules. I just sell the devil’s lettuce to all comers without judgement. I do like to watch them chase themselves in circles, but I’m not a hypocrite.”

Devil’s lettuce. His neck prickles. “No? What are you then?”

She smiles, and her mouth has too many teeth in it. They seem very thin now. “I’m the apple in the Garden,” she says. “This realm has made nothing but trouble for my folk, and I like to pay back mischief as I can.” 

Tallulah slowly takes her gloves off and balls her hands into fists. She opens them and pieces of gold ore are in them. Closes her fists, opens her fists. She pours the gold onto the table and the pieces are streaked with algae.

He stares, awed. Shaken.

Tallulah holds his gaze. “Do you want some of it, Agent Mulder? Everyone else does, and it only costs a little. Can you offer me a most beloved child? The ring finger of each hand? All the memories of your sister?”

“Where’s Ree?” he chokes out.

Tallulah continues as if he hasn’t spoken. “Maybe there’s something else you want? A love spell?” She winks a green eye. “But you don’t really need it. She wants this as much as you, Mulder. When you kissed her she felt only relief and lust in equal measure. My god, she rode you like it was the Kentucky Derby, skirt around her waist and her breasts tight to your chest.”

Tallulah reaches up to stroke his cheek and he jerks his head away, appalled.

“How do you know all of these things?” His voice is scarcely a whisper and his stomach is lurching.

“A little ghostie tells me,” she says, and mimes an hourglass woman in the air. “Don’t think she realizes she does it though.”

Fingers trembling, Mulder retrieves three iron nails from his pocket. He’d pried them out of the floor at the motel, and now he brandishes them, hoping. Dum spiro spero.

Tallulah looks at them and hisses. “Cold iron!” she shrieks. “It binds my magic!” 

Then she snatches them from his hand and eats them, laughing.

He is too shocked to be frightened.

“Don’t feel bad,” Tallulah says, consolingly. “You’re not the first. Listen, you’ve looked through lots of one-way mirrors, right? Interrogating?”

He nods, not yet trusting himself to speak.

“Okay, well, imagine stacks of it. If you were standing on a tower of it, shiny side down, you could see to the bottom.”

Nods again.

“Attaboy. Now, if you were under that tower, looking up, you couldn’t see through up to the top. Hell, you wouldn’t even know there was a tower. One layer or a hundred would look the same. All you’d see was your own reality reflected back.”

Something is starting to coalesce in his brain. “You… your people are looking, uh, through to us, but we can’t perceive you.”

“Oh, looking down is much more accurate,” Tallulah assures him. “Like how you know ants exist and find them interesting, but they have no understanding that you exist because they’re tiny and stupid.” She looks smug and takes another drink of milk.

“Why are you telling me this?” He hates her, but he still wants her to talk.

She reaches across the table, caresses his hands with gentle fingers before he pulls them back. “Because no one will ever believe you and so it amuses me for you to know,” she says sweetly. “You can see up through the worlds  piecemeal, I think. Bits of the whole, like the Louvre through a keyhole. Your partner will say this was a hallucination brought on by recent brain trauma. Your superiors will laugh at you - at least aliens are masculine and slightly scientifically respectable. But fairies? Oh, dear.”

For a fraction of a fraction of a second, she wears Diana’s skeletal face.

Mulder feels hot bile rise in his throat, but forces it down. “Where’s Ree?” 

“The sheriffs in these silly towns never even remember our bargains, of course. They harass for my little game with the ganja, but then no one can recall why I’ve been picked up, and they apologize and I go. Some like babies, to start fresh, but not me. I like to know what I’m getting. I only take one a year, and they’re good ones. Sweet girls who love the woods and water. I was nineteen before I could make the gold come, so that’s only seven. You’ve seen worse then seven. Remember Roche, Mulder?” She changes her face to remind him.

The bile does come then, and he vomits on her floor.

“Rude,” she says mildly, and water pours from her fingers to wash it away and out the front door.

He fights nausea and dizziness. “Give them back. Give me Ree, Tallulah. Just let me take Ree home.” His hair is soaked with sweat and he’s terrified it will be Goldstein all over again. He pulls his gun anyway. Can she turn it on him like Pusher? Scully will be very angry with him if so.

Tallulah is unconcerned. “I don’t hurt them, you goose. I take them up through the looking-glass, so to speak. It’s beautiful there. It’s safe for them. They deserve better than to live with the people who look the other way for thirty pieces of gold. A bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy, really. Or is it a Catch-22? I’m not much of a reader.”

“Ree,” he grinds out between clenched teeth. He puts his finger on the trigger.

Tallulah grabs the cleaver and chops her hand off. There’s no blood. “Shoot me,” she giggles, and he passes out.

***

It’s still light out when he awakens in his car, just past two-thirty by the dashboard clock. There’s a glass of sweet tea and a slab of pound cake on the console. Feel better, reads a note in a fine copperplate. Sorry for the shock. Had to run an errand, but you should eat and drink before you drive or you might crash. Don’t worry - there’s nothing wrong with it. But no need to die in a stupid and avoidable fashion. Thanks again for the gift. I might return the favor.

Mulder eats and drinks. He figures if her food is poisoned or enchanted, he’ll be spared explaining to the Rosses that their daughter was kidnapped through an interdimensional portal as a sacrifice to the greed of public officials and the amusement of a wicked fairy.

The cheapest way to pay is money.

The snack is revitalizing and he sits until he feels his blood sugar level out. He wonders if Tallulah would have killed him if he’d met her empty-handed. He wonders if Ree is really alive somewhere, or if it’s just a game.

A headache has begun pulsing deep in his temple, like the throbbing brain of IT on Camazotz. Mulder fumbles his sunglasses out of the glove box.

He puts them on, filtering out the worst of the light. He breathes through his nose, massages his temples like Scully used to do when her tumor became rowdy. He begins to relax, the nausea and pain subsiding. His eyes slide closed as he digests the morning’s events.

“I’m sorry,” Diana says, her hand on his thigh.

He sits bolt upright and she’s next to him, her long legs cramped in the Scully-configured seat. 

“I’m not asleep,” he insists to both of them, looking wildly around. Tallulah’s house, the mountain, the forest - none of it has the surreality of a dream.

Diana strokes his cheek gently with her cool grey fingers. “I’m going now,” she says. “I thought I was helping, making it up to you after a last betrayal. But it turns out…” she shakes her head.

“Diana, wait. Are we here or am I sleeping? Do you know where Ree is?” He hears his own panic and fights it. “Diana, just help me find her. Don’t leave yet.”

She presses her lips to his temple, murmuring. 

“Take this kiss upon the brow!

And, in parting from you now,

Thus much let me avow —

You are not wrong, who deem

That my days have been a dream;”

Agent Diana Fowley fades away then, into the quiet peace of nothingness.

Mulder never feels himself waken, never feels a shift in consciousness. She’s simply vanished and he’s alone to finish the rhyme.

“Yet if hope has flown away

In a night, or in a day,

In a vision, or in none,

Is it therefore the less gone?”

***

His drive back has a frenzied, febrile quality with saturated colors and echoing sounds. He is sweat-soaked and shivering when he gets back to the motel.

Mulder kicks his boots off and crawls into the bed. He draws the covers up under under his chin and falls away into the dark.

***

He wakes to her light fingers smoothing hair from his forehead. The sky outside is dark and starry, but it’s not even seven.

Mulder blinks, confused. “Scully?”

She’s sitting at the edge of the bed, in her dark trousers and a grey top. Her face is serious. “Mulder, I’ve been trying to wake you for an hour. You were burning up, but the fever seems to have broken. Did something happen?”

Everything. “No. I think you were right. I just came back to work too soon.” He gives her what he hopes is an appealing look.

Scully smells a rat but doesn’t push. She presses her fingers to his wrist. “I want you on antibiotics. I’ll call the pharmacy in the morning. They closed at five.”

He nods. “What did you find on the algae?”

She strokes his hair again and he feels like purring. “Nothing much. There were a few different strains at the pond but only one in her house. And a common one at that. It’s no good for linkage, I’m afraid, though I had them run a couple other tests. Nothing in the medical records they sent either - she’s as healthy as she says.”

“Well, did you get anything from Danny on disappearances?” 

She stops petting him to get up and retrieve a piece of folded paper from her jacket pocket. “I found a dozen that look possible, and six that match the details of this case pretty closely.”

He pats the blanket. “Come back and show me some more of that famous bedside manner.”

She snorts, but returns to her perch. “Here, look. I highlighted the six that look best. Called them too, and gave Tallulah’s name and description to LLE. None of them recognized the name or description.”

Of course, Mulder thinks. Of fucking course. “Betcha we’d get a different answer if we asked people who live there.”

Scully frowns. “What does that mean? You really think police departments from 6 towns are all embroiled in an elaborate web to protect a very low level weed dealer? Mulder, come on. I know you love a nice sexy conspiracy, but I think the best answer is that there’s some kind of drifter active in the area. I say we turn the whole thing over to NCMEC and go home. You look awful and there’s nothing else we can do here.”

He presses his hands to his face. Fuck, fuck. He looks back at Scully.  “I mean this lovingly, but please do not say anything condescending until I finish my undoubtedly insane rambling, okay?”

She narrows her eyes. “I should have let you sleep.”

Mulder props himself up against the pillows. He’s still chilly. “Okay, so there’s this concept of something called the Teind. It’s um…shit.” He stares at the bathroom door for a moment.

“Mulder, when you’re hesitant to share a theory, it gives me grave concern.” She scoots higher on the bed, crosses her legs. “But go on. The Teind.”

“So the idea is that there are other worlds - other simultaneous realms - that are layered over this one. Like a multiverse, okay? Like Schrödinger. You love Schrödinger, right? And Brian Greene?”

She purses her lips.

Mulder barrels ahead. “Okay, so. So one of these realms is what is sometimes called Faerie, or Elfhame. And our world, the so-called Christian realm, is constantly encroaching on theirs. Every seven years the Lords of Elfhame must pay a tribute to the Lords of Hell. This tribute ensures that the Christian realm with not destroy Elfhame and that the Lords of Hell will keep the Christian realm in check. I think that’s what these seven girls are - I think they’re tributes, or possible tributes. Maybe there’s a big pool created, I don’t know.”

Scully says nothing and it makes him nervous.

“Scully?”

She flops back beside him on the bed, gazing at the ceiling. “It’s a prettier story than drowning or murder or sex trafficking,” she says. “I mean sure, it’s essentially a complex pagan mafia real estate kidnaping scam, but it’s still better.”

He pulls the blankets up to his chin.

Scully turns, props herself up on her side to look at him. “What in the hell did Tallulah say to you, Mulder? Because I have to say, this is pretty far down the garden path even for you.”

He wonders if it’s even worth it. “She was able to conjure objects, Scully. Gold in her bare hands.” He has enough sense not to mention the cleaver.

Scully scoffs. “My dad could pull a quarter out of my ear.”

“She said that LLE knew she was taking these girls and she gave them gold for looking away. That the weed thing was just for her amusement, stirring the pot. So to speak.” He grins at his own unintentional joke. 

Scully scoots closer. “Mulder, what am I going to do with you? Don’t you think it’s much more likely that this woman is part of a larger drug and prostitution ring, tasked with procuring children for those up the chain? I believe there could be payoffs - small town cops are overworked and underpaid. But payments to the Lords of Hell? Realms? If she did show you gold, she was probably trying buy your silence as well but didn’t realize you’re too incorruptible to even notice, you stupid noble idiot.”

He feels oddly pleased by this assessment. “Well, can we at least agree that she probably is involved?”

Scully runs her finger down the bridge of his nose. “Yes.”

“And that whatever the source of funds, there are payoffs happening?”

She traces his eyes, his brows, his lashes. “Yes.”

“And that 1977’s Elvis in Concert is grievously underrated in terms of both quality and significance?”

She strokes the corner of his mouth. “Absolutely.”

If he does have a brain infection, he couldn’t care less if it means dying in bed like this. “Get under the covers,” he demands. 

She sits up. “I’m afraid not.”

“No, Scully, we were doing great while you kept saying yes to everything I said. Let’s try again and get back in the groove - can we agree that Kate Capshaw in Temple of Doom was a tremendous step down from Karen Allen in Raiders?”

She smiles. “Not even negotiable. But really, I’ve got a fax coming in up at the office and you need to rest. If we get stuck here because you end up with some exotic encephalitis, so help me god.”

He takes her hand as she gets up. “So you’re really ready to hand this off?”

Scully sighs, squeezing his fingers. “Look, the fax I’m waiting on is from Danny. I asked for a ViCAP cross reference on any unsolved sexual assaults or attempted abductions that dovetail with those missing girls. If nothing else, I think there’s a real case there that needs to be put together. It was a good call, Mulder.”

“If I go to sleep like a good boy, will you let me have one more chance with Tallulah?” He bats his lashes at her.

“One More Chance With Tallulah sounds like a Barry Manilow song. I’ll tell you what - I’ll check on you later and if you still haven’t got a fever I’ll allow it.”

He crosses his heart and lets her go.

***

He dreams a memory. 

Two weeks past, and he’s sprawled on his couch while Scully afflicts him with acts of medical science. She’s administering neurological tests, bruising him halfway to gangrene with a pressure cuff, and siphoning off enough blood to keep her bucktoothed sheriff happy.

“Scully,” he laments. “Your healing will be the death of me.” 

“Don’t be such a baby,” she says, with her usual bedside warmth. “You’re a week past a very serious brain trauma, and you refused to stay in the hospital because you’re an idiot. So you’ll put up with me and you’ll like it.”

He does like it. Looping into her mind with that fungus had been nothing like this. Her heart is an open wound that she constantly stitches back together to make it through another day. The amount of fight in her is enormous, and she channels into a broken and thankless world. 

She loves him, and what surprises him is that it isn’t the inevitable pair-bonding of proximity and isolation. Scully thinks about that sticky June day in the hallway too. Finishes the thought, sometimes, pinned to the wall like a butterfly with his fingers in her hair.

Pretty hot, Scully.

She’s bent over him with her tiny flashlight to check his pupils and his tracking, a corner of her lower lip tucked behind her front teeth. She leans forward, her brow furrowed at some minute anomaly. He stares at the arabesque of her collarbones, the two lines that circle her white throat. 

“Mulder, keep your eyes up,” she says in doctorly annoyance.

He does, and he doubts it takes psychic ability to read what’s onhis face

She runs her tongue over her top lip, and it’s like a circuit closes.

His hands are at the back of her neck, her waist, pulling her towards him as he sits up. He kisses her like should have ages ago, reckless and open-mouthed and decisive.

Scully drops the flashlight and kneels next to him on the sofa. She sips at his mouth with her cool little tongue, slides her fingers through his hair. She stops short  at the bandage and pulls away. “Mulder,” she says, ashamed, and moves to get up.

He grabs her upper arm, far harder than he means to. She gasps, and not at all unhappily. He had not seen this in her directly, but he had suspected.

“Let me go,” she whispers. “I don’t know what I was thinking. You’re not well.”

She’s close enough for him to see her hard nipples through the silk, her dilated pupils. He keeps his eyes on hers while uncurling his fingers from her bicep. 

She swallows.

He reaches out to undo the minuscule pearl buttons on her blouse. He’s always loved the high drama of women’s clothing, like a puzzle box.

Scully says his name again.

“Go,” he tells her, as her shirt falls open. He slips his hands under the fabric to plane her back and waist. He’d touched her here in Antarctica, but not like this. He tongues the tight stretch of her navel, breathes in the hot scent of the skin beneath her bra. It’s astringent with her tea-tree soap, sharp with her sweat.

She’s on her knees still, her fingers back at his stubbled jaw, his earlobes. She’s dipping her head to kiss his hair while she makes little animal noises.

“Go,” he repeats, and she doesn’t.

He unhooks her bra, a simple white satin affair, and she lets go of him long enough to pull it off with her shirt. 

It is with difficulty that Mulder sits back to look at her. Her belly is flat and taut, her breasts full above them. They are lightly veined with the blue of her eyes, her nipples the color of late raspberries. Around them is the fine, crepey skin of her areolae, puckered tight. Her head is tipped forward, glorious flame of hair falling around her fine Roman face, full lips parted.

He’s hard to the point of pain.

Scully watches him watch her, reaches behind her back to unfasten her skirt. She laughs.

“What?” 

“It’s stuck, Mulder. The zipper’s stuck.” She tugs more forcefully, her breasts shifting as she moves.

He half assumes this is the ghost of Ahab at work, denying the FBI the last vestige of his daughter. Mulder pulls at the zipper too, but it doesn’t budge.

Scully reaches under the hem of her skirt and works her stockings and underwear down. She tosses them away like snakeskin. 

His cocks twitches in his jeans with seven years of potential energy. No pretending he hasn’t wanted her since she stripped down to her good-girl cotton panties in a panic, but it’s so much more now.

Pulls his shirt off, then tugs her onto his lap. She’s infertile and knows his medical records better than he does, but he asks anyway. “Condom?”

She shakes her head, runs her light hands over his chest. He could come from this alone, the weight of her bare ass on his lap and the sensory overload of breasts and hands and scent.

He groans when she sucks at the tender skin below his ear. “Scully, I’m pushing forty and I think it’s only fair to warn you that-“

She’s opened the fly of his jeans. Mulder raises his hips, Scully still on his lap, to work them down with his boxers. The cool air on his cock is torment.

Time slows, drips like honey, then stalls entirely. Scully’s eyes are wide, focused, as she moves herself over and around him. Her head rolls to the side, then forward. She sighs something blasphemous from flushed lips.

Mulder bites his tongue until it bleeds to ensure he’ll last longer than the average teenager. Perhaps her next thesis can be on the frictionless surface of her own body, the impossibly slick heat of it. He wants to taste her too, but that would require not being inside her and god help him, he hasn’t got the willpower for that right now.

Scully’s head is against his neck, panting humid nonsense into his ear while her breasts are flattened to his chest. He holds her at the hips, letting the sinuous flexion of her spine have its way with them both.

He’s embarrassingly close to ending this, and clenches his nails into his palm. Scully bites at his neck, his earlobe, and there’s no resolve left. He groans something mindless as he clutches her body, shudders and twitches as she squirms around him. Mulder holds her tight to his hips, grinding up into her with the kind of surging napalm pleasure he’d forgotten was possible. Her little bare feet squeeze his thighs, and the universe condenses to her hundred and ten pounds of exquisite physiology. His head falls to her chest and he slips out of her with a groan.

He could sleep for days, but instead reaches between them under her skirt to find her clitoris. She so wet his finger slips at first. Scully squeaks, a little chirp, and finds a rhythm with him that pleases her. 

She arches her back away from him, her hips forward, and he is awed anew. Her hair tumbles between her shoulder blades, her breasts bouncing softly as he strokes her. 

He says her name, sotto voce, and slips two fingers inside her. He shifts his thumb to her clitoris, presses his fingers to the ridged tissue of her g-spot. He writes his name there a dozen times.

She whimpers, and he leans forward to draw the hot little bud of her nipple into his mouth. He sucks at it, grazes it with his teeth. Scully comes with a gasp and falls against him, shuddering. She licks his neck, mouth on his ear and his lips. 

He envelops her with his arms and draws the Navajo blanket around her narrow shoulders. He holds her, listening to her heart and lungs as they slow to normal. He smooths her tumbled hair.

She runs her fingers along his bandage again. “Are you okay?” 

He has literally never felt better in his life. He feels like a lord of creation, like Adam striding through the Garden of Eden to survey his dominion. “I’m fine,” he says, in her snippy voice.

She laughs, burrowing closer. “You have a bed, don’t you?”

Mulder slips an arm under her legs and another behind her neck. He lifts her as he gets to his feet, carrying her like a bride. She’s such a central force in his life, the mass around which he orbits, that it is odd for her to be so light. 

He kicks his bedroom door open and lays her out face-down on the comforter. “Let’s work on that skirt,” he says.

Somehow he’d forgotten about the tattoo. The burning red mouth that marked the beginning of their darkest times together, that portal to her lonely trip north. He pushes aside the memory of what he’d said, the photographic evidence that came home with her. There be dragons, the old maps say.

He kisses it and she flinches. He prays it isn’t shame. Or fear.

With careful maneuvering, he breaches the zipper and tugs the skirt away. She rolls to her back again, her body spilled across his dark blankets like a shaft of  errant starlight. He is pleased to note she has eschewed the recent fashion for shaving oneself utterly bare. 

He gets to his knees, pulls her to the edge of the mattress by her hard little ankles. She starts to speak, but he cannot hear once her thighs are tight against his ears. 

In the morning, she will disappear with the dew.

***

Her cool palm on his cheek wakes him and it takes an unhappy second for the dream to snap away. He’s uncomfortably hard and rolls onto his side for some relief. It’s eight by the bedside clock.

“Hey,” she says, sitting down. “You okay?” 

He clenches his left thigh until there’s pain, and it helps. She looks tired, he notices. Drawn and weary from too much bad coffee and too little proper sleep and feeding. He ought to make her take a vacation where she gets wrapped in seaweed and fed organic mangoes by beautiful castrati.  

But for now, they’ll have to manage on motel moisturizer and takeout. “Do I smell pizza?” 

“Indeed. Just wanted to see if the fever was gone first.” She squints at him. “You look a hell of a lot better. Did you take something? I might be able to hold off on the antibiotics; I know what they do to your stomach.”

He stretches. “Well, just in case, thanks for checking my forehead instead of going rectal,” he says. “Sometimes you have a slight sadistic side.”

“When was your last prostate exam?” she asks sweetly.

Mulder sits up. “I didn’t know that was your scene, but I’m open-minded. Let’s go.” He peels the covers back, feeling like he needs a long run to revive himself from the day. He hates being idle for so long, and his clothes feel stale.

Scully realizes she’s overplayed her hand and wrinkles her nose. “Let’s preserve the magic on that for now. You okay to get up, or should I bring the pizza here?”  

He’s not freezing anymore, and his head isn’t throbbing. “I’ll get up,” he says. “I’m starting to 

feel like one of those consumptive Victorian heroines.”

“Mmmm,” she says. “Maybe I should leech you and give you some cocaine for that.” Scully goes to the little table where the pizza box is sitting. She opens the lid, and hot greasy air wafts out.

Mulder gets up and walks over, scuffing his socks along the drab oatmeal carpet. He zaps her with his finger and she scowls.

“Ugh, go back to bed.”

He can’t help himself when she’s his favorite toy and part of his brain will always be an arrested 12 year old idiot. He flips the chair around to straddle it, resting his elbows across the back. “What’s that, mushroom and pepper?”

“And pepperoni on half for you.” Scully disdains the greasier meats herself, but will treat him on occasion.

Mulder realizes he’s starving and rolls a piece up like a burrito, demolishing it in four bites before Scully’s done blotting the grease off of her own.

“I’m not performing the Heimlich maneuver if you choke on that,” she says, delicately peeling off two slices of pepperoni that have contaminated her mushrooms. She holds them out to him.

Mulder snaps them out of her fingers like a trained seal. He rolls another slice up, gesturing with it. “So I’m cleared to go nose about more tomorrow, right?”

She tweaks his nose with her oily fingertips. “You’re certainly equipped for it.”

“Right for the gut. We can’t all look like we were carved from marble, I’m afraid. You’ll have to deal with my hideous deformity as nature presents it, Roxanne.” He eats half his pizza, then wipes his face.

Scully finishes her slice. “Did she really show you gold this morning, Mulder?”

He nods, swallows. “Yep. And you said that woman you talked to told she’d show up after nights out streaked with algae and gold dust. Maybe she was, I don’t know, developing her powers. You said she was missing for a few years.” 

She considers this. “I think indicates that she herself was being abused or exploited in some way from a young age, Mulder. I mean, if you can access it, unmarked gold is a nearly untraceable currency and good in any market. They start giving her little cuts, get her dealing in her teens to build trust and rapport with kids. It’s a trafficker’s dream.”  

He hates that she’s not wrong, and it’s got nothing to with defending his theory. He’s got a reputation as a bleeding heart in many corners, but would happily support supplying child predators as involuntary organ donors. Punching Roche had been a career highlight. 

“You have to concede that the linkage between fairies and gold goes way back.” Diana’s rainbow suddenly makes sense to him, and he feels stupid. “I mean, leprechauns, of course. And Rumplestiltskin - who wanted a baby in exchange for gold, I might point out. The original story of Cinderella features bewitched golden shoes instead of glass. Jack climbs the beanstalk for a golden harp and a golden harp and golden coins; there are dozens.”

She rolls her eyes. “Mulder, for heaven’s sake. These stories are all about wish fulfillment. And gold was the ultimate wish, it’s a universal currency. Of course if people are going to create stories about strange, powerful beings with the ability to fulfil desires, those desires will be about financial freedom. I’d say those tales represent far more about human longing than fairy powers.”

“I saw her do it,” he says, but doesn’t press the issue. “You hear from Danny?”

“Yeah, nothing. It’s like whomever took the girls vanished along with them. No reported drifters, no unfamiliar cars, no uptick in petty thefts or break-ins.”

Mulder jabs at the table with a finger. “It’s not a drifter, Scully. We agreed on that.”

“Right, but if it’s Tallulah, then these girls have to go somewhere. She has to be meeting someone, she can’t just - I don’t know - keep them in her little cabins like a stray dog indefinitely, then drive out of town in her Volvo.”

“Well, on that point I cannot argue. I’m going to talk to her tomorrow, see if there’s anything else she wants to unburden. We need to touch base with the Rosses too, I guess.” He eats her discarded crust.

“I can stop by while you’re charming precious metals out of Elfhame.” She’s looking up at him through her sooty end-of-day lashes, the tip of a pizza slice between her teeth.

His stomach flips. Leave it to Scully to arouse him at the weirdest possible times. “Scully, why’d you leave?” he asks, because he wants to know and because she let him put a chip in her neck, and because she smells like tea tree oil and jasmine, and because he made her drink sardine juice to save her life, and because she shot him once, and because she saved him after having his skull drilled into twice, and because she tastes like saltwater taffy and the sea.

She frowns. “Well, you had a fever, and I wanted to-”

“That morning,” he clarifies. “Why’d you go?”

She sighs. “I suppose I knew this was coming,” she says. “Of course you couldn’t possibly be a gentleman and mind your business about it.”

He’s stung until he sees the smile in her eyes. “I’m only a gentleman in the parlor,” he says. “This is most definitely a bedroom.”

Scully leans back in her chair, crossing her legs. “It’s what I did after Dallas, don’t you remember? It’s what I did to Jack Willis, it’s what I tried to do in Philadelphia that time. My journal to you, when I had cancer, it was just a long Dear John letter, Mulder. When I was in med school, there was this man…” she trails off, staring at the cheap tile ceiling.

Mulder tries to process this. “I think you’re being a little hard on yourself, Scully. You weren’t running after Dallas - they transferred you.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “That’s not what you said at the time. You said I was quitting. You said you would too, if I left.”

He winces inwardly at the memory of what he’d said. “Well yeah, but I was trying to guilt you into staying, so you have to cut me some slack.” 

She laughs, throws a wadded-up napkin at him. “Is that all you were trying to do, Mulder? I remember something else, in the moment.”

He doesn’t tell her that he knows exactly how well she remembers. “You’re incredibly good looking,” he says, with an air of confession. “Sue me.”

She smiles, looking down at her hands. “Mulder, I left the way I did the other morning because I didn’t know how else to leave. I didn’t know what it meant, and I still don’t. Was I… were we supposed to eat breakfast in bed and clean our guns together?”

There’s something bitter in her voice that he sets aside for later. He reaches across the table to take her hands. “Scully, why does it have to be anything? We could have had some coffee, tracked down your underwear together. They’re still in my sock drawer, incidentally.”

She blushes and punches his arm for that.

He laughs. “But seriously. What good does it do to worry in advance about how things will go wrong? I mean, look at me. I’m a total fucking disaster by many metrics, but I get by. I wing it most of the time, sure, but I manage.”

Scully laughs, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Truly a ringing endorsement. But I don’t know what you expect me to say, Mulder. I was a physicist before I was a doctor, you know. So I guess I just leave before entropy can fully take over.”

“I know,” he says. “But you can’t fail at this. There’s no checklist. There’s no test to pass or form to fill out.”

She makes a noise of frustration. “Mulder, do you not understand that that’s exactly the part that’s impossible for me to handle? That I can’t ever know, empirically, if I’m doing all the things that...that...I’m supposed to?”

He stares at her in confusion. “That you’re supposed to? I don’t even know what that means. There’s no supposed to. You just do.” He says this with the confidence of a man whose six-month marriage hadn’t fallen apart, of a man who hadn’t had a one-night stand with a blood fetishist, or an extended disaster with a British sociopath. 

Scully shakes her head. “I make lists and five year plans.”

He refrains from asking her how well that’s panned  out. “Take your shirt off,” he says.

She freezes, startled. “Mulder, we’re on a case, I don’t-”

“Trust me,” he says, knowing she considers it the most dangerous phrase in his lexicon. “You’re stressed. You’re exhausted. I was going to rub your back.”

She smirks. “I think my mom fell for that and got pregnant with Charlie.”

“Indian Guide’s honor,” he says. “I’ll get the lotion from the bathroom.”

Scully eyes him suspiciously, but goes to the bed and smooths the blankets out.

He retrieves the little bottle of lotion and reads it. Scully will have to settle for “Alabaster Gardenia,” this evening. It occurs to him that Padgett would have referred to her as an alabaster gardenia and he rolls his eyes. 

When he emerges, Scully is facedown on the bed, head on the pillow. Her smooth back is bare to the waist of her trousers, where the serpent lives, and her sock feet small and dark. Her shirt and bra are folded neatly on the night table, as though he is an actual masseuse.

Mulder straddles her hips, kneeling, and pours the lotion into his hands to warm it. Close up, he sees red marks from her bra straps on her shoulders and decides to start there.

“Wouldn’t this have been a nice morning?” he asks, working the lotion into her skin. “I could have done this for you. And with better lotion - you know I’m knowledgeable on the subject.”

“Shut up,” she mumbles into the pillow. 

He feels deep, hard knots in her back and attacks them with his thumbs, following the muscles down the sides of her spine. He’s not sure it’s effective, but then Scully groans happily into the bedding.

He’s pleased, working back up to the delicate muscles of her neck and base of her ears. “Is this good?”

“Don’t stop.”

He refrains from innuendo, wanting to prove to her that this is about so much more than sex. He kneads the folded wings of her shoulder blades, her handspan waist. There is lotion on her trousers and in her hair, but he doesn’t think she’ll mind.

She’s dozy and pliant now, breathing slowly. He’ll pet her to sleep like this every night if it suits her, like a little feral cat.

“Mulder?”

“Hmmm?” He traces the tattoo again, trying to bond with it and love it because it’s part of her. The work is admittedly beautiful.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you when I left. I don’t know how to be easy with things like you are.” She turns on her side, an arm draped across her breasts.

“Well, one of us has to have a plan,” he says airily. “Poor Walter’s always been afraid of me corrupting you. I never felt like he was angry, you know? Just disappointed. My god, this would kill him.” He thinks Poor Walter might be more than a touch in love with her too, but keeps this to himself.

She turns fully onto her back now and, to his dismay, works herself under the sheets. “Well, Kersh just thinks you’re mad, bad, and dangerous to know.”

“Put it on my tombstone.”

“Of course you’d take that as a compliment. Lord Byron was really awful, but at least we got Ada Lovelace out of him. Mulder, why are you pulling clothes out?”

He hunts for his favorite t-shirt amid the wreckage of his suitcase. “I’m going for a run. I’ll be up all night otherwise.”

Scully frowns disapprovingly. “You really shouldn’t after today, Mulder. Can you make it a casual jog, at least?”

“Brisk trot. Leisurely gallop.”

“It’s AMA,” she warns him, but doesn’t argue further.

Mulder changes quickly while she drowses, limbering himself against the night table where her clothing sits. He opens the door, and the night air is invigorating.

“Hey Mulder?”

“Yeah?”

“I can’t promise you anything, but I want to try to...you know. This.”

“Okay,” he says, and hopes she’s too sleepy to hear the thickness in his voice.

***

She’s out cold when he gets back, occasional little Scully-snores in the silence. He rinses in the shower, making excessive noise to alert her to his presence.

Mulder dries off and wraps himself in the undersized motel towel, putting his shoes back on against the dubious carpet. He walks over to Scully and strokes her hair.

“Mmmfff,” she says, bleary-eyed. “Am I still here?”

He holds out her shirt. “You’ll want this before you head next door,” he says.

She blinks. “Okay.” Then she promptly falls back asleep.

Mulder is not one to beg. He pulls his boxers on, toes the shoes off, and climbs in next to her. He is delighted to find that she has kicked her socks and trousers off, now clad only in her little grey bikinis.

He strokes the violin curves of her, from her shoulder down the sweep of her waist to her thighs. She sighs in her sleep.

He knows Scully would explain that he’s evolutionarily primed to be attracted to her full breasts and rounded hips. She’d tell him about how pelvic girdle width is an advantageous adaptation for such a melon-headed species.

He’d counter with the Golden Ratio. Sometimes beauty is its own justification.

Mulder snuggles in next to her. If he dreams that night he doesn’t remember. And if she wakes, she doesn’t leave.

***

His alarm goes off at six. Scully is an immovable lump next to him under the bedding, her exposed hair the only sign that she isn’t a heap of pillows or an extra blanket. He strokes the fine vellum of her belly until she stirs. “Time to get up,” he murmurs.

She pokes her head above the comforter and looks at him, confused. “What time is it? Did I spend the night?”

He smoothes her hair back from her brow. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Scully sits up, holding the sheet to her chest with one hand. “Where are my clothes?” She feels around under the blankets with evident agitation. 

Mulder points at the night table. “I put your shirt and bra there, but I don’t know about the pants and socks. You lost those while I was running, but I can give you a hand.”

She puts a hand to her forehead and looks tense. “This is what I was afraid of, Mulder. This… this chaos.”

He rubs her thigh and doesn’t laugh at her idea of chaos. Scully may sometimes think of him as a giant untrained Weimaraner who is either destroying her life or nosing her crotch, but he’s also got a DPhil from Oxford and occasionally he picks up on social cues. He moves the blankets around, keeping her covered, and eventually finds her belongings wadded up between the pillows.

“Here,” he says gently, and hands them to her. 

She nods, biting her lip. “I need to go.”

“Okay,” he says, and doesn’t touch her. “I’m going to get in the shower. Come back over when you’re ready?”

Here smile is lukewarm, but present. “I’ll bring some coffee.”

Mulder tosses her the keys. “Get me one of those raspberry danishes too, if you don’t mind.”

He turns his back to give her privacy, then heads into the bathroom. He must have missed it yesterday, but sees that Scully’s left her little can of mousse on the sink for him. When they get home, he’s going to buy some of those velvet hangers she likes, to keep in his closet. He thinks of Ree, holding out dried corn for her deer. 

They’ve spent so long in the dark together it’s daunting to walk into the light.

***

Mulder takes a scalding shower, burning sweat and dead skin directly from the pores. He scours himself like a penitent until the heat becomes nauseating. When he steps out onto the little rug, the air feels nearly Arctic, and it perks him up. He feels purified of something nameless.

Scully’s lilac mousse in his hair, and he’s back in a suit for seeing Tallulah today. He thinks it’s best to remind her that he has a badge and a gun. He tries not to think about her hand, for once hoping he had experienced a hallucination.

He sits on the bed to tie his shoes when Scully comes back in, carrying a paper bag. She’s got on last night’s clothes still, her hair tucked behind her ears.

“They were out of raspberry, but I got you blueberry. Me too, actually. They looked good.” She holds out the bag, fragrant with coffee.

“Keep the change,” he says, taking the bag from her with happy anticipation.

“You should be doing stand-up, really.” She joins him on the bed.

Mulder passes her food to her, wishing he could make a breakfast-in-bed quip without sounding desperate. “So what’s your game plan today, then?” he asks around a mouthful of pastry.

She licks blueberry filling off her thumb. “Back to the lab, then I’ll see after that. We grew some of the algae samples at different temperatures to see if that could explain it being in Ree’s thermos in particular.” She blinks. “Oh! That reminds me! The lady at the store said to tell you not to forget about your bottle deposit.” 

“Thanks,” he says, hoping it doesn’t incite further questioning.

But no such luck with his inquisitive inamorata. “What bottle deposit?” she asks, puzzled.

He shifts, rolls his steaming cup between his palms. “Brought some groceries up with me to Tallulah’s yesterday. I figured it might grease the wheels a little.”

“Hmmm,” Scully says, and sips her coffee. “Well, it does sound like she had a lot to tell you. Anyway, I’ll be in Huntsville for the morning at least if you need me. Then I figured I’d - we’d, depending on your schedule - touch base with the Rosses, see if the search teams have found anything that hasn’t made its way to us.”

“Sounds good.” He brushes crumbs off his lap onto the floor, and supposes the mice will find them sumptuous.

Scully finishes her danish, clearly pondering something.

“Penny for your thoughts,” he offers.

Scully scoffs. “I’ll add it to my tip. I was just thinking; I did a little research while you were asleep yesterday. Apparently the term name Jenny Greenteeth applies not only to the creature in the legend, but has been generalized in some areas as a name for duckweed. In can make a pond surface look like inviting moss to walk on, like we saw down at the pond where Ree disappeared. Why not just...I don’t know. Why not just warn your kids about drowning instead of making up a - what did you call them?”

“Nursery bogey,” he replies. “The prevalent theory is that most kids will overestimate their abilities against natural dangers. They believe they can swim across a pond, or navigate through a forest, or climb a very tall tree. But if the supernatural is introduced, children are less likely to believe they can overcome the danger. So the deterrent is more effective.”

She shudders. “What a grim way to parent. Though I suppose it’s all just a variant on ‘don’t do that or you’ll die.’ And not so different from the Tooth Fairy or Santa, I guess.” Scully drinks her coffee, musing.

He considers this. He always found Santa creepy in a Panopticon way. “But Santa doesn’t provide a specific deterrent from naughtiness, only a reward for good.”

She sets her cup on the night table, presses her hands between her knees. “Well, there’s Krampus.”

Mulder loves the deranged chaotic energy of Krampus. “Krampus is good.”

“When I was taking German we were, you know, learning all the cultural bits of Germany. And Krampus is a companion of Saint Nicholas, which I thought was just terrible. Saint Nick gets all the credit for presents and just has Krampus do his dirty work.” She shakes her head at the treachery of Bavarian Santa.

He grins. “Santa’s that shitty friend who makes him carry out all the bullying so he can keep his hands clean and be teacher’s pet.”

“Ugh, I always hated that kid,” Scully says. She drinks her coffee, looking dark.

Mulder is joyful. Talking with her like this is the brightest spot in any day and he doesn’t want it to end. But there’s still a lost girl to find. “Well,” he says, slapping his thighs, “we’d best be off.”

She nods, serious again. “Depending on how the lab results look, we might be able to bring Tallulah in for questioning.”

He doubts it will do a particle of good, but they all need something to cling to. “Keep me posted.”

Scully reaches over to pat his hair. Heat radiates from her, and the warm cotton smell of her skin. Her coffee-and-danish breath is sweet in his mouth. “You can keep that mousse,” she says.

Mulder clears his throat. “I’m going to,” he assures her. “So much hold, but not sticky or stiff.”

She kisses him, close-mouthed, and flicks his ear before leaving.

***

The car shimmies up the unpaved road, rattling spent sunflower seeds in the empty Quik Mart cup. He grips the wheel against the uneven drive, against his anxiety over facing Tallulah again. Scully had come undone with Pfaster, her hard varnish becoming brittle and crumbling in the cold. Mulder fears Tallulah may leave him similarly disarmed.

He pulls up the last stretch of road to the meadow below the cabin, and stares in confusion. Instead of the weathered shack is a tangle of kudzu, ivy, strangler fig, and splintered planks. Mulder parks and slowly gets out of the car. He pushes his sunglasses up onto his forehead, picking his way up the path in gripless leather-bottomed dress shoes.

He crouches in the waist high grass, looking for...he’s not sure what. The floor of the cabin is utterly destroyed, existing only as a series of foot-long splinters. Large sections of the walls are collapsed inwards, algae-covered and snarled in woody vines. Tallulah’s few possessions, including her bed and kitchen furniture are gone. The big goat wanders over to chew on a section of the door. 

Mulder stands again, circles the wreckage with his hands on his hips. “Son of a bitch,” he says, kicking at it. He puts his sunglasses back on and stares into the woods.

Typical, absolutely fucking typical. He wants somewhere to put his anger, somewhere righteous and useful, but there is nothing. He longs for the congested grittiness if DC, where he can yell at corrupt officials or aggressive drivers or at least a noisome pigeon. But here there is nothing except unspoiled beauty as far as the eye can see. 

Looking back at the wreckage, he sees something glinting in the bright morning sun. He tugs at a swath of thorny vines hanging over the remains of the porch, and the milk bottle rolls out from beneath the greenery.

Mulder picks it up and sees a slip of paper inside. It slides out when he inverts the bottle. I guess we’re even, it reads, in a familiar hand.

He looks at the paper for a long time then, carefully, sets the bottle back on the ground. He begins running towards the tree line.

“Ree!” he calls. “RHIANNON!”

 Birdsong and silence.

He shouts her name again and again, receiving no reply. Mulder stops to take in his surroundings, never once doubting his interpretation of the note. “REE!”  he yells once more, and has only his echo for a reply.

He paces at the edge of the wood, looking, but there is nothing. Then, a hundred yards or so off, he sees a rock, like the one beneath Diana’s rainbow. He races towards it, loosening his tie. 

She’s still when he gets to her, a small bundle wrapped in a quilt that Mulder recognizes instantly from Tallulah’s bed. He crouches beside the girl. Twigs and leaves are snarled in her cornsilk hair, and her face is hollow and dirty.

Mulder reaches out to touch her cheek. “Hey,” he whispers. “Rhiannon?”

She stirs slightly, then opens her eyes. They’re far greener than they looked in her school picture. He tells himself it’s the light

“Mama,” Rhiannon says. She reaches out a thin, filthy hand.

Mulder gathers her up in his arms, head tucked against his neck. She weighs next to nothing, and he wants to run but is afraid of internal injuries or losing his footing. He moves as quickly as he dares back to the car.

Ree whimpers softly the whole time, her dry little fingers clutching at his collar. She calls for her mother and father.

He comes to the ruined shack and wants to show it to the child, to ask her a hundred questions, but he passes it in silence and arrives at the car. Still holding Ree’s little body close, he opens the back door. She begins to cry and clutch at him when he tries to lay her down.

“Please,” she begs, he can feel his heart break anew  when he pries her away, sobbing, onto the seat. Ree curls into the fetal position under the tattered quilt, mumbling to herself. 

He’d have laid rubber if there were any road to lay it on when he peels off towards town. Steering with his knee, he fumbles for his phone to call Scully, but there’s no service. He swears, flooring the gas.

A thin, awful, wail from Ree and he thinks of Emily dying by inches, dragging Scully down with her to the grave again. Emily’s burning body in his arms, staring mutely at him with her mother’s eyes.

He squeals onto the main road, eliciting a chorus of angry horns, when he realizes he has no idea where a hospital is. Scully’s off in Huntsville and he isn’t qualified for anything beyond CPR.

Mulder remembers the fire station from when they first arrived, and runs several red lights to get to it. Someone throws a rock at the car, but it bounces away.

Ree wails again, sitting up to scrabble at the window. Mulder glances at her in the rear view as he swerves onto MacNeill Street. She is thinner than he realized, and very pale. He didn’t think to check her gums and wonders if she’s in shock.

He calls back a flurry of reassuring nonsense to her, but she seems not to hear him. “I’m with the FBI,” he repeats. “You’re safe, Ree.”

She claws at the glass, whimpering.

Mulder finally sees the fire station up ahead on the left. He swerves across oncoming traffic and pulls halfway into the engine bay, narrowly missing four guys cooking hotdogs on a flimsy portable grill. They rise, yelling and waving their arms.

He’s waving his badge when he gets out, shouting Ree’s name over their indignant bellowing. 

“What the fuck do y-“

He opens the back door, catches Ree before she hits the ground. That’s all the conversation they need. The EMTs are yelling to one another, getting Ree in the ambulance, telling Mulder he’s a goddamn hero but he’d better get his fucking car out of the fucking way.

He backs out along the curb as the sirens scream. The ambulance howls past him, lights flashing, and disappears from view.

Mulder sits in his car for a moment, feeling strangely deflated. Then he gets his phone to call the sheriff with the good news.

***

Scully calls him from the hospital. She met the ambulance and the family there, figuring it was the easiest way to get the details for their report. Mulder is sprawled across the sagging expanse of his motel bed, propped up on one elbow. He is playing solitaire on his laptop as Scully fills him in.

“So anyway, she’d dehydrated and malnourished and had some bad bruises and scrapes, but nothing serious, which is impressive. They’re keeping her overnight at least for observation, but she seems fine, Mulder.”

He drags a queen of hearts across the screen. “Mmm. So is she talking yet?”

“Not much,” Scully says. “She’s still pretty freaked out. From the few things she has said, it sounds like she followed a deer into the woods and got lost. That’s why she didn’t have any of her things.” 

In the background are the beeps and echoes of hospital noises. Mulder finds them strangely soothing. “Okay, so where’d her clothes go? Where’d she get that quilt?”

A frustrated noise from Scully. “Mulder, they’re doing their best to get her story, but she’s very traumatized right now; you should know that. Maybe she found the cabin all collapsed and dragged the blanket out. Maybe it’s a different blanket entirely - this one was pretty beaten up. There’s no sign of sexual or other physical trauma, that’s the main thing.”

He knows it’s the main thing, but still. Still. “Scully, you listed a bunch of conditions that would make your teeth green. Anything that does it to the eyes?”

“Mulder,” she says warningly. “Why?”

 He rolls onto his back, abandoning the  game. “When I found her, I noticed that -”

“No,” Scully says. “Absolutely not.” Her voice is hard.

Mulder closes his eyes. “Is it real, or is it Memorex?” he asks.

“Don’t you dare,” Scully says, her voice a hiss. “Mulder, go for a run or take a shower or make use of the lotion or whatever it is you need to get this out of your system, but I know what you’re thinking and I absolutely forbid you to say a solitary word on the subject.”

He can envision her pacing furiously, black and white and red against the soft hospital neutrals. He imagines holy rage on her Botticelli face. “I won’t say anything,” he promises her.

“Good,” she replies, mollified. “The family wants to thank you in person, if you’re game to head over. I’m hanging out for about another half hour to look at some test results.”

He really, really isn’t game to head over, because he’s afraid he will fail to keep his mouth shut. “Tell them I was recently diagnosed with cranial rectal inversion, and I’m afraid of exposing them to a flare-up,” he says.

“Hilarious. I’ll tell them you turned your ankle during your daring rescue and you’ve got it up on ice.”

Mulder knows the fib is for the family’s sake rather than his, but he’s still grateful. “How many Hail Marys is that lie gonna cost, Dana Katherine?”

“I got a special dispensation from the Holy See for matters involving you,” she says. “It’s like EZ Pass. I go into the confessional, show my badge, and the priest just tells me not to worry about it.”

He’s grinning. “Yeah? You think the Pope’ll write a note to Kersh for me?”

“Even the Holy Father has no oversight over Alvin Kersh. Mulder, I’ve got to run, but I’ll be back at the motel within two hours. Call around for a flight, would you? I really don’t want to spend another night at the motel. Everything feels sticky.”

He turns to his side and pulls his laptop over. “I’m on it,” he tells her. 

She hangs up

“True enough for government work,” he says to no one.

***

Mulder goes for the run she suggested. His feet pound mindlessly against the pavement, past tidy lawns and mom-and-pop stores. He remembers the Samantha clones, the hive of identical girls who were in the world but not of it, and how he wanted to save just one of them. Scully would tell him that good works alone are not enough for salvation, that grace is required first. She might make a Catholic of him after all - he could use a little grace.

He glances through the window of the farm store and resists the urge to stop in. Past the church (CHRISTMAS BAZAAR BOOTHS STILL OPEN!) and two giggly teen girls. He’s coming up on the fire station when a hand claps him on the shoulder. He whirls around, reaches for the gun he didn’t bring.

“Whoa, hey, sorry,” says the guy who told him to move his fucking car earlier that day. “Just wanted to say thanks again.” The man’s about his age, more heavily muscled, and sporting a scruffy beard. His shirt reads VOLUNTEER FIREFIGHTER across the front.

Mulder holds his hands up in apology. “All good. I’m glad she’s home.”

“Owen Cylburn,” the man says, holding out a hand. 

Mulder shakes it. “Mulder,” he says. “Agent Scully’s still at the hospital.”

Owen hooks his thumbs through his belt loops. “Yeah, I heard she was a doctor. Real nice of her to look in on our girl.”

“You family?”

“Naw, but I live a few houses down and she plays with my son Simon sometimes. It’s a small town, you know? Anyway, I heard she’s doing fine.” Owen looks like there’s more he wants to say.

“Anything else on your mind, Mr. Cylburn?” Mulder asks.

He looks sheepish. “Oh, uh. Well, I guess I heard some talk, you know, about whatsername up in that old shack? You don’t really think she was involved, do you? I mean, I checked in on her a couple times and all, made sure the stove was safe. She seems nice. Just sort of strange.”

Mulder considers this for a moment. “Even if she were, clearing her house of fire hazards doesn’t mean you were aiding and abetting, you know. You do anything else while you were up there?”

Owen’s face darkens. “I don’t know what you’re implying, but I’m a happily marr-”

“Not what I meant. Sorry.”

“Oh,” Owen says, looking confused. “No, just the stove.”

Mulder tries again. “What I’m asking is, well, I heard some rumors too. That Tallulah was selling a little weed to supplement her income. Now listen, I’m not looking to hassle anybody. I’m a legalize it man myself, just trying to see if people were heading up there with any frequency to, uh, go shopping. And if they might have seen anything while they were there.”

“Ohhhh,” is the reply. “No, not my thing but I think I’m in the minority. I reckon she could blackmail half the upstanding members of the town if she wanted to, one way or another. Them or their spouses or their kids.” He shrugs. “It’s a dry town, so…”

Mulder nods. “I get it. Like I said, just trying to see if anyone might have been around, might have seen anything. But not trying to make a federal case of it.”

“Mighty decent of you. But anyhow, all’s well that ends well, I guess. My sister’s a nurse up at the hospital, she says Ree looks pretty good, all things considered.”

“Yeah, that’s what my partner said too. She’s a real pretty little girl, isn’t she? Golden hair, and those big green eyes.”

Owen frowns. “All the Rosses have that hair, but I don’t think she has green eyes.”

“My mistake,” Mulder says. “Anyhow, you have a good one.” 

He jogs off, thinking.

***

Scully’s getting out of a patrol car when he returns. There’s a German Shepherd in the back seat, muzzle against the grating.

“This is K9 Officer Jangles,” Scully says, introducing Mulder to the dog. “She’s new.”

Officer Jangles sticks her head out of the open rear window. Her tail is wagging and her ridiculous ears are tilted against one another.

“Brought Jangles up to see Ree,” says the cop. “She’s my niece. Ree, I mean. My brother’s girl.” He has the blonde hair of his clan.

“How is she?”

“Pretty good,” Officer Ross says. “Starting to talk a little more.”

Mulder is genuinely glad to hear this and says so. “It’ll be nice to have your green-eyed lassie home, I’m sure.”

Scully kicks him hard in the shin with her deadly shoes. “Officer Ross, thanks for the lift. Agent Mulder and I have a lot of paperwork to take care of, so I hope you’ll excuse us.”

The officer nods. “I can’t thank you enough, none of us ever could. Can we call your boss for like, uh, a commendation or something?”

Scully smiles. “That’s very kind, sir, but we’re really just doing our job.”

“Alvin Kersh,” Mulder calls, as Scully hauls him into her room. “Extension 44-”

The door slams shut.

***

She punches him in the arm. “What is wrong with you?” she demands. 

Mulder sits on her bed, which is identical to his. Her room smells nicer though, distinctly Scully-ish. “I’m sorry,” he says. He genuinely wishes he were different.

Scully sighs, rubbing her temples. She sits next to him. “I am covered in dog hair, I have listened to hours of conservative talk radio, and now you are in direct violation of the one thing I asked you not to do.” She leans over to sniff him. “And you smell like a stable.”

“I’m trying to keep my ass shapely,” he says. “I want to look sexy in my running shorts for you.”

She punches him again. “Go...go take a shower. I’ll call around for flights. Maybe we can get out of here tonight.”

“Done,” he says. “There aren’t any until tomorrow evening.”

Scully groans. “Please don’t tell me that. I need to get out of here. The water smells like pencil shavings, did you notice? Go shower though.”

Mulder turns and takes her hands. “I know that I am sweaty and disgusting but I think you’re going to want to hear me out before I go shower.”

“It better be good, Mulder, because you’re competing with Jangles right now.”

“So there’s a hotel near the airport with a day spa. It’s not exactly the Four Seasons, but the website looked pretty good. I thought we’d let Alvin spring for another night here, and we’ll luxuriate in Dead Sea mud.”

She laughs, crossing her arms. “Mulder, you can’t be serious.”

“I'm extremely serious. My treat. You know my policy on my father’s money.”

Scully rolls her eyes, mimes a little hand puppet with a talking mouth. “My paychecks are for living expenses, my inheritance is for my side projects.” She does a credible impression of his monotone.

“I’m glad at least some of what I say stuck with you. Seriously though, Scully. Let me do something nice for you.”

She considers this. “Mulder, your ‘side projects’ generally refer to subverting the government in some way or another. Are you trying to get me in bed again just to lob a stone in the eye of the government?” 

“Yes,” he says. “You are my ultimate middle finger to The Man. That is literally my only motivation here. Come on, Scully. You once told Congress to go fuck itself - surely you’ve got room in your arsenal for a moisturizing salt scrub and Swedish massage.”

“We’re like Bonnie and Clyde,” she says, and bumps her shoulder against his. She’s right about the dog fur, he notes.

“Whaddya say?” he asks. It feels silly to have his heart in his throat over this, to worry that she’ll turn him down like a long-shot prom date. “Two empty hotel rooms in Hooterville on the federal dime while we sneak off to live it up on room service. You know you want to, Bonnie.”

Scully drops her chin for a second, then looks up at him, resigned. “What the hell, Clyde.”

He kisses her hair. “Attagirl. I’ll have you fully corrupted in no time. Soon you’ll be stealing office supplies and blowing off mandatory training seminars of your own volition”

She shakes her head, grinning. “Is this where you remind me that a journey of a thousand miles begins with one step?”

He shakes his head. “No, this is where I point out that a journey of a thousand miles is pretty intimidating, so maybe starting with smaller day spa trips is more manageable. Hell, Scully. Even The Pretenders broke it into two five-hundred-mile walks.”

“Go take a shower,” she says.

***

When he comes out of the bathroom she’s sitting in his room with her luggage, looking like a waif at a train station.

“Jesus,” he says, flustered. “Glad I still had a few clean towels.” He rifles through his bag, looking for underwear. He wasn’t expecting an audience.

Scully looks politely away as he tugs them on. “I changed out of that be-dogged suit and figured I’d just pack up and we’d head out when you were ready. I already turned in my key.”

He notices now that she’s in a pair of leggings and a black sweater. Somehow she still looks chic. “You’re in quite a hurry to leave this charming hamlet,” he observes. “Or is it just the lure of the forbidden?”

“Mmmm, maybe both. Mostly it’s the lure of the sauna.”

“Fair.” He sniffs his jeans and, dismayed, pulls them on anyway. Fuck it, he’s a rich man. He’ll take them both shopping. Scully is an indulgence he’ll happily spend his father’s ill-gotten gains on. He’s long suspected some distant connection between his parents’ money and her chip; it would be poetic justice to spoil her.

She curls onto her side in the middle of the bed, watching him dress. “Mulder.”

“Hmm?”

“Nothing.”

When she’s ready, he knows. When she’s ready. Mulder ties his shoes, then retrieves her mousse from the bathroom. He styles his hair in the mirror above the dresser, waiting.

“Mulder.”

“Hmm?”

“When I was a kid, my Aunt Olive would tell us stories about this farm she grew up on outside Killarney. She lived with her grandparents, pretty staunch Catholics you know, but they believed in a lot of the old stories too.”

He’s listening attentively now, but she has a tendency to be skittish when discussing the intangible. He pulls a pair of tweezers out and plucks at imaginary stray hairs. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. After milking, Aunt Olive knew to leave a bowl of milk out for the Tuatha de Dannan. And a slice of bread from the new loaves.” She pauses, thinking. “I mean, I don’t know that they actually believed it, but you know how these things are.”

“Belt and suspenders,” he says.

She chuckles. “Something like that, yeah. Anyway, Mulder, I was thinking about that milk bottle. And then I started thinking about my Aunt Olive’s stories. And I wondered if maybe you bought Tallulah some new milk and fresh bread.”

Mulder puts the tweezers down. He joins her on the bed, sitting in the curve made by her body. He pets her side, her shiny hair, and savors the sheer pleasure of touching her. “It wasn’t super new,” he says. “It was pasteurized.”

“Oh, Mulder,” Scully says. She rubs his thigh.

He stretches out onto the bed, facing her. She has aged with obscene grace. Distilled more than aged, really, he thinks. Refined to a more essential Scully-ness. “Sometimes all that people need is to be seen,” he says. “I figured even if she’s just some weird transient hillbilly who sells weed and tells horrifying lies, she might appreciate a snack.” 

Scully smiles and scoots closer to him. She strokes the bridge of his nose. “Fox Mulder, you big softie.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Should I take that as a personal indictment?”

“You’re a riot.”

He strokes her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “I don’t know, when I was a kid I read To Kill A Mockingbird for school, and the part where Atticus said you had to walk around in someone’s skin to know them really resonated with me. I guess I wish I had been extended that courtesy.” 

Scully smiles. “Mmm, I used to think about how I would have made Boo Radley come out.”

Mulder laughs, imagining a tiny, serious Scully laying artful traps. “Like Bugs Bunny?”

She laughs too. “Something like that, yeah. I guess I just connected with the idea of the unknown being concretely knowable if only the right methodology were applied.”

“Nerd,” he says.

“Always. You would have snuck into the house and said, ‘Hello, Mr. Radley. I’m Fox Mulder.’ No tricks for you.” 

He probably would have, at that. “Yeah, but then comes my usual trouble. No evidence, no witnesses.”

She kisses him softly, bumping his nose with hers. “Maybe I need to walk around in your skin more. You say you got to walk around in my head.”

“I didn’t peek anywhere untoward,” he says, and wraps his arms around her.

She regards him seriously. “I trust you. But I do wonder what you saw. I’m not an angel, Mulder.”

“I wouldn’t want you to be.” He runs his thumb over her lips, and she nips at it. “You’re incandescent, Scully. Like a lighthouse at the edge of a vast, nighttime sea.”

She looks pleased and shy. “Well,” is all she says. “Well.” She tucks her head beneath his chin.

He holds her there, in this bland little room in the heart of nowhere. Her body is warm and compact and trusting, her fingers soft on his neck. She doesn’t always believe in his ideas, he knows, but she believes in him, and it’s more than enough.

Eventually he rouses her, the promise of more luxurious accommodations his only motivator for breaking this gentle peace. They gather their belongings and head to the car. The sky is purple and orange around them and ahead, an infinite sea of stars. He drives west, towards the setting sun. Scully takes his hand and smiles; a flame in the dark.

[missroserose]

So this is happening.

I’m not sure I can overstate what a Big Deal this is.  Gumbo Fiction Salon has been running for...nearly a decade, I think?  It’s a mainstay of the local fiction scene here in Chicago, especially horror and other genre fiction.  They regularly feature authors with lists of awards and professional publication credits longer than my leg.  (And I have long legs.)

Through one of those weird sets of coincidences that life throws at you, I’ve ended up making friends with the woman who runs it, and with quarantine and all I’ve been regularly attending the virtual writing group she hosts a few times a week.  Long story short, she was hard up for a featured reader this month, and I was like “I mean, I could read half an hour of my smutty fanfic?”  And that’s how I got an invitation to class up this month’s event.  (Props to Tina and her crowd, they’ve always been super accepting of “fanfiction” as a valid genre.)

The even better news:  thanks to quarantine, we’ve been doing it via Zoom.  So if you want to come support your fellow Harringrover, or fellow fanfic writer, or just observe the fandom world encroach a little further on the ‘mainstream’ writing world—or if you’re tired of seeing me brag about how awesome the upcoming sex scene in When the Waters Start to Cross is, and want to hear me read it aloud—come join in! 

Even better, it’s also an open mic—you can sign up for a 10-minute slot to read your own work.  Lots of the readers are up-and-coming authors; the event is super-friendly to all skill levels.

The fun starts at 6:30 PM Central Time this Thursday, September 10th; the Zoom info is on the Facebook event page.  Real talk, I’m a little terrified—I’d love to see some friendly faces there if you can make it!

[floof-reppu]

we need some love for our girls! headcanons for Yaomomo Neijire Midnight and maybe big boi Mirio on a halloween Hayride? >D

[I put finished this just in time for Halloween! Happy Halloween guys!]

∆Headcanons∆ Momo Yaoyorozu, Nejire Hado, Midnight (Nemuri Kayama), and Mirio Togata on a Halloween Hayride with their S/O

Momo Yaoyorozu

She’d never been on one before, so when you brought up the idea to her, she was super excited! She didn't want to dress up, though.

When the two of you arrived, she didn’t expect that she would be sitting on bales of hay in her nice dress. Even though there was a blanket over, it still didn’t her feel any less uncomfortable.

It helped that you kept distracting her so she didn’t have to think about it, so most of the time she didn’t even notice a thing.

During the ride she loved to point out all of the little things, especially the decorations placed along the side of the path.

“The intricate patterns on those pumpkins are wonderful! Maybe I should try to replicate them one day?”

“I don’t see why you couldn’t, Mo.”

She didn’t wear a jacket over her dress, so when the temperature started to drop towards the end of the ride you took off your own jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders.

She was extremely thankful and laid her head against your arm for the rest of the ride, staying silent and taking in your warmth.

Momo enjoyed the experience so much that she insisted on asking her mother and father to host a similar event.

"Don't you think it's a good idea, Y/N? I'm sure mother and father would love it."

"If that's what you want to do, go for it."

The two of you would definitely be going on more rides in the coming years.

Nejire Hado

Excuse me, did you say a Halloween hayride? Nejire is all over the idea and even wants to wear a costume!

She ends up wearing a cat costume complete with matching ears and a tail, acting like it was no big deal.

“Hey hey, Y/N, what do you think of my costume? Mirio liked it a lot and even helped me picked it out! He thought you would like it, and-”

“-and look, there’s the hayride!”

Girl hands down completely oblivious to the fact you cut her off, because oh my GOD she needed to get on that hayride.

She clung onto your arm almost the entire time, leaning against you and talking constantly about anything and everything.

Fake skeletons and severed heads? She doesn’t really take the gore as a horror aspect, seeing it more as an cute aesthetic.

“Those props make the ride look so cute! I can’t wait to get off and get back on just to ride and look at them again!”

“I don’t think that’s how it works, babe...”

You had to restrain Nejire as soon as the two of you got off since you knew she would be true to her word if you didn’t.

You’d just take her to another hayride some other time, maybe when Halloween isn’t going on.

Midnight (Nemuri Kayama)

Nemuri didn’t really think too much of the hayride until she realized she would be able to dress up and surprise you.

She was half tempted to just show up in her hero costume, but you see her wearing it almost every day! Instead, she dressed as… a sexy police officer.

It was extremely easy to tell that it was her, especially when she had the top few buttons undone so you could see her cleavage. She even held the police baton like the whip she normally used.

“You did tell me I could dress up Y/N, so I went all the way.~”

“...I’m not sure if the other riders are going to pay attention since they’ll be looking at your cleavage…”

The minute the two of you got on the ride, Nemuri was instantly consumed by the spooky season, surprisingly paying less attention to you and more attention to the decorations.

Just as you thought, the other riders (particularly the perverts) couldn’t keep their eyes off of a particular part of your girlfriend.

You took off your coat just to put over her exposed part, but instead of giving it back she snuggled into it.

“How did you know I was cold? Good call.”

“I didn’t, I just didn’t want those people to keep staring at your boobs…”

She spent the rest of the ride snuggled against you with her head on your shoulder while you glared at the perverts from earlier.

Next time, maybe she should just wear her hero costume; even that doesn’t completely expose her cleavage although it used to.

Mirio Togata

You weren’t the one who even suggested the hayride; Mirio had come up to you during your lunch period one day and asked if you wanted to go with him.

“It’ll be tons of fun! I already took the liberty of getting us matching costumes!”

“That's great, babe. I can’t wait!”

When he gave you the costume, you kind of figured that he was going to dress up as a fictional superhero, so it was no surprise that he wanted you to be his sidekick.

The day of the ride came and the two of you showed up in the matching costumes. Other riders complimented the two of you and how perfectly you coordinated.

Mirio held you close as the two of you watched all of the different displays pass by, some more disturbing than others.

One of the very last displays included a jumpscare towards the end which didn’t faze Mirio at all, but made you scream at the top of your lungs. Your boyfriend just smiled at you and laughed at your own misery.

“That scared you, didn’t it?”

“You dork, of course it did!”

Soon after getting off, you wanted to get your picture taken with him, so you took your phone out and ushered the blonde over to your side, snapping a few selfies and then asking someone else to take a few full body pictures of the two of you.

Needless to say, that night was unforgettable, especially since you are greeted by the picture every time you turn your phone on.

[mistakenot4892]

Some thoughts of Heart of Deimos.

I made a reddit post but I thought I might repost it here and see if the response is any different. Mild spoilers for Heart of Deimos, the most recent Warframe update, under the cut.

First off, this is a bit of an effortpost, and it will be quite meandering and confused, sorry about that. We are now two days into Heart of Deimos and I had some thoughts I wanted to put on paper as it were. There's a TL;DR at the bottom.

The Bad:

In all honesty, taking into account the usual DE release-then-fix cycle and the quick patching they've already done to things like the Son token costs, there's very little about this update that I think is objectively bad. Deimos might be the single best open world release of the set, lack of a catchy musical number aside. It's not any buggier than any other release, which may say more about DE's QA than anything, but I have fallen through the map a few times, and host migrations have broken multiple vault runs.

The combined token system is a pretty big departure from the other open worlds, and I found it very confusing initially. Without the prior context of using Ticker for bonds in Fortuna, I think it would be really opaque, particularly for new players who aren't already up to speed on how the open world resource loops are expected to work. Alongside the complex token system, it's also understandable that people are frustrated with the expectation that they -must- participate in mining, fishing and conservation to get the tokens, since these don't really leverage the well developed aspects of gameplay.

The initial quest was lackluster from a storytelling perspective, with some really nonsensical events, a lack of development for each individual beat, and a frustrating lack of building on the already existing lore in favour of introducing new lore. It was pretty blatantly a tour of the zone mechanics, though maybe we'll see a more engaging plot when the equivalent of the Profit Taker and Exploiter bounties are introduced over the next year. The new warframe being dropped in by Mother as an afterthought, without a scrap of context, almost felt worse than the way previous quests have just given us the blueprint with no explanation at all. Protea's quest felt a lot clearer so it's disheartening to see them taking a step back there.

Finally, prior to finding the Albrecht lore I thought the playable content of the update was quite short and uninteresting.

The Good:

The Family voice acting is really, really good. Some of the writing is a bit iffy in the classic overwrought DE sense (which IMO is charmingly earnest anyway) but the delivery is fantastic, and while initially I was put off by the characters being shallow, I came around on it - I will go into more detail under 'The Ugly'.

With regards to the grind: even though the resources from the open world minigames are mandatory, participation isn't - so far I've run conservation exactly once, for about an hour, and I am clear for the third rank up with the Entrati. The world drops and bounty loot are more than enough to cover the vast majority of other costs, which is honestly fantastic. For all the complaining, DE has definitely learned from PoE and Fortuna with regards to letting people dictate their own playstyle without handicapping their progress. You can focus down specific requirements with specific minigames, no trouble, or you can just play bounties and run and gun your way to incidental loot. The combined token system was really confusing initially but combined with the incidental drops it makes progression quite organic without forcing you to spend your time on any particular task (looking at you, pre-Thumper PoE). There also seems to be a pretty solid spawn chance for tokens in the caves of the open world, and since the rank ups are now 1 of each kind of token instead of 10, this is possibly now a feasible way to skip the conservation grind entirely.

With regards to the lore: despite my earlier complaint about narrative quality and disconnection, DE does seem to be tying Parvos, the Entrati and the Glassmaker together, which is interesting. Prior to finding the Necraloid area and hearing the excellent Albrecht Vitruvian lore (seriously, mad props to the writers and the VA, the fourth log gives me powerful Darkest Dungeon narration vibes) I was ready to drop the game until a few patches and more content was added, but now I'm fully willing to grind for a couple weeks to hear the rest. I'm curious to see where they will go with the Heart and the Man in the Wall, particularly in regards to stuff like the reliquary drive and how it relates to the Necraloids and pre-warframe Orokin technology in general.

The Ugly:

The Family are the ugly, get it? This bit is mostly just because I want to talk about the new characters and the themes of Warframe as a narrative.

There's a kind of tension around the family that I initially found offputting - here we have a family of immortal alien gods who made their name ripping secrets from the flesh of reality, literally sprouting from the meat flowers of an infested moon... and they act like the cast of Arrested Development, switching between lofty poetic proclamations and petty squabbling that wouldn't be out of place on a sitcom. At first it seemed like it was just bad writing. Over time though, with exposure to the wider plot and the various deeper interactions, I started to warm to it. It's really interesting how DE has juxtaposed the deformed appearance of the Entrati, their perfect-marble-statue-like Orokin aesthetic, the pulsating infestation, and this very human, very relatable behavior. It really pulls back the skin on the Orokin as a people and uses a bit of clever metanarrative to show us that even the Tenno remember the Orokin as being more than human, when they were just as flawed as anyone else.

The individual characters felt very shallow at first, like cardboard cutouts of the typical family transplanted into a blob of writhing meat, but the pleasant surprise of the relationships mending between Entrati rank-ups and the subtle undercurrents you start to notice when interacting with them over a longer timeline really turned that on its head. There's some really excellent combinations of writing and delivery that add subtleties to each character, like the Daughter's undercurrent of thirst for either the Tenno or for butchering mutant fish, or the animalistic yearning of the Son and his bleeding heart hidden under the callous and cruel facade.

Family, parenthood and belonging are arguably the core themes of Warframe's narrative - the Tenno are orphan children clinging to a single parental figure who herself is a stolen child, while their allies like the Ostrons and the Solaris are people who cling to their human connections and their shared culture despite outside forces, and draw their strength from each other. The grand enemies of the setting are collectivist empires who have shredded their humanity in pursuit of strength and profit respectively. Then you have the Orokin, whose grand flaw is hubris in isolation, and a deliberate abandonment of shared humanity in pursuit of impossible perfection. The entire Parvos questline related to blood, with Nef wanting to abuse it for gain and Parvos denouncing him. Even the Sentients, arguably the only alien culture in the setting, love their families and oppose the Orokin and by extension the Tenno largely in defense of their people.

DE has leaned hard on quite creepy, quite -relatable- strangeness to give the Family depth, which helps reinforce that they're demigods of a dead empire, even if they are also quite friendly and personable. It lends some real weight to the way the Orokin have been depicted as cruel, hollow people, since we now have direct evidence of how their culture and the expectations of their various roles tear at those interpersonal connections. There's a lot of heart and clear work put into developing these themes, and I think that it's a bit sad that the quality of the writing is frequently overlooked in the broader Warframe community in favour of focusing on the flashy mechanics and cool new novel features. DE's writers are some of the best in mainstream video gaming currently, and even with my complaints about the main quest earlier, this consistent ongoing thematic cohesion and the variety of individually good beats more than make up for incoherent feature-driven storytelling.

TL;DR:

Despite some teething issues and bugs Heart of Deimos might be the best open world update so far, the way DE presents the Family and develops on the overarching themes of the story are pretty excellent, and I am excited to see where they go with it. Thanks for reading my incoherent and largely irrelevant thought-spew. Have a good one.

[thenovelartist]

Falling for the Dork, set 4

<<Previous set  Next set>>

11.      Facetime

When Alya went on a trip, she and Marinette would text back and forth and then maybe call once. Marinette did not desperately miss her best friend and feel lonely.

Apparently, Adrien was different.

It was because she had a crush on him. It had to be. There was no other reason for it. She was just one of those overly clingy girls that needed to learn what personal space was.

Adrien was on a two-week long trip, and he was four days into it. She could buck up for ten more days. She could get a grip.

It wasn’t… that long… of a time…

She reached for her phone.

Hey, she texted. Just thinking of you and hoping your having a good time.

There. A text. They could text about the day. That was okay. Not her clingy need to see him.

Too bad that her heart rebelled, racing when she saw those three bubbles meaning he was responding.

I’m hopeless, she thought. But when she saw his next text, she realized she was plenty okay with that.

…

Adrien was being ridiculous. He knew it. Friends were able to stay apart for days on end and not have the desperate need to see each other. He would see Marinette when he got back. No big deal.

So why was he reaching for his phone?

Before he could type anything out, he saw that there were bubbles on her end of the text thread. His heart fluttered in his chest, excitement suddenly racing through him.

And when he finally saw the text, he beamed. What a coincidence! He texted back. I was just thinking of you too :D

The little dots appeared on his screen, and he waited eagerly for her response.

Miss beating you in UMS

Adrien laughed. I don’t miss that XP

He was a liar. She always did this little victory dance when she won, and it was one of his favorite things in the world to watch.

Can I facetime you? He texted on a whim.

There was silence for a while, and Adrien thought he royally screwed up. But then, his phone rang with a facetime request. From Marinette.

He instantly answered. “Hey!”

“Hey,” she said with a grin. Her chin was propped up on her forearms and it looked like she was already in bed. “How’s the trip?”

Adrien rolled over, laying down on his pillow and holding the phone above his face. “Fine,” he said. “There are good moments and a lot of boring ones.”

“Bummer.”

“It’s what happens when dad has a business trip. I’m used to it.”

“Still sucks.”

Adrien couldn’t disagree with that. “Yeah. Oh well.”

Marinette asked about all the good details of his trip, which Adrien was happy to recount. And in the end, they ended up chatting for two hours.

“It’s late,” Adrien commented. “As much as I want to stay up talking with you, I should go to bed. Early morning.”

Marinette hummed, but it was clear she was disappointed. “I understand. Can… can we do this again soon?”

“I’d hope so,” Adrien answered maybe a bit too quickly. “I’ll text you?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

“Good night, Marinette.”

Marinette smiled, waving at him through the phone in an almost shy way that somehow tugged at his heart. He wanted a screenshot.

He almost caught one.

“Sleep well, Adrien. I’ll talk to you soon.”

And with that, she was gone.

Leaving Adrien to stare at the ceiling in disappointment for a good while before finally drifting off to sleep.

 12.      “Adrien’s Girlfriend”

IF the sake of her heart, it was a really bad idea to agree.

But when had she ever been able to say no to Adrien.

Hence why she was here, in a fancy ballgown dress she’d designed, attending an event hosted by Gabriel Agreste

As Adrien’s date for the evening.

The limo stopped in front of Adrien’s house, and Marinette got out on her own before the chauffer could open the door for her. She pushed the skirt of her dress­—full from many layers of tulle—out the door before stepping out of the car.

The night was warm thanks to the ending of summer, and the light breeze caused her hair to flutter on her bare shoulders. It had been daring to go strapless, but in the end, it made Marinette feel much older than she was. Like she was a beautiful, capable young woman who was worthy to stand beside Adrien.

Halfway to her walk toward the front door, Adrien appeared in the doorway.

Her breath hitched, and she froze. He cleaned up so nicely in that perfectly tailored black suit. His hair was tamed and brushed to the side in a stylish fashion, and he was missing his glasses meaning he must be wearing contact lenses.

And he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen.

“Wow,” were the first words out of his mouth as he slowly approached her. “You… you look… wow.”

Her face was warm, and she doubted it was from the heat of the night. “You look handsome yourself.”

“I’m nothing compared to you.”

The words slipped smoothly out of his mouth and caused her heart to ramp up its pace yet again. Only then did she realize the problem with wearing a strapless dress: if she were to blush deeply, the top of her chest was on display, meaning everyone would know just how flustered a certain young man caused her to be.

She regretted the strapless decision.

“Well,” Adrien said, regaining his composure. He extended an elbow towards her. “Shall we go?”

With a small, embarrassed smile, she wrapped her arm over his elbow. “We shall.”

“Before we go in,” Adrien said, a blush spreading on his own cheeks. “I… should probably warn you that there was a little misunderstanding, and before I could correct it, half the people there believed that my…” he cleared his throat. “My girlfriend would be my date for the evening.”

Marinette felt her blush deepen. “O-oh?”

Adrien gave her a sheepish smile. “Are you okay with that? Or should I tell everyone you suddenly were ill upon arrival.”

She was fine with that because she wanted to be that. Not that she could say that to Adrien. “That’s fine. It will keep the women off your back, right? Which is why you wanted me to attend in the first place.”

Adrien’s smile softened as he looked down at her, and Marinette wanted nothing more than for him to look at her with that smile much more often. “Then let’s go, milady.”

It wouldn’t be until much later that Marinette realized that the only reason everyone thought she was Adrien’s girlfriend was because Adrien had never bothered to correct anyone for the mistake in the first place.

Her heart wasn’t quite sure how to take that.

 13.      Good Luck

He was on a roll with the cat puns. He was feeling kinda punchy this morning, but then again, that might be the coffee talking. He and Marinette had stayed up until the wee hours of the morning to finish a project that took a little longer than it should have. Now, Adrien was running on a double shot of espresso and maybe four hours of sleep.

“You know,” Marinette began in a tone Adrien couldn’t fully distinguish. She was either fed up or teasing him. “This nickname is way overdue, but with the excessive cat puns and cat puns on shirts, I’m going to start calling you ‘kitty’.”

“Kitty?”

Marinette nodded with just enough sass for Adrien to know she wasn’t teasing as much as she was fed up. Or maybe tired. She, too, was running on a mocha with a double shot and four hours of sleep. “Especially when you wear something like that, nerd.”

He looked down at his t-shirt—his favorite anime kitty one—for a while. “You know,” he admitted. “I’m kinda shocked it took you this long, too.”

She rolled her eyes. “Come, kitty, kitty. We have class.”

Adrien took the new nickname in stride. But one thing bothered him quite a bit. “I don’t have one for you.”

“Good,” Marinette grumbled.

“No,” he whined. “Not good. I don’t have anything cute to call you.”

“My name for you is not cute,” she said, her voice a little too growly to be teasing.

He ignored it. “Of course, it is. You gave it to me.”

In an instant, she turned bright red. “Dork,” she mumbled, quickly turning away.

“You know what this means, right?” Adrien pressed as though he didn’t just cause her to go beet red for who knows what reason.

“What?”

“It means I get to think up one for you.”

“Why?” she whined.

“Because you’re my little good luck charm and you deserve it.”

Again, she spun away. Okay, that time, he knew why she blushed.

“Aww. Is my little good luck charm embarrassed?”

“Back off, dork.”

“No way. Not when I have to give a cute name to my little lucky charm.”

“Adrien,” she whined.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said with a smirk. “Am I embarrassing you?”

She hid her face in her hands and groaned.

Adrien felt rather proud of himself. “Come on lucky, let’s go.”

“Noooooo,” she whined.

“Don’t like that? What about ‘little ladybug’?”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“You’re as red as one. Oh! What about bugaboo? No, you’re classier than that. Milady? No, too formal. What about—”

“Adrien!”

He stopped. Her face was red, but it was more than that. Her eyes almost looked glassy.

He took it too far.

“Sorry,” he said. “I… I’m sorry.”

She bowed her head, arms crossed over her chest and making her look small.

He sighed. Draping his arm over her shoulders and pulling her close, he led her over to a more secluded spot of the school. “Lack of sleep and caffeine catching up to you?” he asked in a low tone.

She nodded.

“This isn’t the first night you’ve pulled that, huh?”

She shook her head.

“That’s what I suspected,” he said, pulling her close for a brief hug. “How many nights?”

“All week.”

“Sewing project?”

“No. This one.”

Adrien stopped dead in his tracks. “What do you mean?”

She sighed. “I mean I’ve been working really hard to get this done.”

Adrien’s brow furrowed. “Was it too much?”

“No!” she snipped, stomping her foot in a childish gesture. “It was just… I couldn’t get it.”

“Mari,” he whined. “Then why didn’t you ask me for help?”

“Because! You were always busy with your stuff or working on your half of the project and doing other things and…” She trailed off, her lip quivering.

He curled her close to his chest, rubbing her back in soothing motions. “You should have asked. And next time, please do, okay? This isn’t healthy for you to run like this and I’d rather stay up a little later to help you than have you stay up way too late too many nights in a row and have you crash like this. Understand?”

He felt her nod against his chest.

“Okay,” he said. “Come on, princess. Let’s get to class.”

There was no teasing in that comment as he curled an arm around her waist to tuck her to his side and guided her through the hallways.

They walked in silence on their way to class, but Adrien stopped outside the classroom before they entered. “You okay now?” he asked out of concern.

She didn’t look up at him. “I like that name.”

It was a whisper. One Adrien barely caught. “What name?”

“Princess,” she answered, sliding out of his hold. “It almost sounded like you meant that one.”

And with that, she scurried into the classroom.

Leaving Adrien with a blush on his own cheeks. “Princess, huh?” he murmured to himself. “I like that one, too.”