#fools i am already chained to the very bowls of the earth

[waterhorseyblues-ao3]

Loki (2021) as Homestuck quotes because why the fuck not

[crazyzaika]

Prophecy unguided  Chapter 1

Yes I know, I haven't finished the other things yet, but this is going to be short, so I thought I'd come around the corner, give a sign of life from me and see how the idea goes down.

Well then. Chapter 1. Tell me what you think.

Content: Lucy is a sacred witch. Already since her birth this very special prophecy exists. A fight she has to win and an enemy she has to defeat. But then fate intervenes and overturns all plans.

Rating: M

Genre: Romance, Drama, Violence, War

Pairings: NaLu(mainly), Hints on: Gajevy, Gruvia, Jerza, Bixanna, Annalogia

Have fun ♥

Greetings Z ♥

Chapter 1

Magic filled the air, letting her senses humming. Lucy sat up high in an empty temple hall. Frankincense and lavender filled the air, joined with her magic. Countless candles stood in the room, filled the air with their gentle scent, warming the room. She wore nothing but a white, floor-length robe. Coarsely woven fabric of linen. The long blond hair she wore open. She breathed deeply, felt the plucking of magic, felt the power of the ley lines. She stretched her mind and further impressions filled her senses. She could hear the soft scraping of the insects in the ground, heard worms eating their way through the earth. The tickle of the air on her skin as someone at the other end of the temple walked through the wide portal. Sweat beads stepped on her forehead as she stretched her mind even further.

Quiet voices reached her ears, the whispering of mice, the croaking of ravens. Then she heard the laughter of the people in the village, which was about 100 kilometres away. Her heartbeat quickened and she sank deeper into herself not to lose control. Smells reached her nose. The stench of alcohol, the smell of fatty fried meat, the seductive smell of fresh bread and fresh fruit and vegetables. The crying of children, the laughter of men and women. People who argued, laughed together or enjoyed each other. Slight heat rose into her cheeks, but Lucy concentrated a little more, expanded her senses further, stretched them further, extending her magic. Her body trembled under the strain of maintaining control, strengthening and expanding her magical abilities. Her heartbeat quickened under the physical strain. Sweat lay on her skin and her breathing increased, but she refused to stop.

This was so incredibly important. She had to be strong. Because if she wasn't, if she didn't take her task, her mission seriously, then they would be doomed. She knew that and without enough magic, without control she would be nothing. And so she stretched her senses even further, pushing herself to the limits of her physical strain. She woven magic into it and when she opened her inner gaze, it seemed as if she was looking down on the land. Infinite fields, small villages, big cities, magnificent, wide forests stretched into the horizon. Fine, luminous lines of pure, white magic permeated the land. She hummed a spell, the light around her sank and tiny dots flared up everywhere. Some stronger or weaker. They all had a different presence and she knew these were the people she had to protect. These were the people she would protect from destruction. That is what she was born for. A smile plucked at her lips and then an unknown smell entered her nose. Confusion gripped her senses and as she turned in that direction she felt a pull. Her heart made a bounce, began to beat faster than it already had, and then she raced across fields, forests, cities, until her journey suddenly ended abruptly.

A mighty magic filled the air, stretched out towards her. Confused, she pulled her eyebrows together, floated closer, wanted to pursue it. It felt as if someone was calling for her. As if she came home. And without knowing why, tears came to her eyes. She heard a deep, rough voice that dug deep into her heart, her soul. Her breath faltered, her throat tied together and she swallowed slightly.

Lucyanna.

She opened her eyes and slammed the back of her head on hard stone. Her breathing was hectic, almost panicking, and she felt her body twitching, cramping. The coarse linen stuck to her body like a second skin and her hair stuck to her head. She blinked hectically as she tried to stand up, but didn't really make it. Her body protested painfully, her arms trembled with exhaust. Then she felt the grip of strong hands that helped her up. She swallowed slightly, felt how dry her throat was and breathed in trembling. Her vision was clouded and her eyes were burning. Tears ran down her cheeks. Only vaguely did she hear someone call her name and slowly her senses returned. She blinked hectically again and she took Erza who was kneeling before her on the floor. She was also the one who called her name.

"Lucy ... are you all right? Jesus, you scared us", her voice was still unclear and dull, but Lucy finally understood what Erza said. Or rather screamed at her. She forced a smile on her lips although every muscle in her body protested. A rough, unfriendly throat rang out and as Lucy raised her eyes to the side, her eyes met those of her teachers. Grandmaster Makarov and the high witch Porlyusica. Both were about 500 years old. With time Makarov had become smaller, his once blonde hair had turned white and apart from the wild, unruly hair on his sides, his skull was bald. He wore a white, floor-length robe and a coat lined with fur, which made clear his high standing in the witch community. Porlyusica, on the other hand, was still tall and slender. Age seemed to have done little harm to her beauty. Her long hair was still a strong pink and only a few wrinkles indicated her old age. She wore a long dark blue dress, its hems lined with elaborate protective runes. A black belt on her hip held several bags in place and the candlelight made a delicate gold chain shimmer in her hair. But while Makarov's gaze seemed worried, her master's ruby eyes were angry and cold.

"Child! How many times have we told you not to go beyond your physical limits? Your body is still too young! You are still too young", that the older witch was angry, one clearly noticed to her. Her voice was louder than usual, anger swelling in her eyes and magic wafting around her. Lucy swallowed and gritted her teeth. Feelings of guilt surged inside her and she lowered her gaze. She just wanted to get stronger! She had to be strong, had to train to increase her strength.

"Porly, you know how she is," Makarov turned and a dark growl rolled from the witch's lips. She snorted.

"She is only 8 years old! She has a few years left. It's not like she doesn't do this every day. And I also acknowledge her willingness to learn and her determination, but it is no good to anyone if she overtakes herself and dies because of it. Erza, Juvia, Levy. Bring this stubborn brat into her room and force her to eat and rest if necessary. No more training for today. Is that clear?", the voice of the pinquette was unyielding and demanded absolute obedience. Lucy knew that she would not tolerate any contradiction and a rule break would be out of the question. She knew that, even if she would have preferred to continue. But she knew her limits and probably she would not even be able to get on her feet alone and without help. Accordingly she would do the devil and contradict her teacher or train behind her back. No matter how restless she felt herself.

"Yes ma'am", said the girls in the choir, ready to follow the very clear order. Silence descended across the room.

"Lucyanna Leila from Heartfilia! Do you understand me?"

She raised her eyes and blinked again, then nodded and felt the exhaustion and tiredness spread through her. She swallowed slightly. She didn't want to anger her master. Because she was the only one she still had. The only person who came closest to a mother. Sadness surged up in her, but she pushed these feelings and the dark thoughts away from her and nodded.

"Yes, ma'am”, the young girl said dutifully and smiled. Her friends helped her on her feet, as ordered, and Porlyusica dismissed the girls with a wave of her hand. Together they wandered through endless corridors, illuminated by magical flames, burning in large stone bowls and providing just enough light to find their way. Erza had put her left arm over her shoulder and Juvia her right arm over her shoulder and Lucy felt how much they supported her. Her knees felt like pudding and the young witch knew that she couldn't have taken a step without her friends. Levy followed the three and kept casting worried looks at Lucy. She also knew why. She knew that everyone here was worried about her, but she just couldn't help herself. How could she not? She didn't want humanity to be at the mercy of a murderous god. Not if it was her job to stop it. Not if she had the abilities.

The steps of the girls on the stone floor and Lucy's wheezing breath were the only sound that filled the air. Although the way to their chamber wasn't particularly far, it seemed to take an eternity for them to arrive right there. Guilt spread through the narrow blonde as Erza and Juvia helped her onto the bed, smiling but slightly sweaty. She bit her lower lip and felt the tingling of tears in her eyes. Her lower lip began to tremble and Lucy pulled her shoulders up.

"I-i-i'm sorry" she brought up falteringly and the other three stared at her with big eyes. They hadn't expected that. Lucy sniffed quietly and then the first tears rolled down her cheeks. Her body began to tremble.

"I-i-i a-am s-s-such a ... a burden", her words were only half understandable by the sniffing and her insecurity let her stutter. Fear and shame filled her senses and she didn't even dare to look into the eyes of her friends. Then many arms snaked around her and by the swing she was thrown backwards on the bed. Blue and red hair were in her field of vision while her friends hugged her.

"Lu-chan, we love you anyway, you fool," Levy said with tears in her brown eyes smiling with a trembling lower lip. Erza and Juvia also had tears in their eyes and nodded eagerly. Lucy sniffed harder and really started to cry, but returned the hug, which turned into a group snuggle. The girls lay tightly embraced in the bed, which was actually much too small for that.

.

.

.

"Nat-nii", the tender voice of his sister reached his ears and he turned towards her, pulled up both eyebrows, while a little girl with dark blue hair stumbled towards him. She was just four years old and reached barely to his knees. She wore a light blue dress that reached down to her knees and was fastened around her neck with a gold chain. She was barefoot and the soft clapping of skin on cool rock echoed from the walls. A broad grin spread on his lips and the light of the torches shimmered on his canines.

"Wendy", he squatted down to be at eye level with her. She beamed at him and embraced him clumsily. A deep laugh rumbled through his chest as he put his arms around the narrow body of his little sister. He was a good 130 years older than Wendy, but that didn't bother either of them. His big brothers Zeref and Ignia were 200 and 350 years older than him. And if he wasn't completely wrong, then his father Igneel was about 870 and his mother Grandeeney about 800 years old. But he never thought much about numbers, so he did not know that with absolute certainty. Wendy was the youngest and still a hatchling. She was so sweet, so innocent and always seemed quite clumsy. And even Zeref and Ignia, who were both rather coarse and often rather grim, became gentle with Wendy. No one could knock off her big chocolate brown eyes. He detached himself from her again, grinned at her broadly and fluffed through her blue hair.

"And, how was your day today?

"Igni-nii and Ze-nii played with me," she said and beamed at him with big eyes. The grin on his lips grew wide. Probably they had trained magic with her and made it look like a game. Because he could hardly imagine a real game. He knew that his brothers wanted to educate her to become a strong dragon. His parents hadn't said anything about it yet, especially since they had done the same to him and Natsu hadn't really been harmed so far.

"It was more training", the deep voice of his brother Ignia penetrated his ears and Natsu raised his eyes, the grin on his lips didn't go away for a second. He nodded slightly, as he had already thought. Wendy's quiet yawning attracted his attention and he pulled her in, wrapped an arm around her and rose with her, sat her on his hip. The little girl instinctively held on to him and leaned against him, a soft purr rolling up her throat as his body heat enveloped her. Natsu stroked her narrow neck, gently massaging the muscles before turning his gaze back to his eldest brother. He was one head taller than himself, had wild blonde hair tamed back in light curls. The ash-blonde hair shimmered slightly in the flames. His hair tips, however, were of a deep red. As if someone had dipped his hair in blood. Like Natsu, he had tanned skin. His features were hard, clear-cut and angular. Blood red cool eyes lay over high cheekbones, framed by thick blonde eyelashes and isolated strands framed his face, reaching down to his chin. Ignia wore simple harem pants because of the weather, held by a wide red belt. In addition he had put on a fur, on which the family crest was imprinted. You could tell from his well-trained body that he trained a lot, that he was experienced in fighting.  Countless black lines covered the hard muscles of his body, ritual symbols and signs of her clan.

"And how far are you?"

"She's not bad for her age, but she clearly needs a lot of Magic Enhancing Units," Ignia shrugged his shoulders slightly, "but she's much more eager to learn and capable than you ever were."

This last tip against Natsu was typical of Ignia. He was the oldest, but Natsu could almost be called Igneel's favourite son. At least that's how it usually came across. Even if Ignia was actually the heir. A soft rumble rolled Natsu's throat up and for a short moment his pupils turned into narrow slits and golden streaks flickered in the deep green soul mirrors. Hot rage crept up in him, his body getting hotter.

"You threatened to throw me into a volcano if I didn't learn to fly," he rumbled. Ignia was almost bored when he pulled up a blond eyebrow. Then his lips turned to a mean grin. It was as if the air was getting thicker, as if someone was charging it with electricity. Both brothers were tense and even Wendy felt the restlessness between them.

"What can I say? Pink hair doesn't fit into this family", the light of the torches shimmered on Ignia's longer fangs. He had a tendency to let his dragon out more often. Something that had only weakened in the last hundred years.

"My hair is salmon colored and they are like that because Mom has white hair and Dad has red hair," growled Natsu and black smoke fled from his nostrils, rising to the ceiling. Ignia wanted to say something in return, narrow arms snaked around the broad chest and stroked almost tenderly over the visible skin. It was as if someone would just let the thick air out between them. A quiet giggle danced through the air and then a narrow woman stepped out of the shade into the light of the torches. She was pale, almost corpse pale and two heads smaller than Ignia himself. She had long hair of pale pink color reaching down to her knees. She seemed tender and fragile next to him, and the delicate green fabric of the dress that enclosed her figure only reinforced the impression. Deep lines stretched across every visible part of her skin, leaving only her face free. It looked as if flames were licking over her skin. And that was exactly what it represented. She leaned against Ignia and smiled at him. Only the strength in her deep, red eyes clearly said that she was more than just a tender little woman.

"Be sweet, darling," she kissed his left pectoral muscle, then looked at Natsu.

"I'm sorry he's such a nasty guy. I'm already working on it," she giggled and a deep growl rolled over his brother's lips. Natsu laughed quietly and waved his left hand as he held Wendy with his right arm.

"Husch leave already. I don't want to bother you any more," he said and Miyuki wobbled her eyebrows with a grin. Ignias gaze became darker with every second that his mate didn't give him attention. He wrapped one arm around her waist and shouldered her without further ado, gave her a strong slap on the ass, turned around and then disappeared, following the long corridor. Miyuki laughed quietly and waved at Natsu. She seemed extremely relaxed for having to appease an annoyed, grumpy Ignia again. But so it was among mates. He would never intentionally hurt her and she knew that.

Natsu looked down at his little sister, who was clearly struggling not to fall asleep on his arm. Her eyelids hung at half-mast, her eyes almost closed, and she clung to the simple black linen shirt he was wearing. He set himself in motion and put his sister to bed. His footsteps reverberated from the high stone walls and they came on a wider corridor. On the left side, large windowless frames had been installed and the cool night air greeted them. Soft moonlight illuminated the hallway and put a silvery shimmer on the large stones and the rough wood of the doors. He opened one of them, stepped into the large room, walked straight up to a wide child's bed and gently bedded Wendy in the soft furs, covering her with another. She blinked tiredly and snuggled up. The quiet mazing of a cat reached his ears and Natsu lowered his gaze. A delicate white kitten grazed his legs. His lips turned to a wide grin and he lifted the tender creature up and put it on the furs so Carla could get to Wendy. Then he rose and smiled down at his sister, while her cat pushed herself under the furs and snuggled up without hesitation. He turned away, left his sister's room on quiet soles and stepped back into the moonlit hallway.

Suddenly he felt a touch of magic, of foreign magic. His body was tense and his eyes widened. A fine, sweet scent entered his nose and he felt his very own dragon magic coming out. His heartbeat speeded up, hammering wildly against his ribs. His gaze turned to the wide starry sky above him, his nostrils stretched wide and his throat tightened. He clasped the stone parapet, not even noticing how his fingers deformed into dragon claws and dug fine grooves into the rock. His eyes had transformed and he felt this unfamiliar magic approaching. It smelled airy, tender and pure. He could feel everything in him calling to welcome this magic. Mine. The dragon in him instinctively wanted to possess what approached him and Natsu agreed with his inner dragon.

"Lucyanna," he growled. A name he couldn't know, but instinctively he knew that was her name. And then, as if someone had broken a mirror, the magic had disappeared, vanishing as quickly as smoke in the wind. A deep rumble rolled up his throat and a juicy curse lay on his lips.

.

.

.

200 years later

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.

.

"Lucy," Levy's panicked cry reached their ears as they stormed into the main hall. Lucy whirled around, her eyes wide open, her breathing hectic. She clasped an athame and fear surged inside her. Men invaded the sacred prayer hall. A malicious laughter echoed from the high walls. She stepped back a few steps. She was exhausted, had trained. She blinked violently as incense and sweat burned in her eyes, her breathing speeding up. She didn't know who these men were. They wore armor of fur and leather, had long wild hair and were armed to the teeth. Each equipped with a one-and-a-half, a one-handed and a long battle dagger. She sensed the magic that was coming from them and tried to weave protective spells, but she was simply too exhausted, she noticed it immediately. Her magic reared up, but she only made sparks.

Fear raged through her veins as a man with long, shaggy, blond hair approached. He wore less fur than most of them. His clothes were red and black and looked like a tunic. His right arm and chest were exposed and a crest stood out from his pale skin. Her eyes widened, flying to his. Magic swelled inside them, coloring them in a deep, glowing red and she raised the Athame trembling. Which elicited a gloating laugh from him. Black flames licked on his skin and fear laced Lucy's throat. She whirled around and ran off as fast as her wobbly legs could carry her. She knew exactly what he was. He belonged to the clan of the gods. A brutal bunch and she also knew why they were here. So far they had always avoided this temple, but in the last 200 years, it had happened more often that there had been attacks by gods on witches. And she was not ready to be made a slave. While she tried to escape from the hall in her gathered linen dress, her limbs hurt from exhaustion, her heart raced as if she were running a marathon.

And yet she was too slow. Everything seemed to work against her when she felt a big, coarse hand digging into her hair and pulling her back violently. Pain shot through her scalp, tears rose to her eyes.

"Well well, where are we going?", goose bumps spread on her skin at the sound of his voice and fear stretched out his poisonous claws to her heart and mind. She clasped his wrists to relieve the pain on her scalp. Her muscles were aching and trembling with every movement, tears burning in her eyes and clouding her vision. The smell of ashes, blood and burnt flesh rose to her nose. Nausea rose in her. She gave out an unwilling growl as he sniffed at her and tried to detach himself from him, tried to kick after him, but he held her firmly. And then she felt him wrap a strong arm around her waist, let go of her hair and he just threw her over his shoulder.

"I like you, it will be fun to break your will, witch," he growled and a mean laugh escaped his lips. Lucy wriggled in his grip and panic threatened to overwhelm her. She didn't want to be around him a second longer. And yet she couldn't get out of his firm grip. She hit his back, but more than a painful blow to her butt and rough laughter didn't bring it. Tears ran down her cheeks. She couldn't use her magic because she had been overdone. In general, however, Lucy was not someone who was physically very strong. She was a witch. Magic was her thing. He set himself in motion and some of the men followed him.

"Lucy," Levy's panic-stricken and painful voice reached her ears and she hectically searched for her best friend. Juvia and Erza were not here, were currently in another temple. Only Levy and four other witches had been here. The rough laughter of men penetrated her ears again, and she trembled and breathed as he carried her away through the corridors. She wanted to see Levy.

"Please, do nothing to her," she brought out and her voice trembled, wavered. Then he stopped and for a moment silence lay over the men. Her heart raced.

"Lord?

"For all I care, it can't hurt to have another slave," the blonde growled and two men nodded and started moving, disappeared back into the now desecrated prayer hall to fetch Levy. That was what Lucy hoped. She held her breath, her heart pounding almost painfully fast against her ribs, while she stared with weeping eyes wide open in the direction in which the men had disappeared. And then she heard the footsteps. She bit her lower lip as they carried a narrow witch. Her clothes were torn and she had scratches everywhere and her pale skin began to turn blue. Tears flowed down her cheeks and pain and anger spread into Lucy. They had hurt Levy. They would pay for that. Levy's brown eyes found hers and she saw the fear in them. Lucy gave her a trembling smile to encourage her.

"So, all this and happy? Good," growled the god, who carried her around like a sack of potatoes and they started to move again.

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.

.

The hall was warm and the sweat of men, women and children, the smell of greasy meat, fresh bread, excrement and the smell of wine and mead almost overloaded his nose. Natsu slightly twisted his lips, pulled his brows together. Laughter and voices intertwined to a hum and the noise was almost too much for his sensitive dragon ears. The rhythmic music of the musicians, who played, lay over everything. The dull rumbling of the drums, the whistling of the bagpipes and the hurdy-gurdy. And this celebration almost annoyed him. But only almost. The atmosphere after a battle was always boisterous. So also this one here.

He let his gaze glide over the numerous men and women in leather, fur and metal, but nobody really attracted his attention. For him they were like a sea of warm bodies. Nothing more. Natsu followed his father, his brothers and cousins. They had all fought together, had defeated a mighty enemy and the smell of blood, ashes and death was still subliminal in the air. They searched for a suitable place and Natsu hoped that they would avoid the demons. He really didn't want to hear any stupid remarks from Gray today. They headed for a wide table that was almost completely free, a clear sign that it had been set free for the dragons. They all sat down and a high, full voice was heard.

"Ah, our beloved dragons. Welcome. Nice that you still came," Natsus looked at a beautiful blonde with short hair. Velvety golden skin, ash blonde wild curls, golden eyes. She had a dreamlike body, slender, female curves, full breasts. The armor she wore shimmered in the numerous candles of the hall, underlining her body. She smiled broadly and Natsu suppressed a yawn. His muscles were tense, tired and he knew he wouldn't stay long. In itself he was here only at the request of his father.

"Dimaria, good you have survived the battle", Igneel rose again, pulled the goddess briefly into a friendly embrace, which she replied. A malicious laughter penetrated Natsus' ears and a fine, pure scent entered his nose. His nostrils widened and his heart stopped for a moment. His gaze searched and found, stapling itself on a beautiful figure. Zancrow dragged a narrow little blonde in slave's clothes with him, his right hand firmly dug into her golden strands. Tears stood in the deep brown eyes. It was as if time stood still and he dared not to breathe. He didn't notice how he rose, didn't notice how a deep, warning rumble rolled up his throat and left his lips. His gaze was directed at this tender, feminine figure. Her velvety skin was scarred and bruised. A heavy gold collar had been put around her neck and her breasts almost poured out of the red top, which just as concealed the most important parts. Artful patterns of gold lined the dark fabric and she wore pluder trousers of transparent red fabric hemmed into a heavy gold border. Her wrists and ankles were also bound with heavy gold shackles.

His heartbeat speeded up, his pupils contracted into long narrow slits, and the gold of his dragon eyes stepped out, displacing the deep forest green. Zancrow laughed and as she tried to detach herself from him, he shook her and punched her in the face. The men around him laughed maliciously. Anger burned up in Natsu, scales stepped through his skin and his fingers deformed into long, deadly claws. The dragon pushed to the surface and it was as if boiling lava was burning through his veins. Magic rolled in waves from him through the room and dark, deep rage burned in his eyes.

"Mine", he rumbled in a deep, inhuman voice and set himself in motion.

[greekowl87]

Fic: Brownies

For the @txf-prompt-box P.S. Tagging @today-in-fic too.

Challenge: This sentence must be in your fic:  “What are you holding behind your back?”

bonus: It’s not Mulder or Scully saying it.

double bonus: The thing behind the back is… trouble!

This fic has no restriction concerning the pairing. It doesn’t have to be an AU either.

Scully was smaller than she originally appeared. Beneath the suits and the FBI badge, he had no idea how the cancer had eaten away at her. But that still did not dampen her spirits or fire. Or her temper. When Mulder had shown up earlier that evening, she immediately protested. She protested further when he held what he brought with him.

"Where the hell did you get that, Mulder," she groaned, wrapping her arms around herself. She was cold and tonight was one the few nights that she felt that she still could get some sleep. She was tired. "And why do you have a box of brownie mix?"

"Well hello to you too, Scully." He was grinning like a fool.

"Mulder."

"I know a guy who knows a guy in the DEA and well..." He shrugged innocently. "I was owed a big favor I just collected for it. Scully, this is the good stuff. Only the best for you."

"We're federal agents, Mulder. We can't go around smoking...that." She waved at the small plastic bag with the green leaves held discretely in his hands. "Seriously."

"Who said anything about smoking anything?" he said. "I quit years ago and I am not letting you touch that. That's what the brownie mix is for."

"Have you ever made those..." She could not bring herself to say it. "Brownies with the devil's lettuce?"

"Devil's lettuce? Really, Scully? Can I come in, Scully?" Mulder was still smiling. "I promise you don't even have to lift a finger and I'll even clean up after myself."

"Only so I can yell at you," she relented, stepping aside. He strolled in right past her and made a beeline for the kitchen as she closed her eyes, let out a weary sigh, and shut the door behind her. "I can't convince you otherwise, can I?"

"Nope, Scully. I'm making you pot brownies."

Scully heaved a sigh and watched him already taking out mixing bowls and eggs. Maybe she could blame the cancer on this; she was just too tired to argue with him. Or maybe it was his smile or just the small gesture. "Well, I'll be watching TV. Don't burn down my apartment."

"Oh, I won't," he called. He had found her 'Kiss the Chef' apron and was already wearing it. "I'm a pro at this."

. . . .

Pro indeed. Scully kept letting her gaze wander from the TV to watch Mulder wearing her 'Kiss the Chef' apron that was incredibly short on him. He had just spooning the batch into a baking pan and slid it into the oven. "We can put icing on it as well if you want," he said, double checking the timer, and then taking off the apron. He set it on her kitchen table and gave a weak smile. "I've actually been doing a little research. Edibles are supposed to be better for pain management and stay in your system longer and the come down isn't as bad."

"Where, pray tell did you learn that?"

He shrugged and gave a guilty smile. "Sophmore year at Oxford. Bad car accident. My roommate got me hooked and it did the world better. Besides, Scully, you've always known I've been a rebel at heart."

"What happens if they test us?"

"You have an excuse if they did. And that is a big if. And they know me; I'm Spooky Mulder, remember?" he teased lightly. "Don't worry about it. It's Saturday afternoon. We have off tomorrow and I conveniently have a dentist appointment that I need you to drive me to Monday morning so we aren't due in until noon?"

"Does this theoretical dentist appointment involve a root canal?"

"Of course. I never brushed my teeth as a kid."

She chuckled and shook her head. "Despite being a pain in the ass, Mulder, I'm really glad you're here this afternoon. About to get high. What on Earth gave you the idea even?"

His weak smile faded. "I'm tired of seeing you in pain, even though you hide it. I wanted to do something to help. All I could think is to bake you pot brownies and get high with you on a Saturday night. That way you won't feel as guilty, because you are St. Scully after all."

She gave a warm smile and held out her hand. Mulder came quietly up next to her on the couch and took her outstretched hand. She squeezed it warmly. "Thank you, Mulder."

He gave a quick smile again and nodded towards her movies. "We got 30 minutes, tops, before they're done. What do you say we pick a movie and watch it together while we eat?"

"Nothing by Cheech and Chong."

"You actually own that?"

"No." She bit her lip and nodded. "Robin Hood: Men in Tights. I love Mel Brooks."

Mulder bowed his head and nodded. "My wish is the queen's command."

"Shut up, Mulder. Oh, and well you're over there, grab the blanket from my bedroom. The blue one. I might as well be comfortable. Oh, and unplug the phone. I'm not letting myself or you," she added as an afterthought, "do anything stupid."

"I got pot from the DEA, Scully. Not exactly the smartest thing I have done."

"Well, if it makes you feel better, it isn't in the top ten. Hurry up and get the blanket. I want to get comfortable if you are offering to get me high for th weekend."

"What are partners for?"

"A lot apparently," she mumbled. But she just gave him a small smile.

. . . .

"This..." she sighed, pausing on her words, savoring them (or was it the brownie?), "this is good, Mulder. More than good. Heavenly."

"If it has St. Scully's blessing," he sighed equally, pulling her close, "then I am a miracle worker."

Both had devoured two brownies and the movie was forgotten in favor of an Audrey Hepburn movie marathon that lay forgotten in the background. Scully had wormed her way against Mulder, who was already lounging on her couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table, had her halfway across his chest, the blanket covering both of them. She snuggled against his soft tee shirt. "Only because of the brownies," she mumbled sleepily.

"Only because of the brownies."

She could hear the smile in his voice. But she had no pain and she was safe (Mulder always had the effect). She didn't know why. Blame the brownies. "How come we never snuggle, Mulder?"

Her question came out in a quiet breath but he caught it, tensing slightly. "Brownies?" he questioned softly. He grabbed a brownie off the plate in front of them and broke off a piece and held it out in front of her tantalizingly. "Scully?"

"No. All me." Scully grabbed the piece of the brownie and shoved it in her mouth. She sighed contently. "I like snuggling with Mulder."

"So I am a thing to you, is that it? Or is that a statement?"

"A noun, verb, adjective. What does it matter? It's all very Mulder-y." She heard him chuckle and squeeze her in a brief affirmation. "It's partly because of the brownies but..."

A quick knock tore them from each other. Mulder looked at her alarmed, wearing his panic face, as he quickly glanced at the brownies in his offending hand.

"Dana? I'm coming in! I hope I'm not bothering you but I was worried when I couldn't get ahold of you."

"I'll be right there, mom!"

Mulder quickly put his hand behind his back and sat up straighter on the couch as Scully abandoned the blanket and dashed across the apartment to the door faster than her mind and body wanted to. Mrs. Scully forced the door open slightly and barged past Scully without preamble, smiling as she did. "Oh, Fox! I did not know you were here!"

"Hi, Mrs. Scully." Mulder tried to think of the face he gave the Oxford police that one time he got high at university. "Just...you know..." He glanced at the television. "Audrey Hepburn."

Scully looked at Mulder horrifyingly. What the fuck, she mouthed. He shrugged slightly but never lost his composure. She forced a smile when her mother spun and looked at her youngest daughter. "How sweet," Mrs. Scully smiled at her. She turned and spied the brownies on the table. "Did Fox bake this, honey?"

"Um, yes." Scully's voice sounded unnaturally higher than normal.

"Well, my attempt." Mulder shook his head. "They're actually terrible. Like terrible give-you-food-poisoning-terrible."

Maggie nodded at him pointedly. "What are you holding behind your back?"

He showed the brownie reluctantly, doing his best not to flinch under Scully's scalding gaze. "Oh you know," he nodded. "Brownies."

Maggie smiled slightly and grabbed one off of the plate, wrapping it in a stray napkin. "Don't mind if I do," she smiled at her daughter. "They look good. Don't be so harsh on yourself, Fox."

"Mom, really...they're really, really...rich," Scully offered feebly. "You wouldn't like them."

"Nonsense, Dana. That is what milk is for, honey. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay." Mrs. Scully stuffed the offending brownie into her purse. "I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"Yep," Scully nodded, forcing a smile. "Tomorrow."

"And bring Fox."

"Yep," she nodded again, eager to get her mother to leave, "I'll bring Mulder. Church and brunch."

"Wonderful! I've been talking to all the other ladies...they can't wait to meet your partner. They're already wondering when he'll put a ring on your finger!"

"Mother!"

Mulder was up at this time, subtly guiding Mrs. Scully out the door. "I'll be there tomorrow, Mrs. Scully. Don't you worry. Just you know, make sure you enjoy that brownie right before bed, safely at home. We don't need you in a chocolate-coma, now do we?"

"Mulder!"

"See, even Scully is worried. Good night, Mrs. Scully!" Mulder forced her mother out the door before quickly locked the deadbolt and the chain lock. He offered a weak smile to her. "Sorry."

"We're getting my mother high," she whispered. She was growing more panicked. "Mulder, we just gave my mother a pot brownie."

"Maybe she won't eat it."

"Mulder, she will. We just got my mother high. Trouble."

"C'mere," he sighed, opening his arm gently. She huffed uncharacteristically and shuffled towards him. He kissed her hair. "It won't be that bad."

"You're spending the night," she huffed again, eager for the distraction. "I'm not letting you drive home. And dealing with church and the church ladies tomorrow. This is your fault anyway. Getting my mother high."

"Deal. What do we tell her if she wants more?"

"It was a one time deal." She grabbed his hand pulled him toward the door as he waved the offending brownie in his hand enticingly. She grabbed it and tossed it back on the plate. "Snuggling," she grunted, pulling him towards her bedroom.

"Brownies?" he questioned.

"Just Scully," she replied, pulling him along and shutting the door behind her.

[readbookywooks]

Mort hurried out after him. The ancient ancestor watched them go with a critical expression, its jowls rhythmically chewing. 'That was what they call a demon around here?' it said. 'Offler rot this country of dampness, even their demons are third-rate, not a patch on the demons we had in the Old Country.' The wife placed a small bowl of rice in the folded middle pair of hands of the Offler statue (it would be gone in the morning) and stood back. 'Husband did say that last month at the Curry Gardens he served a creature who was not there,' she said. 'He was impressed.' Ten minutes later the man returned and, in solemn silence, placed a small heap of gold coins on the table. They represented enough wealth to purchase quite a large part of the city. 'He had a bag of them,' he said. The family stared at the money for some time. The wife sighed. 'Riches bring many problems,' she said. 'What are we to do?' 'We return to Klatch,' said the husband firmly, 'where our children can grow up in a proper country, true to the glorious traditions of our ancient race and men do not need to work as waiters for wicked masters but can stand tall and proud. And we must leave right now, fragrant blossom of the date palm.' 'Why so soon, O hard-working son of the desert?' 'Because,' said the man, 'I have just sold the Patrician's champion racehorse.' The horse wasn't as fine or as fast as Binky, but it swept the miles away under its hooves and easily outdistanced a few mounted guards who, for some reason, appeared anxious to talk to Mort. Soon the shanty suburbs of Morpork were left behind and the road ran out into rich black earth country of the Sto plain, constructed over eons by the periodic flooding of the great slow Ankh that brought to the region prosperity, security and chronic arthritis. It was also extremely boring. As the light distilled from silver to gold Mort galloped across a flat, chilly landscape, chequered with cabbage fields from edge to edge. There are many things to be said about cabbages. One may talk at length about their high vitamin content, their vital iron contribution, the valuable roughage and commendable food value. In the mass, however, they lack a certain something; despite their claim to immense nutritional and moral superiority over, say, daffodils, they have never been a sight to inspire the poet's muse. Unless he was hungry, of course. It was only twenty miles to Sto Lat, but in terms of meaningless human experience it seemed like two thousand. There were guards on the gates of Sto Lat, although compared to the ones that patrolled Ankh they had a sheepish, amateurish look. Mort trotted past and one of them, feeling a bit of a fool, asked him who went there. 'I'm afraid I can't stop,' said Mort. The guard was new to the job, and quite keen. Guarding wasn't what he'd been led to expect. Standing around all day in chain mail with an axe on a long pole wasn't what he'd volunteered for; he'd expected excitement and challenge and a crossbow and a uniform that didn't go rusty in the rain. He stepped forward, ready to defend the city against people who didn't respect commands given by duly authorised civic employees. Mort considered the pike blade hovering a few inches from his face. There was getting to be too much of this. 'On the other hand,' he said calmly, 'how would you like it if I made yon a present of this rather fine horse?' It wasn't hard to find the entrance to the castle. There were guards there, too, and they had crossbows and a considerably more unsympathetic outlook on life and, in any case, Mort had run out of horses. He loitered a bit until they started paying him a generous amount of attention, and then wandered disconsolately away into the streets of the little city, feeling stupid. After all this, after miles of brassicas and a backside that now felt like a block of wood, he didn't even know why he was there. So she'd seen him even when he was invisible? Did it mean anything? Of course it didn't. Only he kept seeing her face, and the flicker of hope in her eyes. He wanted to tell her that everything was going to be all right. He wanted to tell her about himself and everything he wanted to be. He wanted to find out which was her room in the castle and watch it all night until the light went out. And so on. A little later a blacksmith, whose business was in one of the narrow streets that looked out on to the castle walls, glanced up from his work to see a tall, gangling young man, rather red in the face, who kept trying to walk through the walls. Rather later than that a young man with a few superficial bruises on his head called in at one of the city's taverns and asked for directions to the nearest wizard. And it was later still that Mort turned up outside a peeling plaster house which announced itself on a blackened brass plaque to be the abode of Igneous Cutwell, DM (Unseen), Marster of the Infinit, Illuminartus, Wyzard to Princes, Gardian of the Sacred Portalls, If Out leave Maile with Mrs Nugent Next Door. Suitably impressed despite his pounding heart, Mort lifted the heavy knocker, which was in the shape of a repulsive gargoyle with a heavy iron ring in its mouth, and knocked twice. There was a brief commotion from within, the series of hasty domestic sounds that might, in a less exalted house, have been made by, say, someone shovelling the lunch plates into the sink and tidying the laundry out of sight. Eventually the door swung open, slowly and mysteriously. 'You'd fbetter pretend to be impreffed,' said the doorknocker conversationally, but hampered somewhat by the ring. 'He does it with pulleys and a bit of ftring. No good at opening-fpells, fee?' Mort looked at the grinning metal face. I work for a skeleton who can walk through walls, he told himself. Who am I to be surprised at anything? 'Thank you,' he said. 'You're welcome. Wipe your feet on the doormat, it's the bootfcraper's day off.' The big low room inside was dark and shadowy and smelled mainly of incense but slightly of boiled cabbage arid elderly laundry and the kind of person who throws all his socks at the wall and wears the ones that don't stick. There was a large crystal ball with a crack in it, an astrolabe with several bits missing, a rather scuffed octogram on the floor, and a stuffed alligator hanging from the ceiling. A stuffed alligator is absolutely standard equipment in any properly-run magical establishment. This one looked as though it hadn't enjoyed it much. A bead curtain on the far wall was flung aside with a dramatic gesture and a hooded figure stood revealed. 'Beneficent constellations shine on the hour of our meeting!' it boomed. 'Which ones?' said Mort. There was a sudden worried silence. 'Pardon?' 'Which constellations would these be?' said Mort. 'Beneficent ones,' said the figure, uncertainly. It rallied. 'Why do you trouble Igneous Cutwell, Holder of the Eight Keys, Traveller in the Dungeon Dimensions, Supreme Mage of —' 'Excuse me,' said Mort, 'are you really?' 'Really what?' 'Master of the thingy, Lord High Wossname of the Sacred Dungeons?' Cutwell pushed back his hood with an annoyed flourish. Instead of the grey-bearded mystic Mort had expected he saw a round, rather plump face, pink and white like a pork pie, which it somewhat resembled in other respects. For example, like most pork pies, it didn't have a beard and, like most pork pies, it looked basically good-humoured. 'In a figurative sense,' he said. 'What does that mean?' 'Well, it means no,' said Cutwell. 'But you said —' 'That was advertising,' said the wizard. 'It's a kind of magic I've been working on. What was it you were wanting, anyway?' He leered suggestively. 'A love philtre, yes? Something to encourage the young ladies?' 'Is it possible to walk through walls?' said Mort desperately. Cutwell paused with his hand already halfway to a large bottle full of sticky liquid. 'Using magic?' 'Um,' said Mort, 'I don't think so.' Then pick very thin walls,' said Cutwell. 'Better still, use the door. The one over there would be favourite, if you've just come here to waste my time.' Mort hesitated, and then put the bag of gold coins on the table. The wizard glanced at them, made a little whinnying noise in the back of his throat, and reached out, Mort's hand shot across and grabbed his wrist. 'I've walked through walls,' he said, slowly and deliberately. 'Of course you have, of course you have,' mumbled Cutwell, not taking his eyes off the bag. He flicked the cork out of the bottle of blue liquid and took an absent-minded swig. 'Only before I did it I didn't know that I could, and when I was doing it I didn't know I was, and now I've done it I can't remember how it was done. And I want to do it again.' 'Why?' 'Because,' said Mort, 'if I could walk through walls I could do anything.' 'Very deep,' agreed Cutwell. 'Philosophical. And the name of the young lady on the other side of this wall?' 'She's —' Mort swallowed. 'I don't know her name. Even if there is a girl,' he added haughtily, 'and I'm not saying there is.' 'Right,' said Cutwell. He took another swig, and shuddered. 'Fine. How to walk through walls. I'll do some research. It might be expensive, though.' Mort carefully picked up the bag and pulled out one small gold coin. 'A down payment,' he said, putting it on the table. Cutwell picked up the coin as if he expected it to go bang or evaporate, and examined it carefully. 'I've never seen this sort of coin before,' he said accusingly. 'What's all this curly writing?' 'It's gold, though, isn't it?' said Mort. 'I mean, you don't have to accept it —' 'Sure, sure, it's gold,' said Cutwell hurriedly. 'It's gold all right. I just wondered where it had come from, that's all.' 'You wouldn't believe me,' said Mort. 'What time's sunset around here?' 'We normally manage to fit it in between night and day,' said Cutwell, still staring at the coin and taking little sips from the blue bottle. 'About now.' Mort glanced out of the window. The street outside already had a twilight look to it. 'I'll be back,' he muttered, and made for the door. He heard the wizard call out something, but Mort was heading down the street at a dead run. He started to panic. Death would be waiting for him forty miles away. There would be a row. There would be a terrible — AH, BOY. A familiar figure stepped out from the flare around a jellied eel stall, holding a plate of winkles. THE VINEGAR IS PARTICULARLY PIQUANT. HELP YOURSELF, I HAVE AN EXTRA PIN. But, of course, just because he was forty miles away didn't mean he wasn't here as well. . . . And in his untidy room Cutwell turned the gold coin over and over in his fingers, muttering 'walls' to himself, and draining the bottle. He appeared to notice what he was doing only when there was no more to drink, at which point his eyes focused on the bottle and, through a rising pink mist, read the label which said 'Granny Weatherwax's Ramrub Invigoratore and Passion's Philtre, Onne Spoonful Onlie before bed and that Smalle'. 'By myself?' said Mort. CERTAINLY. I HAVE EVERY FAITH IN YOU. 'Gosh!' The suggestion put everything else out of Mort's mind, and he was rather surprised to find that he didn't feel particularly squeamish. He'd seen quite a few deaths in the last week or so, and all the horror went out of it when you knew you'd be speaking to the victim afterwards. Most of them were relieved, one or two of them were angry, but they were all glad of a few helpful words. THINK YOU CAN DO IT? 'Well, sir. Yes. I think.' THAT'S THE SPIRIT. I'VE LEFT BlNKY BY THE HORSETROUGH ROUND THE CORNER. TAKE HIM STRAIGHT HOME WHEN YOU'VE FINISHED.