#clips dropping left and right making me realise I might really need 8 hours to watch 4 episodes

[polin-erospsyche]

Oh that smirk! Oh the eyebrows rising! He looks so smug right now. Look at him proposing lessons like it is the smartest, most brilliant idea he’s ever come up with. I cannot wait for Colin Bridgerton to EAT his words

[lockdownuk]

Lockdown Diary Part 10

A personal account during the lockdown in the UK due to the Covid-19 outbreak.

23/03/2020 8:30pm Boris Johnson, UK Prime Minister, gives a live address to the nation to, effectively, put the country on lockdown to stem the spread of the deadly coronavirus strain, Covid-19.

Many of us have been self-isolating for days but this latest development within the UK in reaction to the pandemic feels very serious and very scary. I decided to keep a simple diary and where better but online. Day 271: Work was dominated by Qfiniti again, including a meeting with Jon and staff from the States, where I found my self taking control to get the next steps in process (and then, Dave Stewart, the SCCM engineer fucked off and put an OOO message on Teams telling me he’s off until Tuesday (it’s Thursday)...and I am off on Monday!) But, I have to say this project does float my boat. Got a text message and then a call from PCH for another laser eye appt this coming Monday at 12.30pm. I mentioned to the lady that phoned that I will have to square it with work (I won’t, but she doesn’t know that) as I can’t afford to lose my job - it just seems the hospital, while under pressue with the admin and the clinic availability - I get it! - just aren’t seeing the issues for the patients. Plus, Peterborough has been declared a Tier 3 from Sunday under the new lockdown scheme, the highest tier. Great...I really want to travel to a highly infected area! managed to find an online booze shop that does Gordon’s and Famous Grouse and will deliver beforee Chrimbo, so I’ve placed the order for dad and Rita’s gift. I spoke with Dad today, he hasn’t heard about his vaccination yet which is a surprise (he’s in the first draft being over 80)

Day 272: Typing on day 273. Work was that manic shit at the end of the dya when I’ve got time off. I am only off on Moday but still had to tie up loose ends, complictaed further by Jon being off next week and Sueanne off this week and the Qfiniti project! In the evening I only mamaged three beers. I ate too much. Plus my sugars were all over the place and way too high! I ordered a torch a couple of days ago (£17), it arrived today. It takes rechargeable batteries or 3 AAAs. Apparently, to get the best performance (i.e. brightness) you need the rechargeable batteries in it, so i charged ‘em. Fucking hell, I’m glad I did - it’s brighter than the sun. It opens up my late walks in winter, for sure.

Day 273: While it was a very late (but sober) night yesterday (gone 4am before lights out) I was up before midday. Usual walking etc. plus gave the bathroom a clean (albeit with wipes, but I did mop the floor - and used the water to also mop the kitchen). Now I am about to stick a pizza in the oven, plus wedges (to have with microwaveable chip shop curry sauce) and watch This Is 40 which is coincidentally on telly tonight - the coincidence being clips of it are on TikTok a lot right now. I am on my second beer and am going to have a smoke right now as well. Lastly for this entry, I have been using my AudioPro speaker today, it pisses me off it’s not WiFi capable but, thru Bt, it does sound fucking good - revisiting James works very well to demonstrate the speaker’s prowess.

Day 274: I have another Paypal a/c. I have been getting emails to my standard gmail account from Paypal saying they are going to charge me £9 for an inactive account which I have been largely ignoring since my paypal a/c has a specific email address. Anyway, I tried to log in, after a password reset and, hey presto, I do have another one, with £35 in it, having just been fleeced of £9 for the aforementioned inactivity, fuckers. It’s registered with the old Market Place address and phone. When I try to transfer the £35 to my card, it wants to confim it’s me by calling the phone, which I can’t amend. Oh, and you can’t contact Paypal direct. Fuck knows what to do! Other than that, usual Sunday, a tad more relaxed since I have tomorrow off, but not that much now I have an eye appointment in Tier 4 Peterborough (it’s been up’d from tier 3)! Up at 1.30 pm (I watched This is 40 and The Guvners last night with lots of beer), feeling worse for wear but, stair climb and a 6 miler acheived!

Day 275: I was at the hospital for 3 hours. The laser clinic didn’t start until 1.30pm so, why my appointment was at 12.20, not even the consultant could understand. 15 minutes of lasering - horrible but I am used to it. It took so long it pretty much fucked my day off up completely. I got a Christmas card from Karen, in the actual post, so, a mail shot. It’s depressing.

Day 276: Back to work and it’s definitely in wind down mode. I’ve decided to compile a list of things I have done this year. It will be on the postive side, such as all the steps I’ve walked and getting an article published about my photography, but it will also include randon facts like getting bitten by a dig twice and not having a haircut. I’ll get it done so I can post in at new year, hopefully be a little inspiring, a little silly and a lot of showing off!

Day 277: Work, again, was quiet. It’s fucking pissing down now, as I type at 21:50, and has been all day. It’s causing havoc and there’s flooding everywhere. I could walk down St. Peter’s Road tonight ‘cos of it (had to go up New Road, Springfield Road, down Latham Road). Soaked a lunhtime and tonight! With a new variant of Coronavirus, France stopped frieght crossing the border. That’s now been resolved but tyeh back log has/is affecting certain food stocks in the shops, of which, fresh veg might affect me for Christams dinner (I plan to do a chicken breast with stuffing, pigs in blankets, yorkshire pud and shed loads of veg. I’ll nip to Co-Op tomorrow morning and see what’s vaialble. It’s a half day at work ‘cos of Christmas Eve, so I can nip out somewhere in the car if need be, as ong as the flooding has subsided. Or I could just get shitfaced and have burgers and pizza.

Day 278: Christmas Eve. Sueanne let me finish at 11.00am so, very shortly thereafter, off for a walk I went; it turned out to be a stop/start affair - flooding as the Nene had burst its banks, ended up doing more of a circuit round town. Bumped into Andy Smith (and his son) and, after that, Ash and Denise. Ended up doing just under 11.5km in 2 and a half hours.Knackered! As I type, I have a chilli on the stove, beer on the go, all the veg and chicken breast bought with no shortages, as feared, for tomorrow’s lunch and looking forward to eating. getting drunk, smoking, listening to music, watching telly....all over the next two/three days.

Day 279: I don’t even remember going to bed last night. As a direct result I got out of bed at 2.30pm. I couldn’t even be bothered with Christmas dinner, let alone anything else like exercise. I’m just about to have chilli for dinner (it’s 8.10pm). Watch some telly then try an go to sleep before midnight. No booze! I did talk to dad earlier. Day 280: Typing on day 281. A better, more productive day. Up @11.00am exercise and walk as usual, although the walk was a different route due to flooding. In the evening I could hear ‘storm Bella’ raging, so windy! I cooked a christmas dinner of sorts, chicken breast with Thyme, all the veg, roasted spuds and parsnip, stuffing (a first for me, albeit co-op stuffing mix), Yorkshie and pigs in blankets. It was smashing! A few beers and The Hitman’s Bodyguard, alays a fun watch. A better day, as I say, but I am feeling particular deflated this Christmas. Day 281: Typing on day 282. I realised, about mid afternoon, that Monday (tomorrow) is a bank holiday so no work. It was a great realisation but, also, worrying that it dawned on my like I’m an old person! Nevertheless, a nice long walk - bumped into Baz & Kate and had a nice long chat, then El & Camila, Aaron and Eva for another, shorter chat. I also saw Denise & Ash along the way. Fog video called later in the evening for a chat too (he told me how he fell asleep at the dinner table, fuck he makes me laugh - unwittingly - when I need it most!) A regular social fest! A repeat of last night’s dinner and a few beers - it was a good day albeit I am in a proper low ebb.

Day 282: Up at midday after a 4am-er. A very long walk (1.75 hours) and a hodge podge dinner (remaining chilli, roasted spuds and peppers, steamed cauliflower and runner beans, grated cheese) - it’s nearly ready, I’ll type the review tomorrow. I realise that this is the first time in 21 Christmases that I have at least talked to K. Is that connected to my mood slump? I reckon so. So, as that fact dawned on me, I then considered, should it be the case next Christmas, it will not be the first in along time and, as such, more manageable....fuck knows how I manage to accentuate any little positive but, thank goodness I do. Day 283: Work was a sedate affair today, fuck all to do really. Sueanne is now follwing me on Insta...I shall invetsigate on how to exclude posts to individuals, methinks. Tea, last night, was fucking lovely. More of the same tonight-ish - currently I am roasting spuds, peppers, garlic, chillies, tomatoes - it’ll all go with left over pigs-in-blankets (5) and a burger. I’ll have bisto beef with mustard on it. I can’t wait! Day 284: Typing on day 285. That meal was fucking lush! Checked on the car todfay and it would not start. Something is draining the battery so I will have to give it a run every day until I can get Julian to sort it. So, I WhatsApp’d Karen to borrow the portable starter. She dropped it off for me. We had the briefest of chats at the doorstep, first time we’ve spoken in weeks. She mentioned my hair! Day 285: NYE. I have just got back from walking to Cottersock and back. I would not have been able to do so without my new torch! I finished and published my double letter quiz on FB, including to the Virtual Pub group and the Oundle Chatter. It’s had some good feedback, I’m rather proud of it. I am going to make chicken casserole now (with dumplings - a first for me, I even bought some flour), have some beers and get a bit stoned. Before that, I am going to finish off my list of things I’ve done this year, including steps wlaked and hours listening on Spotify. I am quite proud of that list too.

Day 286: I fucked the dumplings up, added too much water, so that didn’t happen but the chicken casserole was good, just about to finish it for tea tonight. I also had pizza last night and went to bed at 5am. I have had a lot of good feedback on my list of 2020 achievements. I proud of it. K sent a happy new WhatsApp last night, around 00.30.

Day 287: No booze last night, so I was up before the alarm today (about 10.00am) Two walks, one on my own, another with Fog with a couple of beers. I fucking loved it! Watching datrts (World champs semi finals - been texting Dan while the first one has been on). Going to watch The Aviator later...I’ve not seen it before which surprises me. Why it surprises me I do not know, since I know I haven’t seen it. How the fuck can I be surprised by a fact I’m completely aware of? Day 288: I didn’t watch The Aviator ‘cos Logan Luck was on at 11:55pm on ITV4. Great fildm...I can’t believe that I very nearly paid for it (rent from Sky or Amazon). A late one last night and quite pissed. Thinking about it, having afew beers with Fog in the afternoon made it quite a long sesh for me! Up at just gone midday today, nice long walk (Cotterstock) which was mde long by a painful right ankle - I must have turned or twiested slightly sometime. Still, it survived. Back to work tomorrow - Chrimbo and New Year all done and dusted for the 55th time in my life!

Day 289: First day back at work of 2021. Boris announces another full lockdown in England (there’s a new strain of Covid19 which is seeing huge numbers of infections every day, over 50,000 per day).

Day 290: Something is up with my right foot, the little toe pad. It’s bloody sore. If it gets any worse it’ll affect my walking and exercise. I phoned Anne Bennison to talk about it, she just wants me to go and see her which i donlt want to do if poss, pandemic and all that.

Day 291: Wearing my sandals instead of the M&S slippers and my foot/toepad is already feeling bteer. However, I did inspect my Merrell boots, just in case, and the sole on te right is really worn down, in just three months. I have sent a WhatsApp to CotswoldOutdoors, where I got them from....let’s see what they say! It’s all kicking off i  the US - pro Trump protestors have storm the Capitol Building, where congrees was being held. Only in ‘Merica.

Day 292: Busy at work with rolling out Qfiniti - all that project work was pretty much for fuck all since the SCCM package has to hand held. It’s feckin’ freezing today, below freezing, slippy af on my walks. I have been shopping tonight, £106 in Corby Tesco. That does include 8 cans of sapporo.

Day 293: The fracas at Capitol Hill on Wednesday left 5 dead, it looks like Trump will be impeached. He’s already said he’ll not attend Biden’s inauguration. In a fucking world gone mad, it’s another level of madness. It’s really cold -3℃ tonight, more of the same tomorrow. Makes for brisk walks. I’ve just had chicken balti pie and chips for tea. It was so nice that I burnt the roof of my fucking gob. I’m on the Sapporo and about to have a smoke then watch Jack Reacher. I’ve (kinda) earnt after the first 5 day week for a while.

Day 294: Well, last night saw another late one...5am by the time I :went to sleep. Up at 2pm today with no instention of any exercise or walking or housework or fuck all, really. But, I did my exercises and a 9 mile walk. While I walked I came across Banners, quick 15 min chat and listed to Stage by David Bowie. He’s all over the radio right now as it’s his death’s anniversary tomorrow and his birthday yesterday. It’s a fucking good live album. A few beers tonight, eating trash, watching FA Cup highlights then End of Watch later.  Posh played today (first time in a while due to Covid infections) drew away to (shitty) Lincoln 1-1. Good point as Posh were down to ten men after 67 mins for a second yellow for handball in the area. Lincoln missed the pen. Fucking funny. Chorley, the non leaguers who knocked Posh out in round 2 of the FA Cup, beat Derby in round 3 today (albeit derby fielded an academy side of 11 first timers due to Covid ) - a great day for them!

Day 295: Up at 2pm swearing blind I’d not walk or exercise (again!) but, of course I did. I’ve done over 25 miles this w/e! End of Watch was brilliant last night. Well worth a rewatch, so emotional. I am making butter chicken as I type. I’ve added extra onion, garlic and, of course, chillies. It’s the spiciest butter chicken I have ever tasted! 

Day 296: One of those frustrating days at work when no problem of request I try to resolve goes without a hitch. After a 7km walk in the evening, took the car for a spin and cleaned the bathroom. Fucking knackered. It’s 11:30pm and I’m in bed typing this on the iPad! despite getting up so late, I feel knackered. 11pm bedtime for me, I reckon.

Day 297: Fucking busy at work, the States rolled out a new Okta trust policy and it caused mayhem. Meant my evening walk didn’t start ‘til gone 6pm. When I got back, clened the hall and stairs, made chilli (which I am about to have for tea (gone 10.15pm!) and showered. I’m, again, fucking knackered! Posh played Portsmouth in the EFL Trophy 3rd round at home. Won 5-1. Nice.

Day 298: Had an electrician rouind for the EICR cetrt. He was here until 2pm and it was a pain in the arse, having to work upstairs plus, with having to cut the electricity, all the smart devices lost their settings. And it was freezing up there.

Day 299: Work was impossibly infuriating. Not one pc remote session went to plan! It was pissing down a lunchtime during my walk but, I have to say, the cheap TargetDry coat copes fine in heavy rain for short periods. Everywhere is flooding again even though the rain turned to sleet. By my evening walk, it was dry but bloody cold. Then, when I got in I cleaned the kitchen and mopped the floor and the bathroom’s as well. I fucking done in! Chatted to dad today - same as ever!

Day 300: What a fucking work at week! I am so glad it’s Friday. To celebrate, I ordered new walking boots: Scarpas £121!

[reddeadmort]

You wanted John Wick, you got it, with a bit of Deadpool thrown in. Here, Kieran's gone missing from Shady Belle and the reader goes off to find him. Probably less fluffy then you might have been hoping? 

Canon re-write as Kieran didn't deserve to die; might do a prequel/a few more chapters where the reader saves some other gang members; them that need savin' anyway. Warning: Kieran doesn’t escape completely unscathed.

Haven’t been able to spend much time writing recently, so this might not be particularly polished, but hopefully it’s still enjoyable :) 

“Nobody puts Kieran in the corner” | AO3

Technically a Kieran x f!reader, though poor bugger doesn’t have any lines. Arthur and Mary-Beth feature at the beginning/end.

Guidance: Violence. Lots of it. Tiniest hints of fluff. Kieran doesn’t die though, so that’s something? Eye trauma, lots of swearing. 

Words: 2.5k

“Y/N, have you seen Kieran anywhere?”

“No Mary-Beth, I ain’t. Something wrong?” You frowned; Mary-Beth look worried, and it wasn’t like her to fret unnecessarily.

“I’m sure it’s fine. It’s just….well…… this morning he asked me to meet him by the lake, to read to him. Except I can’t find him, and he’s never been late before.” You smiled at the thought of Mary-Beth reading to Kieran; you and her were the only ones that really gave him the time of day. He was sweet, always nice to you, and you loved how well he cared for the horses.  

“I’m sure one of the others sent him to get some supplies or something. When was the last time you saw him?”

“I’m sure it was…well, actually…. I don’t think I’ve seen him since he asked me. He said Hosea had asked him to check for post in Rhodes, and I haven’t seen him around since then.”

“Wait here, Mary-Beth. I’ll go ask Arthur.” You walked briskly over to Arthur, glancing over to the horses – it didn’t look like Kieran’s was there. You were growing increasingly concerned; you hadn’t seen Kieran since this morning either, and there had been reports of O’Driscolls in Lemoyne - they were spreading like a disease.

“Arthur, one of you boys sent Kieran out for something?”

“Hmm.. don’t think so Y/N. Everythin’ alright?”

“Not sure Arthur, not sure. I’m gonna go have a look for him. You fancy riding with me?”

“’Fraid not Y/N” Arthur sighed. “Dutch says I’ve got to go to some party in Saint-Denis, gotta dress up all fancy. I don’t know if I’m going to enjoy this.”

You laughed, the idea of this lot dressed up in evening wear seemed so ridiculous. “Treat it like a hunting expedition Arthur, then you’ll feel more comfortable. Anyway, I’m going to go have a look for Kieran now.”

“Sure thing, be careful Y/N.”

You started to walk away before turning back to Arthur.

“Here, Arthur, how come you never tell me to be safe? You always say ‘be careful’ to me, but ‘be safe’ to the other girls. You say ‘be careful’ to Sadie too.”

Arthur chuckled. “’Cause, Y/N, with you and Sadie it ain’t your safety I worry about. It’s the safety of anyone that looks at you funny.”

“That ain’t true Arthur… you make me sound psychotic.” You rolled your eyes, Arthur sure did exaggerate sometimes.

“Y/N, I once saw you kill three men in a bar... with a pencil. With a goddamn pencil. My goddamn pencil actually.”

“Oh yeh. Forgot ‘bout that.” You grinned at Arthur then walked off towards your horse. Arthur watched you leave, shaking his head.

-----

The postmaster in Rhodes was more than useless; his inability to see what was going on was useful when it was your group causing trouble, but when you wanted information it was not helpful. You were walking up towards the saloon, contemplating your next move, when you spotted that old veteran you and Arthur had given a few dollars to. A few more dollars later and you had the information that you were looking for, though it wasn’t what you wanted to hear.

Apparently a group of rough looking men with Irish accents had accosted a weedy looking man that you assumed to be Kieran as he exited the post office. They’d headed north out of town; luckily there was enough of them they should be easy to track. As you mounted your horse, you contemplated going back to camp, rounding up a few of the others, but that wasn’t really an option. If these were O’Driscolls, and if they had Kieran, you didn’t have time to do anything other than chase them, hard. They were already a good half day ahead of you.

-----

You’d only been riding for an hour or so when you saw the smoke. You almost rode straight past, assuming the camp would be Lemoyne raiders – surely the O’Driscolls wouldn’t have set up so close to Rhodes and Shady Belle. There was far too much noise though; the raiders were like rats, covering this area, but they were never found in groups of more than 8 or 10.

You turned into the trees and dismounted. You left your horse a little way behind you, still in sight, and crept towards the edge of the small hill so you could look down into the little hollow the camp was positioned in, the evening darkness providing you with some cover. Removing your rifle from your shoulder, you settled down onto your front on the ground.

You scanned the camp through your rifle scope. Definitely O’Driscolls, and there was a lot of them – about 30. This was going to be difficult, even for you. The camp was pretty spread out, so it shouldn’t be particularly tricky to take a fair few of them out silently with your knife or bow. You decided to have a good look at the camp, then go back to your horse to arm up. You had your rifle, of course, and your two revolvers on your belt, but you wanted to make sure this lot got the best of you; and, in your rush to check out the camp, you’d stupidly left your ammo satchel attached to your saddle.

The O’Driscolls looked like they were having a celebration of sorts; for a moment, you wondered if your information was wrong. Then your scope settled on the figure of Kieran, swinging by the ankles from a tree branch, bound hands dragging on the floor. Thank fuck, he was still alive.

You’d barely finished that thought when the man holding the red-hot iron rod came into view. Without pause, or warning, the bastard held the burning metal to one of Kieran’s eyes. His scream hadn’t reached your ears before your finger squeezed the trigger, blowing out the brains of the bastard that dared hurt your boy. Fuck subtle.

The next shot got a particularly ugly fucker between the eyes. You smiled to yourself as the third tore through the head of one man and into the chest of another behind him. 4 for 3, not bad. You got off another 2 shots, ending two more pathetic O’Driscoll lives, before the idiots even realised where you were. Bullets thudded into the trees 5 metres or so to your side while you lined up your 6th rifle shot. You settled on a particularly stupid man that was attempting to hide behind a pile of crates. Unfortunately – for him anyway – he was cowering on the wrong side. You quickly removed his panic along with most of his face.

You pulled your head away from the scope, reaching to your side for another clip to reload. Your hand got halfway before you remembered where your ammo satchel was. Shit.

You looked up just in time to see the lit dynamite hurtling through the air towards you. Acting on pure instinct, you dropped your rifle and rolled to your side. You were about to cover your face with your arms when you witnessed the dynamite collide with an overhanging branch and bounce back towards the camp. You raised an eyebrow as you saw the little group of unfortunate men look at the still sizzling dynamite at their feet, then look at each other, then look at nothing as they were blown to smithereens. Well that was a freebie.

You looked behind you only to see your horse fleeing through the trees. Poor bugger never did like loud noises; he was a pretty crap horse for an outlaw. Sighing, you got to your feet, took shelter behind a tree and checked the chambers of your revolvers. 12 bullets, 20 odd men left. Maximum effort.

As you ran through the trees to the left of the camp, the O’Driscolls continued to fire at the spot you had vacated. Never underestimate the stupidity of idiots.

Reaching the edge of the camp, you paused, watching them unload into the trees up the hill. This was going to be too easy.

“Okay boys, I only have twelve bullets, so y’all goin’ to have to share!” you called out. As the men span round, you took out the 2 most alert fuckers – you might be slightly psychotic, but you weren’t stupid. Dodging behind a wagon, you let them unload a volley of shots at you before you crouched down and took out three with a well-placed shot from under the wagon into a small oil tank.

9 shots, 15 left.

Taking advantage of the confusion the explosion caused, you sprinted across to a pile of crates, loosing 4 shots as you ran. All 4 caught men in the chests; you preferred shots to the head, but there was a limit to what even you could do while running.

5 shots, 11 left.

Ducking out from cover, you fired off a round just as one of theirs whistled past your cheek. You felt the heat sear your face, the blood start running down. To your disappointment, your shot went wide, sailing past your intended target. Someone, somewhere, was obviously enjoying the show though, as another man popped out of cover just in time to take your rogue bullet between the eyes.

4 shots, 10 left.

You chucked your empty revolver to one side, switching the remaining gun to your right hand and drawing your knife with your left. Time to get personal.

You tugged your hat off your head and threw it up into the air as you dived towards some nearby tents. You watched as your hat – or what was left of it – hit the ground. Shame. Was a good hat.

You crept up behind an unsuspecting man, driving your knife into his back as you shot another distracted bastard. Using your knife, you dragged the man with you, utilising him as a rudimentary shield.

3 shots, 8 left.

Diving behind another wagon, you swore as you landed hard on a box, the contents spilling out. As you looked down however, you grinned at the red sticks next to you. Picking up two, you stood up and overarm launched them both into the air. Stepping out from cover, you waited for the dynamite to reach the head height of the surviving group before igniting them with two shots. You shut your eyes and turned your head as the spatter covered you. Lovely.

1 shot, 1 left.

The last man emerged from the smoke and didn’t even have a chance to raise his repeater before your final bullet ploughed into him, smashing him to the ground. You stalked towards him as he lay moaning and groaning on the floor. Standing over him, you took in the pathetic sight; one hand was clutching at his breastbone, the other reaching up to you in a begging gesture.

“If that hit you in the chest, I’m sorry.” You smiled at him and a look of confusion flashed through the pain on his face. “I was aimin’ for your crotch.”

“What the hell did we do to you, you crazy bitch.” The man gurgled as he forced the words out, blood dribbling from the side of his mouth.

You stayed silent, stepping towards the fire and slowly drawing another pointed iron rod from it. You walked back towards the prone man, chucking the glowing rod in the air, catching it again perfectly by the cooler end.

“It’s not what you did that angers me so…. It’s who you did it to.”

Starting to choke on his own blood, the dying bastard still managed to cough out a reply.

“Who? That fucking nobody?”

You squatted down next to him, resting your forearms on your thighs, before cocking your head to one side and staring at the unfortunate O’Driscoll.

“That fucking nobody is mine.”

In one swift movement, you buried the poker into the ground; it just so happened to pass through the man’s eye and skull before it hit the earth.

Standing up, you surveyed the destruction around you. Arthur was probably right; safety wasn’t really a concern of yours. A whimper from behind you snapped you back to reality, reminding you why you were here.

You ran to Kieran, swiftly cutting the rope holding him up, trying your best to support him and break his tumble to the ground. You made quick work of the ropes around his feet and wrists and helped him sit up. You got a good look at his face for the first time since the start of the fight. His eye was bad… no, his eye was gone. You could feel the rage rising in you again, but tried to dismiss it – there was no one left to take it out on.

“It’s alright Kieran, I’m here. You’re safe now.”

He collapsed into your chest, sobbing, unable to speak. You gently rubbed his back, letting all his fear, panic and pain leak out. After a little while, you pulled away slightly, tearing a piece of material off your shirt and tying it the best you could around his wounded eye socket.

“Come on sweetheart, let’s get you home.”

-----

It was early morning by the time you and Kieran arrived back at camp; you’d stopped a couple of times to let him rest and be sick. Arthur, Hosea, Dutch and a couple of the others were drinking and laughing at one of the tables, all dressed up in their finery. As you dismounted, they looked over, their chuckling ceasing immediately as they saw you. For a moment, you wondered why they had such horrified looks on their faces; sure, Kieran was injured, but he’d live. You glanced down at yourself only to remember what you were covered in, and the wound to your face. Your hand went to the graze; you’d completely forgotten about it, luckily it appeared to have clotted on its own.

Arthur and Hosea ran over and helped a still shocked Kieran off your horse. He’d been deathly quiet the entire ride back; he was going to take a little while to get over what he suffered, but you'd be more than happy to spend time comforting him. Hosea led him away towards the house, calling for Miss Grimshaw. Arthur stayed with you, hands resting on his belt, looking you up and down.

“Y/N… you were a bit less…. crimson….when you left.”

“Hey, bits of O’Driscoll are the lastest fashion accessory I’ll have you know” you grinned up at him, feeling the dried blood on your face crack as you did so.

Arthur chuckled before gesturing for you to follow him back to Dutch and the others.

“Come on you, you better bring us up to speed. How many pencils did ya use this time?”

“None I’m ‘fraid, sorry to disappoint. Got a good couple of stories about dynamite though.”

[kuriquinn]

Telanadas [8/19]

Cover Page & Disclaimer

first chapter

They spend the next half hour in silence, focussed on her injury. 

Luckily for both, the bone implement has not caught on anything, and Sasuke is able to pull it free without trouble. Blood fills in the wound at once, but it is not the wet gush of a clipped blood vessel or ruptured organ. Sakura talks him through stitching it closed. Liberal applications of her “little elfroot and deep mushroom” knit the flesh back together as he goes.

She dozes for a little while as he puts away the supplies, carefully erasing any trace of what was done here. Kakashi has sharp eyes, and even a fleck of blood might have him asking questions.

Sakura was right about one thing: they cannot afford him expending more magic than he must.

Just as he clears away the last of the soiled bandages, he hears a low, lyrical hum behind him. Slowly, he turns around and notes Sakura, eyes still closed in slumber and barely breathing even as her throat moves around the notes of a wordless song. Normally, she is as tone deaf as a mabari howling at the moon. He knows this because she tried to teach Sai, another of their companions, the words to a dwarven drinking song not long after he joined the outfit.

The memory itself makes him wince.

But this tune she hums under her breath is different. It makes the hairs on the back of his arms and neck stand on end, but not because it is unpleasant.

It is because it is not.

“Sakura,” he says, something in his gut telling him he needs her to stop that.

Her body startles a little, the way one might when woken suddenly from a dream, but considering she never fully dropped off to sleep he doubts that it is. Still, the noise stops, and her breathing suddenly evens out.

“Something about this place…it calls to me,” she tells him after a moment, eyes still closed, and face still relaxed. “It almost feels like lyrium, but…different.”

“Different?” he echoes.

“Like a voice on the wind…just out of earshot, words garbled…and you know they’re speaking to you, but can’t for the life of you make out the meaning…” She opens her eyes and notices his concerned expression, and quickly straightens. With a sheepish grin, she says, “Sorry. I think I’m just getting ahead of myself. We’re almost to the top of the mountain which means we’re closer to ending this journey. I can see the end in sight, and then we get a nice long deserved rest.”

“Until the next errand of overblown importance is thrust upon us,” he replies, still frowning at her behaviour. He wonders if this is another one of those Warden quirks, hearing music no one else does. “And the next.”

“Until we stop the Blight, that’s the job,” she agrees. “But still, the prospect of a moment’s peace, however short, that’s valuable—don’t you think?”

“I would not know.”

“Oh, come on! You’ve had to have at least a little downtime!” she protests, pulling herself stiffly to her feet. He makes a move to help her, but she waves him away. “Don’t the Crows give days off?”

“There is time between contracts, if that is what you are asking.”

She shoots him an unimpressed look as if to say she knows he is deliberately not answering her question. “And what do you do in your spare time?”

“Prepare for the next assignment.”

“That’s it?” she deadpans. “Seriously? Isn’t there anything you do for fun?”

“No.”

“That’s…” Sakura sighs then. “I’m sorry.”

This brings him up short, and he stares at her. He can see her finding his lifestyle distasteful or boring, but he never would have expected pity from her. “Sorry for what?”

“For whatever made your life so joyless that you spend every waking moment doing sensible stuff,” she tells him, offering a comforting touch just above his elbow.

It is not pity, he realises in amazement. It sounds like…regret? On my behalf?

But that makes no sense to him.

He does not have time to ponder this development in his study of her character because at this moment, Naruto and Kakashi return.

“There is nothing between this village and the ruins up ahead,” the mage informs them without wasting time on a greeting.

“He means nothing,” Naruto adds, a hint of complaint in his voice. “No people, no shelter, no supplies…”

“We checked the temple door, but it is locked by an odd mechanism. Apparently, it needs a key to get in: big, round, sort of the size of a fist?”

“That must be what the medallion is for,” Sakura suggests, digging into her pocket for the disc she was given earlier.

“I thought so, too.”

“Then we are going in blind,” Sasuke says in irritation.

“Looks like,” Naruto shrugs, before a jeering grin appears on his face. “Don’t worry, elf. If you’re scared, I’ll let you hide behind me while I take out the nasty, possessed cultists.”

“Will that be before or after you run for cover, demanding I take out the enemy trying to set you on fire?” Sasuke returns crisply.

“Oi, that happened once, and in case you didn’t notice, that was a rage demon that came out of the damn floor!”

“I am confident we will manage somehow,” Kakashi says, intervening before Naruto punctuates his complaint with a flying fist.

“Are you ready to go?” Sasuke asks Sakura, carefully avoiding looking anywhere near where her wound is. Still, she knows what he is really asking.

“Never better,” she chirps, and grabs her supplies.

Kakashi notices something in the byplay, judging by how his eyes rove between Sasuke and Sakura, but if he suspects anything concrete, he does not address it. At least, not until Naruto has followed Sakura and is safely out of earshot.

“If you two needed a moment, you did not need to send us on an arse-freezing wild-goose chase in the mountains,” the older man says dryly. “All you had to do was ask…”

“Shut up, mage,” Sasuke replies. “Or I will find a better place for that stick than your hand.”

“Well, if that is the sort of thing you are into…”

Sasuke snarls a wordless curse at him and stalks after the other two. He knows there is no point in stooping to Kakashi’s level. Unlike Naruto, who will shout and scream and throw a few punches, and then forget the matter Sasuke does not wish to talk about, Kakashi is more patient. He will refuse to engage with any threat, but make sly, would-be-innocent comments over a matter of days. It is amusing to watch him bait others in this way—in particular Obito; it is not so entertaining when Sasuke is the one on the receiving end.

The party makes their way up the next section of the mountain together, hobbled against the wind and the incline.

Kakashi was not making light of the temperature for dramatic effect.

They were wrong about the place being completely empty, because even with the howling din of the wind, Sasuke can hear the distant roars of a dragon. He only hopes that they get to shelter before the thing makes a pass above this part of the mountain.

As they amble onward, Sasuke keeps a careful eye on the figure at the head of their procession. Sakura tramps through the snow with her usual determination and uncomplaining nature. He would never have known she had been gravely wounded earlier from the way she moves. It seems her healing skills and balms are far more powerful than he imagined.

Eventually, the four of them arrive at the giant, ridged stone door, and Sasuke sees the lock-seal Kakashi and Naruto mentioned.

Sakura brings out the medallion and presses it into the slot. There is a hissing noise and the ensign glows green, shooting a light into the crevices and cracks of the door. A moment later, the sound of creaking, shifting gears fills the air, and the door pulls open before them.

Sasuke enters first, bow raised in case there is anything lurking that may jump out at them, but this entry passage is empty. The walls and hallways are made of stone, covered with such a thick layer of ice that it is as if the place is built from glass. It is cold in here, too; not quite the knife-sharp frost of the mountain air, but still as frigid as a tomb.

“This will be fun,” Naruto whispers excitedly as they proceed up the corridor.

Despite his game face, they are all careful in their explorations, investigating every corner of the passages in a slow, methodical manner. Sasuke leaves discreet markers in room corners and by doorposts to find their way back should this place be as cavernous as the countless elven ruins he has explored. Snow has tumbled through the walls and ceilings of the temple, casting dark shadows across the corners and making the floor more slippery than it might be under normal circumstances. At one time, this building might even have been a comfortable living space.

They slip through close passages and well-built chambers, rooms with ancient books and scrolls that have Kakashi’s fingers twitching and Sakura’s eyes coveting. There are at least two armouries with discarded weaponry and armour that is ancient, but well-made.

“Ooh, swords!” Naruto declares, gleefully going to check the balance and sharpness of the blades, while the others look for more useful supplies. Sasuke finds several quivers of arrows—some spelled with magic runes to bewitch their targets. He does not like magic, but in this place, using it might be necessary. He adds these to his own supply.

That turns out to be a good idea.

Entering a large, vaulted chamber that seems trapped by time and thick snow, the shadows are suddenly alive with more blade-brandishing figures. These men are not dressed like villagers, but in billowing red robes and burned bone armour.

“More cultists,” Sakura murmurs, hoisting her axe.

Sasuke can see right away that they have the high ground, perched upon the grand staircases up ahead. They send down volley upon volley of arrows, interspersed with blasts of fire that suggest the presence of mages as well.

The party divides, Sasuke claiming the left side of the hall and Kakashi the right, both of them aiming to destroy the ranged fighters in the distance. Naruto and Sakura take the more direct approach, dealing with the incoming wave of close-combat attackers.

Once Sasuke and Kakashi reach the edge of the staircase, most of the archers and at least one mage are dead. Then, they climb upward together, moving around and behind one another in a slow rotation that allows them to divert any incoming projectiles.

Once, Sasuke even snatches an arrow from the air right before it pierces Kakashi’s temple.

The mage repays the favour by turning a wall of icy projectiles into a spray of rain using a fireball. It is a massive blast of flame that grows larger as it travels through the air and immolates the last mage. Sasuke inclines his head in thanks.

Times may have changed, but he is not about to stoop to thanking a mage of all people.

Down on the landing, Sakura and Naruto’s opponents are less feeble. The hulking, bone-wielding warriors appear immune to pain, forcing Naruto and Sakura to hack away at them. Limb by limb and inch by inch until nothing but pulp and bone surround them on the floor.

Sasuke’s stomach rebels a little.

There is a difference between a quick kill and this carnage.

“It is a type of fugue state,” Kakashi explains once the last body drops. “They do not realise they are mortally wounded until all the nerves in their body have been severed. Dwarves have an ability like this, yes?”

Sakura shakes her head, pale. “No…not like this. Dwarven berserkers can ignore pain, yes, but that’s because they’re’re fueled by battle rage and blood lust. They still feel. This…” She swallows. “This was like fighting those corpses we encountered in the Circle of Magi when we met you, Kakashi-sensei.”

“Except these guys weren’t walking corpses, they were actually alive,” Naruto adds with a shudder. “Look, there’s the blood to prove it.”

“Alive may not be the right word,” Kakashi muses. “After the amount of brain damage, hypnosis and blood magic they have been subjected to, I doubt you could really call it living.”

“Pity,” Sasuke says, staring down at one of the discarded arrows broken upon the ice-encrusted stone floor. It is the broken arm bone of a child, “That would mean we are putting them out of their misery.”

“Let’s keep going,” Sakura says, heading for the grand staircase. “We don’t know how big this place is, and there could be more of them. I’d like to get rid of as many as possible be before we lose the last natural light.”

There is a distant rumbling, and once again Sasuke hears the keen of a dragon. The others do as well, and Naruto shifts uncomfortably.

“Maybe after we do that we can set up camp?” he suggests. “I have this bad feeling we’re not getting off the mountain without coming face to face with that. And I’d really rather do it with the sun overhead than stumbling around in the dark…”

It is a sentiment none of them can argue with.

Comments and concrit are much appreciated, and very motivating! For information about supporting my original, non-fandom related works, you’re welcome to check out my ko-fi tip jar, or my patreon page. 

栗

Next Chapter

[shamelessly4shameless-blog]

Nickovich (pt 8 - nsfw)

“How long are you gonna leave him waiting?”

“I dunno. Until I clear you outta smokes most likely.”

Mickey shrugs and grabs another card from the pile. Nicky rolls her eyes and lightly tosses the rest of her pack into his lap.

“There. Congratulations. Now go do whatever it is that you guys do. Go claim your man.”

“He’s not my man.”

Mickey snaps, toying with one folded corner of silver foil at the edge of the box. He’s been playing cards with Nicky for nearly four hours and he knows that Ian has been at the hotel for at least three and a half of those because that was when the first text arrived telling Mickey the address, the room number and the fake name to use.

“Oh no, definitely. I think Trevor might be the one for him. That’s most likely why he booked a room for you two within minutes of you telling him to, dashed across town to get here and has been calling you constantly.”

“Fuck off.”

Mickey mutters but his heart isn’t in it. Truth be told he’s actually just really nervous to go in there and face what he knows is going to be the final show down with Ian Gallagher. Either they will work their shit out and make this thing official or they will go their separate ways and most likely never see each other again.

“He’s gonna be pissed as Hell that you’ve left him waiting so long in there.”

Nicky sing-songs her voice in that annoying way that Mandy used to use on him when they were playing video games and Mickey musters up a pretty good glare.

“Let him be fuckin’ pissed then. Like I give a shit! Asshole deserves to sweat it out.”

“Yeah but what if he sweats too much and decides he needs a cooler climate? Quit being a tropical bitch and go in there before it’s too late!”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I compulsively take care of others when I can’t take care of myself.”

Nicky winks at him and reaches over to take a cigarette from the pile at Mickey’s feet.

“And because it’s like living in a TV show. You love him, you hate him, you want him so badly it’s gonna kill you if you don’t get him … shit. It’s primetime worthy, man.”

Mickey flips her off and stuffs a few of the cigarettes in the box before grabbing his beanie, which is really Nicky’s beanie, and his dark glasses.

“Probably just want me outta here so you can flick your bean all over everything anyway.”

“Oh yeah, I’m gonna use your stick shift to get off and wipe it up with YOUR favourite vest for a change.”

“That’s what you get for leaving your shit all over someone else’s van. Anyway I already said I was sorry.”

Mickey shrugs, his eyes flicking guiltily to the little scrap of black vest that Nicky had fished out from behind the make-shift shelving.

“Still gross. Now please go away and remember, I want a blanket, a shower …”

“Pillows and tiny soaps … yeah, I got it.”

Mickey hates being rushed but Nicky’s quip about Ian leaving has made him prickly.

“And be gentle. You ever watch Beauty and Beast as a kid?”

“Yeah … I guess. That the one with the fuckin’ rose?”

“Yes and the talking teapot and candlestick. I’m the teapot, you’re the beast and he’s …”

“I know.”

Mickey says flatly, his heart already fluttering at the thought of emerald eyes and gorgeously freckled skin.

“Right. And the teapot tells the beast to be gentle because that is what beauty responds to. Be gentle, Abe.”

Nicky squints through the spy hole and then rests her hands on Mickey’s shoulders.

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

Mickey gives her a very small smile and shoves the van doors open. He crosses the parking lot quickly and enters the hotel. It’s basic, clean and discreet and once he gives the name Ian has supplied he is offered a worn keycard, an easy smile and pointed toward the elevator.

*

Mickey makes an effort not to fidget too much in case he draws attention to himself but his fingers drum nervously against his thigh and he realises that he is making a sort of low humming noise at the back of his throat.

He exits the elevator on the fourth floor and stares down the rows of identical doors. A little gold edged sign states that room 409 is to his right. Mickey hesitates outside the door. Gentle. How the fuck is he supposed to be gentle? He’s never been the most patient person in the world and after this morning … shit. Well they’ll just have to figure it as they go because if Mickey waits any longer he’s going to bail.

He removes his cap and glasses, swipes the key-card and pushes the door open. There is a furiously snarled question that Mickey doesn’t have time to process before a familiar fist wraps in his shirt and drags him into the room and he is launched unceremoniously across it and sent sprawling onto the bed.

*

“What the fuck?!”

Mickey shoves himself up out of the rumpled quilt and glares around at Ian who is looming over him, fists clenched at his sides.

“Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been waiting for hours! I was fucking worried about you, asshole!”

Mickey rolls himself off the mattress and lifts a nonchalant eyebrow at Ian.

“None of your damn business where I’ve been.”

The redhead is all blazing eyes and jutting jaw and Mickey’s dick is pressing painfully against his jeans, inappropriately but completely aroused by the larger man’s fury.

“And you lay hands on me like you did just now again and I’m gonna break your fuckin’ arms.”

“Oh fuck you. You’re lucky I tossed your late ass on the bed not into a wall.”

Ian snaps and Mickey’s heart flutters gently, out of rhythm with the thick waves of adrenaline coursing through his body. Ian was never afraid of him, occasionally cautious, but never afraid and he still isn’t and that fact pleases Mickey more than he is willing to admit.

“I thought you got caught or some shit.”

Ian’s words are clipped and short, each one like a whip-crack in the lightly fragrant air of the room.

“Well clearly I didn’t.”

“So where were you? I lied to my boss, took off from work ...”

“Like any of that’s my problem, bitch.”

Mickey scoffs, picking up the TV remote and turning it over in his hand as if considering turning the device on. Predictably, Ian lunges forward and snatches it from his hand, throwing it across the room in absolute fury.

“I swear to God, Mickey ...”

“What? What the fuck are you gonna do?”

Mickey looks Ian up and down, his eyes raking over the planes of his body as his lip curls in smugly and Ian narrowly resists the urge to slap the shit out of him, deciding to try a different tact.

“Look, I am sorry about today. About Trevor. I know you must be pissed …”

Mickey gives a small humourless laugh and lets his head tilt forward until his chin touches his chest.

Gentle.

“And I know I didn’t handle it well. I shouldn’t have frozen like that …”

Gen-fuckin’-tle

“But it was kind of a shock. You’ve been away a while Mickey and I wasn’t sure what to do…”

Mickey is biting the inside of his cheeks hard enough to raise little blisters in the delicate lining, his body going almost unnaturally still and the more he doesn’t react, the more Ian’s mind spirals and his temper, already high, frays even further.

“Jesus. Are you going to speak at all? If you want to vent about him…”

Fuck it. Gentle is overrated.

“It’s not about him! It’s about you! Last I fuckin’ checked you were gonna wait for me, not shack up with some curly haired little prick with creepy boy-band fluff on his chin.”

“We’re not … It’s not like we live together or anything. He’s just … we hang out and stuff …”

Ian fumbles for an explanation and Mickey sucks his teeth contemptuously.

“And fuck too?”

“Yes! Okay, yes, he fucks me!”

Ian hadn’t meant to say that but feels a grim satisfaction in watching Mickey’s jaw drop as he stares at Ian in open horror

“He … You let him put his dick up your ass? Since when are you a damn Bottom?”

“It’s … complicated. Trevor is Trans so it’s not like … I mean ��� Wait. Why am I telling you this?”

Ian stammers to a stop with that confused and earnest look on his face that used to make Mickey want to kiss him right on his stupid frowning face but right now it just make him roll his eyes.

“Because you got a big fuckin’ mouth and are shitty with other people’s secrets. Jesus. So are you Bi now or something?”

“No! … well I guess I did have sex with a woman but ...”

“Ugh. You know what? Stop. I don’t wanna know.”

“Fine. But you really wanna try and tell me you haven’t fucked anyone else?”

Mickey hesitates. He fucked a few dudes but not that many and it was mostly just to prove a point to some uppity little prick or another who thought Mickey might be easy to turn into a bitch.

“I mostly got along with my hand. Cleaner and tighter than most of those jail-skanks anyway. And it don’t come whinin’ for favours later either.”

Ian snorts and then juts his chin out realising that his question has not been answered. He has no right to be jealous but he is. In that moment, he is jealous of everyone who has even dared to look in Mickey Milkovich’s direction.

“So there has been no one? No one at all?”

“No chicks or chicks with dicks or any of that freaky shit! And no one I started calling my boyfriend!”

Mickey snaps and Ian folds his arms defensively

“Well it’s different for you. You hate labelling things you never …”

“What? What do I never do?”

Mickey can feel his temper slipping as the little voice inside his head that always told him that somehow he was the reason everything went to shit, begins to awaken.

“You never want to box yourself into anything.”

Ian’s tone is soft, almost kind and it takes the fight out of Mickey a little as he shrugs and rubs the back of his neck self-consciously.

“Not with other dickheads, no, I don’t! But I don’t mind that shit with you. I’d have fuckin’ married you if you wanted it.”

Ian’s head snaps up and he looks at Mickey in an entirely new way and it irritates the Hell out of Mickey instantly.

“Don’t look at me like that! I told you already – in sickness and in health, richer and poorer, all of that. I told you and you were the one who didn’t fuckin’ want it.”

“I didn’t know you were serious.”

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”

Mickey doesn’t yell but only because there isn’t enough air left in his lungs to do it. Black spots appear in his vision around the edge of Ian’s head and Mickey pinches the bridge of his nose, looking down at the floor and fighting the urge to sit down on the bed and bury his face in his hands entirely.

Ian realises that he’s said completely the wrong damn thing and panic bubbles in his chest, pushing past all the rest of his emotions leaving only the thin, desperate knowledge that he doesn’t want Mickey to shut him out. No matter how much he deserves it, he doesn’t want to be shut out.

“I thought you were just tryin’ to stop me breakin’ up with you!”

Ian’s natural Southside drawl comes out more when he’s agitated and Mickey notices that his hands are shaking, large knuckles vibrating against each other.

“I fuckin’ was, asshole! But that don’t mean I didn’t want it anyway! Jesus, Ian! You’re a good fuckin’ lay but you think I would have put up with half your crazy shit if I wasn’t in it for the long haul? I could have found another guy with a monster dick just like that!”

Mickey snaps his fingers at Ian and runs a hand roughly over his face in frustration.

“Maybe not a red head but something, I could have found something …”

“I know you could and I appreciate everything you did for me back then. I really do, Mick.”

Ian doesn’t know if it’s allowed or not but he reaches out and cups Mickey’s jaw lightly in his palm. Mickey jerks backwards and Ian steps with him, moving until they come up against the bed and Mickey turns his head, glancing down at the mattress.

“You still want me, Gallagher?”

It is a softly asked question but it hits Ian like a blow and he blinks a couple of times before nodding

“I’ve always wanted you.”

He hadn’t intended to say that but the words feel right and he finally feels as though he might have said the correct thing at the correct time. Mickey’s lips pull upwards in a reluctant little smile and he presses his hand flat against the tight fabric of Ian’s shirt, stroking his thumb over the hollow of Ian’s ribcage, feeling the heavy pulse racing beneath it.

The thought of tasting a little blood, his or Ian’s, is seriously fucking appealing and only a couple of minutes ago, Mickey was more than prepared for a fight. What he isn’t prepared for is the feel of Ian’s lips against his, Ian’s tongue forcing its way into his mouth with a possessive urgency that Mickey hasn’t felt from Ian since before the bipolar tipped everything on its head. Since Ian wanted him so badly he was willing to do anything to get him.  

The atmosphere has shifted and taken any ambiguity about their intentions for this hotel room with it. They both know they are going to fuck, the only question is how to find their way to it through all the other shit. But Mickey knows the answer. It’s not gentle but it will work and that is what they need.

“What about your boyfriend?”

Mickey smirks, closing his eyes as Ian’s lips trail down his neck, biting softly at the pale flesh.

“Shut up and get undressed.”

Ian pulls away just long enough to shrug out of his jacket and shove Mickey backwards onto the bed. He wants to taste Mickey’s skin and feel the curve of that sweet ass pinched between his teeth. He wants to hear the sobbing breaths wrench from between those perfect lips as he sheaths himself to the hilt again and again until they are both lost.

The continued manhandling coupled with burning kisses is almost the undoing of Mickey, but he manages another smirk and takes his time unzipping his hoodie and slipping it off his shoulders. Mickey wants the sex, he wants it so badly it is painful, but to admit that, to give it without a struggle, without being overpowered, just feels too weak. He wants Ian to take charge of him and knows he will if Mickey can prod him there firmly enough.

“In a rush, Gallagher? You gotta get back to him, huh?”

Ian tugs his shirt over his head and gives Mickey a meaningful look that makes Mickey’s stomach knot in anticipation but he presses on, determined to push Ian beyond endurance.

“Is he gonna be pissed about this or is the freak house some sort of hippie commune for queers?”

Ian knows that this taunting won’t stop until Mickey gets what he wants and in a weird way, he is really glad about it because it is fuelling something within Ian as well. Something that Ian hasn’t had the opportunity to be in a long time. Dominant. Not just a little bit rough but actually in control and obeyed without question by someone who not only wants it, but fucking needs it.

“You want to call him? You can use my phone.”

Ian looks down at Mickey and his heart squeezes. Blue eyes are looking up at him and to anyone else they might just look pugnacious, maybe a little aggressive and definitely derisive but Ian sees beyond that, he is still, through some damn miracle of adoration, allowed to see beyond that.

Ian bends down and wraps his fist in Mickey’s shirt, dragging him upwards and pressing his knuckles beneath Mickey’s chin, putting them eye-to-eye, his face close enough to feel Mickey’s breath on his lips and kisses him softly, once.

“I know what you need and I’m going to give it to you, but one more snarky little comment like that and we’re done here. Do you understand?”

Mickey’s eyes narrow as he licks away the feel of Ian’s kiss on his lower lip.

“Fuc...”

Ian silences him with another kiss, this one hard enough to bruise and Mickey blinks up at him, his smirk a little less certain as he begins to yield himself.

“You wanna play rough like that huh?”

“I do. And I bought you some things ...”

Grabbing his bag, Ian rummages inside and tosses lube and condoms onto the bed followed by a pack of smokes, a joint and a clutch of Ben Wah beads and Mickey gives a startled laugh.

“Holy fuck, Firecrotch! You planned a whole fuckin’ perverts picnic!”

“I figured you wouldn’t have had … you know … the stuff you like for a while.”

Ian sounds almost shy at the admission of his own thoughtfulness and Mickey almost gives himself up right that second because Ian is right, he has not had the stuff he likes for a while. He hasn’t had it since the day Ian was dragged away by the MP’s. All the same he isn’t some whiny bitch looking for a pat on the head and he forces himself to stay cool.

He cocks his eyebrow and lets his gaze drift lazily away and then back to Ian through half-lidded eyes, his tongue rolling against his lips as if it is too large for his mouth in that arrogant gesture that Ian has loved since the first time he saw it.

“You’re bein’ a little fuckin’ presumptuous! Maybe I just want a decent night’s sleep. How about you shove those beads up your own ass, huh?”

Despite himself, Ian laughs and then hastily bites his tongue to silence it. He’d forgotten how hard it is to rattle Mickey. If he’d acted like this with any of his other lovers … well … he just wouldn’t. None of them would understand this side of him, the side that was born on the streets he grew up on and nurtured in the language of his home.

“How about you shut your mouth unless you’re gonna do something useful with it.”

He quips back and Mickey smiles at him, a genuine smile that makes Ian want to cradle him to his chest almost as badly as he wants to pound him into the bed and leave him gasping.

“Now I asked you a fucking question, Milkovich: Do you understand?”

Mickey doesn’t answer, just holds Ian’s gaze steadily. It is everything either of them need.

“Get undressed, Mick.”

He says more softly and slowly but surely, Mickey complies.

Ian pauses in taking off his belt to glance up questioningly and Mickey meets his eyes with a small smile.

“You want me to keep hold of this too?”

Ian asks softly, holding the worn old leather out for Mickey’s inspection. Mickey considers it, pinches his lip between thumb and forefinger, and then shakes his head. He can take a lot, is hoping to take a lot, but some things need to be built up to and he isn’t ready for that yet.

“Not tonight.”

Mickey presses his lips together as soon as the words leave them and busies himself with unlacing his boots, keeping his eyes on the task at hand. Despite the almost desperate longing, Mickey refuses to look up to see what effect if any those two words have had on Ian.

Ian smiles softly at the back of Mickey’s head and closes his eyes. He knows he isn’t completely forgiven for Trevor, but the possibility of forgiveness is there and that is something. The rest they will figure out. Together.

[allyinthekeyofx]

Dreamcatcher - Chapters 12 & 13

Prologue & Chapter one   Chapters 2&3   Chapters 4&5   Chapters 6&7

Chapters 8&9   Chapters 10&11

Cleveland Ohio May 4th 4:59pm

Scully attempted to negotiate the mid- afternoon traffic, weaving the rental car through the Downtown Ohio streets with one hand, even as she used the other to press the cel phone to her ear.

"C'mon Mulder....pick up the damn phone...."

She waited a few seconds until the clipped, correct tones of the cel-net computer generated operator began to ring annoyingly in her ear.

I'm sorry, the cellular customer you are trying to reach...

Shit.

Either he had switched off the phone in deference to the rigid hospital rules - rules which they both tended to disregard - or he had simply left his phone in the motel this morning.

Knowing her partner like she did, Scully would have bet money on the latter. But this knowledge did little to soothe her. She didn't like being out of contact with him, even for a couple of hours and especially not now, not when she was still trying to process the information given to her.

After the initial shock had worn off, she had hastily exited the Diner in the hopes of catching a glimpse of Mulder before he headed off to the Hospital. But, as good as his word, he was nowhere to be found and since Scully had the keys to the rental, she could only surmise that he had snagged a cab.

Her first point of call though, had not been the hospital.

Instead, she had driven the short distance across to the Coroner's office and picked up the print- outs of the Tox screen. Partly because she needed to see the evidence in black and white, but also partly so that she could better explain to Mulder what exactly they meant.

Which incidentally, was a joke in itself since even she wasn't sure what that might be.

The anger she had felt towards her partner had quickly dissipated. She wasn't exactly sure even where it had come from. It had risen up inside of her, unbidden and totally beyond her control. She had no right to take out her bad temper on him. he didn't deserve it, especially in light of the fact that she knew that his every action that day had been based on his concern for her.

He had done nothing more for her, than, given the exact same set of circumstances, she would have done for him.

And how had she repaid him?

Certainly not with even a semblance of gratitude that he actually cared enough to bother.

Instead, she had taken the anger she had felt towards herself, and turned it squarely around so as to direct it at him.

Maybe it was easier to do that than to admit how she was really feeling – that the day had been a hard one.

The headache had remained with her, pounding at her skull, making rational thought difficult at best.

And she was tired.

God she was so tired.

She wanted nothing more right now than to return to the motel. To sink her aching head in to the softness of the pillows. To close her eyes and let herself drift in to nothingness for a few hours.

And suddenly, the vaguest recollection of Mulder's arms around her. Feeling his warmth as he curled his body around hers. Whispering in to her hair, soothing her with his words, with his touch. Calming her in ways only he could.

Don't leave me Mulder

She had tried to remember the nightmare of the previous night. Tried so damn hard to sift through the mist that seemed to fill her head. Searching for answers to questions she wasn't even fully aware of asking. But the memory had remained elusive.

Just the feeling of his hands tracing slow circles on her back as she shook in his arms. The sound of his voice. His words. His beautiful, calming words which allowed her to relax into sleep again.

I'll never leave you Scully..

Scully blinked rapidly, to dispel the sudden prickling behind her eyes, not really noticing as her hold on the steering wheel tightened, whitening her knuckles as she fought to keep control.

Not even consciously aware that the darkness was lurking.

Ready to consume her.

XXXX

St Mary's Hospital 

It took a while for Scully to locate her partner.

The small Hospital was, if anything, even busier than it had been the previous night and she had to almost shout to make herself heard above the din.

Eventually though, the admitting nurse had found the time to search her records and direct her up to the third floor.

To Gina Robiks room.

Scully had escaped in to the elevator gratefully, watching as the doors slid shut on the chaos that seemed to permanently reign within the building's crowded ER. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn't bother her. Working alongside Mulder for six years had taught her all about chaos, but today her aching head just couldn't handle it.

She found him seated in one of the hard plastic chairs that graced the corridor outside the girl’s room.

Head resting in his hands, he seemed to be taking an inordinate amount of interest in the floor beneath his feet and for a second she paused, struck suddenly by the sight of him.

He appeared lost.

Defeated somehow.

Shaking off the thought that she might have in part contributed to this, she made her way along the corridor towards him. Long before she drew level though, he raised his head in her direction and Scully realised with a certain sense of wonderment that he could recognise her simply by listening to the sound of her footsteps. It shouldn't have surprised her she supposed. It was a skill she had acquired long ago with regards to him.

Had she ever in her life known anyone the way she knew him?

"Hey."

He straightened up, offering her a gentle smile that brightened his whole face.

He was pleased to see her at least.

During the drive over here, Scully had wrestled with the fear that he would be angry with her. Would hold what she’d said at the Diner against her somehow.

But she realised her fears had been groundless.

Mulder never held grudges. Already he would have analysed her actions. Broken them down in to easily understandable segments. Made allowances for her. Forgiven her. Their friendship was far too precious to him for her to expect anything less.

He shifted over slightly and inclined his head to the unoccupied chair beside him. It's surface littered with a few discarded sunflower seed husks that had somehow escaped the small, neat pile that adorned his own chair arm.

Scully couldn't help a smile.

Obviously, her partner had been engaged in some pretty serious thinking.

"You okay?"

That question again.

His deep hazel eyes searching her face, brows drawn together slightly as he voiced his concern for her once more.

Scully cleared her throat.

"I'm fine. I'm......I'm sorry about earlier..."

Mulder shrugged, careful not to make much of the fact that hearing that simple admission from her had the ability to make his heart contract painfully. He didn't need her apologies. He just wanted her to level with him, to tell him the truth about what was going on with her.

In the space of twenty-four hours Dana Scully had frightened him badly.

Not once, but twice.

And seeing her standing before him now did little to lessen the fear.

Quite apart from the fact that something obviously troubling her deeply, she looked exhausted to the point of collapse.

Her delicate features seemed pinched somehow, the skin that covered her face stretched too tightly as she attempted to return his smile. Even beneath the make-up, Mulder could see how pale she was. The dark circles were back. Her luminous blue eyes ringed by dark shadows that seemed to consume her whole face, stealing her usual vibrancy.

And if he was reading her right, he was pretty sure that she had been crying.

Recently.

Why can't you trust me Scully? Why is it always so hard with us?

She sat beside him wearily, and for the first time, he noticed the manila file she held loosely in her hand.

He didn't ask. He didn't need to.

Tired or not, she was immediately all business.

"I got the results of the Tox screen back. They called through just after you left....."

But then she trailed off, eyes fixed far in to the distance and Mulder finally reached out and took the file from her when he realised she wasn't about to continue. That she had drifted away.

And the worry was back.

Digging at him like a thousand needle points.

"Scully?...." he prompted softly, laying a hand briefly on her arm.

She jumped visibly at his touch, and he immediately backed off. Watching as she snapped back in to herself.

And Mulders eyes widened as he finally made the connection.

Jesus, she's afraid

Afraid of what though?

Before he could even open his mouth to speak she reached across and retrieved the folder from him. Opening it up and running her finger down the page, stopping finally on a group of words and numbers that might have well have been written in Swahili for all the sense they made to Mulder.

"I don't understand Scully. What am I looking at here?"

She didn't look at him, just kept her gaze riveted on the string of technical jargon as though the answers might jump right off the page at her.

"I can't even begin to explain it Mulder. It makes no sense, but what you're looking at here are individual enzymes used for the breakdown of cellular material......"

"What?"

Mulder's mouth dropped open at her words, feeling the gears beginning to turn in his head....

"What are you saying Scully? That this is......is...."

Scully raised her head once again, confusion evident on her face.

"It's venom Mulder. Secreted orally by spiders. Injected in to their prey. It softens the tissues, liquefies them. It also contains a kind of anaesthetic, to immobilise so that the spider can do its work without fear of harm........just like Caitlin Stevens described."

Mulder actually felt his stomach, complete with recently ingested contents do a slow, languid somersault inside his body as Scully's explanation hit home.

Hearing about this stuff from a frightened six year old was one thing.

Coming from the mouth of his scientifically minded partner was something else all together.

"Oh my God." he finally managed.

He was saved from having to articulate further by the door to the left of him opening suddenly, a nurse stepping across the threshold to bestow a smile on him that was way too dazzling for the moment.

"Agent Mulder? You can come in now."

She gestured in side, and Mulder immediately sprang to his feet.

Spider venom?

He pushed the questions that were burning inside of him to the back of his mind, arranging his expression in to one of practised neutrality. This wasn't the time or the place. He didn't think that the waiting parents of Gina Robik would appreciate him discussing this right now.

He entered the room quietly, feeling rather than seeing Scully follow him to stand close to his side.

The room seemed sparse somehow.

A single bed taking up most of the floor space. No monitors, no respirator to jostle for position beside it. Just a single bed containing the still form of an eight year old little girl, who looked for all the world as though she were simply sleeping.

The only piece of medical equipment that Mulder could see was the IV line that snaked from its stand, coiling slightly across the covers until it disappeared in to the soft skin at the back of Gina's hand.

Feeding her as she slept.

Two sets of worried eyes fastened on him as he entered the room.

Gina's parents.

Both displaying that same haunted look he had seen a thousand times before. The look of two people tying desperately to hold on to even the smallest thread of hope.

He extended his hand.

"Special Agent Fox Mulder. My partner Dana Scully. Thank you for agreeing to see us....."

The woman shook her head slightly, disregarding him immediately, and riveting her gaze back on her daughter.

"How is she?" He queried.

"No change...."

The woman's voice cracked slightly as she voiced the words and Mulder was uncomfortably aware of the tears that spilled from her half closed eyes and tracked down her face in a steady, silent stream.

He felt awkward, as though he were an interloper, his presence unwanted, unwarranted.

"I appreciate this is a difficult time for you." he ventured gently "But we need to ask you a few questions......would you prefer if we went somewh.."

"We're staying right here."

Gina's father cut him off abruptly and Mulder recognised the barely suppressed anger churning beneath the surface.

"We should never have agreed to her going to that damn place in the beginning"

Mulder didn't respond.

He knew that he wasn't expected to.

Instead, he pulled a chair close to the two distraught figures before him. Scully remained standing, her gaze riveted on the bed where Gina lay, the sound of her partner's voice barely even registering as he began to softly question the child's parents.

And then, the voice faded out altogether, to be replaced with a whispering stillness that dipped and swirled inside Scully's head.

She took a step forward. Listening intently all the while as the whispering became clearer, more pronounced.

Come closer

Another step.

Hands clenched into fists, a part of her, the rational part attempted to deny the voice. But it was too strong.

The sound of a child.

Calling out to her.

Come closer Dana. Come see.

From across the room, Mulder frowned as he watched his partner's face go alarmingly blank, hardly listening to the response of the Robik parents to his question.

His attention was riveted on Scully as she took a hesitant step towards the bed, her head cocked slightly to the side, as though she were trying to figure out a particularly perplexing problem.

Her hands were tightly clenched into fists at the end of arms that hung limply at her sides.

Time seemed to stand still as he watched the drama unfolding before him, even now unsure as to what he was seeing.

And all the while, Dana Scully drifted.

She was no longer aware of her surroundings.

The rooms' contours had blurred together, getting lost in her peripheral vision until they ceased to exist altogether.

Leaving only the child before her.

Innocent. Peaceful. Serene.

Nestled snugly beneath a canopy of fine spun lace that shimmered and sparkled in the strange half light, Gina Robik slept. Wrapped in dreams, she sighed contentedly in her sleep.

Scully smiled at this vision before her.

Drinking in the beauty of the child.

Rich ebony hair, spread across a pillow of ivory silk, wafting gently in the sweet breeze that kept her comfortable as she slumbered. Pink rosebud lips parted gently in a smile of absolute tranquillity.

A scene so breathtakingly perfect that Scully couldn't help but stroke a finger along the smooth porcelain of the little girls flushed cheeks........

"What the hell is she doing?"

Michael Robik sprang to his feet the instant Scully reached out to his daughter and the spell was broken. Shattered in to a thousand pieces as Scully jerked back abruptly.

Mulder followed Robik a split second later, catching a hold of the smaller man's arm even as he took a step towards Scully.

"Wait." He ordered forcibly.

Scully blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Her eyes were wide, and what little colour she had drained out of her face.

To Mulder it seemed like this moment of realisation was frozen in time as a sudden terrible clarity flooded her features and she took a stumbling step backwards, seeking escape from a horror only she understood.

She brought a closed fist up to her mouth, pressing against it as though biting back a scream. Her breathing was harsh, laboured, reverberating around the sterile surfaces and to Mulders mind at least, blocking everything else out. She remained there for long seconds, until, just as Mulder was about to go to her, she uttered an anguished cry and fled the room.

Ignoring the incredulous stares of the Robiks, Mulder followed.

"Scully!.....Wait!"

He caught up with her easily. She seemed disorientated somehow, frowning heavily, as though trying to place him in her thoughts.

Mulder took a hold of her upper arms, forcing her to look at him, heart sinking as he felt her limbs trembling beneath him, hardly lessening as she slowly came back to him.

The returning was painful for her though. The tears that pooled in her eyes told him as much. Unable to speak, she just shook her head from side to side, an expression of absolute wretchedness obscuring every other emotion from him, and Mulder felt something inside of him turn to stone.

"Scully. It's okay........"

The tears spilled to run unchecked. A salty river that seemed to have no end, they collected in droplets at the edge of her fixed jaw line to drip on to the fabric of her tailored suit.

Oh God Scully, what? What is it? Please......

"Mulder......"

Again, that same whispered voice he had heard before, almost hidden behind the hitching sobs that tore at her throat.....

"Please Mulder. Take me out of here....."

XXXXX

Chapter Thirteen

Eeazy Sleep Motel Cleveland, Ohio May 4th 6:01pm

She hadn't spoken.

Not one word since they had left the hospital.

Ignoring the curious stares of the medical personnel, Mulder had placed an arm protectively around her shaking shoulders, steering her toward the hospital's exit and the parking lot beyond.

She had stood, shivering slightly beside the car as she waited for him to unlock the doors, not resisting when he ushered her gently inside. Just closed her eyes and rested her cheek against the smooth coolness of the side window.

Take me out of here

Mulder had complied, breaking several speed limits as he wove the rental through the rush hour traffic. Occasionally he rested one hand protectively against his partner's shoulder, partly to protect her from being jarred or shaken by the vehicle's momentum, but also by a need to touch her. To let her know he was with her.

She remained silent.

Unmoving.

Unresponsive to his touch.

Retreating inside herself as she stared sightlessly through the passenger door window.

If he lived to be a hundred, Mulder would never forget that look he had seen in her eyes when she had hovered over Gina Robik.

Such horror.

Such hopelessness.

Take me out of here.

Blinking back the image, Mulder concentrated on the road ahead.

Whatever Scully has seen or experienced back at that Hospital, she was in no shape to talk about it now. That would come later.

Right now he had to make things okay for her again.

Nothing else mattered to him.

By some small miracle, he managed to get them back to the motel in one piece, allowing the car to roll to a gentle halt in front of their twin rooms. He turned the key slowly in the ignition, quieting the engine, letting the silence wash over them for a few seconds before he reached over and placed two fingers underneath Scully's chin, drawing her head around so that she faced him.

"Let's get you inside."

He was rewarded when she nodded numbly, her shaking hands fumbling for the seat belt release. Mulder cringed as he watched those normally dexterous fingers failing hopelessly with the task, until finally, he covered both her small hands with his larger one, and released the clasp without difficulty.

Her eyes filled with tears again.

"Mulder, what's happening to me?"

Her voice shook tremulously, seeking answers from him that he couldn't possibly hope to give her, and Mulder could do little more than to trace his thumb down the side of her face, pausing to push a strand of hair behind ear. It was the only vibrant thing about her.

"It's OK, Scully. We're gonna figure this thing out. You and me. Together."

She shook her head slightly.

"No...but..."

"Yes. But first we have to get you inside okay? Just...just let me take care of you."

Looking into the depths of his chameleon eyes, turned almost black with the intensity of his words, Scully had felt just the smallest measure of calm return to her.

And, through the layers of confusion and fear, she grasped onto the feeling with both hands, allowing it build inside of her, settling in her stomach. Chasing away the darkness that lingered, replacing it with the hope that somehow, some way, he could help her to make everything right again.

XXXX

As good as his word, Mulder had not yet mentioned the events that had transpired earlier. He had simply focused himself on delivering what he had promised. He had taken care of her.

Leading her by the hand as one might lead a small child, he had crossed the room and entered the small, compact bathroom.

She had been shaking still, her skin ice cold beneath his touch and although he was no doctor, Mulder was pretty sure that she was suffering from a mild case of shock. He needed to start by warming her up. His options were pretty much limited, and the bathtub seemed as good a place as any to start.

It was either that, or simply wrap her in blankets, holding her against him, transferring his own heat to her.

But he sensed she needed this time. Time to relax her mind and body beneath the soothing caress of the water.

So he had remained in the room only for as long as it had taken for him to fill the tub, carefully mixing hot and cold until the temperature was just right. Warm enough to take the lingering chill from her body, but not so hot that it would burn.

And all the while she had watched him, never taking her eyes off him for a second as she leaned against the tiled wall, trying desperately to communicate a kind of silent gratitude which stubborn pride prevented her from voicing.

But Mulder had known. He didn't need her to speak. Words weren't necessary.

Finally, he had stepped up close to her, searching her face intently, satisfied in some small way by what he saw there. He gestured toward the bathtub, now three quarters full and emitting spirals of heat- filled steam that rapidly turned to condensation as it hit the tiled surface of the walls. "Take as long as you need. I'll be right outside."

And then he was gone. Leaving Scully staring after him, breathing in the lingering scent he left in his wake. A combination of spicy cologne, sweat and that unique male muskiness that was Mulder. In all the years they had spent together, that scent represented only one thing to her.

Safety.

She noticed that he had left the door slightly ajar, and under normal circumstances she might have closed it.

But right now she needed to feel his presence.

Needed to know he was close.

Don't leave me, Mulder.

I'll never leave you, Scully.

She needed him.

Maybe now it was time to finally acknowledge to herself just how much.

Sighing heavily, feeling exhausted suddenly, Scully undressed quickly and stepped into the sweet-smelling water, allowing it to close over her as it worked its magic, sinking deeper and deeper until it covered her completely.

On the other side of the door, Mulder remained in the centre of the room, listening intently for any signs that his partner might be in distress. He relaxed, though, when the sounds of the water lapping against the sides of the tub reached him. He didn't expect her to surface anytime soon, so he occupied himself by preparing the small room for her.

First, he loosened the covers on the bed, pulling them down about a quarter of the way and folding them over. She was exhausted, she needed to sleep. Maybe when she was rested, they could begin to get to the bottom of this. To figure out just what it was that was happening, to understand why this was happening to her.

He didn't profess to have any insight into all of this, but as he had watched the way she had acted in that hospital room, a niggling voice had begun to speak to him. And while he didn't want to acknowledge it fully, he was becoming more and more convinced that somehow, inexplicably, Scully might well hold the key in to figuring out what had happened to those girls.

He shook his head, not wanting to linger on this numbing prospect right now and instead turned his attention to the rest of the room.

The sunlight still streamed through the open drapes, the beams cutting a swath through the gloom. Bright enough for the dust motes that danced inside them to be clearly visible.

It was too bright.

He crossed over to the drapes and drew them together tightly. Satisfied when the light disappeared, he switched on a single lamp, watching as the room became suffused in its warm glow.

In this false twilight of his own making, Mulder moved softly, his feet barely making a sound on the carpeted floor beneath them. He frowned as he reached the small, squat refrigerator to the side of the chipped wooden desk, unsure suddenly as to whether he was doing the right thing.

Neither he nor Scully drank regularly. On the very rare occasions when they had chosen to dine at a nicer restaurant when on a case, she had normally stuck to white wine spritzers, Mulder to bottled, imported beer. He couldn't recall a time when she had ever indulged herself in anything stronger.

But, even she, with all her stubborn determination, couldn't possibly deny that these weren't normal circumstances, so Mulder shook off any lingering reservations and removed two tiny bottles of brandy from the mini bar. No doubt the tight-assed bureaucrats back in Washington would have something to say when they received his latest batch of expense reports.

Mulder shrugged.

Screw 'em.

He'd long ago stopped worrying about what they thought of him anyway.

He set the two bottles down on the desk, allowing them to slowly reach room temperature, forcing himself to finally sit down on the edge of the sofa.

Waiting.

Determined not to give in to his concern and call out to her. She'd come out when she was ready.

As it turned out, he didn't have to wait too long. No more than a half hour had elapsed before he recognized the sounds of water swirling around the drain as the tub emptied. Five minutes later Scully emerged, clad in a pair of emerald flannel pyjamas he had never seen before. A towel lay across her shoulders to catch the droplets of water that hung off her recently washed hair and although she still looked drawn, Mulder was at least heartened to see the small spots of colour that had returned to grace her cheeks.

She paused in the centre of the room, eyes downcast, as though she were ashamed somehow.

Mulder felt his chest tighten at the sight of her. She looked so tiny, so fragile and more lost than he had ever seen her.

"I'm...I'm sorry Mulder."

He was on his feet in a second, reaching her in two short strides. She cringed slightly, but didn't seek to escape him. Not this time. She allowed him to cup her chin in his hand, lifting her head in answer to the gentle pressure, feeling the feather-light touch as his thumb caressed her smooth skin softly.

"Don't be. Not with me. Never with me, Scully."

He traced his hand down her neck, along her shoulder and beyond, until it rested against the small of her back.

"C'mon. You need to keep warm."

Scully resisted him slightly. The feel of his touch was comforting, and she didn't want to break the connection just yet

As if reading her mind, Mulder led her gently to the sofa, leaving her standing for a second as he reached behind her to retrieve the soft woollen blanket he had placed there earlier.

"Here."

With infinite tenderness, he carefully brought the material around her, wrapping her in its heavy warmth, before removing the towel from around her neck. His movements were so quiet, so measured, that Scully could have cried. Instead, she felt a tremulous smile wash over her lips as he took her hand in his, drawing her down on the sofa to rest her body against his.

And then, the feeling of him twisting away from her slightly as he stretched his arm out, picking up the glass into which he had recently poured the small shot of brandy.

"I want you to drink this."

Scully took the glass from him and regarded its contents dubiously.

"Mulder, I..."

The words died on her lips as she felt his fingers in her hair, combing patiently as he freed the tangles caused by her recent bath. A singularly intimate gesture that made her breath catch in her throat.

"Sshhhh, Scully. It's okay. Just drink it."

Closing her eyes, she obeyed, melting herself against him as the alcohol cut a fiery trail down her throat before settling pleasantly in her stomach. She sighed as she felt herself relax, the tension leaving her body, until there was nothing.

Just Mulders hands.

And the feel of his breath on the back of her neck as he worked on her hair.

Scully drifted.

"You hungry?"

His voice reached her from far away, invading that wonderful place that lies somewhere between awake and asleep.

She shook her head slightly, unable to summon up the energy to even open her eyes. Her lids felt heavy, exhaustion stealing even this most basic reflex from her. And even as she succumbed to sleep, she felt Mulder loosen the empty glass from her hand, removing it from her as he buried his face in the sweet smelling softness of her hair.

"It's okay.” He whispered softly. “Go to sleep."

She felt his arms tighten around her, drawing her closer, cocooning her in his embrace; allowing her finally, to fall into nothingness. Her last conscious thought one of safety.

Of protection.

XXXXX

Dreamcatcher May 4th 7:17pm

It was dazzling. A light so bright that Scully could still see the glare even after she slammed her eyes closed, and with the light came pain.

Pain so intense that she couldn't help but cry out.

It radiated from deep within her, an all encompassing, dreadful pain.

She felt her legs folding beneath her and she began to fall, through the light, tumbling endlessly toward nothingness as she finally blacked out.

And then, later, the feel of a hand in her hair, stroking softly, bringing her back to alertness.

Mulder?

She dismissed the thought.

No, not Mulder.

But if not Mulder, then who?

"Dana?"

Scully struggled to open her eyes in response to the voice, fighting against the urge to just sink back into peaceful oblivion. Every muscle, every bone, every fibre of her being ached and she was terribly afraid that to wake up completely would just serve to intensify the pain.

"Dana..."

That voice again.

Louder this time.

More insistent.

Scully groaned softly, knowing that she couldn't hope to ignore it for very much longer, and almost against her will she felt her eyes flutter open, struggling to focus on the child's face that hovered above her.

"It hurts," she whispered.

Felicia smiled gently as she once more began to run her small hand up and down Scully's hair. Stroking softly, calming.

"It's okay. It always hurts the first time. It goes away," she said matter-of-factly.

Scully struggled up in to a sitting position.

"The first time?"

Felicia shrugged.

"The first time you have to find your way here by yourself. I can only help you to come here once. Then you have to do it by yourself. It gets easier, though. You just have to stop fighting it."

She watched as Scully stretched out her limbs, knowing that the pain was abating.

A little at least.

In a few minutes, it would disappear completely.

"I don't understand. Where am I? How did I get here?"

Scully finally allowed herself to look around, to take in her surroundings.

Green grass beneath a canopy of giant redwoods so tall that she became sickeningly dizzy when she tilted her face upward to better appreciate them. It was cool here, the trees effectively blocking out the sunshine that she was sure lay beyond. The coolness was welcome, and she let it wash over her.

Fliss cocked her head on one side, frowning slightly as she did so.

"Don't you know? Even after last time?"

Scully began to shake her head, but almost immediately realization hit.

"The Dreamcatcher?" she whispered, her words almost swallowed up by the gentle rustling of the leaves above her. "But that was a dream...a nightmare..."

In response to her words, Fliss's expression darkened suddenly, and Scully had to fight the urge to physically recoil from the child.

"You think all this..." 

The girl waved her arm in a wide curving arc as her voice rose in pitch. 

"You think all this is a dream? Conjured up by your subconscious? I thought you were smarter than that. Smarter than the others. I thought you would be the one who could help us."

The child stopped suddenly, her body stiffening, a study in absolute unwavering stillness, and Scully's heart began to beat painfully against her chest. Something in the girl's expression chilled her to the very core, and inexplicable as it might be her every instinct screamed out at her to simply scramble to her feet and run far away from this place.

But she found she couldn't move.

Couldn't breathe as she watched the colour drain from Fliss's face.

It was all she could do to reach out a shaking hand and wrap her fingers around the girl's slender arm.

The skin was ice cold.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

Fliss snatched her arm out of Scully's grasp, finding her voice at last as she bolted to her feet.

"We have to go. He's coming."

Scully just stared at her dumbly.

"What?"

It's getting darker. Why is it getting darker?

She was hardly conscious of the thought. Focused as she was on the terrified child before her, Scully had barely noticed the lengthening shadows that crept toward them, consuming everything in their path, obliterating shape and form as it ate into the safety of the light.

Fliss, though, had noticed and realization flooded her features as she reached down and roughly hauled Scully to a standing position, oblivious of the woman's shriek of pain as her protesting muscles cramped suddenly and painfully.

"Run, Dana! We have to run."

Scully took an uncertain, faltering step in response to the insistent tugging, but the pain was too great and she sank once more to the ground, almost bringing Fliss down with her. Tears poured down the child's face as her face twisted into a grotesque mask of terror and pain.

"GET UP!! PLEASE GET UP!!"

She began to tug once again at Scully's arm, as though sheer will power alone could get her on her feet and moving again. But Scully just shook her head numbly.

"I can't."

"YOU HAVE TO!!! PLEASE TRY. PLEASE.....”

Scully slammed her eyes closed in an attempt to block out the sound of the shrieking child, a child who suddenly seemed so much younger than she had previously.

A voice from another time, another place.

Emily?

And suddenly, the voice was gone. It was replaced with an eerie silence, an inexplicable sense of calm as the darkness closed in.

Slowly, tentatively, Scully opened her eyes. The action, though, was futile, consumed as she was by an inky blackness so intense that she couldn't even see her hand in front of her face. As though to affirm that she was even here at all she brought her hand closer, starting slightly as her probing fingertips made sudden contact with the soft skin of her own cheek.

She wasn't even aware of whether she was still sitting in a crumpled heap on the ground. She could feel absolutely nothing; it was as though she were suspended in a space that stretched to infinity.

And then she heard it. A faint buzzing sound, a sound that got closer and closer even as she strained to identify it. With the buzzing came a series of vibrations, the feeling travelling through her body as though she herself were a conductor for this strange phenomenon.

She began to shake as the vibrations intensified, and felt the fillings in her back teeth begin to rattle in answer to the unearthly motion around her.

This is not happening. I need to wake up now.

She let out a long, shaky breath as the vibration suddenly ceased. She closed her eyes once again in an attempt to gain some control of her shaking limbs, and then the world seemed to stand still as she felt it.

Hot, fetid breath on her neck.

Hot enough to burn almost.

For a split second she was frozen by the sheer terror that hammered at her, and then the spell was broken as she whirled to confront this unknown assailant. Her outstretched hands made sudden contact with a warm, slightly textured surface.

Leather?

But she hardly had time to register the thought before the pain hit her. Radiating from the tips of her fingers, it obliterated lateral thought, a burning, agonizing hurt that forced bile to rise in the back of her throat.

Dimly she was conscious of a wailing, agonized, scream. The sound bounced around her to be swallowed up in the darkness, growing fainter and fainter as the pain consumed her.

She vaguely felt the iron grip that suddenly wrapped itself around her, and even as she screamed, she fought against it with every ounce of energy she possessed, striking out blindly, feeling her fingernails sinking into soft, pliant flesh.

The grip on her loosened marginally, and she scrambled backwards, tumbling sideways in her haste to escape. Her head connected solidly with a hard, unyielding surface, the shock of which was enough to prompt her eyes to fly open.

The darkness was gone. It was replaced with a soft orange light that framed the bruised and bloody face of her partner as he stared uncomprehendingly down at her from his position on the sofa.

"Scully?"

He didn't seem to be aware of the blood that trickled from the long ragged rent that stretched from the corner of his eye to halfway down his cheekbone. His focus was directed solely on the woman before him. Watching her carefully, searching for signs that she was awake, that she was back in control.

Scully couldn't speak. Didn't trust herself to open her mouth without screaming again, and instead settled on nodding slightly. But as she reached out to him, partly seeking comfort, partly in a silent apology, as his eyes widened in horror.

"Jesus Christ, Scully!"

Scully frowned up at him, her mind still fuzzy, refusing to process thought into action. Eventually though, she managed to force the word out.

"What?"

Mulder shuddered, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight before him.

"Your hand. What the hell happened to your hand?"

And then she saw what he saw.

The soft, white skin. Now red and angry.

Covered in a blanket of fluid-filled blisters that distorted the delicate shape of her tapered fingers.

And the pain returned with a ferocity that took her breath away.

Continued chapter fourteen

[myfinancialguideme-blog]

A Week In Toronto, Canada, On A $55,000 Income

New Post has been published on https://financeguideto.com/awesome/a-week-in-toronto-canada-on-a-55000-income/

A Week In Toronto, Canada, On A $55,000 Income

Welcome toMoney Diary, where we’re tackling what might be the last taboo facing modern working women: money. We’re asking millennials how they spend their hard-earned fund during a seven-day period — and we’re tracking every last dollar.

Today: a freelance copywriter working in the field of advertising who attains $55,000 per year and spends some of her money this week on a one-piece swimsuit. Below, we asked the OP some questions about her career. Editor’s note: All prices ought to have converted to U.S. dollars.

How did you get into your line of work?

“I worked in marketing and copywriting at large companies for five years before constructing the leap to freelancing full-time. I left my last chore shortly after a round of layoffs left me doing the work of two people. I was unhappy and anxious, so I left my job to freelance. In hindsight, I likely should have taken more time to freelance as a side hustle and build up a client base before discontinue, but fortunately it’s worked out for me in the long run.”

What are the challenges of has become a freelancer?

“The biggest challenge for me is the isolation of running freelance. I typically run from home, so it’s been really important for me to has made every effort to get out and meet with friends and family often to make up for the lack of human interaction during the day. Another big challenge for me has been managing the business side of being a freelance. I’ve always ran in creative fields, and it took me a long time to get a handle on the skills needed to run a business. Managing my business finances, dealing with taxes, pitching new business — it’s all been a learning experience! “

What advice would you give to someone start now as a freelancer?

“If possible, start freelancing part-time while you still have the security of a stable job to give yourself time to build up a roster of clients. Once you do run full-time, make sure you have savings set aside is to support you through the first year or so of business, because it can be tough getting a full-time freelance business off the ground. And make sure you take time to appreciate all the benefits and rewards of working for yourself, because freelancing are likely to be stressful and tiring, but it helps to reflect on why you’re doing it.”

Occupation: Freelance CopywriterIndustry: AdvertisingAge: 30 Locating: Toronto, CanadaIncome: ~$ 55,000 from my freelance business+ ~$ 15,000 from a part-time bartending jobPaycheck Amount: ~$ 4,500 freelance income per month; ~$ 1,250 bartending income per month

Monthly ExpensesRent: $658 for my half of a one-bedroom apartment with a backyard.( I divide rent with my boyfriend .) Student Loan:$ 0( Tuition was ~$ 3,500 per year, and my parents had a government-sponsored education savings plan for me .) Car Insurance: $99 for my half, divide with my boyfriendCell Phone: $51 Internet/ Cable: $27 for my halfPilates Unlimited Monthly Pass: $117 Business Taxes/ Canadian Pension Scheme: I set aside ~$ 1,500 per month to cover-up business taxes and pension contributions.Netflix: $10 Spotify:$ 0( My boyfriend pays .) Health Insurance:$ 0( I’m covered by my boyfriend’s work plan .) Savings: I try to save ~$ 1,000 per month across a tax-free savings account, Registered Retirement Savings Plan, and a shorter-term savings account for travel and other big expenses.The Globe And Mail Digital Subscription: $23 The New York Times Digital Subscription: $19.80 Gifts: $27 to Doctors Without Perimeters and $12 to the local women’s shelter

Annual ExpensesNew Yorker Print Subscription: $165 Annual Donations: $50 to UNHCR, $50 to MOAS, $50 to an animal rescue organization

Day One

7 a. m. — I awake to stinky-breath kiss from my puppy, who is standing next to my bed, tail wagging, chipper as anything. This is her be pointed out that she’s ready to go outside, subtle as a kick in the pants. I roll out of bed and open the back entrance for her. When she’s done her morning business, I let her back in and crawl back into bed with her for a morning snuggle. My boyfriend, L ., got into the shower while I was up with the dog, so the two of us take full advantage and spread out.

7: 30 a.m. — L. kisses us both goodbyes and heads to work. I get up, wash my face with Cosrx Good Morning cleanser, then apply the Ordinary Buffet serum and Tatcha Water Cream. I brush my teeth, drink a glass of water, and take the dog for our morning outing. We’re luck enough to live near a huge urban park with a lot of off-leash dog roads, so I get to start my day surrounded by nature while the dog runs around like a maniac terrorizing the local squirrel population. I try to simply enjoy the warm morning, but I’m already making a mental to-do list.

8: 30 a.m. — I feed the dog and then feed myself — a pot of Earl Grey tea to fuel my morning and pair it with a piece of sourdough toast drizzled with honey. I recently switched to tea on weekdays because my anxiety has been off the charts and coffee tends to make it worse. I have a general nervousnes disorder and experience panic attacks, so I try my best to keep them at bay when possible. But tea will never fill the same void my morning coffee usually does.

8: 45 a.m. — I’m at my desk in my home office, where I put my mental to-do list on paper and get started checking off items. I expend the morning send emails and chatting with my biggest client about ad direction for an upcoming campaign.

11 a. m. — I take a quick break to walk to the bookstore around the corner from my house. I pick up three volumes — two fictions by Canadian writers Esi Edugyan and Catherine Hernandez, and a nonfiction book The Secret Wisdom of Nature by Peter Wohlleben. Then it’s back to work on ad copy. $54.77

1 p. m. — I break for lunch. We have a mishmash of assorted leftovers from a dinner party, so I graze on those while I heat up some sad tomato soup that’s likely close to its expiration date. I soup it up( sorry for the pun) by adding leftover quinoa from the fridge, some spinach leaves, and leftover roasted potatoes that I chop up and throw in the pot. Then it’s back to work, where I invoice a client for a project I wrapped up on Friday and get back to a writing project. I’m at my desk for the rest of the day, with a few procrastination snuggles and chats with the dog hurled in for good measure.

6: 30 p.m. — L. comes home and asks if I want to go out for wings at our local pub. I’m in, but have a bit more work to finish. He takes the dog for her nighttime stroll( I take her in the morning, he takes her in the evening ), and we make plans to meet a friend at the tavern a bit later.

8 p. m. — After finishing as much work as I can, L. and I walk over to our local. Our friend is already there, and we catch up over wings and nachos. I also have a pint of a local APA. We all trade off on who pays for these dinners, and today it’s our friend’s turn.

10 p. m. — We catch up for a couple hours about work, travel plans, politics, and more. Then L. and I stroll home. I let the dog out for one final pee of the night. Then I make myself a beaker of Sleepy Time tea and read the latest issue of The New Yorker.

11 p. m. — I do my nighttime skin routine: Kiehl’s Midnight Recovery Oil Cleanser, Kiehl’s Midnight Recovery Concentrate, The Ordinary serum, and Dermalogica Sound Sleep Cocoon night cream. It seems over the top, I know. But my scalp in wintertime is like a ragged piece of sandpaper, so I pay good money to make it not look and feel quite so terrible. I head to sleep right after.

Daily Total: $54.77

Day Two

6 a. m. — I’m get up early today to get a jumpstart on work that I’m stressed about. I’m cursed with being most productive first thing in the morning while also being terrible at getting up early. I sneak out of the bedroom so as not to disturb L. and get to work at the dining room table finishing an article.

8: 45 a.m. — Complete the article and send it to my client. Hopefully there won’t be too many revisions; I’ve already spent way more time than I expected to on this project, and I’m billing a fixed rate , not by the hour. I do my morning routine and then head out with the dog. On the way to the park, we stop to get her nails clipped at a local store. It costs $13 and I tip-off$ 4 because the groomer is always so patient and kind with my dog, who is quite the chicken shit with her fingernails. $17

10: 30 a.m. — I’m back after a very slippery stroll. There was a flashing freeze overnight, so I shuffled awkwardly like a penguin to avoid falling while my puppy took no such precautions and careened around with more than a few Bambi-on-ice moments. I stimulate myself a breakfast taco with egg, cheddar, avocado, and a local brand of fermented hot sauce. While I’m waiting for the egg to cook, I snack on quick-pickled cucumber from the fridge. I realise pickles are a weird thing to start the day with, but it simply feels right. Then I’m back to my desk responding to a flood of emails.

12 p. m. — I take a break to shower, which is something I do far too infrequently as a person who works principally at home. Self-employment has turned me into a bit of a hermit-gremlin. Then it’s back to run. I picked up a shift at the bar I work at tonight to help a sick coworker out, though I usually only work one weekend shift per week. As a result, I’m emphasized about get all my work done before I have to leave.

4 p. m. — I put on more makeup for run than I wear on a typical day: concealer for that under-eye luggage, eyebrow gel, eyeliner, mascara, and blush. Then I’m out the door walking to the subway. I swipe my Presto card to get into the station. My Presto card is tied to my credit card and autoloads $50 whenever my balance drops-off below $10. A single ride in Toronto is $3.

5 p. m. — I arrive at the bar, where I say hi to everyone working and then snack on the staff meal, which today is tacos. Nothing incorrect with a doubled taco day. I got this part-time bartending gig when I first started freelancing in 2016, back when I had few clients and not enough money coming in to subsistence myself. I can afford to quit the job now, but I love the people that I work with, and I love that it’s so different from my normal workdays. I’m on my feet rushing around and constantly interacting with new people. So for now, I’m happy to keep up one shift per week.

11: 30 p.m. — The bar was slammed tonight, considering it’s a random Tuesday in the dead of wintertime. Good for tips, bad for my sleep schedule. I have a quick pint of IPA as my staff drink and chat with another bartender, and then it’s time to hustle home. I induced $140 in tips tonight, but I end up spending $19.01 on a taxi ride home, plus a$ 4 tip-off. I justify it by telling myself my tips-off are practically free fund, since I don’t usually work Tuesday nights. I can find a justification for spending in almost any situation. It’s one of my hidden talents. $23.01

12 a. m. — I get home and am greeted by pitiful cries and many face licks from the dog, who I pet and wrestle for a couple minutes. I chat with L. for awhile, who has tried to stay up to wait for me, although I suspect he was actually passed out on the couch until I opened the front door. Then I do my nighttime skincare routine, brush my teeth, get in my PJs, and get to bed by 12:45.

Daily Total: $40.01

Day Three

7 a. m. — My alarm is blaring, and I wish it would just stop being so rude. I bundle the dog up in her coat before we head out on our stroll. The trails are just as slippery as yesterday, with the added complication that there are ice pellets falling from the sky that feel like itty bitty daggers stabbing your eyeballs. Although, in all integrity, I’m glad owning a dog forces-out me to get out and interact with the world in some little style every day. As someone who has long had anxiety and occasional bouts of depression, it has helped my mental health immensely. So has just having her around as a buddy. I’m so grateful for her. Dogs are the greatest.

8: 15 a.m. — I feed the dog when we get home and attain myself toast with honey for breakfast. I can’t defy the siren song of the coffee cupboard after such a late night. I brew up a pot in the Bodum, knowing I will regret this decision soon. Then I settle in at my desk and respond to emails I missed while I was at the bar last night. I also work on a few projects for a client in the tech industry.

11: 15 a.m. — I change into workout gear and head out early for my Pilates class. It usually only takes me approximately half an hour to get there by metro, but I don’t want to take my opportunities in the terrible weather. The streets are pretty much abandoned and I start to wonder why I’m the only weirdo braving the cyclone — perhaps everyone else knows something I don’t? But I make it on the metro just fine( swiping my preloaded Presto card again) and make it to the studio without incident.

12 p. m. — Our class is small because the cyclone has scared people off — there are only four of us. I’ve been coming to this studio for four years, and it’s like a warm, supportive home away from home. Everyone is so encouraging and kind, and the classes are challenging but grounded in mindfulness, which I find really helpful for my anxiety. I don’t pay, because I have a monthly unlimited pass.

1 p. m. — After a challenging, uplifting class, I reward myself for coming in this shitty weather. I head around the corner to my favorite Vietnamese spot in the city, and order a small rare beef pho. “Small” is a misnomer — it’s a big bowl brimming with rich broth, a huge tangle of rice noodles, and paper-thin slice of rare beef that cooks in the broth. I load my bowl up with Thai basil, bean buds, chili, and hoisin sauce and demolish the whole thing, along with complimentary Jasmine tea. I run into two friends while I’m at the restaurant and chat with them for a few minutes before I leave. $10.01

1: 30 p.m. — I’ve had a nice, long mid-day violate, but I have to get back to work. I walk down the street to a coffee shop, buy an Earl Grey tea ($ 2.13+$ 1 tip-off ), and take advantage of the wifi. I work on an article for a client for a few hours and respond to work emails. After my first mug runs out, I order a peppermint tea ($ 2.13+$ 1 tip-off ). $6.26

3: 30 p.m. — I pop over to my favorite local brewery in this neighborhood, where I stock up on a mix of their beers because we’re having people over tonight ($ 38 ). Then it’s back on the subway with my preloaded Presto card. $28.91

4 p. m. — Back in my neighborhood, I stop off at our local butcher shop for chicken thighs for the chicken tacos we’re constructing tonight. I also pick up flour tortillas, salsa, limes, and an onion. We have the rest of the ingredients at home. L. and I have a joint account for our rent and fund for shared expenditures like groceries and pet costs, and I use this account to pay. It comes to $24.34, so $12.17 for my half. $12.17

4: 15 p.m. — After checking that nothing urgent has come in by email, I get back to working on the article I started earlier today.

5: 30 p.m. — I pour myself a glass of wine from an open bottle in the fridge and get started on the chicken for our tacos. I cook the chicken thighs in a spicy chipotle and tomato sauce, and let it simmer and thicken for quite awhile on the stovetop. While the chicken is pretty much taking care of itself, I prep some of the accompaniments: I make a garlic-cilantro-lime crema to top the tacos, slice up some avocado, and prep cotija cheese. I also pull a jar of quick-pickled onions L. made a week ago from the fridge so I don’t forget about them.

6 p. m. — L. comes home and heads out on a stroll with the dog. Dinner is in good shape, so I head back to my desk to get more run done.

7: 30 p.m. — My friend and his partner come over for a game night. We ingest many tacos, drink many beers, and play many rounds of board games.

10 p. m. — Our guests head out, L. gets to work cleaning up, and I get to sit down on the couch because I cooked. I love this arrangement because I enjoy cooking but hate cleaning up. Also, I’m a messy cook. The kitchen looks like it was hit by a tiny, isolated tornado when I’m done with it. L. deals with all that while I watch an episode of Killing Eve and drink a glass of wine. I head to bed around 11.

Daily Total: $57.35

Day Four

7 a. m. — Before I’m fully cognizant, I hear tires whining on my street and realise we had freezing rainfall last night. This changes my dog-walking schemes because the trails will merely be too treacherous. I do my morning routine and the dog and I head to a local schoolyard instead, where she cavorts around with another puppy and chases poor unsuspecting squirrels.

7: 45 a.m. — Back home, I feed the dog and stimulate myself a pot of Earl Grey and a smoothie with banana, cashew milk, cinnamon, peanut butter, spinach, and chia seeds. Then I’m at my computer sending emails. I work on media pitches for one of my clients, which isn’t something I’ve done in a while, although I ran as a publicist back in the working day. Although most of my work is copywriting, I do get pulled into communications and marketing work for clients because I have experience there, too. I only opt the writing side of the biz.

9: 45 a.m. — I break for a quick shower, then hop on the subway use my Presto pass. I’m meeting a friend who also runs freelance for a run date. We have free admission to a new coworking space because it’s our first visit. I get an Earl Grey tea and get back to work.

1 p. m. — My friend and I break for lunch. I have a lentil, beet, and mushroom salad. Then we continue working, with a bit of rumor and procrastination sprinkled in, of course.

3: 30 p.m. — We settle our bills for our drinkings and lunch ($ 16.73+ $3.80 tip ). We then walk out to hop on a streetcar home, but there’s tons of construction outside and traffic is a mess, so we decide to start walk-to. $20.53

4: 15 p.m. — We’re still walking. To reward our parched egoes, we stop in at a local brewery. We end up getting two rounds and each pay for one ($ 10.65+ $2.30 tip ). I have the nitro stout and then the English-style bitter. We catch up on relationships, friends, travelling, family, and everything under the sun. She’s one of my best friends, and it’s great to spend a whole day with her. $12.95

7 p. m. — I realize the dog is probably traversing her little legs back home with no peeing breakings throughout the day, so I call it an evening and take the subway a couple stops. I grab a bottle of wine ($ 11.41) and a frozen pizza ($ 4.56) on the walking home from the station, because the smoothie and salad aren’t cutting it after two brews. $15.97

7: 30 p.m. — The dog loses her shit when she hears me come home and I let her in the backyard. L. texts to let me know he’s on his way home soon after a run event. I give the dog dinner and then pop my dinner in the oven. While I wait, I pour a glass of wine and turn on an episode of Killing Eve.

8: 30 p.m. — L. get home and takes the dog for a stroll right away. Then we chat about our respective days over wine. L. mentions that some coworkers were asking when we were going to get married and have kids. Awkward — it’s weird how people who don’t “ve known you” all that well can be rather nosy about your personal life. After we chat for a bit, I go through my evening routine and head to bed around 10:30.

Daily Total: $49.45

Day Five

7 a. m. — I wake up and am surprised to not have even a whisper of a hangover. I chalk it up to the pizza. I do my morning routine and take the dog for a walk in the off-leash park.

8 p. m. — Back home, I feed the dog breakfast, construct myself a pot of tea, and boil an egg before sitting down at my computer to send a bunch of emails and start working on social media transcript for a client.

12 p. m. — I finish up what I’m working on and break for the working day. Since I pretty much always work one weekend day at the bar, I try to take a half day off on Fridays. I take the metro to the Art Gallery of Ontario, where I’m meeting my parents to consider the new “Impressionism in the Age of Industry” exhibit. We all have gallery memberships, so admission is free.

2: 30 p.m. — We’re famished after a few hours of art appreciation, so we go to a ramen restaurant that’s close to the gallery. I get a bowl of ramen and a brew. My mothers pay.

3: 30 p.m. — I get back on the subway and head home. I find an email that I’ve been charged $50 Canadian to reload my Presto pass ($ 38.03 USD ). $38.03

4 p. m. — On my walk home, I stop in at the drugstore where I buy concealer, mascara, Pepcid AC( for the dog, “whos got” frequent upset stomachs from eating weird shit she observes on strolls ), and the latest issue of Vogue. $54.08

4: 15 p.m. — Back home I burrow into some blankets on the couch and read my new book, Washington Black by Esi Edugyan, with a dog snout resting on my foot.

6 p. m. — L. get home early from run and takes the dog for a walk. While they’re run, I get started making a simple stir-fry for dinner with veggies we have to use up: mushrooms, zucchini, bok choy, onion, and peppers. I make a sauce of soy sauce, chili paste, mirin, ginger, and sesame petroleum, and serve the dish on rice.

7: 30 p.m. — We were going to meet friends at a pub in our neighborhood, but the climate is crappy, and we’re both beat after a long week. We open a bottle of cabernet sauvignon that L. brought home, eat our stir-fry, and watch Roma on Netflix. We both head to bed around midnight.

Daily Total: $92.11

Day Six

8 a. m. — L. is out the door early because he’s helping a friend with some home renovations today. I have a slower start to the day, cuddling in bed with the dog until she gets too antsy to stay still any longer, at which point I take her for a walk. We head to a new location today. I drive us to a river trail, and we spend over an hour walking the frozen banks. One of us daydreams about vacation plans, and the other chases field mice.

10 a. m. — Back at home I give the dog breakfast, stimulate myself a cup of coffee and some soft scrambled eggs, which I feed with a piece of sourdough toast and an orange.

11 a. m. — I hop in the shower and get myself ready for a busy day: I’m running a double transformation at the bar. This is very unusual for me — I usually work one six-ish hour transformation per week. On my style to the metro, I stop at a juice store and buy a bougie green juice so I can get those nutrients in while I’m at work. I get a combination of kale, celery, apple, lemon, romaine, cucumber, parsley, and dandelion greens. $9.89

6 p. m. — The bar has been busy all day, and I take a quick break for dinner before getting back to it. I order a salad so I can get my protein and veggie fixing without get too full. I dislike being stuffed when I have to run around on my feet all night. I get 50% off the price of my meal. $5.71

11 p. m. — The chaos continues through the evening, and I finally get cut around 11. I’m supposed to go to a friend’s house party after, but I’m depleted, and I didn’t think I’d be working this late. I text my unhappiness and then have a faculty pint at the bar. It’s nice to get by my feet. Between tips and wages, I made around $380 today, so I again justify taking a cab home ($ 19.01+$ 4 tip-off ). $23.01

12: 45 a.m. — I’m back home and plan to go to sleep, but my intellect is still racing from my busy night. I watch a couple episodes of Brooklyn Nine-Nine until my eyelids get heavy. I head to bed around 2 a.m.

Daily Total: $38.61

Day Seven

8 a. m. — I wake up earlier than expected, and I can hear L. getting ready for his basketball game. I’m not the greatest sleeper, so I figure I’m probably up for the working day. I take the dog to our local schoolyard for a running because it’s rainy and there’s a gale alerting in effect.

9 a. m. — I give the dog breakfast and stimulate myself a pot of Earl Grey and scrambled eggs. Then I sit down to work on some personal writing projects. I went to school for journalism, and while I don’t work in hard news anymore, I do still write essays and short fiction. My income from it is unpredictable, so I don’t factor that money into my earnings. I usually expend a lot more day on these projects, but it was tough this week because of my extra changes at the bar.

11 a. m. — I’m not being as productive as I’d like and decide to put my work away instead of pushing through. Today is my only day off this week, so I try to be a bit more forgiving of how I’m feeling, which is tired and unmotivated. Instead, I read more of my book with some Vogue infringes for variety.

12: 30 p.m. — I decide to go shopping before the wind really picks up this afternoon. For some reason, I find wind cyclones scaring. I go to the liquor store and buy a bottle of bubbly, because the Oscars are tonight and they demand a bit of luxury ($ 22.82 ). I assure a man asking questions change who is frequently in the neighborhood. Whenever I assure him I give him change, but I don’t have any on me today so I give him a$ 5 bill, and we chat a bit. $27.82

12: 45 p.m. — I go to the butcher shop, where I get chicken breast on sale and trout ($ 15.91 ). Then I stop at a cheese shop for brie that’s on special and a baguette ($ 7.61 ). Next, I head to a fruit and veggie store to pick up broccoli, tomato, cucumber, bok choy, mushrooms, avocados, grapefruit, banana, grapes, eggs, and almond milk ($ 29.51 ). And lastly, I go to a Polish deli for a big package of pierogies ($ 5.32 ). $58.35

2 p. m. — Back home, I unload the groceries. For lunch, I fix a little plate of baguette slicings, a hunk of brie, grapes, and cucumber slices. I also have a wee thimbleful of leftover red wine to accompany it, so I can imagine I’m picnicking in France instead of holed up in my apartment. Then I get back to reading my book.

3 p. m. — L. texts be asserted that his team is going out for a pint after today’s games, and I’m secretly happy for more alone time. I love living with my boyfriend, but I’m an introvert at heart and sometimes miss the dependable solitude of living alone. I operate a bath, illuminated a bunch of candles, and select a classical music playlist on Spotify. I hang out in the tub for a while and wash my hair while I’m in there so I won’t need to do it tomorrow before a party in the evening.

5 p. m. — L. gets home and cleans the apartment while I read more of my volume. I also place an online order for household items that are running low. I get dish soap, hand soap, puppy turd pouches, probiotics, and Palo Santo sticks. $72.26

5: 15 p.m. — After browsing the internet using a bit, I decide to finally buy a one-piece bathing suit from a local designer that I’ve been eyeing for some time. I’d like to start swimming at the local community center pond for exercising, and I need a one-piece suit to do that. $144.53

7 p. m. — We had originally planned to have friends over for an Oscars viewing shindig, but we realise earlier today that we forgot to invite them over. Oops! It’s a party of two instead, so we make a salad and caramelize some onions to go with the pierogies we heat up and serve with dollops of sour cream. We pop some popcorn, then pop the bubbly and shamelessly judge the outfits of famous people while we sit in our sweatpants, stuffing our faces. I head to bed around 12:30 a.m. after watching the full show.

Daily Total: $302.96

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