#but it really really Really worries me to see folks take his horseshit at face value the way he expected Ellen to

[see-arcane]

Oh bitter bitter irony

Bile below

I started out afraid that Eggers would over-Coppola his Nosferatu--he didn't! :D--only to run into a growing dual tide of fans who are either

A) actively trying to Coppola his Orlok and Ellen into lash-batting forbidden romance bodice ripper cliches ("He backhanded Knock for daring to suggest he steal Ellen! uwu He brought a plague and attacked her loved ones just to be with her! uwu She clearly wanted to be with Orlok all along, fuck Jonathan Thomas, the useless stuffy loser! uwu Orlok just doesn't want her to deny herself! uwu Every word he says should be 100% taken at face value, he would never use the Classic Abuser Playbook to victim-blame his target into compliance, just do murders and choke slam her for saying she doesn't like him, ignore the long-distance repeated psychic rape since she hit puberty, it's fine it's fine uwu")

or

B) going full pearl-clutch about the very concept of Orlok being an icky evil unpretty mustached corpse monster (with all the abuse and assaults being tacked on in the aftermath to Prove~ this is Not a Proper Ken Doll Dracula)

like

guys. we're sinking into the deep ends of two very different nuance-free pools here

Yes, there is a disturbing fucked up but Actually There connection between Ellen and Orlok. There is attraction, there is a core spiritual likeness that led Orlok to her as a girl. But that does not obliterate the fact that he is monstrous to her and to everyone she cares about. He is a rapist. He is a manipulator. He abuses her and the covenant connection--which he point blank tricked her into without any warnings to what she was agreeing to as a teenager--for years. And then, when she dares to fall in love with and wed someone else, he throws a murder-tantrum until she agrees by her own will* (*under duress) to be his. Not his equal in anything but suggestion, but his property. His owed Affliction. And it is meant to be horribly fucked up that Ellen has even a thread of positive feeling for him, regardless of what supposed matching darkness she has in her. Just like many victims in her position will feel for their own sexual and romantic abusers.

This is not Count Gary Oldmanacula and Winonmina Harkryder. This is not star-crossed tragique kissy kissy Francis fanfiction. It does not call for mental gymnastics to take the fangs and blood and violation out, to excuse the monstrosity Eggers harvested from the actual source story or--and I am putting my head through the wall about this--taking anything Count Orlok says at face value when his entire MO, from the first assault on Teen Ellen to the trick document he makes Thomas sign to sell her away to the full spread of mind game horseshit he says to Ellen's face or puts in her mouth to puppeteer a fight between the Hutters, IS TO MANIPULATE AND ABUSE EVERYONE AROUND HIM

Fuck, even Knock got ripped off via Orlok's bullshitting and he made a literal full Faustian willing contract with him

And on the flip side:

Stop stop stop stop STOP wringing your hands over the presence of gothic horror monstrosity being in the gothic horror monstrosity film.

Bela Lugosi and Gary Oldman? They looked impressive. They looked charming and elegant and polished and, obviously, iconic. The legion of pressed and bleached and chiseled Dracula Lites after them, less so. But they are pretty!

And none of them have looked like the Count who Bram Stoker made or what his inspirations would ever have recognized as a vampire or a boyar. Robert 'If I do not personally graft the actual time period of this movie into place with my own two hands I Will Die' Eggers actually did his research in putting his Orlok together and, being a Horror Film Writer and Director, actually remembered to put the horror into the famous vampire horror story.

Attraction, sensuality, romance, and assault all have their place in it too--it is Nosferatu: "Dracula, But the Focus is On a Dracula Trying to Make the World's Worst Nightmare Threesome Happen"

And, shock of shocks, in Murnau's film, as in Stoker's book, the main couple--Harkers, Hutters--have the loving couple intimately preyed on by the same monster. While Mina/Ellen ostensibly 'allow' themselves to be preyed on, in both scenes it's done out of a desire to protect Jonathan/Thomas from the Count.

Mina keeps silent and allows Dracula to feed on her and force-feed her his blood to kick off a magical enslavement-undeath, lest Dracula follow through on his threat to bash Jonathan's skull in

Ellen sends Thomas away and offers herself as bloodbag and bride to Orlok specifically to keep him from killing Thomas and finishing off all of Wisborg

Would these magically have become 'better' setups if only Count Dracula/Orlok were hunky clean-shaven bishounen sexyboi doms there to ~liberate xoxo~ the already-married already-fucking already-skirting the lines of propriety gender role-bending young woman?

Because if that's the case in your eyes, click here. Scroll on through almost 130 years' worth of film and TV and plays and books and a thousand other spinoffs where Dracula is perpetually sandblasted into your cape-swishing hickey-nibbling knockoffs of choice. All yours.

But for fuck's sake.

Let the gothic horror be gothic horror. Up to and including the monster being monstrous. Up to and including, yes, a deranged connection and magnetism between Pretty Girl and Actually Freaky-looking Undead Rat Man. Up to and including, yes, the Human Lover not being the starched and stuffy blandman there to be thrown in a ditch to let Girl and Sexy Monsterman who truly understands her~*~* get together, and instead be a genuine romantic partner who is as adamant in endangering himself to protect his beloved as she is for him.

tl;dr:

Stop trying to retroactively Coppola this movie and using 'haha but I'm a monsterfucker' to side step the fact that the villain here is a villain and is using the rule book of actual abusive relationships to gaslight his victim(s) in a very human, very gruesome way

Stop wailing that your personal diet vampire fetish is being sullied via the presence of a mustache, maggoty corpse pecs and the horror of the Count not being a GQ model

Just stop

[ghostbustermelanieking]

locking out the ghosts (chapter 2 of six)

chapter one

s5 fic: spoilers for schizogeny, chinga and kill switch, part of my series that i write as i rewatch the x files. 

the chapter count changed mostly bc this is getting too long for its own good. it might be subject to change again! this is turning into a little monster

Skinner keeps Mulder late after their meeting the next day. Scully waits for him outside the office, and he still won't look at her when he exits. He hasn't really looked at her since last night at the warehouse. He walks right past her. Scully sighs, goes to Skinner's door and taps on the door. “Sir? Could I have a quick word?”

Skinner adjusts his glasses and motions her in. “What is it?”

She folds her hands in front of her formally. “I'd like to request some vacation time, actually. A couple days off before the weekend after next. Thursday and Friday.”

Approval flickers over Skinner's face. “I think we could arrange that. You could use it after… after everything that's happened. You must have nearly a month of vacation time saved up.”

“Not based on recent circumstances,” she says quietly, thinking of her time off after her remission and the two days after Emily.

Skinner looks her in the eye. “Medical leave is different from vacation time. Take the extra days, Agent. You deserve it. Do you think you'll be able to stick out the next couple of weeks?”

She clenches and unclenches her jaw, tries not to growl her reply of, “I'll be fine.”

Skinner nods, picking up his pen. “You're dismissed, Agent. Keep an eye on Mulder. I'm worried about him.”

---

By all outside appearances, though, Skinner has no cause for worry. They are both pretending they're fine. Like Scully's daughter didn't just die. Like Mulder didn't watch his partner die and almost kill her. They work on paperwork. Mulder goes out to pick up lunch, Scully eats a salad and a little container of yogurt. They talk to each other only when they have to, and even then it's overly polite. They're hiding from each other, the psychologist in Mulder points out. He ignores it.

Days later, there is a case in Michigan with an apple orchard, with living trees. They go on pretending everything is fine. He flirts with her—just a little, no more than he usually would if it was before Florida—and she doesn't comment, doesn't protest, just rolls her eyes a little. It feels almost like before, like normal. If he ignores the nightmares, it almost is. (Her dead. The things he's said to her, the things she's said to him. Emily with blue, blank, unseeing eyes, the same as Scully's. The nightmares are the worst part.) It feels like if they don't confront the problem, it doesn't exist. But then again, that's the way it's always been with them.

The case closes, Scully digs him out of the mud he finds himself trapped in up to his chest. He can't stop looking at the dirt trapped beneath her fingernails as they drive back to the hotel. She'd brushed her hands over him when he'd crawled out, brushed his hair back and smudged mud across his face like war paint, asked if he was okay in a hushed voice. He shivers now, turning up the heat. He wants to say that he that is is not hers to comfort, but he will always be hers. If she wants him.

They pull into the motel parking lot and climb out of their car. Scully pulls at her jacket with frustration. “I can't wait to take a shower,” she groans. “Next time, Mulder, warn me so I can wear some old clothes.”

“You'd think you'd have learned that by now, Scully,” he says. She smiles, bending her head, hair hiding her face. He smiles a little, too. “Hey, thanks for… pulling me out of the mud earlier,” he adds, touching her gently on the shoulder.

Her shoulders scrunch up under his fingers. “Of course, Mulder,” she says. “We're partners.”

He swallows uncomfortably. “Right.” He brushes a hand down her elbow before turning away and inserting his room key. “G’night, Scully.”

“Good night, Mulder,” she replies quietly.

Later, he wakes up from a nightmare (Scully not breathing, bleeding, gun in his hand), shoving at blankets, reaching for someone who isn't there. Scully was crying out, in his dream, and that was what woke him up. Scully is crying out, he realizes, kicking the blankets away and rolling out of bed, and he's halfway across the room before he hears what she is saying. “No, please… please don't take her,” she is saying furiously, tearfully.

Tears spring to Mulder's eyes as he stands on the rug, sheets tangled around his leg. In other circumstances, he might go through the conjoining door and wake her up, but he's not sure if that's what Scully wants now. Instead, he stumbles across the room, yanks open the closet and slams it hard.

Scully yelps on the other side of the wall as she wakes up. Mulder runs his hand over his face, pulls the sheets away and walks back to bed. “Mulder, are you okay?” Scully calls back through the door, her voice thick with tears.

“Yeah,” he calls back, voice just as thick. “Tripped over something.”

Quiet on the other side of the wall—or maybe she's being too quiet for him to hear. He pulls the mounds of covers over himself and doesn't think.

---

The Michigan case happens over a weekend, and the next weekend is the weekend Scully asked for days off on. She warns Mulder that she is planning to be out of town that Thursday and Friday the Wednesday beforehand so that he has less time to try and talk her out of it. She doesn't tell him she asked for those days off weeks ago; she makes it sound like she just thought of it, like he should do it, too. “I think we could both use some time to ourselves,” she says. “Why not take the weekend for some recuperation?”

Mulder seems to be considering, tapping a pen against the table. “You're going out of town this weekend?”

“Yes, I'm flying up to Maine,” Scully says matter-of-factly. Melissa told her once that it's beautiful up there.

He considers further, staring at the table top, rolling the pen back and forth between his hands. “I think it's a good idea, Scully,” he says finally. “I think you could use a vacation.”

He calls her the very next day, when she's arriving in Maine. She should've known. She should've known it wouldn't last. He calls under the guise of wanting to talk about a “classic” X-File, but he's clearly bored, goading her into talking about the statistics of decapitation while talking on the phone while driving, and she politely hangs up on him. And runs straight into an X-File of her own. (Of course she does; she is turning into the woman from Murder, She Wrote. Her life is like a bad TV show.)

She calls Mulder the second time, to ask about the phenomenon she's seeing. He's startlingly unhelpful, outside of asking her to marry him in a breathy tone. She blinks, says, “I was hoping for something a little more helpful,” and pretends she didn’t consider saying yes for a millisecond. Half of a millisecond. She's used to the flirting, but it stings a little now. She regrets breaking up with him sometimes, misses him sometimes.

And definitely doesn't other times. She ends up deeper and deeper into the X-File, to her ultimate irritation aside. Mulder calls twice, and each time is vastly more unhelpful than the last. Between the doll case (an evil doll, really?) and Mulder's annoying phone calls punctuating the hours, she barely gets any actual time to relax. The one bright side (sort of) is Captain Jack Bonsaint, her temporary colleague, who is tripping over his own feet in attempts to be sweet, flirting just a little. It feels almost nice.

She sets a doll on fire on Friday. The mother goes to the hospital, the daughter refusing to leave her side, and Scully heads back to her hotel. She tries not to think about Melissa and Polly Turner and does anyway, thinks about how the little girl forgot her doll as soon as she saw her mother hurt, yelled, “I want to stay with Mommy!” at all the paramedics. Melissa. Mommy.

Scully downs two sleeping pills and goes to bed.

Saturday, Jack calls her up and asks her to dinner. She twirls the cord around her finger, considers it for a second. It might be nice. Jack is sweet. He's not Mulder, but they did manage to solve this case. She had a nice time with him. But that wasn't her intention in coming up here. She’s not looking for a relationship, especially not with random people she met in Maine. (Besides, she’ll never see him again after this weekend.) “I'm sorry, Jack, but I really need some time to myself,” she says. He's nice about it, telling her to let him know if she wanted someone to show her around. She thanks him and hangs up the phone, unplugs it so it is silent from there on out. She spends the rest of the weekend in the blissful silence she'd pictured, takes long baths and reads books and tries to forget.

---

After Maine, it's easier to pretend the things that haunt her dreams at night aren't real during the day. She keeps Emily’s picture in her wallet but almost never takes it out. She throws herself in work (distractions, anything for a distraction) and doesn't think of her sister or her daughter who looks like her sister. She doesn't think about it; she's getting good at that. And Mulder doesn't mention it, or their failed attempt at a relationship.

There's a shootout in a diner. Scully gets the call sometime after midnight, pulls on a wool coat and treks out into the chilled February air. It's just as well; she wasn't getting any sleep anyway.

Among the dead, Mulder identifies Donald Gelman, Silicon Valley folk hero. His theory is that the shootout was a staged hit, steals Gelman's laptop and finds a CD of Twilight Time inside. Scully follows him to the Gunmen, where they find the shipping container in Gelman's email, where they find Invisigoth. A supposed artificial intelligence blows the storage container. Invisigoth—or more accurately, Esther Nairn—claims that Twilight Time is the kill switch that will make sure the AI will deactivate. Scully thinks it's a load of horseshit. Mulder and the Gunmen latch onto the story eagerly, of course, and Mulder runs off to find the home base of the AI. Scully stays back with Esther and the Gunmen.

She makes the mistake of falling asleep on the couch and wakes up to Esther gone, Esther right around the corner with a gun. Being essentially kidnapped by a snarky computer geek isn't the worst of her problems at the moment, but it's still pretty irritating. Esther handcuffs her to the steering wheel and directs her to David Markham’s residence. Esther doesn't particularly strike her as malicious, so she's more annoyed than worried. Esther clearly doesn't know anything about this; she leaves the handcuff key in her coat slung across the car seat while she goes to check out the rubble of David’s house. Amatuer. Scully manages to get the key and unlock the cuffs just before Esther gets back to the car, sobbing into her hands. Meticulously, Scully begins to reach for the gun.

Esther snatches it and turns to point it at her. “Go ahead! Put me out of my misery!” she sobs. Scully is briefly surprised, sympathy coming in underneath it. “Take it!” Esther insists.

Scully takes the gun before putting a hand on her shoulder. “It's okay,” she tries, a little stiffly.

Esther sniffles, wiping her eyes. “Not to point out the obvious, but I don't think any of this is very okay,” she says bitterly, waving her hand at the ruins.

Scully squeezes her shoulder, sliding the gun into her holster with her free hand. Esther sniffles again, takes a shaky breath before holding out her wrists. “I guess I'm under arrest again,” she mutters. “Doesn't matter now, if David’s…”

Scully considers this for half a minute. Reconsiders. “I think we can be done with the… handcuffing,” she replies. “I think we have a similar goal at this point. But I'm keeping the gun.”

Esther takes another deep breath, meets her eyes and gives her a grateful nod. Then she turns and gets out of the car. Scully opens the door and follows her to the edge of the rubble.

“I lied to you,” Esther says as they walk. “I wasn’t working with Donald. I mean, I was, and then he found out about us.”

“About you and who?” Scully asks.

“David,” Esther says, still sniffling a little. “About our plans.”

“What plans did he find out?”

“Uploading,” Esther says miserably. Her black eyeshadow is smeared around her eyes like a bruise, the sunlight casting her face in gold. “Transfer of memory, of consciousness to the distributed system maintained by the AI. Imagine being mingled so completely with another, you no longer need your physical self—you’re one.”

It sounds like something out of a bad romantic sci-fi novel. “So you were going to—”

“Enter the AI,” Esther clarifies sadly. “Give up our inefficient bodies so that our consciousness could live together forever.”

She watches Esther a little sadly herself. The idea of never losing your loved one… she can't say that's not appealing. She'd do anything to never lose anyone ever again. But still, the idea of losing all physical aspects of life to live on in a computer… “But Donald Gelman forbade it,” she says, assuming he must've had the same doubts she does.

Esther kneels by the remnants of the house. “He was afraid of his creation. He was afraid of what would happen if other people followed us,” she says confirming Scully's suspicions. She pulls a burned picture out of the rubble. Scully catches a flash of a man's face next to Esther’s through the ashes. “I loved him so much,” she sniffles.

Scully has heard the longing, the worry, in Esther’s voice all too many times. Echoing in her own head. She understands. “Well, maybe he wasn’t here when this happened. Maybe he’s somewhere else,” she offers, an attempt at comfort. At hope.

Esther looks wistfully back at the photo. “I just… can't bear the thought of never seeing him again,” she says, turning to Scully and motioning with her free hand. “You know?”

Her hand doesn't still, fluttering nervously through the air. Scully reaches out and stills it, clasping Esther’s fingers in hers. She thinks about all the times she'd thought Mulder dead. “I know,” she says.

---

After hours of searching and attempting to reach Mulder, Scully realizes that she and Esther might have more in common than she'd hoped. “I can't get through to Mulder,” she says to Esther, trying to ignore the churning in her belly, immediately dialing again.

“It's the AI,” Esther says, and somehow, considering the explosion in the storage facility and the ruins of David Markham’s house, this statement doesn't comfort her.

They decide to follow Mulder to the chicken farm he'd said he was at when he called earlier, trying to cut off the AI’s communication in the process. It tracks them to a bridge, and Esther flings her computer into a river. It explodes in the air. They duck, Scully's hand shooting out to Esther’s arm. When she looks up, she sees the churning water and smoke rising.

Esther is breathing hard, picking herself up from the gritty ground. “Hell of a night, baby,” she says, and Scully huffs out a laugh. “C’mon,” Esther says, tugging at her sleeve. “We have shit to do.”

In the car, on the way to Fairfax, Esther finally asks the question Scully has heard entirely too many times: “So what's the deal between you and Mulder?”

Scully gazes at Esther out of the corner of her eye. She's got her feet up on the dash (which drives Scully absolutely mad) and her hands tangled in her lap. There are still worried lines drawn on her face, tenseness in her shoulders. She's worried, expecting the worse—Scully suspects they both are. She also suspects Esther is looking for a distraction in this conversation. But she needs a distraction, too, and this is exactly how not to do it. “We're partners,” she says sternly.

Esther laughs. “Trust me, I know when two coworkers are engaged in a forbidden romance.” She waggles her fingers dramatically on the word forbidden. “And you seem real worried about this Mulder guy for him to just be a colleague.”

“He's my friend,” Scully says, smacking the wheel a little. “We're partners. We're supposed to protect each other.” She is not going to go through the entire complicated spectrum of her relationship with Mulder with a woman who handcuffed her to a steering wheel today.

Esther’s feet hit the floorboard with a thunk. “We have more in common than I thought, I guess,” she says quietly. “Except it's more likely that your boyfriend is still alive.”

Scully's fingers clench around the steering wheel. God, she can't think about the possibility of Mulder dying or she'll fall apart right here. “He's not my boyfriend,” she says firmly.

“Maybe not.” Esther crosses her arms, resting her head against the window. Black is still smeared around her eyes like a bruise; it's impossible to look away from. “But that doesn't mean you don't care.”

Scully swallows harshly and says nothing. The car rattles down the Virginia road. Esther whistles the theme of some TV show as she watches the landscape go by. Snow starts to fall.

---

They pull up to the farm under the cover of darkness, right behind Mulder’s car. Getting out, Scully moves her flashlight beam over the windows and sees that it is empty. Esther moves ahead of her, muttering something in a singsong voice. Scully follows, flashlight in hand.

They move through a wooded area to a rundown trailer in a clearing. As soon as they exit the copse of trees, a siren wails, a light coming on out of nowhere. They both cover their ears, Scully’s flashlight hitting the ground wetly. She locates the source of the shrill sound and fumbles for her gun, shoots out the light on the trailer. It explodes in a wave of sparks, the sound ceasing on her second shot. There, in the new silence, she can hear it: Mulder calling her name.

“Mulder?” she calls back. “Mulder, are you all right?”

Faintly, she hears him saying something back, but she can’t understand it. “Mulder?” she calls again, approaching the trailer, Esther at her side. “Mulder, can you hear me?” She starts for the door, but Esther shakes her head, face serious, motions underneath the trailer. Understanding, Scully crouches on the frost-crunchy grass and crawls underneath the trailer. There is an open hatch. “Mulder?” she calls again, positioning herself and moving up through it.

A little robot-like thing whirs towards her. She ducks, raising her gun through the hole and shooting four times. She hears the crackling of sparks and raises her head again warily. All clear, in a matter of speaking. She climbs through the hatch, getting to her feet and moving through the trailer. “Mulder?”

Empty but for wires and computers. “Help me out here, Esther,” she says, surveying the space. “What’s its next move? What is it thinking?”

“I don’t know,” Esther says, nervous.

“Who built this?”

“It did.” She points ahead of them, to a large surface with what looks like a human sticking out from it. “There.”

The hand looks largely lifeless. Scully’s heart thumps loudly in her chest as she approaches. She can’t see who it is until Esther’s flashlight lands on the body. Not Mulder. A man, decomposing, covered in electrical burns. “David,” Esther says with defeat, astonishment. Grief. “Oh, god.”

Nervousness building, Scully looks away, towards another harness across from them. Fear fills her as she sees who is in it. “Mulder?” she half-gasps, moving towards him.

His face is mostly covered with some kind of headpiece that looks like it belongs in a bad sci-fi movie. He’s strapped in with some kind of restraints, trapped in place. She can’t see his face. “Mulder?” she whispers again, lifting the headpiece. His eyes are held open, almost lifeless. “Mulder, can you hear me?” His mouth moves, phantom words. “Mulder, talk to me,” she says firmly, near pleading.

She jolts at a thrumming sound behind her, turns and points her gun at an ejecting CD ROM drive. “It wants the Kill Switch,” says Esther.

“Well, we don’t have it,” Scully says. “You threw it in the water with the computer.”

Esther shakes her head, takes the disc out of her pocket. She goes to the open drive, but stops, hesitating. “But that’s going to kill it, right?” Scully asks.

“Not if it can learn the program and vaccinate itself against it.”

The sound of electrical jolts behind them. Scully turns and sees Mulder’s body contorting, his fingers splayed in pain. She can’t breathe. “Give it what it wants, Esther.”

Mulder shakes as the electricity contorts through him again. God, they are going to do this until he is dead, like David. “Put it in, Esther!” she says.

The computer beeps, the familiar map coming up on its screen. “It’s targeting us,” Esther says.

Panic rising, she almost shouts, “Put it in!” Esther doesn’t move, eyes on the screen. Desperate, Scully snatches the disc herself and shoves it into place.

Twilight Time begins playing. Behind them, Mulder’s restraints come loose with a whoosh, and he slumps forward. Scully crosses to him, whispering, “You’re going to be okay.” She pulls the headgear off. “I’m going to get you out of here.” Mulder doesn’t say anything. She wants to burn this machine to the ground. “Okay,” she says, pulling at the eye restraints. She can hear Esther typing madly behind them. “It’s okay.”

He stumbles forward, nearly landing on top of her as he’s released, holding onto her like she is his life preserver. She leans into him, supports him with an arm hard around his waist and begins moving towards the hatch. He keeps his arms around her outside of using his hands to push off of the sides of the trailer as they stumble towards the exit. When they reach it, Scully realizes that Esther is not with them. She lets go of Mulder as he begins to lower himself out of the trailer and turns. “What are you doing, Esther?”

“Get out of here,” she says, not looking away from the computer.

“What are you doing?” Scully prods. She refuses to leave someone else behind. She won’t.

“Go!” Esther says firmly, sparing her a brief look.

They don’t have time to argue. Scully ducks out of the trailer and helps Mulder crawl out from under it, leans him against one of the wheels before going back under, up and through the hatch. Twilight Time is still echoing, incessantly. She might’ve liked that song a long time ago. When she gets back in the trailer, she can’t see Esther anymore. “Esther?” she calls out, panicked.

“You don’t listen, do you?” Esther calls back from some unknown place.

“Where are you?” Scully scans the trailer.

“Get out of here now!”

“Oh, God,” Scully whispers, realizing. Esther won’t leave David. She doesn’t have time to try and convince her; maybe if it was just her, but Mulder… She ducks out of the trailer and claws her way across the cold ground. Mulder is slumped where she left him, still conscious, thankfully; she wraps her arm around his waist, helping him to his feet, and moves them towards the woods. She pulls him through the trees in a clumsy near-run until she hears the explosion behind her. She turns in time to see the inferno, the fire.

She swallows dryly, pressing her hand into Mulder’s chest to steady him. There is no time to mourn or to be relieved they escaped; they have to get out of here before the woods catch on fire. They turn, walking towards where she parked the car.

Scully fumbles for the keys, unlocks the passenger side and lowers Mulder into the seat. “Mulder, can you hear me?” Her hand pushes the hair off his forehead as she checks for a fever, checks his pulse. Steady, thank god. Normal heart rate. “How do you feel?”

His eyes half-closed, he mutters, “Scully?”

“It’s me.” Her fingers move over the places where he was strapped to the machine, the electrical burns. “We need to get you to a hospital,” she whispers.

“No!” The force of his words surprise her, and she lifts her head to meet his eyes. He looks uncertain, frightened. “Can’t go back…”

“Mulder, you’re burned,” she says, pressing her cold hand flat against his cheek. “You need medical attention.”

“You’re my doctor.” He catches her free wrist, fluttering over his burns up and down his arms, and holds her hand against his chest. “You… you fix me. Not them. You.”

“Okay, okay. No hospital.”

She's stroking the side of his jaw a little with her thumb and he turns into her hand, kisses the center of her palm and presses her other hand harder against his chest. “I'm glad it's really you,” he mumbles, eyelids drooping low. “Not it. Just you. The real you.”

She has no idea what he means but the fear from when he was trapped there, being electrocuted, is still hot under her skin. She can still feel it. And Esther is dead and they almost, they almost, he almost…

She wraps her arms around his shoulders and hugs him. He presses his face into her stomach. She smooths his hair, overwhelmed, before pulling away. “I have to call the local police,” she says. “Hang on, Mulder. You're okay. I’m here. I’m right here.”

He mumbles something indecipherable. She ducks out of the car, leans against the side and calls 9-1-1. Some of the trees have caught on fire. She watches and thinks of Esther. She hopes she isn't really gone, that she was telling the truth. About being uploaded. About never dying, immortality. Her fingers are cold.

The police come, and the fire department, and she tells them that she is taking Mulder home to rest. After she agrees to come back in the morning and give a statement, they let her. Mulder has dozed off by the time she gets in the car; she suspects the AI gave him something to make him docile. She drives back to Alexandria and tries not to think.

In Mulder's apartment, she rinses the burns and bandages them at his kitchen table. “Tomorrow, we need to stop by the doctor's,” she says.

He closes his eyes and leans his head forward, resting his chin on the top of hers. “Okay.”

Her hand is on his knee. She squeezes it, leaning into him. Unthinking. Her eyes close as her nose brushes against his collarbone. He's holding her loosely, clumsily. She breathes in, out, her head tucked into the hollow of his neck. Pulls back, squeezing his knee again, and says, “You should get some rest, Mulder.”

His eyes still closed, he nods. She helps him up and goes to support him, but he steps away, walking towards the couch. Scully's stomach knots as she hears the jolts of electricity, again. She swallows hard and follows him.

He's curled into the back of the couch, a tiny bit of space left on the cushions. She crawls in beside him, slinging an arm over his side and leaning into his warmth. They fit, barely; he has to hold her against him to keep her from falling off. “Scully?” he whispers, uncertain, eyes huge and dark. A question.

They'd slept here only once in their brief relationship; he'd fallen off the couch with a hard thump and she couldn't stop laughing. They'd ended up sitting side by side on the floor, backs against the couch, watching TV. He held her hand, fingers tracing the softest spots of her wrist and arm. She fell asleep bonelessly against his shoulder. They'd both ached like crazy in the morning.

Scully crawls closer, wrapping herself around him and pulling the Navajo blanket slung over the back of his couch over them. “It's okay,” she says. “I'm here. It's okay.”

He's looking at her warily but says nothing more; he buries his head into the cool skin of her shoulder, where her shirt slips to the side. She can feel his hot breaths on her skin.

They've shared beds before, before they ever became a couple, and this isn't the most abnormal thing in the world, and oh fuck, he almost died. Another one lost on Dana Scully's watch, and fuck, he loves her. And she… maybe she's destined to lose everyone she loves, through death or emotional distance. She holds Mulder closer, fingers against his wrist to check his pulse. She falls asleep with her chin on his shoulder, still counting.

---

It had snowed in Virginia two nights before Scully went to San Diego. It was freezing. Mulder had used the cold as an excuse to hold Scully's hand, even though she had a rule about affection at work. “Frostbite kills, Scully,” he said seriously, locating her hand in the pockets of her trench coat. She rolled her eyes but didn't pull away, let him sleep his cold fingers through hers.

They'd gone to Scully's house because it was closer and cranked up the heat. Mulder opened the blinds in her bedroom so they could watch the snow fall. “It's pretty, huh?” he offered, crawling in beside her.

“Mm-hmm.” Scully leaned into him and he was suddenly warm all over. “Too bad I won't get a white Christmas.”

“If it snows here, I'll take pictures for you,” said Mulder.

“That's sweet.” Her cold feet brushed against his legs; she hid her smile against his shoulder. “What do you have planned for Christmas? Are you going to go up and visit your mother?”

“Actually, I thought I'd go find the Abominable Snowman,” he joked. She lifted her head to fix him with a look and he shrugged. “Haven't decided yet.”

“You could always come with me,” she said in a slow molasses voice, and even though he was sure she'd agree if he said he wanted to, they both knew she was kidding.

“I think I'll pass,” he said just as slowly. His hand traveled up and down Scully's arm and she shuddered with chilled pleasure, burrowing against him. “I'll miss you, though.”

“Mmm.” She was smiling against his shoulder again, wider; she kissed the curve of it through the cotton of his shirt. “I'll miss you, too.” He smiled, too, at the ceiling, his fingers traveling down her arm again to take her hand. “I think I'll be back for New Year's actually,” she added.

“Really.” He squeezed her hand. “I think I can cancel my standing appointment with the Gunmen to spend it with you.”

“How generous.” She rested her chin on his shoulder, kissing his cheek. “Sounds nice. I can't wait.” Her voice was thick with genuine affection, and he turned to face her, their noses nearly brushing. She was grinning softly.

“Hey, Scully,” he whispered confidentially. “Did you hear that?”

“What?” she whispered back.

“It's midnight,” he whispered. He leaned forward, his mouth colliding with hers.

They'd never made it to New Year's; Scully spent the holiday by her dying daughter's hospital bed. That was the last time they shared a bed as well. (In San Diego, he'd accepted Bill's head-jerk motion towards the couch without question; better not to arouse the wrath of Scully's brother.) The last time until that night. That morning.

Mulder wakes up warm all over, with Scully lying half on top of him, her bare feet sticking off the couch. His nose is pressed against the side of her neck, breathing in her scent. Her hair is brushing over his face. Confused, he wraps his arms around her waist. She murmurs something, nuzzling her face against his shoulder.

The events of the night unevenly rattle through his head. Hallucinations. Computer nurses and amputated arms. Scully comforting him. Scully crawling in beside him on the couch. The inferno in the forest. “Scully,” he whispers. “Scully?”

“Mmm.” She shifts against him. “Mulder?”

“Yeah.” He loosens his hold on her and waits for her to wake up. “What happened?”

Scully's eyes flutter open. Brief confusion, then panic, then something that might fall somewhere between embarrassment and a resigned acceptance. She rolls off of him and sits on the edge of the couch, rubbing her eyes. “How do you feel, Mulder?”

“Fine,” he says. “A little sore, maybe, but… why were you…”

A faint blush spreads over Scully's cheekbones. She shrugs. “I was worried about you. I didn't want to leave you alone.”

Mulder drags his teeth over his lower lips, considering. He doesn't mind sharing his makeshift bed with her—quite the opposite, actually—but somehow, he doesn't think this is a segue into getting back together. If Scully's face provides any clue, it definitely isn't. She looks guilty and embarrassed. “Scully…” he starts, uncertain.

“I need to check on your burns,” she says determinedly, turning to face him. Their eyes meet, and she looks completely professional now. As if crawling in and sleeping beside your patient/partner is totally normal behavior. “And then, if you're feeling up to it, we need to go back to Fairfax. The local police and firemen handled the explosion sight, but they'd like our side of things.”

“Sure,” Mulder says with a sigh, shifting into a sitting position on the couch.

There's blisters up and down his arms, but no signs of infection. Scully washes and rebandages the wounds before heading into the bathroom to freshen up. Mulder downs two painkillers and changes into a clean suit in his room. They leave about a half hour later, Scully driving, Mulder rolling up the sleeves of his shirt to pick absently at his bandages.

He knows little to nothing about medical jargon, but he knows you're not supposed to break open blisters, or else you risk infection. He feels like Scully staying with him the night before was the equivalent of breaking open a blister. Now they're risking infection.

[theperkiestnobody]

Blah blah

Idunnoo bout y'all but lately Facebook has decided to have a bunch of videos up on my dashboard about relationships and what not and it just kinda has been a floating thought in my mind what with me being in my first serious relationship ever and almost hitting the year mark and iunno maybe I'm just kinda sick and tired of just seeing like "the 4 different personalities" and "what you should avoid before thinking about getting married" and all this other horseshit so I'mma rant

TL;DR don't worry you'll find someone someday

So lemme tell y'all a lil something something, around this time last year, I was on the fence about getting back into dating after Everett had asked if he could be my boyfriend and I could be his girlfriend. Why? Because after a couple of years dating dinguses, idiots and fucktards, I needed a break from it all. It wasn't good that my "first" boyfriend straight up didn't talk to me for weeks prior to breaking up with me then the next idiot that followed tried breaking up with me through text message and basically told me I wasn't worth he emotional investment. And it didn't help I lost a sense of who I was while dating them. Like I basically did everything a good girlfriend was supposed to do so why didnt we stay together? Probably because I was just conveinent. And when I stopped being that, they just wanted me gone. Afterwards I just had a series of unfortunate hookups, one night stands which led to my first encounter with a fuck boy and my first consideration of having a friend with benefits. And I hated both. I can't blame the fwb guy because honestly I get it. Been hurt too many times, you aren't looking for someone whose decently attractive you want someone super attractive and whatever bullshit and it was really my fault for trying to change it to a different outcome. So after him, I was done. I just decided for myself that if I really wanna dress all nice and what not, fuck man I'll take myself out on dates. I'll buy myself that expensive ass food and I'll tell myself I'm worth it cause no one else fuckin would and if they did they just legit wanted me in bed with them. So 🤷🤷 whatever right?

I continued on, going to school, trying to hang out with friends and spend some quality roommate/housemate time. Tried figuring out this on your own away from home situation (literally a year after I moved out from my folks) while working at best buy. And lo and behold, this super excited, tall goofy fourteen year old (he's actually twenty three pero like he looks fuckin fourteen) looking white boy that legit runs up to me in his new blue uniform asking me where tf some stupid ass Samsung TV was. Mind you at the time he was starting as the Samsung experience expert while I was just your average merchandiser, working there for almost half a year, making things look pretty and I was always running around the store like a woman on a mission and had zero time trying to help coworkers and customers look for something specific. But I'm too nice of a person and I try to help however I can and I asked him if he bothered to look in our system to see if it is noted we have it in stock (which A++ for him he did before asking me). And I don't remember when I started having feelings for him all I remembered was that it kinda hurt when I figured he didn't have any for me. And i remember when it happened.

See the best buy we both worked at is located near a college town so the vast majority of the employees are college students just trying to pay off whatever debt and there was this one girl, we'll call her Sandy, who got hired right after her best friend which both were known to throw the wildest parties which I've probably been invited to once but never again since I don't drink. And I've never hated her or anything, I mean Sandy is a pretty nice person and though she's fucking nuts and will black out drunk twice a week, she helped me out when i was basically on the last straw with the fwb guy and helped me by making sure I was surrounded by friends so I didn't have to feel like I had to go back to hanging out with him because I was just so desperately lonely for company. and when Everett started working there, he got along with everyone to the point that they all knew him as that hyperactive kid who'll always put a smile on your face..and eventually they started hanging out and I knew that for one, I shouldn't be trying to date co-workers let alone look into dating cause I just started trying to get to know myself and two, there's really no way that I ever attract anyone, especially people like him. So I just kind of went about my days there till he eventually came up to me and talked to me. We had just small chatter here and there. Then eventually it became more than that. He knew that the guy working as a "security" guard employed by best buy was my housemate at the time and got into a conversation about going night hiking to which he asked me about it. I said I'd love to go and he quickly wrote down his number, gave it to me right before our general manager asked what the fuck we were doing in which I fuckin lied for him and I fuckin texted him, planned it and we went on a fucking night hike and talked to each other about literally everything personal. He knew every single thing about me in those three hours we spent by ourselves together and afterwards, I'm absolutely pretty sure he gave me compliments not just to compliment me but to also hit on me seeing as how he fell for me...and what happened afterwards was a series of him showing up to my apartment (which at the time wasn't too far from best buy) just so he could see me (IN MY FUCKIN PJAYS IF I MAY ADD), him asking about me around the store because literally everyone kind of knew who I was but just by character and not name, and eventually leading towards our "first date" which ended up going on till 3am cause of late dinner with friends and then him coming over the next day to watch a movie and play cards and that's when he asked me if he could have my lips and be mine and he waited till I was ready. He waited patiently for me to say yes, waited for me to be okay and ready to have sex with him and has been nothing but just a total sweetheart and always there for me when I needed him

And lemme tell you we aren't your generic couple either. We both have our mental illness. Some days are way better than others and maybe one day we'll finally be okay. And I also didn't wait till I moved in with him. Sure, I had my own life with my own things and I still do things on my own...but I also take into consideration what his feelings are and if he's okay with it and if he isn't we talk about it. I moved in with him maybe four or five months into our relationship because it just wasn't okay for me to live in my apartment any more due to it's conditions and what not and yeah, we're both living with his parents and theyre okay with it but honestly, we take care of each other. We push each other and all this jazz and it's all because I just ...I just said yes. I went into this relationship with both of us knowing what kind of baggage I have. I went into it slightly thinking he'll dump me after three months or he'll get tired of me...and now, I wake up to his cute little face and sleep with one of us wrapped around the others arms and I know there's a future with us. And yeah, if I were to have told my past self that after Kyle and Jon dump you you'll find someone youll be madly in love with through work, I wouldve asked what kinda drugs am I on for this kind of optimism. So honestly, yeah, you're gonna find someone someday. Even if that someone is you.

[hunter-the-sad-skeleton]

Spoilers

(One Of My Favorite Parts Of Chapter Two Of My Hazbin Fanfic! Note That At This Point, Vox Only Came To The Hotel By Process Of Elimination, So He Doesn’t Know She Works There Yet!)

“Good morning, Ebony!” Charlie greeted, waving from the kitchen as Ebony walked downstairs.

“Morning, Charlie…” Ebony yawned.

“Tired again?” Charlie asked.

Ebony nodded, yawning again. “Late night at work….” Ebony yawned.

“Ebony, you NEED to be better about getting to bed on time!” Charlie scolded.

“I know, Princess…” Ebony yawned, sitting down on a couch by the entrance.

“I mean it, Ebony! If I need to track you down using your phone’s location, I’ll DRAG you back here to get a good night’s rest!” Charlie lectured.

“NO!!!!” Ebony blurted out, spooking Charlie with the sudden volume shift.

“Yipes!” Charlie yelped. Ebony’s eyes shrank and she shook her head.

“I-I-I-I-I-I-I mean no, that’s not necessary! I-I’ll get better about it, I-I-I promise!” Ebony stuttered.

“Isss….Everything okay, Boney?” Angel asked.

“I asked you to STOP calling me that, Angel. And I am FINE!” Ebony sighed.

“Are you sure?” Vaggie asked. Ebony nodded violently.

“Perfectly fine! No problems here, folks!” Ebony nodded vigorously.

Angel raised an eyebrow. “Ya sure?”

“Yes!! Positive!!” Ebony snapped.

“That’s what she said.” Angel chuffed.

“You’d know, Plug-and-play.” Ebony scoffed.

“Whoa! That’s harsh! SOMEONE woke up on the wrong side of the bed!” Angel snuffed.

“I went to bed at-” Ebony started.

“A reasonable time last night~! she’s just grumpy she didn’t get to sleep in~!” Alastor interjected, walking downstairs.

“But didn’t the clock say it was-” Ebony started.

“The clock was turned off, deer~! Who’s gonna watch it if nobody’s awake~?” Alastor interjected.

“Fair enough.” Ebony shrugged.

“What’s on the docket for breakfast, dear~?” Alastor asked Charlie.

“Waffles and eggs!” Charlie grinned.

Alastor hummed. “Sounds delicious~!”

Ebony nodded, tummy rumbling. “That’s right, I didn’t manage to get any dinner last night…” Ebony sighed.

“How late were you out? All diners close at like…….12:00……” Vaggie narrowed her eye.

Ebony went to speak before getting cut off by Alastor again. “That is not what matters~!”

“I think it does, because she seems to be tired all the time!” Vaggie objected.

“It doesn’t, as the past is the past~!” Alastor countered.

Ebony got up to walk away, still hobbling slightly. “Hey, uh, has Ebony always had a hobble that bad?” Angel asked. Ebony froze.

“I, uh….Just...ran into a garbage can last night. Still recovering.” Ebony responded quickly. Angel quirked an eyebrow.

“You’re all reading into this too much!” Ebony growled.

“I think you’re hiding something.” Vaggie glowered.

“What, do ya think I’m like...A secret prostitute or something?” Ebony scoffed.

“Uh….” Vaggie froze.

“Well, I’m NOT.” Ebony frowned. “You’re all starting to sound like conspiracy theorists!” Ebony frowned, crossing her arms.

“We’re concerned, Ebony! You spend a lot of time working-It’s unhealthy!” Vaggie argued.

“More like it’s nonya business.” Husk grumbled, making his way downstairs.

“Husker, my good sir~! Welcome back to the land of the awake~!” Alastor greeted.

“Look, what she does is none of your business unless ya have a deal with her.” Husk growled. “Ya know what, show of hands; who has a deal with Ebony?” Husk grumbled.

Alastor brushed his hair out of his face as everyone’s hands dropped, dropping his as Husk facepalmed. “Oh boy, more intrusive people, great….” Husk grumbled.

“Look, is it being paranoid when your friend is doing herself more harm than good?” Vaggie asked.

“Look, if she says she’s fine; leave her the fuck alone. Even if somethin’ were wrong, wouldn’t she have fuckin’ told ya?” Husk grumbled.

A silence fell over the room. “T’ be fair, she wouldn’t cause she doesn’t ask for help when she needs it.” Angel said.

“That doesn’t fuckin’ matter. What matters is that ya respect her choice to not explain anything. She clearly doesn’t want help, and you all need to respect that.” Husk lectured. Everyone nodded.

“Thanks, Husk….” Ebony thanked.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t mention it.” Husk shrugged.

Ebony smiled slightly.

“Breakfast is ready!” Charlie called.

(Timeskip to after it’s been dished out.)

“It’s good, Charlie!” Vaggie complimented. Everyone else hummed in agreement.

Ebony nibbled on a waffle, getting interrupted by her phone vibrating, grabbing Alastor’s attention. Ebony sighed, putting her waffle down and walking to the kitchen.

As Ebony got in the kitchen, she checked the text. “You’re going to be late again, Ebony. Kick it in gear.”

Ebony sighed heavily, texting a response. “IT. IS. 7:00. IN. THE. MORNING. I. AM. EATING. YA KNOW, THAT IMPORTANT THING WE HAVE TO DO TO SURVIVE?!?”

Ebony waited a few moments before getting a notification. “✔️ read; 7:00” Ebony froze.

“Wait. I forgot he has a TV for a head….!!! I may have sealed my fate.” Ebony whimpered. Ebony headed back out to breakfast, putting her phone on silent.

“Everything okay, Eb?” Charlie asked. Ebony nodded.

“Dad being Dad again.” Ebony sighed.

“Haven’t ya talked to him?” Charlie asked sadly.

“Fifteen times now. Still the same answer.” Ebony frowned.

“Well, I-I-I’m sure that he’ll lighten up soon!” Charlie assured.

“Probably not...He has tunnel vision, I swear to heaven….” Ebony slumped, resting her head in her arms.

“Oh……..” Charlie frowned.

Ebony shifted nervously, gaze drifting down. “Something wrong, deer~?” Alastor asked. Ebony jumped, nodding in silent confirmation. Alastor tilted his head in confusion. Ebony shrugged, sadness clear in her eyes. Ebony jumped and yelped, feeling her phone vibrate at an intensity that she didn’t know it could reach. Ebony checked her phone quickly, reading the text in a panic.

“F$#% IT, I’M COMING UP THERE TO GET YOU!!!!!!!!’ Ebony whined as she read the text, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

“Ebony…? Is everything okay…?” Charlie asked. Ebony nodded shakily.

“You’re crying, Boney…” Angel remarked. Ebony wiped the tears away.

“I-I’m fine…!” Ebony sniffled.

Ebony got up, running up to her room to pack her backpack. “Ebony? What’s going on?!” Charlie called. Ebony ran down fifteen minutes later, rushing to the door, shaking violently. Ebony opened the door, going to rush out before running into someone.

“Ebony, what’s-” Charlie started, freezing as she realized who Ebony ran into. Vaggie rushed over to see what scared Charlie, snapping her spear out as she realized who it was.

“What’s got you two frozen like deer in the headlights~?” Alastor asked, sauntering over. Alastor stopped in his tracks as he caught sight of them.

“Radio Demon.” Vox growled.

“Marx.” Alastor insulted.

Vox sighed heavily. “Look, I’m not here to fight; I’m here to collect what belongs to me.” Vox grumbled, looking around at everyone.

“Well, I-I’m sure that it-it’s not here…!” Charlie assured fearfully.

Vox chuckled, confusing everyone. “What’s so funny…?” Charlie asked carefully.

“I’m not looking for an ‘it’, Princess~!” Vox grinned. Ebony whined, hiding behind Alastor.

“Oh, really? Well, I doubt that they’re here…!” Charlie assured. Vox laughed again, Ebony cringing, knowing it wasn’t a happy sound.

“No, no, no, Princess, you misunderstand~! I know who I’m searching for, and I’ve already seen them~!” Vox smiled maliciously. Ebony whined, hiding behind Alastor more.

“Oh? Wh-Who is it…?” Charlie asked.

Vox gestured at Ebony. “The little failure Ink Demon of course~!” Vox grinned. Ebony whimpered, breaking eye contact.

“Oh! Ebony? Okay! Ebony! Vox is here to pick ya up!” Charlie called. Ebony shook her head no.

“Nuh uh!!” Ebony objected.

“Ebony, come on, he just wants to take ya…..Wherever he wants to take ya…!” Charlie smiled nervously. Ebony shook her head violently.

“No!!” Ebony frowned.

“I can handle this, she...gets like this.” Vox’s smile faltered for a moment. Vox cleared his throat before speaking.

“Ven aquí, juguete inútil de una puta.” Vox growled, pointing to his side. Ebony whined, ears pressing to the side of her head at the harsh words. Vox frowned for a moment before returning to his usual smile and Ebony hesitantly walked over.

“I….Actually don’t know about this, Charlie...What he said-it wasn’t a friendly combination of words…!” Vaggie worried.

“It’s fine, Vaggie…!” Charlie waved off. Vaggie’s face was full of worry.

“I-I don’t wanna go….!” Ebony whimpered.

“We can discuss this on the ride back.” Vox growled.

“Y-Yes sir…” Ebony frowned.

“Thanks for giving me her, it is much appreciated~!” Vox bowed, dragging Ebony out by her arm, getting some pained protests from her, door closing behind him.

Ebony was shoved into the car carelessly, Vox sliding in soon after. “Owie…!” Ebony whimpered.

“What the HEAVEN was THAT?!?” Vox snapped as the drive back to the studio started.

“Was what-” Ebony started.

“WHAT HAVE I FUCKING TOLD YOU ABOUT LEAVING THE DAMN STUDIO?!?” Vox yelled. Ebony winced, ears pressing against her head at the loud voice.

“I-I was just-” Ebony started

“ ‘I-I was just-’ SHUT THE FUCK UP WITH THAT HORSESHIT!!!!!!! I KNOW YOU SNUCK OUT ON PURPOSE!!!” Vox yelled.

Ebony whimpered, hugging her legs to her chest, tears starting to trickle out of her eyes. “I-I was just…..I just got restless…” Ebony whimpered.

“SO WHY DIDN’T YOU ASK ONE OF US TO GO OUT WITH YOU?!?” Vox fumed.

“I….I knew you’d say no….” Ebony sniffled.

“SO YOU WENT OUT ANYWAYS?!?!?” Vox hissed.

“I almost didn’t….” Ebony whined.

“BUT NOTE THE ‘ALMOST’!!!!! YOU DISOBEYED A FUCKING DIRECT ORDER!!!!” Vox growled.

“I-I told Velvet....!” Ebony whimpered.

“SHE NEVER FUCKING IS ABLE TO HEAR ANYONE!!!!” Vox barked.