#harts at high noon

[whatsabriard]

i. “There’s always time for recreation.” Jonathan supposed Jennifer’s choice of a flannel nightgown made sense, with the chilled desert nights. But the long sleeves and high neck didn’t really suit his purposes. He wanted skin against his palms and when he ran his hands up her thighs, he was pleased to find no cotton underthings barring his way. 

Jennifer’s chuckle was a victorious purr when he pulled the offending nightgown up and lobbed it into the far corner of their room. 

“Darling, what if I get cold?” Jennifer scolded, even as he burned a trail of kisses across her navel. 

ii. Jennifer did not get cold that night. 

As he had many times before, and as he would no doubt do for many many more nights to come, Jonathan more that succeeded in keeping her hot until near daybreak. The sun crept through the lace curtains to find her sprawled, limp and loose, across the quilt. Perspiration cooled on her skin and Jennifer idly wondered, through the haze, if she would even be able to ride today. 

She swept her hand across the bed and encountered Jonathan’s bare chest. She scraped her nails over his nipple as she fell into sleep.

[magnoliacharmed]

Lace

18+, Shawn Michaels x Bret Hart one shot

[Also available on Archive of our Own!]

Tags: Lace panties, daddy kink, creampie, porn with feelings (they say "i love you")

Word count: 2491

Summary:

Shawn has a surprise for Bret.

Shawn stepped out into the beaming Texan sun, shielding his face with his hand while he squinted his eyelids. The parking lot of the strip mall was weirdly crowded for a weekday at noon. He wondered why no one was at work, then immediately remembered someone was probably thinking that about him too. Technically, he was at work. Or at least preparing for it. Having a good tan was a crucial part of being a wrestler as far as he was concerned. 

Clutching a tiny black gift bag in his free hand, he made his way through the parking lot to his rental car. With the way the sun beamed off of the surface of cars and the blacktop of the lot, he wondered why he even bothered to stop at the tanning salon. A tan just as nice as the one he received from the salon could have been achieved by letting himself fry like an egg right there in between cars. When he threw himself into the driver's seat and tossed the bag behind him carelessly, he sighed. He just wanted the night to turn out well.

---

Another show, another match, another win. Shawn was sweating like a sinner in church as he headed backstage, high fiving and waving at his adoring fans while he walked. It's not like it  was a particularly hard fought match against Goldust. They'd ran it about a million times by this point in house shows around the country and it was beginning to get a little stale in his opinion. Despite it not being the most fulfilling experience, he was happy that he wouldn't be too exhausted after it. His sudden case of sweat could only be blamed on the contents of the gift bag that was burning a hole in the trunk of his car. Worst case scenarios flashed hot in his nerve-addled mind; what if some carjackers chose his vehicle out of all the ones at the arena? They'd steal the damn thing, pop the trunk looking for valuables, then bam! A pair of tights with "Shawn Michaels" scrawled on the back and a bag that had--

"What's your problem? You look like you're about to shit a brick." 

"Huh?" The alarm in Shawn's voice shocked Diesel just the slightest. He seemed kind of coked up, like he'd snorted one bump too many. 

"You're sweating. Your little mirrors are all wet." Diesel flicked a thick finger against one of the dangling mirrors on his vest.

"Shit. I'm good, man. Aaaaalllll good." 

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you're on, remind me not to take any tonight. You comin' out with us or are you headed home?"

Shawn shook his head no quickly. Luckily Austin was only around an hour, hour and a half drive away from his home in San Antonio. Whenever Diesel decided to head out, he was going to grab up his duffel bag and peel out of the arena in a hurry. If this conversation ever ended. 

"Gonna head home. Not feelin' so hot tonight."

Diesel wanted to pry more at Shawn's strange behavior, but decided against it. Whatever problems he was causing himself, he didn't really feel like getting himself involved.

"Okay, well page me if you change your mind." 

Diesel's eyes followed Shawn's laser-locked stare in the direction of Bret Hart. He gave Diesel a short nod as he walked past them, ignoring Shawn completely. He had an air of determination in his step, walking as if he didn't immediately head to the locker room right that second his night would be ruined. The muscles in his thick legs mesmerized Shawn with every step. Everything about Bret, from the way his oiled up arms gleamed under the lights like the cars in the lot earlier to his post-match fluffed out head of brown hair, got Shawn all twisted up. Shawn began to chew on his bottom lip absentmindedly, Diesel's words not registering in his mind.

"You fuckin' fiend." 

Shawn blinked dreamily. What?

"What?"

"What?" Diesel mocked Shawn's accent. Added a little more drawl to it, to Shawn's amusement. "You may not be on anything tonight, but I can tell you need a hit of something." 

"I don't know what you're talking about." 

A violent blush colored Shawn's cheeks. He was just too easy.

"Aww, so that's why your tan looks so fresh tonight. I was wondering why you were hitting the booth for a house show. You had to get all ready for your boyfriend." 

Diesel made kissy noises at Shawn and laughed. He was so obvious when he had a crush. It was sweet when it wasn't so over the top. A quick punch to the arm, one with no real violence behind it, only made Diesel crack up harder.

"Have fun!" he called out as Shawn stomped away in the direction of Bret.

"Shut up!"

Shawn brushed past Bret leaving the locker room just as he was entering. As usual, his expression was relatively unreadable… to the average person. But Shawn was anything but average. Searching Bret's eyes, Shawn saw the embers of a fire beginning to light up. 

"Already headed out?" He asked, tamping down any worry in his voice.

"Yeah. Got a little bit of a drive. Shouldn't you be on your way out too?"

"Yep, was just grabbing my stuff." Shawn jutted a thumb in the direction of his waiting duffel bag. 

"Guess I'll see you soon, then." 

"I have a surprise for you!" 

Bret widened his eyes at Shawn's outburst. Is this why he was being so fidgety? All over a silly surprise?

"...Okay."

"You'll see it--" Shawn cleared his throat and coughed, lowering his voice to what he thought was a whisper. "Ahem, later." 

"Alright, Shawn."

Bret turned away from the nervous man and began to head out to his car. He could be such a strange guy sometimes. Cute, but strange.

---

Even though he left a few minutes after Bret, Shawn arrived to his home before him. He knew the drive like the back of his hand. Plus, he was speeding. Not so much though that he'd risk getting pulled over, and even worse, arrested. There was no way he'd be able to explain his mystery bag to a cop. He breathed a long sigh of relief as he shut his front door behind him, making sure not to lock it so Bret could walk right in. He peeled off his jeans and t-shirt, stripping completely down to nothing with every step towards his downstairs bathroom. Placing the gift bag carefully on the bathroom sink, he held his hands up at it as if it was about to get up and walk away. He had to be quick. Bret was pretty good with a map, but the Texas highways were still unfamiliar territory to him. 

Shawn's shower was efficient. He took the extra few minutes he saved by being fast to assess his tan. It looked great, nice and even. The trunks he wore created an appealing tan line that he was sure Bret would appreciate, especially in tandem with the real star of the night. He raked a brush through his damp hair in a hurry. The sound of a car approaching signaled him to reach into the bag and finish the final part of his look. God, he hoped this all worked out.

Bret pulled into the driveway and shut his car off. It was time to find out why Shawn was being even weirder than usual. He could tell he wasn't high or drunk at the show-- he was a lot more loose with his words when that was the case. He was the opposite, a tightly wound ball of nerves that was very unlike him. 

Bret approached the front door and reached up to knock. He stopped before his knuckles hit the wood. Something was telling him to turn the knob instead. When he twisted it to find the door unlocked, he was surprised to see that his instinct was correct.

"You should keep your door locked, you don't want any intruders-- Oh, wow." 

Shawn's feelings of worry melted away when he heard the breathlessness in Bret's voice. He approached him slowly, pressing right into his personal space as he reached behind him to lock the door.

"What do you think?"

Before he was able to answer, Shawn pushed Bret down onto his couch. He wasted no time straddling him, a picture perfect sight that Bret was still processing in his mind. Dragging his eyes down his body, he came to rest on what Shawn was apparently so stressed about. 

A pretty, white lace pair of panties.

They were bleach white, almost glowing against the tan surrounding them. Shawn's erection strained against them and tented the delicate fabric up invitingly. A tiny wet spot was starting to form against the surface of them, no doubt from how turned on Shawn got wearing them. The fabric was alien to him, yet at the same time felt normal, felt right.

Bret could only take ragged breaths. There were so many things he wanted to say, but he couldn't make the words leave his lips. Shawn reached to grab his hand and place it against his ass, wanting him to feel the stretch of the underwear there too.

"You like it, daddy?" Shawn whispered. He wrapped his arms around Bret's neck and stared down into his brown eyes, tilting his head to the side with the best "fuck me" eyes he'd ever given. Bret blinked once, then squeezed his hand against Shawn's ass. He'd never called him that before. The way it fell out of Shawn's mouth, all wrapped in lust and that accent of his only made Bret harder. It wasn't going to take much to get used to, that was for certain.

Bret maneuvered Shawn's body to place him on his hands and knees. He was impressed with how quickly Shawn managed to get into position, arching up just the right way so the panties caught between his cheeks. A flash of untanned skin that peeked from where the underwear had moved made Bret's breath hitch again. 

"Fuck, you look good."

Shawn spread his legs open farther and smiled. Just what he wanted to hear.

"You bought these just for me to see?"

Shawn nodded, his head softly hitting the couch cushion. "Uh-huh."

"So I shouldn't rip them off then." Bret hooked a finger under Shawn's waistband and tugged impatiently.

"Not unless you wanna see them on me again."

Bret worked that over in his head. The ripping would have to wait. Maybe he'd buy Shawn a cheap pair just so they could be torn off. He reached over to the coffee table for a bottle of lube Shawn had remembered to leave out in the nick of time. Messily coating his index and middle finger, Bret used his other hand to move the panties to the side. Shawn's aching cock fell out from the fabric, hanging heavy and neglected below him. Bret pushed his fingers inside of Shawn's tight hole and felt his own dick twitch at the way Shawn groaned from the sensation. When he pushed back against him, fucking himself and begging for more, Bret knew he wouldn't be able to tease him for long.

"Need you, Bret. Need you," Shawn mumbled. His hole spasmed around Bret's fingers, eagerly awaiting what he really wanted.

"Who do you need?"

"You, daddy." Shawn wanted to jump for joy that Bret liked his new nickname for him.

Bret undressed faster than he ever had before. As soon as he'd kicked off his pants and lubed himself up, he pressed the tip of himself against Shawn's hole.

"Beautiful."

Shawn felt his eyes roll back in his head with Bret's first, smooth stroke inside of him. His body felt loose as he struggled to hold himself up. Bret fit perfectly inside of him, better than anyone else ever had. When he moved, a pace that Bret hoped seemed made him seem like he was in control instead of restraining himself, jolts of pleasure wracked through Shawn. As badly as he wanted to push himself farther onto Bret's cock, both his own body and Bret's strong hold on his hip kept him from doing so. He reached a hand down to stroke himself fast, grabbing what he could of the panties to feel them rub against his sensitive skin with every pull. His frenzied movements made his back muscles move mesmerizingly. 

"Flip me around, please," Shawn's voice was soft and small under the sound of Bret's groans. "I'm close."

Bret was happy to have a second to breathe. He turned Shawn onto his back and thought he would come just from the way he looked up at him. Sweat soaked strands of blond hair cut across his face while his lips parted open sensually. A stream of precome leaked down his cock, staining the panties and turning them translucent. 

"You drive me crazy, daddy."

A renewed vigor took over Bret's body like a specter. He dug himself deep inside Shawn, carving out a new space no one else would be able to fill. Shawn's breathy pleas for Bret to fuck him harder, deeper, just like that, were reverberating around Bret's skull like calls to battle. He would do whatever Shawn wanted, whatever he asked.

"Tell me-- tell me you love me, Bret."

"I fucking love you, Shawn. Daddy loves you."

Shawn gasped as he watched himself come. It leaked out in short spurts across his underwear, ruining it. Bret continued to fuck him through his orgasm, his pace getting faster now that Shawn had came. Bret's muscles tightened up at the base of his neck every time he thrusted. When Shawn gave him a lopsided smile and adjusted the panties around, moving them against and away from his dick to give Bret more access, he abruptly stopped moving. Seconds later he felt himself come deep inside of Shawn, an out of body experience he'd never had before. Bret pulled out and readjusted the underwear back into place just in time enough to watch his come leak out of Shawn's ass and into the fabric. Now they really were ruined with both his and Shawn's release making them damp beyond belief.

"Do you really love me?" 

Bret stopped in his tracks on his way to Shawn's bathroom to turn to face him. "I wouldn't have let you call me… that. If I didn't. I'm not into it."

Shawn huffed out a short, smug laugh at Bret's seriousness. "Seems like you are."

"Well, I'm not. Don't expect it to happen again."

Shawn rolled his eyes and lazily stretched his body out like a house cat when Bret turned back around. "Mm-hmm, you got it. What color panties do you want me to wear next time, daddy?"

"Pink and black." Bret's voice was deadpan, the bathroom door shutting behind him with a strong click.

[queenlucythevaliant]

The remnant there who survived the exile is in great trouble and shame. The wall of Jerusalem is broken down.

After the door in the air was shut, King Caspian brought together an assembly of his friends and advisors. There, he called the dwarf Trumpkin to speak concerning what he had seen of Cair Paravel.

“Well,” said Trumpkin, “I can’t say that there was much left of the place when I was there. The walls are in pieces and it’s all overgrown. You’d scarcely know it was ever a castle, if you weren’t expecting to find one.”

“But could it be restored?” asked the king. “In your opinion: as a craftsman and a Narnian?”

Trumpkin seemed to ponder this for a moment, but his answer came readily enough. “We’d have to rebuild it from the foundations. Quarry stone, cut timber, and tear out all the plants that have grown there by the root— and that’s all before we so much as lay the new cornerstone. But if we go about it the right way (I mean, with the good guidance of Aslan and all)—yes, I think we can manage it.”

“But is it the thing that we ought to do first?” asked Doctor Cornelius. “After all, the Telmarine castle stands, and it will serve. There’s much else that needs doing at present.”

“It is a worthy undertaking,” piped Reepicheep, who was now standing atop his seat almost at attention, one small paw on the hilt of his rapier. “One more urgent and noble than any other work before us now. Cair Paravel is the ancient seat of justice in Narnia, and the graves of Old Narnian kings are on its grounds.”

A silence fell, and when it became clear that no one particularly felt like disputing the Mouse’s words, Caspian nodded his head solemnly. “Very well then. We rebuild.”

.

It was a little after noon and the sun was high on the day that Old Narnian exiles first returned to the shores of Cair Paravel. They arrived in row-boats and dinghies and on ferries from the mainland, for no ships had yet been built. Trumpkin and the King were in the lead boat together, and by Trumpkin’s direction the boats made landfall along the stretch of beach that ran alongside the ruins of Cair Paravel. Behind them came a host of Red Dwarves and Black Dwarves with their tools. There were Centuars, led by Glenstorm and his sons, and Beasts of all kinds: Clodsley Shovel and his Moles, the Hardbiters and the Hares, nimble-footed Harts, mighty Bears, Sables, Hedgehogs, Dogs, Horses, and the Mice with Reepicheep their Captain. Then came the fauns, with Mentius and Obentinus. Last of all were the Birds, soaring over the ships and calling to one another in high voices as they went.

When the first boat alighted on the shore, a great cheer went up, starting at the king’s boat and fanning out to all the rest. Caspian stepped onto the soft sand with a crunch and surveyed the place where the ruins of Cair Paravel sat. He could not think of anything suitably momentous to say, so he sank wordlessly to his knees and looked up, giving thanks to Aslan.

That night the whole rebuilding party camped on the beach. The dwarves built bonfires and the fauns played their flutes and there was song and dance. A few of the centuars were old enough to remember living in the lands around the Cair before the Telmarines had driven them off, and those that did wept. A few of the younger creatures wept too, though they could not express why. Yet Dumnus led the singing of loud choruses and some of the others whooped and hollered for joy. The sound of their voices, both the weeping and the singing, mingled together and fled into the night.

The next day, the dryads and naiads of the land around Cair Paravel came down to the beach. The giants, who had come from the mainland on foot, arrived not long after. Their number complete, the Narnians set to work.

.

“One thing we have in our favor,” Doctor Cornelius said, scroll still half open before him. “The historical records on the construction of the castle are exhaustive. There are plans and specifications for every inch of the place.”

Caspian straightened, wincing a little. He’d been helping one of the naiads clean debris from the courtyard well, and his back ached from bending over. “You might try telling that to the black dwarves,” he said. “They still haven’t figured out where to dig.”

Once the dwarves had assessed the ruins of the castle, they used a kind of scrying magic which Caspian did not understand in order to find a quarry of new stone to match the old. The trouble came when the time came for the stones to speak: they would only sing, in voices too deep for words.

“They’re too busy celebrating to tell us where they came from,” said Winnibrik gruffly when Caspian inquired about the progress of the quarry. “And I can’t blame them for that, really. It’s good that there are Narnian feet in this place again.”

Dryads guided parties into the forest to show which trees could be used for timber, and then Horses and centuars dragged the beams back to the Cair. In general, such work would have been beneath them, suitable only for dumb beasts of burden; but they did it without complaint. They knew, as everyone did, that they were in the midst of a great work.

Yet it was the cleaning and removal of debris that occupied most of the workers. Trufflehunter knelt in the dirt, patiently pulling broken bits of twisted metal from the ruin of the small armory. He hummed as he went, something lilting and wordless. A little way behind him, in the courtyard, a group of fauns hoisted a fallen apple tree and carried it away.

.

It was shortly after the foundation had been laid that a band of efreets appeared from the north. They arrived late in the evening while Caspian was dredging one of the cellars and asked to be brought before the king. “If it please you, sire, let us build with you,” said their leader, a broad creature with a toothy smile. “After all, we are Old Narnians too.”

Caspian, who was knee deep in water and soaked to the skin, called for a halt and went to confer with his councilors.

“You ought to have nothing to do with them,” said Trumpkin firmly, “not by my advice.”

“I should think not!” echoed Trufflehunter. “We’ve no need of any congress with creatures of that sort. Cair Paravel must be rebuilt by those who follow Aslan.”

The efreets, however, were less than accepting of this verdict. A few nights later, a Dog reported that he’d smelled men in the woods and a few scouts confirmed that Telmarines were camped a few miles upriver. “It seems that our ghoulish friends are angry with us,” said Caspian, “though I can’t for the life of me imagine what an efreet could have said to make a Telmarine come with him this close to the sea. At any rate, we ought to be alert. Send someone down to the treasure chamber and distribute whatever weapons you can find to anyone who can use them.”

So, as the walls of Cair Paravel rose up, the Narnians carried swords as they worked. At night everyone camped together inside the great footprint of the castle, with guards stationed on the half-built watchtower under the stars.

Reepicheep took more watches than anyone, for he said that he liked to be alone in the stillness of such a sacred place. “We needn’t be afraid,” he told Caspian softly one night. “Cair Paravel is ours, and we are Aslan’s. What can hurt us here?”

.

The Brothers of Shuddering Wood built the entrance to the main foyer, armed with heavy dwarven hammers that seemed to split the air when they fell. The hung the gate one glittering morning when the sun was on the sea. They left it wide open for the rest of the day.

Clodsley Shovel took the Moles to set the king’s garden to rights, and one day the Mice joined them in repairing the Tombs of the Kings. When they were through, they brought trimmings from the garden to decorate the monuments. The Dogs dug holes for posts, and a greenhouse soon followed. Then came the armory, the buttresses, the tower of guard.

“Was all of this really here before?” Caspian asked in astonishment. The water-gate had just been completed and his old tutor was beside him, looking up at the intricate device of bolts and bars that kept it securely lowered.

“Yes, my boy, it was,” said the old man. “It’s all in the books, you see?” Caspian felt a lump build in his throat: something like pride and another something like hope. He tried to swallow around it.

Hogglestock and Trufflehunter split the middle-sized Beasts into pairs for the construction of the broad wall. They told stories as they worked, in loud voices so as to carry down the length of it: stories that usually started with “Remember…” and occasionally, “In the days when Peter reigned at Cair Paravel…”

The great feasting hall came together little by little. The eastern windows were cast by dwarven artisans from enormous panes of glass while Glenstorm and his sons built the dais and drew sketches for the skylight. Wimbleweather carried great stone pillars in his arms and set them down where Ravenscaur instructed from his perch in the rafters. The Oak and the Beech made carvings on the seven heavy doors that led into the hall, and when they were through dwarven smiths fitted them with handles of silver and gold.

They ate in the hall together when it was built, though the walls were still bare and their voices echoed. The Bulgy Bears carried in the first piles of food from the kitchens, which were at last in working order. They heaped it on makeshift tables with little concern for appearance: grilled fish, pheasant, and apples prepared in every imaginable way.

.

When the last stone was laid in the castle, Caspian decreed a day of general celebration. But when he turned the corner down the hallway to the grand staircase, Caspian saw Trumpkin standing at a window looking morose, with tears in his eyes.

“Come now, Trumpkin, what’s the matter?” said Caspian as he came to a stop beside his friend. “Today is a happy day, and there’s no room in it for tears.”

Trumpkin made a sound between a snort and a sigh as he turned to face his king. “Certainly, your majesty. No tears today. But—” he smiled beneath his beard, “—Turnips and thunderbolts, Caspian! If you’d asked me a year ago, I’d have laughed myself silly rather than imagine that any of this was possible.” He swept his hand towards the window and Caspian looked out.

It was a crisp, cloudless morning, the sky bright and clear, and the sounds of singing and of instruments being played filtered all the way up to the tallest tower. Caspian watched the Dogs running to and fro as they prepared for a hunt. Dryads danced in the courtyard and fauns played their flutes. Beyond the wall, a group of dwarves were coming up from the beach, where they’d just arrived with several boats full of gold and jewels from the mainland with which they meant to beautify the castle.

“Why Trumpkin!” laughed the king, “I’m surprised at you. Wasn’t it on your recommendation that all of this was done?”

Trumpkin shook his head ruefully. “My foolish optimism, perhaps. Aslan’s Mane, but times have changed.”

He cleared his throat and nodded towards the beach. “King Edmund said he’d have built a bridge if Cair Paravel had been an island in his day. What say you, King Caspian?”

The castle still needed furnishing, but there were finally tables in the feasting hall and the armory was stocked with swords. Doctor Cornelius was well on his way to reestablishing the library, and soon Cair Paravel would be adorned with the finest dwarven jewels.

“Next year,” Caspian replied. “I’ll put you in charge of its construction.”

Remember me, my God, for good.

[eviltransswag]

Evil Trans Swag Competitor List

I'm not posting a bracket because I'm still making it and it's by hand, but here are the characters who are going to be in the tournament! The match-ups will be randomly generated and there are 64 characters. The polls will last a week. Alright enough of that here is the list (in alphabetical order bc yeah)

Thanks everyone for submissions and the voter fraud!!

Akaza (Demon Slayer)

Akechi Goro (Persona 5)

Alexis Meade (Ugly Betty)

Artemis Fowl (Artemis Fowl series)

Ashiok (Magic the Gathering)

Beatrice (Umineko: When They Cry)

Bloodraven (Tales of Dunk and Egg)

Buggy the Clown (One Piece)

Cesar (Big Top Burger)

Sir Crocodile (One Piece)

Dio Brando (Jojo's Bizarre Adventure)

Dr. Frank-N-Furter (Rocky Horror Picture Show)

Dr. Starline (IDW Sonic)

Dracule Mihawk (One Piece)

Edward Nygma/The Riddler (DC Comics)

Elendira (Trigun)

Envy (Full Metal Alchemist)

Ghirahim (The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword)

Giselle Gewelle (Bleach)

Goblin King Jareth (Labyrinth)

Golden-Winged Peng (LEGO Monkie Kid)

Grelle Sutcliff (Black Butler)

Grima (Fire Emblem)

Heinz Doofenshmirtz (Phineas and Ferb)

Henry Cooldown (No More Heroes)

HIM (Powerpuff Girls)

Hubert von Vestra (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)

Ienaga Kano (Golden Kamuy)

Infinite the Jackal (Sonic the Hedgehog series)

James (Pokemon)

Jessie (Pokemon)

Jester Karture (Fate/Strange Fake)

John Hart (Torchwood)

Joseph Bertrand III (inFAMOUS 2)

Lestat de Lioncourt (The Vampire Chronicles)

Liquid Snake/Eli (Metal Gear Solid)

Loam Arnault (Entropic Float)

Merasmus (Team Fortress 2)

Metal Sonic (Sonic the Hedgehog series)

Millions Knives (Trigun)

Moot Tarbella (Epithet Erased)

Mordred Pendragon (The Mechanisms - High Noon Over Camelot)

Mutsuki Tooru (Tokyo Ghoul)

Neferpitou (Hunter x Hunter)

Orochimaru (Naruto)

Pigma Dengar (Star Fox)

Revolver Ocelot (Metal Gear Solid series)

Scaramouche/Wanderer (Genshin Impact)

Scourge the Hedgehog (Sonic the Hedgehog series)

SCP-004-J/Stanley Nichols (SCP Foundation)

Sephiroth (Final Fantasy VII)

Serafine Savoy (Lackadaisy)

Shamura (Cult of the Lamb)

Shiromori (Mystery Skulls Animated)

Silver (Pokemon)

Suzuki Emiri (High-Rise Invasion)

Sweet Tooth (Moshi Monsters)

The Leading Light (HLVRV)

Turkey (Dorohedoro)

Tyki Mikk (D. Gray Man)

Uncle Wiley (Hatchetfield)

Vaati (The Legend of Zelda series)

Vegas Theerapanyakul (Kinnporsche: The Series)

Yoshiya "Joshua" Kiryu (The World Ends With You)

[fantasies-fairytales-n-fics]

Thranduil and Josie Pt 147- Moonlight and Memories

Summary: ALL THRANDUIL CHAPTER! Thranduil heads to Moonlight and gets more than he bargained for.

*Warnings* language, angst, sexual content, self pleasure

Stories Stories Stories Masterlist

Thranduil made his way in solidarity through the forest realm of Imladris with his twin swords and a bag of other necessities, mostly wine, with a single destination in sight...his special secret place he called Moonlight. The place he always came to when he visited Rivendell for nothing but pure leisure and meditation of sorts. No one alive knew of it except him...and of course you, but he blocked that all out of his mind as he made his way to the banks of the crystal blue healing waters it held.

It didn't matter the season which was winter, for it was a place of magic, just like spring all year round. The water was a perfect temperature in which Thranduil loved to swim in nothing but the pale skin on his bones and this was just what he needed to perfectly heal his side wound from Harker's arrow after his white hart projection.

The King planned to stay there all day and into the night to lay naked under the stars and soak in the Moonlight, hence the name he gave to his safe haven, for strangely, like the weather, the moon was bright and full all year round in that spot. He had named it after his mother's moonstone, for when he was a young elf, the moon reminded him of her runestone and it was full of magic just the same. A place where wishes came true....and one wish he had in that moment was to steer clear of Elrond's mind torture, for that's exactly what it was to him...and to indulge in more wine to try and wash away his old friend's words.

Thranduil unraveled a blanket from the bag and spread it about the lime green grass in the same spot he always placed it at. As he went to remove his robe, it suddenly struck him that it was also the spot you and he had made love. He scoffed and swiftly wadded up the blanket, moving it to another spot.

Once he was satisfied with it's placement, he began to disrobe and then sat down on his bare bottom. pouring his wine and soaking in the high noon sun.

All was peaceful with the sound of the rushing waterfall delving into the azure colored water and birds singing the songs of their people from high above in their tree mansions. If only Thranduil's mind were at peace....and his cock too, for he then realized it was speaking to him after his memory of making love to you.

He drank down a few glasses of his favorite vintage and decided it was time for the bath he had held out on since his arrival earlier that morning in Rivendell. Up the rocks he climbed to the top of the waterfall and stood on the edge in all of his beautiful glory, gazing down at the inviting blue lagoon. He decided he better dive in now before his cock became any harder or it was not going to be a pleasant entrance upon impact.

The way the sun shone over his skin and his long platinum strands flowing in the breeze, the Elvenking appeared to be that of a swan as he extended his arms out like they were wings. He then brought them forward and bent his knees and sprung gracefully into the air with his body in a perfectly arched form, gliding with ease like a bird into healing liquid below, becoming one with it.

It was a perfect union, the warm sparkling liquid caressing every inch of Thranduil's body while his moonlike eyes were wide and wandering about the underworld's ocean like view as he drifted through a rainbow assortment of fish. It all made him miss the place he called home, Mirkwood. His gardens and endless lilac orchards, the sky blue waters of the Forest River and the ocean...his loyal companion Moose, whom he slightly chuckled about, knowing he was giving his guard a hard time. But he also felt sad, for he knew that his beloved elk was also grieving him, and he would be the one he would apologize to, not you, he told himself as he scoffed at Elrond's foresight.

As he made his way back to the surface, he heard movement, a thrashing about. Turning to see what it was, his eyes sprung wide open to see you, fighting the water and gurgling out his name. It all flooded back to him so vividly, the day you fell into the black waters of the dark forest which only happened because of the first fight he and you had that caused you to flee his halls. A fight that stemmed over Morwen invading his mind during your first kiss, causing him to push you away.

It was the day he also first admitted his love for you to Legolas just before they both raced against time to find you, and when they did, you were being pulled under the evil water by Morwen.

In that moment, Thranduil remembered plunging into the water, not caring of the poison it would inflict upon him. He had carried your limp body to shore and laid you down, placing his hands on you and drawing your poison out into him with his magic as Legolas helplessly watched.

He then heard Elrond's words echo through the water..."Do you not wonder how you have come to despise the woman you once would die for?"

"NO!" Thranduil's shout bubbled out as he then realize how deep he had swam into the caverns below. He grabbed your arm and drug you along as he kicked and slayed through the water with his other arm to the blue beaming light above.

As Thranduil broke through the surface with a heavy gasp for air, he turned to find his arms were empty. His heart palpitated as he panicked and dove back under in a desperate search for you, for you had felt so real in his grasp. Thranduil floated motionless inside the cove as his hair fanned out all around him, his enlarged eyes darting about the limpid water with no trace of you in sight. He then realized you weren't real, that his mind, once again had deceived him.

The Elvenking rushed out of the water onto the sandy shore in a fury, pissed off that he had no control over what just happened to him and even more pissed off at the healing waters betrayal. But it wasn't a betrayal. The elven waters spoke of truth and did exactly what they were intended to do, heal.... and Thranduil knew the risks before he ever even first stepped foot in them as a young elf millenniums ago.

He certainly didn't expect that though, for he had never experienced such lucid visions. The only time he recalled enduring anything similar to that was when he was inebriated and you were miles away, in Rivendell, reading his journal that consisted solely of his memories of you and his most personal feelings that he remembered every word of.

Thranduil sat on the blanket, his hair slicked back and shimmering in the sunlight as he drank more wine, remembering that time and what had led up to it. He had arrived in Rivendell for Arwen and Aragorn's nuptials and had brought his journal with him in which he had planned to give to you in hopes that it would repair the damage Malsha had done in Lake Town with her lie, but then he had learned of you being with Haldir...all because of that lie. She had planned an attack on Rivendell that day in which she lost and Thranduil had went after her on his own at full force due to his anger and broken heart. Due to him not being in his right mind, she had almost killed him but you had found him and saved him by killing her first. Thranduil had then left you in Rivendell, for he could not get past what you had done, even with knowing it never would have happened if not for Malsha's trickery. After Thranduil had departed, Elrond had given you the King's journal, in which only you could open...and you did, and as you read it, the memories had came to life in visions before Thranduil's eyes.

Just before you had showed up at Thranduil's halls for Legolas's wedding, he had wandered out into the forest behind the guest hall and visions of you in your wedding dress appeared to him in flashes, so real, he swore you were right there, but every time he had tried to touch you, you would disappear. Until the one time he touched you and could feel you, but you didn't vanish that time and then you spoke his name, startling him into stumbling backwards and landing on his backside.

Thranduil allowed the involuntary smile that formed on his lips, recalling how foolish he felt for you to see him in such a way. You had knelt beside him and stroked his cheek with the back of your hand just like he would always do to you, and then you helped him to his feet. A kiss had almost been shared in his happiness of seeing you, but the wedding bells sounded from the hall, interrupting the intense moment. The memory had been so vivid, he could almost smell your cherry scented breath as he softly inhaled the similar scent from his sweet red wine.

He then recalled walking hand in hand with you to the hall and remaining that way as you stood at each other's sides during Legolas's and Tauriel's vows. He also recalled hearing your thoughts of wishing he would kiss you and the look in your eyes of realizing he had heard you when he peered down at you with a grin.

That same grin now appeared on Thranduil's lips once more as he drank down his wine. The memory continued onto the beach for the after party, your angelic singing echoed through his mind as he saw you sitting by the fire..."wild horses, couldn't drag me away...."

Thranduil closed his eyes as he saw his hand reach out to you. You took it and he led you away from the crowd to dance with you. He could feel your face resting on his chest just under his shoulder as he watched you both slowly turn about under the magical moonlight....and then you began to sing as you held him tight.

"Friday night and the lights are low. Looking out for a place to go. Where they play the right music. Getting in the swing. You come to look for a king...."

You had stopped and peered up into his eyes as yours glimmered with tears. Thranduil stroked the back of his hand down your cheek and then he gave you your wish, kissing you so tenderly.

Thranduil's eyes flung open as he lightly gasped and touched his lips, for he had felt the kiss, so soft and sweet. His heart was defeating the Elvenking's mind in that moment as his memory carried on, leading you from the party and down the beach, walking hand in hand where he had laid his robe out on the sand and then made mad passionate love to you under the stars.

A soft moan escaped his lips as he could literally feel the warmth of your walls as he fucked you hard and deep, and that's not all he could feel. His eyes opened and darted down to his throbbing cock as it stared straight up at him. He may have been able to control his mind when he wanted to, which in that moment, he chose not to, but when it came to his devious and defiant member, it had a mind of it's own.

It was an ache like no other, not of pain, but of the deepest yearning to feel you again and not just your body, but your soul....and your mind.

He knew Elrond was right once more as more words of his recited in his mind.

"It is because I know you that I point out what your soul speaks but your mind refuses to believe."

His mind was believing it as it, his body and soul craved yours but the brainwashed Elvenking wasn't about to allow it.

The Elvenking stood up in a huff and grunted as he massaged his raging cock, then headed back into the water to put it out of it's misery and end the nonsense. Since he was unable to control his mischievous manhood , he certainly wasn't going to allow you to control of it...or so he thought.

As he waded through the balmy waters, trying to will his full attention cock to stand down and hoping the healing liquid would put it at ease, he was blindsided by another memory as he neared the rock he made love to you against. All he could do was just stare down at it, seeing your perfect bare form laying against it.

And then his attention was pulled to the area behind it, where he had caught you hiding from him and Joliel, the deceitful and now deceased red haired elf of Loren that had followed him there one night, stupidly thinking she would have the King who had no memory of you whatsoever at the time, Of course he turned her away, and in a rage too, for he was extremely angry that she had came to his special place without an invitation, not to mention he wanted nothing to do with her like he had long before he ever met you....or like he had in Rivendell for a mere five seconds just to hurt you because of the cursing black magic he was under.

Thranduil recalled ordering you to come out once she left, for he knew you were there after he spied your dress in the tall grass. You had come out, trembling and covering yourself with your arms, slowly making your way to him and when you had gotten close enough, he had decided to toy with you. He told you to lower your arms and then touch him, so you hesitantly uncrossed your arms and slowly moved your hand up to his face. Thranduil slapped his hand around your wrist, stopping you and barked, "not there, here" as he glanced down at his aroused cock.

Thranduil's cock twitched, snapping him out of the memory and making him realize the water was not helping. Instead it was only intensifying his need for release. There was only one way to end his suffering and that was to give in and pleasure himself.

He turned back to the embankment and saw you again, smiling at him as you rubbed water over your breasts in a very seductive fashion, then you curled your forefinger and cutely motioned him to come to you. Thranduil could not contain his smile or bridle his lust as he immediately moved to you, but your vision vanished and so did his smile.

Thranduil placed his forearm on the rock, then rested his forehead upon his fisted hand as he closed his eyes and deeply sighed. He couldn't take the mind fucking anymore, so he wrapped his hand around his solid girth and began pumping his hips, slow but hard, leaving his grip loose enough to slide in and out, but tight enough to imagine being inside of you. His grunts were bursting out of his open mouth with each thrust as his forehead dug into his arm. Hard whispers of your name also snuck out of his mouth as he sped up, causing the water to slosh about him. His groans and moans became stronger, louder, as his core tightened and tingled, nearing his release. He stood straight up and arched his head back as he vigorously stroked himself into climax. A word he never spoke surged out of his mouth as his essence repeatably jetted onto the rock.

"Fuuuuuucckkkkk!"

Thranduil panted heavily in immense relief and his lips curled into an extremely grateful grin as he extracted the last of his warm fluid out of his now rosy colored cock.

He was drunk on happiness as he exited the water and completely befuddled that you had the power to make him speak such language. The Elvenking voiced his opinion in his mind, calling you an evil enchantress, but Thranduil blocked him out as he remembered the one and only other time he dropped the F-bomb.

It was part of yours and his conversation when you found him in the forest a bit tipsy just before Legolas's wedding as you both headed to the hall. You had been worried that Thranduil would be upset that you came, and more so that Tauriel had asked you to stand with her. You didn't want to make him uncomfortable because you knew how important the day was for him. Thranduil assured you that he was enamored with your arrival and had said "Of course it is fine. Besides, I have already fucked this day up."

What he meant by that was that he felt certain Legolas was going to be angry with him for his heavy drinking before the ceremony, in which he was. He then recalled apologizing for speaking in such a way and remembered your response, verbatim.

“Hey.” you said sweetly and touched his arm. “You’re allowed to be angry, you’re allowed to feel what you feel. You’re allowed to swear if you feel like it.” you chuckled and grinned at him. “Cuz fuck it.”

Thranduil had laughed quite hard, then lowered and shook his head with a grin as he whispered "Cuz fuck it."

You giggled and then you both continued walking.

Thranduil wrapped a cloth around his waist and sat down on the blanket to indulge in some more wine. He took a sip and then chuckled as he shook his head.

"Cuz fuck it." he muttered, and knocked the drink back.

He laid down and sprawled out under the radiant sun and slowly drifted off to sleep, finally feeling content for once. Even in his dreams, he could not escape you.

Thranduil saw himself at his son's wedding and heard every word he spoke as he stood before Legolas and Tauriel with you watching him in awe.

“Love is something that should never be taken for granted, never ignored, never judged, never mistreated or taken advantage of. Most importantly, never foolishly let go of. For love is a gift to be appreciated, watered like a flower. It should be unconditional, respected and unselfish. Two souls joining as one with a heart that eternally beats only for the other. Twin flames I like to call it. A love so rare as Legolas and Tauriel share is the love that I speak of. A love that I also know. What is joined here today, let no force separate, not even death. For love is eternal.”

And then he saw visons of you in the forest, singing and wearing a wedding dress, just like had seen prior to the matrimony...only this time, he saw an older Leeanduil asleep in your arms as you caressed her hair. You wore a glowing moonstone ring much like his, only smaller...a ring that you did not have. He had never seen a more beautiful sight.

Thranduil was awakened to the illuminating moon shining down upon him and his ring glowing back at it. The sound of a crow cawing above in the trees echoed through the air. He sat up, somewhat shocked he had slept that long, but it was understandable after all he had been through.

He pulled out some Lembas from the bag and broke off a chunk, then poured some more wine to wash it down with. As he sat and gazed up at the moon and the stars, he remembered the dream and wondered how he could see his daughter at a future age when he had never even seen her at all. How he so longed to be with her and hold her in his arms. He also wondered what the dream of you meant, if anything at all. Everything he was feeling, would he feel it when he left Moonlight?

"Caw. Caw!!!!" the crow sounded again, only louder.

Thranduil looked up as he recognized the bird's tone. It was your crow, the same one who had brought him his ring. He stood up to try and locate him, and then as soon as his pale blue eyes met those of the feathered flier, he flew from his perch on the tree branch and headed towards the King...and he was holding something white in his talons.

As he flew over Thranduil, he dropped the unknown item and it fluttered down to him. He reached up and caught it, realizing then that it was a letter and it smelled of you. As he turned it over, he saw his name written on it.

"Where did you find this?" Thranduil asked as the bird circled above, cawing away. He stretched his arm out in an offer for the crow to land and speak to him, for Thranduil was able to understand his thoughts just as he could any animal.

The black bird landed on Thranduil's hand and offered his usual bow to greet the King of Mirkwood.

The crow then tilted his head to look the King in the eyes so he could read his thoughts.

"You...took this from Josephine's room in Dorwinion? Does she know? Does she know I am alive?" Thranduil asked without even realizing he spoke your name for the first time, aside from his earlier episode in the water.

"Caw." once for yes, then a pause. "Caw Caw." twice for no.

"I am quite curious corch (crow), how is it that you managed to gain access to her room?"

Thranduil gazed into the bird's eye and it was revealed that the balcony doors had been left open on a nice day while you were not there and he knew where you kept it, under your pillow.

Thranduil gasped as he remembered his letter. "I take it you were unsuccessful in delivering my letter to her since she is not aware of me?"

The crow then told him what happened and that he did not know what happened to the letter.

"Contemptible cretins. They should all be stoned."

The crow cawed away as if he were laughing then informed Thranduil that the guards were, by Narcisse's orders.

"Is that so? Lord Narcisse has actually done something commendable. Shocking. Tell me corch mellon (crow friend), is Josephine doing well?"

"Caw. Caw." twice for no, then he relayed that you were very sad and that you cried a lot.

Thranduil felt a twitch, but this time, it was not in his lower region, but in his heart.

"I offer you my gratitude for conveying the letter and information. I ask that you do not speak of me to her."

Thranduil was well aware of his compromised state of mind and felt it best if you did not know about him. For the time being, he was thinking clearly and rationally, but he didn't know how long that would last.

A single caw for yes and a bow was given to the King. Thranduil reached in his bag and handed the rest of his lembas to the anxious bird, in which he swiftly took it into his beak and flew off into the night sky.

Thranduil sat back down and fondled the letter, feeling reluctant to open it, for he did not know how it was going to affect him. After a few minutes of staring at it, he opened it, revealing a lengthy letter with what appeared to be tear stains in various places of the ink.

"My Dearest King,

I miss you in ways I didn't know existed. You are a mental and physical ache, a longing woven deep into my dna and I don't know how to live like this. I feel like the wolf who howls at the moon, for I feel he is in love with it and cries for that love he will never touch. I haven't felt safe since I was pushed from the safety of your arms. One minute, all was right in the world and in an instant, I was trying to hold my own heart as it crumbled. As I sit and stare at this empty room, it takes everything in me not to cry from the hurt that washes over me. Where there was once words and immense love, all I have now is emptiness and sorrow. I often think about where it all went wrong because I loved...love you more than I have ever loved anyone, but as the song says, sometimes love is not enough. If it were, my love would bring you back. My mind is always drifting off to countless thoughts and memories of you as tears stream from my eyes. You are the love of a lifetime that slipped right through my fingers even as I clawed and fought to keep you alive. I wish I had answers and to know what you're thinking at this very moment...if you can even think anything at all now, but I will never know. Now I must live the rest of my life never understanding why you were taken from me when we were so close to a beautiful forever. Maybe I'll find you again someday in another life, because I have always known we were together in times before...but that solace does me little good as my heart slowly breaks with the pain of a thousand lifetimes. To hear your voice once more, to see your smile again, just to feel the emotions of our love wash over me as you call me your sweet girl, these are only some of the many things I dream of. I must be strong now and try to smile for our sweet daughter that we created out of the rarest and purest love, and try to look for the light in a new day. I miss you. I miss us. But now all I have are whispers of your voice in my heart and my love for you that will never fade. That will have to be enough. True love never dies and that will be my hope for all my tomorrows without you, until I see your beautiful face once again. I will love you until my last breath and then I will find you and I will love you more.

More than nin own cuil, ( more than my own life)

Your Queen,

Josephine."

Thranduil found his eyes stinging as they welled up with tears and he recalled the words of his own letter, realizing both were written around the same time. If you had just received his letter, he knew you would have came for him long ago and he never would have ended up the way he now was. If he could remain himself when he left Moonlight, he knew he would want to return to you but...he knew he could not, for more than one reason. Most importantly, for what he has done with Raven and secondly, he knew he could turn on you again in the blink of an eye, for even there in Moonlight, the Elvenking had fought him and he knew soon enough, he would rise again.....

@redeemer46

[bethaven]

#5 The OC

(Spoiler alert)

Plot: Ryan is the quiet, smart guy from the wrong side of the tracks who ends up with a rich family in Orange County. Nextdoor is Marissa, the cute it-girl who hangs out with all the right people and does all the right things, but deals with a lot of shit underneath the fancy surface. Worlds collide and lives change as they and their friends navigate through teenage troubles, loves, challenges and parents who struggle with their parenthood.

Years: 2003-2007

Seasons: 4

My story: My brother was really into the OC when it aired and kind of dragged the whole family into it. Then he got all the seasons on dvd and we continued with rewatches in his small student apartment during high school. I was fascinatd with this teenage-life that was so far away from my own world, the bad boys and the good girls and how neither of them were really happy.

Teachable moments: The OC teaches us about two important things; awareness about our prejudices and the importance of giving people a second chance, in your life and theirs. The series seems quite shallow at first, but it's very layered and develops over the years.

Best character: Ryan is the core of this series and it's hard not to pick him. He comes in and shakes up everyone's worlds by just being himself. It turns he's the person everyone was missing and needed.

Best episode: S4E1 Avengers. Shits been going down and everyone's lost after Marissa's sudden death. Everything seems hopeless and noone knows how they're going to tie everything up. It's the beginning of a really interesting last season.

Best quote: "You're my destiny, Cohen" (Summer to Seth). Even though Ryan and Marissa's relationship's usually in the center everyone knows that Summer and Seth are the true endgame of the series.

Fun fact: Summer and Seth might be endgame in the series, but actors Rachel Bilson and Adam Brody split up before the series ended. Rachel went on and dated Star Wars actor Hayden Christensen for ten years and they have a child together. Adam, on the other hand, ended up married with two kids with another teen series actor; Gossip Girl's Leighton Meester. Acording to Bilson in the podcast "Welcome to the OC, bitches!", which she host with fellow co-actor Melinda Clarke (Julie), they've stayed friends though and all meet up for playdates.

If you like this you might also like: Beverly Hills 90210, 90210, One tree hill, Dawson's creek, Hart of Dixie and Gossip Girl.

[aisuigetsu]

a lil photo summary of my year (2023)

started my year at Harrah's Atlantic City. this was the second year i went to AC for my birthday! won some and lost some and won some back, net gain $300 ish? since i always go during new year's nothing's ever open... not a ton of food options and no strip clubs :(

in feb i went to seattle for the 4th time LMAO. this was the first time i flew since covid. it was raining every day but the clam chowder slapped

march i watched The Strange Undoing of Prudencia Hart at the McKittrick Hotel. during the last song everyone was having a great time and i was TEARING UP lol it was so beautiful.

went home and immediately wrote a letter to alan brown to watch it (since it was only showing for 8 weeks), not sure if he went tho

april went hiking at Catskill Giant Ledge. there were very few signs so we ended up walking at least 3 miles extra. it was so snowy and icy and i did not have hiking boots. not too bad going up but basically came down the whole way by sliding slowly on my butt

may i went to an airbnb in Long Island that i really liked. this time we got to go boating.

last time i went was when the pandemic first started calming down, and i felt a sudden urge to escape the city. i booked the train ticket and airbnb and left after work that night. after staying there for a day and a half, a group of girls also came to the house (owner rented out multiple homes) and i heard one of them talk abt my restaurant.... needless to say i bolted out of there even tho my stay wasn't finished

funny detail from this trip was i mentioned the sunrise is really beautiful here and we must see it. however for days in a row neither of us could get up, and finally on the last day i was like "i have to wake up" and i did at like 5:30. but i was soooooo tired so i took a picture of the sunrise and went back to sleep. we both woke up around noon and i was like "hah i knew you wouldn't be able to wake up so i took this picture for you" and HE HAD DONE EXACTLY THE SAME THING LMAOOO

june working through the air pollution woohoo

parents took me to Seven Lake Drive, it was really pretty and full of mosquitos

one day in july i randomly wanted to walk to brooklyn bridge from my apt in queens. when i have nothing to do i just wanna walk for really long distances

got covid for the first time and during my sick day i saw this girl on the rooftop of the building across. lowkey kinda worried abt her so i kept watching her and then she took a selfie LOL. stopped watching after that

august went to Mt. Taurus to watch the Perseid Meteor Shower. it was really clear during the day and started pouring as soon as it turned dark.

at like 2am me and my bf were just in the middle of nowhere (to avoid light pollution) in the car frantically searching up the satellite map to see when the clouds would pass and also the weather forecast for any rural areas within 100 miles. unfortunately it was raining EVERYWHERE for multiple days. better luck in 2024

then we went peach picking in NJ, not a ton of hard peaches left by this time

october we went to vermont for anniversary trip and he picked an "easy hike" to "see the foliage"

mountaintop view was like:

it was steep and cold and started raining on the way down. by the time we got back to the parking lot it was completely fucking dark. the entire way down i was looking for spots to camp in case we were stuck on the mountain...

high school classmate organized a Survivor themed camping trip. the bathrooms at this campsite were NASTY and i was on my period too 0/10. but it was a fun time and i got eliminated fifth

november in las vegas. loved it, lost 1.7k

came back to nyc and watched Un Ballo in Maschera. honestly kind of depressing cuz i couldn't just clap and cheer every 10 seconds like in the circus TT

[i-was-bored-so-this-happened]

Alexandra's Evolution Chapter Nine: Monsters and Sea Serpents

Fandom: Primeval Wordcount: 4.2k Warnings: Mention of murder

The team encounter their first underwater anomaly, and consider the downsides of not being able to tell the public about their operation

Read on AO3 Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

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“Snap!”

“No, no way, that is not a Chalk Hill Blue, that is a Common Blue.”

“It’s a Chalk Hill Blue, it says so!”

“On the side of the card you’re not showing me?”

The argument is silly and giggly, Alex leaning further and further backwards to prevent Juke from reaching the cards she’s determined to win. They’ve been playing Snap with a set of butterfly themed cards in Crystal Palace Park, in clear view of the Megatherium statue on the Dinosaur Trail. Nick had arrived at the Hart house in Esher early in the morning to take a still-recovering Stephen to some educational talk or other, so Alex and Juke had packed a backpack full of breakfast foods and cold pizza and taken Juke’s car to the park. The grass is a little damp, but not wet enough to soak through the jackets they’d put down to sit on. In the efforts to catch the card, Juke ends up pushing Alex onto the ground.

“It’s a Crest Hill Blue, you dick, I win,” she props herself up onto her elbows, still laughing, “Pay up.” Alex holds her hand out for the last slice of pizza, which Juke begrudgingly gives her after making certain that the card he now has is in fact displaying the correct butterfly. Alex rolls onto her stomach, away from him, so he doesn’t try to steal the food from her. The park is quiet at this point in the day, not yet noon, and across the Tertiary Island they’re on she can see swans lifting up out of the water with loud honks. The ripples they leave behind are unusually large. Holding the pizza in her teeth Alex pulls her knees up so she can stand.

“Al?” Juke asks. She swallows the bite of pizza in her mouth so she can speak,

“Thought I saw something.” She answers.

“Something?” Juke prompts her to elaborate, to complete her sentence. Shoved at the bottom of the backpack, a phone rings, “I’ll get it.” Juke dives into the bag while Alex moves closer to the water. It’s still rippling, as though the swans are still swimming there. The birds are high in the air by now, almost level with the trees but still honking. “Alex Hart’s phone…hang on, I’ll see if I can find her,” Juke shuffles towards Alex, “Captain Ryan?” he asks when she manages to turn away from the water and towards him.

“He runs security at work. Pass it over, it’ll be important.”

“Security?” Juke repeats, “Because dig sites are notorious for…crime?” Alex waves a hand at him as she lifts the phone to her ear,

“Tom Ryan, you have Alex Hart.”

Where are you?

“Good morning to you too, I’m in Crystal Palace Park, why? Have we got another one?”

Possible incursion at the Crystal Palace sports centre, shouldn’t take you long to get here.

“I-” Alex twists to see how close Juke is, then moves a little further away from him and lowers her voice, “Kind of on a date here, Tom Ryan.”

That sounds like a problem for you to solve. Do you happen to know your wetsuit size?

“No, no, I don’t. Suppose it’s the same as dress size.”

And that is?

“Twelve. Why do I need a wetsuit again?”

We think the creature came through into the diving pool, so we’re going to need one of you to have a look.

“Underwater? We haven’t had one of those before, have we?”

Not as far as we know. Look, the police are here already, we need to establish if there was an anomaly or not.

“Right, I’ll,” Alex sighs, raking a hand through her hair, “I’ll figure something out, I’ll let you know when I’m on the way.” Ryan hangs up and Alex snaps her phone shut. “Juke?” she calls as she turns, hand still sitting on top of her head, “I’ve got to go.”

“What, right now?” Juke has relocated to the makeshift jacket-blanket and speaks around a Weetabix.

“Now, yeah.”

“The fossils have waited a couple tens of million of years, surely they can manage a few more hours.”

“I’m sorry, Juke, really-” Alex kneels on the jackets to collect the debris of the picnic. Juke reaches out to stop her hand,

“It’s fine,” he’s not saying it just to say it, he’s making Alex look him in the eye so she knows he means it, “Al, I’ve done the same thing. Hey, you’re getting good enough money out of it, might as well show up on time.” Alex leans forward and kisses him quickly, thanks him, “Can I drop you off?”

“No, no, you go…do your own thing, I’ll manage.” Alex lurches to the side to grab her shoulder bag, and Juke hurries to pick up everything on the ground so she can take her jacket with her.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure. I’ll see you back at the house?” Alex struggles with her jacket, forgetting she’s holding the bag and having to take it off to get the coat on.

“Back at the house?” Juke echoes, confused.

“I dunno when I’ll get out of it. I’ll message!” She takes off, blowing a kiss and waving.

“What exactly is this job, Alex? Alex?” she pretends she can’t hear Juke as she jogs north.

***

Alex is, of course, the first to arrive at the scene. They’ve made no further progress in acquiring ID badges from the ARC, so once again she has to call Ryan to get him to the door to confirm her identity.

“I’m getting really tired of that.” Alex tells him. She passes him her bag so she can unzip her jacket and take it off, unbutton her outermost shirt and take that off too.

“We’re working on it,” Ryan replies. He trades the outer layers of her clothes for the wetsuit he’d bought from the little shop at the front of the building. He also gives her the receipt, “Changing rooms in there. Do you want to talk to the police before you get into the water?”

“Remind me why the police are involved.”

“A lifeguard and his girlfriend were in here in the early morning, swimming before opening. The lifeguard’s dead, but there’s no body. She called the police, and they think it’s her, all she can manage to say is that there was a monster in the pool that ate her boyfriend then disappeared.”

“Chlorine pool, aye?” Alex asks. Ryan nods. “If Abby’s at the zoo ask her to pick up some salinity test kits, they should have those. If she’s not, we should be able to get some at the nearest pet shop that sells fish. Goggles?”

“Scuba mask,” Ryan corrects, holding it up for her to see, “You know, you almost sound like you know what you’re doing.”

“Oh, I have no clue. Salt in the water could tell us if there was an anomaly or not if the water flows and mixes like air does in above-ground anomalies, it’s pretty much all I can think of. I’ve got the magnetometer in the bag, I’ll set it up before I dive.”

“Magnetometer’s magnets, yeah?” Ryan asks, holding the door to the changing rooms open for Alex to go through. Her answer is momentarily muffled as she hops to undo her shoelaces,

“Measures the strength of the magnetic field the anomaly’s producing-” she finishes one sentence and starts another in the same half-second, “Oh, remind me to go to the other anomaly sites as soon as possible to measure the magnetic flux there.”

“I’ll check your diary for availability.” Ryan says dryly.

The wetsuit fits well enough, and Ryan’s wrangled some flippers out of a storage cupboard. Alex is tucking her hair into tight bobbles to keep it out of her face when her uncle and his partner arrive.

“How was the talk?” she asks, adding a second tie to the bun. She’s holding the band of the scuba mask in between her teeth.

“Left early. How was the park?” Nick asks, using the arm around Stephen’s middle to encourage him to sit on the bench closest to the pool.

“Left early.” Alex answers.

“What’d you tell Juke?”

“Didn’t tell him anything, did I?”

“That’s not suspicious.” Stephen remarks. Alex, content with her hair, moves to sit next to him on his bench,

“What do you suggest, with your long history of stable, healthy relationships?” she waves a hand at Nick, “Present company excepted…well, no, you did have an affair with his wife before he had his gay crisis at the ripe old age of thirty.”

“Twenty-eight,” Nick corrects, “But you’ve got a point.”

“Alex Hart, are you coming or not?” Ryan’s voice bounces off the walls of the pool building, “And if the professor’s there, the police want to talk to him!”

“The hell have you done now?” Stephen asks, accepting the hand Nick’s offered to help him up. Alex meanders towards the edge of the pool and sits to pull the flippers on, waiting until she sees her uncle and his partner meeting the police detective before she lets herself tip forward into the water.

It’s slightly discoloured. The water. She could be imagining it, but the pool doesn’t seem to be reflecting the tiles that line it as brightly as it should be. Discoloured by blood. She had noticed the diver’s girlfriend shaking in a brown towel, a policewoman’s arm firmly around her shoulders, a few feet away from the edge of the pool. She had jumped at the sound of Alex hitting the water. Alex pushes deeper. The pool doesn’t seem particularly warm or cold, nor does it have the sickly tang of salt, but there has to be something. There are viewing windows, like in an aquatic habitat at a zoo, for people to watch others underwater. Alex swims alongside these portholes and finds one cracked. Traces the point of impact. Something had hit the window, something heavy. It’s not regular wear-and-tear, the glass is too thick for that. Made specifically for underwater use, it shouldn’t splinter like this. Besides, they’re hardly hairline cracks that can be resealed with tape. 

Alex bobs back up to the surface to gasp a big enough breath that she’ll be comfortable at the floor of the pool for a suitable amount of time. It’s the cleanest pool floor she’s ever seen, probably because no one’s actually been in it but the lifeguard and his girlfriend. There are no lost elastoplasts or forgotten toys or loose locker keys, just the smooth blue tiles and the white grout between. Alex fights to keep her body as low as possible, stomach brushing the tile as she propels herself along the length of the pool. Small stones come into view every so often, and she collects them in her hand just in case they’ve come through an anomaly. Before her lungs tighten and demand she return to the surface of the water, she gives one last push forward. There’s something else down there. Slimy green ribbons of something. Seaweed. What swimming pool comes with seaweed? Satisfied with the evidence she’s gathered, Alex launches herself off the floor of the pool. When she realises she’s come up on the same side the lifeguard’s girlfriend is still sobbing on she does her best to swim away as quietly as possible, staring up at the ceiling as she moves backwards with her stones and plants held tight in fists. She’s not sure where the wall is, and slows down when she suspects she’s close, but a hand comes between her head and the bricks before they connect.

“Careful.” Stephen says. When Alex twists to pull herself up, she finds her uncle sitting with his trousers rolled up to his knees to dangle his bare legs in the water. Once she’s sitting beside him she swats at his uninjured arm.

“You’re contaminating a crime scene.”

“Can’t get much worse, you’ve already been in it.”

“Thanks. Evidence bags?” This, at least, she’s had some success with in the last few weeks. Lester had allowed them to take samples of the things they found at anomaly sites, if only to stop them going through to pick the plants themselves. Stephen finds some in his pocket and opens them one at a time so Alex can drop first the stones, then the seaweed into respective zip-seal bags, “They don’t seriously think she did it, do they?”

“Looks like they do. Nick’s doing his best, but Leek’s not being of much help.” Stephen gestures with an elbow so as not to seem too obvious. Sure enough, Leek’s on the other side of the hall in his suit in deep conversation with the detective and trying to shoulder Nick out of the way.

“When did he get here?”

“You were under.”

“There’s no blood. Not in the water, not on the tiles or the changing room. There’s a broken viewing window down there, do they think she did that too?”

“They don’t know what we know,” Stephen points out, “Maybe they should, they’re the police. Any number of cold cases could be cracked if it turned out a creature had done something.” Missing people could be found, is what he means. Helen, is what he means. How many people have gone wandering through anomalies, or been taken by a creature?

“MI5 don’t even know.” Alex reminds him. She’d asked Leek about that several weeks ago. No one knows about anomalies except the people employed by the research centre, bound by the Official Secrets Act that promises serious jail time and bankruptcy if broken, and there really aren’t that many employees. Stephen’s staring into the pool as though he’s trying to memorise the ripples he’s causing. He shakes his head, just a little, slowly. Not to attract attention.

“Doesn’t sit right.” Is all he says. Alex hums in a way that doesn’t sound like agreement or argument. A considering noise. 

“Where’s Tom Ryan?” she asks after several silent moments drag themselves to death. She’d been expecting him to appear whenever she surfaced and demand answers, but her magnetometer is twirling on top of a towel next to Stephen and the soldier’s nowhere to be seen.

“Gone out to wait for Connor and Abby, he’s got to verify identities.”

“He’s gonna get sick of that very quickly.”

“Think he already has.”

“Have you been taking the measurements for that?” Alex points at the magnetometer.

“Nick found it in your bag, set it up and left it there.”

“That’s a no.”

“That’s a no.” Stephen concurs.

“Thank you, lab assistant Hart,” Alex mock-salutes to cement the sarcastic statement, “Connor’ll get it when he arrives. I’m going back in.”

“Don’t drown, I’m not allowed to swim.” Stephen sounds almost bored, he’s good at pretending he’s not paying attention, and leans further back on his hands.

***

Alex’s hair is frizzing in the lab. She’s given Connor permission to touch it, so now every time he passes he pats her on the head or just pokes a finger through the hair to try and get to her scalp. Her hair doesn’t take well to being wet. Or rather, it doesn’t take well to being left to air-dry. Her evening is now fully booked with washing and detangling and drying. Shoulders by her ears as she bends over the microscope she’s using, she’s decided it’s worth it. Not every day she gets the chance to study prehistoric vegetation, even when working for the ARC. She and Connor have carefully sliced the ribbons of seaweed she’d found at the bottom of Crystal Palace Park Diving Pool and each have a few slides that contain individual slices of the plant. Stephen has been dispatched to the nearest library to find anything on prehistoric marine plants. 

“Alright, quickfire, what do we think this could be?” Connor asks, his laptop primed for quick clicks through the database that takes up one half of the screen. The other half holds a slowly scrolling length of text that seems to be talking about creature sightings in the water. A lot of them are based in Scotland, unsurprisingly, “Because I like the sound of a Helicoprion.”

“You just want a weird shark.”

“Maybe.”

“What’s that one fish that’s built like a bloody tank?” Alex asks. She can hear the click…click, clickclick of Connor’s mouse as he locates the page he wants,

“Dunkleosteus. Massive bite force. Human bein’ would’ve been like a marshmallow.” Connor answers. Alex makes an over-exaggerated chewing noise in the back of her throat. She sits back from the scope, adjusting the settings so she can take a photo with the camera she’s been permitted to have. 

“Could be any of the main three, I guess. Mosasaur, Plesiosaur, Ichthyosaur-”

“Nessie.”

“Wasn’t that aliens?”

“Might not have been,” Connor shrugs, “Got to consider all possibilities, right?”

“Your thesis advisor’s going to love you changing your argument three weeks before the deadline.” Alex says, reminded of the pink folder Nick had tipped into the bin the first time he’d met Connor.

“You read my paper before he did,” Connor points out before asking, “How’s the seaweed?”

“Weedy. Purple, that’s fun. Can’t say I’ve ever really…studied seaweed under a scope. Mostly onion skins, you know? Stephen’s looking for some government phycologists we can send samples to.”

“The professor know anyone with fossils that could help?”

“He might, but he’s trying to keep Diane Johnson out of police custody. Leek and Lester are happy to let her get charged with Anthony Barton’s murder if it means the anomaly project doesn’t go public. We have evidence, but we can’t even present it.” Alex looks up from the microscope camera to find Connor staring at a jar of the pool water they’d collected. There was salt present, enough to indicate that foreign water from the other side of an anomaly could have mixed with the chlorinated stuff. 

“There’s literally nothing left of him, what do they think she did with him?” he asks with a frustrated gesture.

“Don’t drop the jar.”

“I’m not gonna drop the jar!” Connor assures her. The lab door beeps rapidly as it opens and, right on cue, the repurposed salsa jar slips from his hand and smashes into splinters on the linoleum floor of the lab. Stephen stares down at the sparkling puddle by his shoes. “I’ll…I’ll get a mop.”

“Good idea,” Stephen tells him. Connor edges around the puddle and side steps Stephen to get out of the room. Alex’s uncle doesn’t let the door close behind him, “How are we doing?”

“Want to have a look?” Alex offers, turning the chair so she doesn’t stand on glass shards. Stephen takes her place at the microscope and bends over it himself after detaching the camera and handing it to his niece.

“Have you called Juke yet?”

“Yeah, he’s back at the flat, finishing up a paper.” Alex rummages in her bag while Stephen messes with the scope’s settings. With her head still in her bag she asks, “How’s the memory doing?” this is code and he knows it,

“Memory’s…good,” Stephen says slowly, still not looking up from the scope, “She was there, Alex. Really.”

“I can’t believe she didn’t help you.”

“She knew help was coming. She wouldn’t have left me to die-”

“She didn’t exactly stop you from dying.”

“Alex.” Be quiet voice. Alex closes her mouth.

“She wouldn’t have left me to die,” he repeats, straightening up from the scope, “She wanted me to get back to Nick, she didn’t want to talk to him directly…he knew she was around though.”

“He did?”

“You know he used to see her, just in the city or wherever. We all did. She’s popped up a few times in the last couple months, he thought he was just missing her again, especially after finding that camera in the Permian.”

“Why not speak directly to Nick then?” Alex asks.

“Like she said herself, she wants him to go through an anomaly to meet her. She doesn’t want to meet on our side, and Nick doesn’t want to risk going through, won’t go running after her,” the chair spins to face her, “If she was my wife, if it was Nick-”

“Not your wife.” Alex reminds him quietly, hooking a finger through the wedding rings strung around her neck. Not Nick’s wife anymore either, she supposes.

“She was still important to me, Al. And she’s alive, she’s been alive for the last eight years.”

“Why only come back now? She knew about the anomalies, we know that’s why she left,  but if she’s been back and forth between epochs, why does she only want to meet up now?” Neither of them have so much as dared to say her name.

“She wants to see Nick. She wants him to go through the anomaly to meet with her.” Stephen maintains eye contact with his niece, trying to convey a message. Something not entirely unlike sadness lifts the hairs on Alex’s arms.

“But if he does go through and the anomaly closes, then he-”

“He’s gone.”

“Does she want h-” the door plays its little entry fanfare again, announcing Connor as he returns semi-triumphant trying to balance a mop, a bucket and a broom. The Harts had all but forgotten the spilled water.

“I think you’re right, Alex,” Stephen says, pushing away from the desk, “I’ll give Allison a call, I think she’s fresh back from the Amazon.”

“Allison in the Amazon?” Connor asks, “Sounds like a George of the Jungle spinoff.”

“Old friend, she’s been researching infectious diseases and her boyfriend’s been studying the algae in the river, he might be a help with this,” Stephen passes a hand over Alex’s shoulders as he walks past, “Going to nick Allie from you, Connor, alright?”

“Uh, yeah, yeah, I can handle this.” Connor gestures at the floor while Alex tidies away her slides and collects her cuttings and tells him she’ll be back before she leaves the building.

“Take your phone, shoot Juke a message,” Stephen says, waiting for Alex to fetch her mobile before guiding her out of the room, “We’ll bring dinner to the flat when we head back.”

“When do we think that’ll be?” Alex asks, tapping out the prescribed text. 

“I’m giving Nick two hours max,” Stephen says as they meander down the hallways of the ARC. He rolls his injured shoulder to relieve some of the pain, indicating that he’s too tired for much more without actually saying it, “After that I’m going home regardless.”

“I’ll come with you. Gotta come up with something to tell Juke first.”

“You’ve got time.”

“It’s like you said yourself, it’s not the greatest look if I’m going to have to keep jumping out of dates without telling him what I’m doing or where I’m going.”

“We can brainstorm on the train,” Stephen offers. Alex pushes her phone into the chest pocket of her dungarees and reaches up to twist her hair into twin plaits, following Stephen as he heads towards the ops room, “Be warned, the suits are very pissy.”

“The suits are always pissy.” Alex says. Stephen scoffs as he pushes open the double doors and holds one open for her. She ducks under her arm and comes up to find a very annoyed Scottish man barrelling in her direction. 

“They’ve charged Diane Johnson with murder. Murder,” normally they’d mimic the accent, but that wouldn’t be at all wise at present.

“What?” Stephen’s hand finds Nick’s arm.

“There’s nothing else that can be done.” Leek calls after them.

“She didn’t do anything.” Nick whirls round, sounding like he’s already said this about a dozen times.

“The police have nothing but circumstantial evidence, they can’t prosecute without solid.” Alex thinks aloud. Leek holds up a hand when his phone rings and excuses himself.

“Under these circumstances we tend to find it easier to sanction the occasional unjust arrest that we can renege than allow witnesses to go about running their mouths in exchange for a few pounds from a newspaper.” Lester says in that bored way he says everything.

“How often do you do this?” Stephen asks lightly.

“Don’t.” Nick tells him.

“She’s not going to go and tell a newspaper, she watched her boyfriend either get eaten or disappear into thin air!”

“Yes, the professor’s already done that soapbox in.”

“Steve.” This is gently said, Nick finding Stephen’s hand and squeezing. Stephen’s gearing up for another go, and he’s liable to take both his niece and his partner along with him. Whether fortunately or unfortunately, Leek comes back to the group.

“Sounds like we’ve got our next one, something weird turned up at a reservoir about ten miles north of the Crystal Palace Park Pool.”

“Something weird?” Alex asks. Leek shrugs. “Great timing, Oliver. I’ll go get Connor.”

“We’re not done here,” Nick says, a finger pointed at Lester, “That girl shouldn’t be in prison.”

“Well, there’s not much can be done until you get to that reservoir and find out what’s going on, so I recommend you get going.” Lester replies. Stephen takes Nick by the elbow and pulls him out of the room before he can say anything else.

[libidomechanica]

I took him out

A limerick sequence

               1

I took him out. While times endure to give up smoking for the iewell. And    none a word. For Love may    die. That a matter what you say. To me aside each other.

               2

Is worse from God than from all high places, lived upon the swamp for a frog.    With meaning to you changed    yourself arriving at your lovesick land that quickly fades.

               3

And of my rurall musick holdeth scorne at me: for pittied is mishappe,    that Ill may turn beside    remote Shalott. With somebody else all night not go free, ah!

               4

The garlands fade that hour with love. With anguish in. That soothe the same. And struggle    on without a toga    or a scarf on a couch as dare approaching, were at all.

               5

A pear from a tamarisk near two Proctors leapt upon us, crying:    help! A honey tongue; which    watch not one; a touch of all these forests, my state more be said?

               6

As to do no thing admir’d! In another skin: I am pure onion—    pure union of outside    and Prejudice, in which the hungry generative error.

               7

Or whether or not the cause of her pap and gum, rich beads of amber here.    My sister and my star!    Which all worn out, a man I came home, the crowd.—First look, first child?

               8

But buried in the river among the taxing rocks. What the other’s Eyes,    and almost spent, all is    Venus, save unchaste. Before their bodies merely for babble.

               9

No sun, but a shell in. With Heydeguyes, and Counter-turn, and Strokonoff,    meknop, Serge Lwow, Arsniew    of modern preacher, and then the same men of the wise, and me.

               10

They say, into her beauties which is inseparate, discontinuous lanterns.    And by their enemy    is beat or beaten, if you would find some way we belong.

               11

Goes by to tower’d Camelot. From hence immortal man, as purple pomp,    nor ride a moon-white steed.    Example field to follow thee. Last nights a funeral fire.

               12

More fear’d than all the water-side, singing shreds. But dreams the final sign the    cob. The hand had collapse,    a small knuckles and the noon’s repose. Ears: how he’d had a wish.

               13

Long since I see my blisse, till a morbid hate and scorn fill with tears like a    woman. But if you’d express    train passing hour, till thy wished smile thy mother’s pangs o’erpay.

               14

Of thee, that nas remedie, but wilt new warre vpon thine own influence, from thee!    All you what is not always    face, and drank the air of her sorrow, has e’en right without.

               15

No shape suggested this, t is truth, the ground with a hangman’s snare strangle    with their caps; you are    divided loves and the forests. Beard, and fruictfull flocks from straying.

               16

No more shall if that dainty cheere thou toldst mine eyes, like glitter. To cut the    tear comes to this old thorn,    this pond and beauty, and up the words thou sing, and, in its snare.

               17

Not let you grow. But for the little urn. The God of shepheards other three    long years they bene hyred    for thine arms, be mine; and I remain with my favorite vow.

               18

But say there were thus honour once; she wept her true eyes blind but with some grand    fight to see. The Warders    strutted up and down to overtrodden transport rose and fell.

               19

Whether from the spheres their pupils like when some one in his face was far as    I could to where shepherd’s    tongue, these days, and see a drunkenness. The passing hour, till then?

               20

Not often when you are shepheards hart made bleede, that this is so much for all:    and the while his brutal    scorn—what if that sickening thirst for glory! Let’s contend no more.

               21

The chiel maun be patient—all for thee. There is no thoroughfare. Alone and    pale, no sun, but a simple    flower, and heavily from heaven is withereth too.

               22

Which prisoners called but half a kiss, the brave man with his learned hedde, I soone    wasted: the blossom’d sloe    my dear, so make the Past so sweet a sleep. That hand, with a sword!

               23

High on a mountains; meseems I feel a noisome scent, the mortal looks at    you again. To carry    into Deed mine own land, ’ she said, but shortly he had forgot.

               24

The pin at the days that are mute! But by the greene leaues, the rail has been a    thing as a perfect ore    limbs, its little infant thus! Thy maysters mind is changed to know.

               25

But oh, ye goddesses of war, or, falling hot and rot, within a    cannonade alone in fact,    I put a chair against whole million dye. Nature’s deep being!

               26

And landskip, have I wonne. My face in the very weel aff to be woo’d and    married the fondness of    noble thought, to march in ranks of better, then others glory.

               27

His crickets stirred from her lip? Palms and fox-terriers. For he to whom none    spake, half-sick at heart,    remembered kisses drying up his rays from your bonny blue een.

               28

A cloudwhite crown of pearl she dight, and did think that seeth faults, not with flutes of    Fear, and binds one with his    mayd. Time drives the lovers, made new, prepared fascines, and rain.

               29

Ah deare Lord, and all thy spirit seem. I can create Ideas in the    dark kept itself with her    sobs, melissa: trust me, Sir, I pitie. She only warmth of loue.

               30

Such end perdie does all hem remayne, that some good bits are in every limb, what    should still reigne. All these ill-    changed to long since, before and could not been Hercules his shape.

               31

That in the noon-sun, with every prison fare, for fear that glister’d in due    order. Ah, what can ail    thee, when the batters after deathsong, the Lady of Shalott.

               32

When the grueling mile-and-a-half Belmont Stakes. Memory deathless tree, of    blood he cleansed the shroud in    which he doth these male thunder of a poet’s debt; and therefore?

               33

I wish is understood and tear our pleasure scawled still, but the night we    walked, with all alacrity:    the first Man took him out. But ah false freendship bene fayne.

               34

Who watch him night away, there is nothing could be ne’ertheless a slight    substratum. And now tis buried    deep her wide eyes fix’d on Camelot. ’ Skimming down the bough.

               35

Which I new pay as if not paid before. But in her a Jonah’s gourd, up    in one of those by    hopelessly as I, that many a thing I know; but to my fate.

               36

On Death and love. Lovers, forget you present poem—of—I know not whether    he came to be disposed    of in a way so new, although our hospitality.

               37

Hears her ever chanting cheerly, like a nick in a knife, driven by your    being crown’d with many    a fine boy. Dead, long debate; but I began to thrid the muse!

               38

And thother for the faring stars. Beauties mine did draw, and to gain her bed.    Haste, little weeks in which    dwell on Parnasse hight, doe make their time, till Christ came down to save.

               39

And then not understand, simple and faithful as we are. Trapped your heart which    is not here; false-flatt’ring    hope, that soft incense hangs upon them his slow brow and his guide.

               40

No leaves returning, the while the vegetable love should he haue ioyed at this    shall sound my boyish dream    involved and dame, to the other’s Eyes, and gold and grieve to see.

               41

And change the law, but the steps, and thee. The invisible echo, and why    he looked, the animals    of your soil, that nought so deadly sweats; now an ague, then walking.

               42

With Daffadillies dight, that he was wildly clad; her eyes I stood and I    love you my nudist the    new way. He deal in frolic, as tonight—the song might have guessed?

               43

Nearly strangers, from so pure, so keen her sense, that Christmas when it is clomb    on high in his body    displaie, how would have been together drinking soul. He with the knife.

               44

Painfully quivering sealed off in a tin box. Stella, whence doth fill the    valorous Smiths’ whom were    drawing their smell into a camp: I know of a babe you trace.

               45

A motherly care of her face, in truth in every star, and ev’ry life    but mine recall. And in    their flockes fleeces, them to araye. I found, whome winter’s wreckage.

               46

Knight and morn the flocke, so that might be undone. Sad case, as you can using    giraffe stretch of mud and    saw. I want to arrive this seed, this wretched a vulture throat.

               47

She answered coldly, Good: your oath is broken heart into the hearts were mute    among green leaves; Fled is    that are ye? From the while thy mother’s right. If I had despise.

               48

Will doe, as did befall, led forth her gaunt and blind the whole thing, whose pleasures    doth reproue, my fancy. Is    worse from God than from all others, and the griefs alike resign.

               49

No things are blest. A faint pink-bronze glow. Life, whom you ignored for another’s    guilt! Or I shall be new    and nerve-twitched pose, fingering day; but I never will you serve?

               50

Your sickness made me a grave so rough, me, that watches there is love had brought    her mantle and good? Least    night and known at last my work and full of weak point: my Lady.

               51

And honey wild, and comes out, first just casually cantering water. It’s    a journey … and I want    to love, or how: but be glad as soon wither, soon forgotten.

               52

But now is come to ye, my lad, o whistle, an’ I’ll come to ye, my lad,    o whistle, an’ I’ll come    to ye, my lad. That I want to say too: I take it all back.

               53

Whose power to reach my mind. As I all others, I’ve heard her character’d    with mine do overflow    this work, not one; a touch of all the water was freezing way.

[pgoeltz]

Birthday Remembrance to Merl Saunders (February 14, 1934 - October 24, 2008), keyboardist and long-time Jerry Garcia collaborator in Legion of Mary, Reconstruction, and other projects. He helped Jerry relearn how to play guitar after his coma in 1986.

Merl worked with the Grateful Dead on the theme music for the 1985 TV show The New Twilight Zone and as musical director he completed 2 1/2 season of the show. He also collaborated with Mickey Hart in the band High Noon. His first band included his high school classmate, Johnny Mathis.

📷 Annie Leibovitz

[whatsabriard]

Hart to Hart 4x05 - Harts at High Noon

[college-girl199328]

Driving in Prince George's is still a bit of a nightmare after a three-day storm that dumped up to 60 centimeters of snow on the city. The road will connect to the main road via a residential street. Some motorists attempting to make the morning commute on Thursday were not so fortunate.

He stated that removing the snow is a race against the clock. This is due to warmer weather and rain in the forecast, which could create problems if storm drains are blocked.

Snow amounts from the storm varied from about 40 cm in the Bowl part of the city to 60 cm in outlying areas and higher elevations such as the Hart Highway region. The snow began shortly before noon on Tuesday and continued almost continuously until early Thursday morning. When 20 centimeters or more of snow falls on the city in less than 24 hours, every eight centimeters of it is extended by 24 hours. When those levels are reached, the city summons heavy-equipment contractors, who will continue to assist city crews in the clean-up operation for the next few days.

The City of Prince George's website map shows how roads are prioritized for snow plowing. Before this, the last time the city had heavy snow from one storm was on December 21-22, 2021, when 35 cm fell in 24 hours.

There’s a 70 percent chance of rain or wet flurries tonight, with above-freezing temperatures predicted through the night, and a similar forecast is in store for the city on Friday, with a high of 3 C expected. Above-average temperatures are predicted for Sunday-Wednesday with no more snow, but Wiseman says that could easily change before the end of the month.

Once the snow has been removed, Wiseman said the city will turn its attention to trouble spots and try to break up the icy layer on many residential streets. This makes those roads so treacherous. The warmer weather will allow the use of rock salt, salt brine, and calcium to help melt the exposed ice, and graders with ice blades will also be used. The city is dumping less sand in the bowl area due to problems with particulate matter getting into the airshed. Except for slippery sections and intersections on cold days, and is still used.

[scatteredthoughts2]

CRAZY!

-----------------

I think I'm going crazy,

( some say that's nothing new )

My brain has got so lazy,

And I don't know what to do.

I see things that are not here,

I hear voices all the time,

People blame it on the beer,

And say I'm drinking too much wine.

--------------------------

I have talks inside my head,

With people I can't see,

And though most of them are dead,

They can still see me.

They make me do these crazy things;

I laugh and dance and cry,

And sometimes I think I have got wings,

And then I try to fly.

--------------------------

I bought a ladder the other day,

So I could climb up to the moon,

But I burnt myself along the way,

Because it was high noon.

Then I thought I was a lunatic,

And could just do as I pleased,

So I tried to do a trapeze trick,

And broke up both my knees.

---------------------------

Now I'm in the hospital,

With a pulley o'er my bed,

And they doctors say I am not well,

That I'm not right in the head.

But I'm sure the worst is ended,

And I'm not mad anymore,

But though my knees are mended,

They have padlocks on my door.

----------------------------

@Ambrose Harte

@Scattered Thoughts

[bisekcual]

Work summary: Well before noon in the final days of the Bloom leading up to the Grand Ball, Captain K.P. Hob receives a letter to the Goblin Pagoda with a small, green feather pressed into the wax seal. It seems that Rue has a favor to ask. Everyone knows that the final event of the Bloom will be a Grand Ball. But when is an owlbear to learn to dance? 2,746 words, rated G. 2/? chapters.

Chapter summary: He would only do this, all of this, so that the honorable and desirable Delloso de la Rue might dance at the Grand Ball, as they so profoundly deserved. He would do only that. Only a favor for a friend. 2,128 words.

Rue and Hob each receive their letters; plus, some context. Read the letters here, or through the ao3 link above, and consider leaving a kudos or a comment if you enjoyed it!

Rue couldn’t understand. It had gone so well for most of the meeting; the Wavemaster complimented their propriety and gentility, the arch fey expressed their delight in the events of the Great Hart Hunt and the wondrous display in the Hedge Maze. All they had really requested of Rue was to make more public the contributions of the Seafoam Court in the future, which, really, was such a simple thing it was barely worth thinking about. They even had time while the arch fey broke away to further discuss things to chat with Wanessa, who apologized for her flirtations at tea and seemed delighted to hear of Binx’s reveal. (Now, indeed, that she wasn’t nearly sliding over the table toward them, they seemed a lovely, if strange creature.) It was all tremendously close to perfect, up until the Wavemaster called to reconvene and told Rue that they would not be organizing for the Grand Ball.

Rue had blinked in shock, staring at the Wavemaster as though struck physically by her words. “What? Why?”

And the Wavemaster only smiled her slow, fluid smile and raised her smooth, aqueous palms to the deep, tranquil night sky in a placating gesture. “Consider it a boon, my dear Bloommaster,” she told them. “You have worked so meticulously to craft alongside us a Bloom that would be like no other. Allow us, in these final days of the Bloom, the honor of doing the same for you.”

And Rue had smiled vacantly and thanked them appropriately, paid their respects and socialized for the amount of time due for etiquette, all the while their mind racing behind avian eyes wide in horror. It was a relief when finally they were able to bid the Fey of Seafoam adieu, stumbling flat-footed away from the shore and racing as casually as possible toward their quarters. 

Consumed as they were in malaise, Rue breezed right past Wuvvy, nearly knocking into her, as they bustled through the doorway into their tower. Wuvvy hopped backward in surprise, making a befuddled noise from behind them. “Uh, hey, Rue,” she called out, starting after them. “How’d the meeting with the Seafoam Court go?”

“Terrible, Wuvvy. Just awful,” Rue groaned, rubbing their temples with the pads of two long claws as they continued their bustling ascent up the tower. 

Within only a handful of their long, swift strides, they reached the apex of the tower, fluttering into their room and pacing mindlessly from place to place across the floor, unable to sit still. They sighed heavily, looking over to Wuvvy in the doorway, where she stood with an expression of deep concern written into her round features. “What happened? What did they say? Did they do something?” she inquired rapidly, a familiar breathlessness taking on her voice.

“No, they didn’t do anything. Gods, but it’s perfectly dreadful,” Rue sighed, closing their eyes and rubbing the pads of one claw over them in stress. “The Wavemaster said that she was so pleased with our efforts and the high esteem we hold for the Court that she wants to take the responsibility off my hands for planning the final event of the Bloom completely, so I could ‘participate more personally in it myself.’” 

A beat passed, then two. Rue pulled their claw off their eyes and opened them to see Wuvvy staring dumbfounded at them. Rue gestured, prompting, toward her, and her brows only furrowed more closely together. “I don’t understand. What else happened?” she stressed. “That sounds like it went perfectly.”

Rue dropped their claws to their sides with a slap, looking toward Wuvvy with a soft, anguished noise. “Wuvvy, I don’t know how to dance! I’ll make a fool of myself!”

“That’s all?” Wuvvy frowned stubbornly. “Well, I’m sure that can be fixed. There must be someone in the Court that could teach you,” she insisted.

Rue sighed ruefully. “Wuvvy, please. Do you know of anyone in the Court of Wonder, aside from myself, who’s seven feet tall?” they asked, the exasperated tilt of their head and the slumph of their shoulders suggesting the obviousness of the answer.

Wuvvy looked chagrined for a moment, her fluffy, white ears pinning downward. But then a scheming smile took her lips. “No,” she said thoughtfully, “but I think I have a better idea.”

...

...

...

Receiving a letter so early in the day - namely, before noon - was an occasion still strange to the residents of the Goblin Pagoda, whose noble inhabitants, it was widely known, rested indulgently into the warmth of full day. So when he heard the soft call of the Court of Wonder courier, a fluorescent green sprite the size of a mayfly, Hob turned away from his morning tasks with a slight frown. He could only imagine it was another missive from some snobbish arch fey, who could not be bothered to observe the traditional rest of the Goblin Court before sending their condescending congratulations on some frivolity or another. 

But to his surprise, when he parted the folds of his tent entrance to step outside, the sprite bowed and placed in Hob’s hand a letter addressed only to him. He stared down at it for but a moment before raising his head to thank them, but in that instant, the pixie had already disappeared, leaving behind only the faintly lingering smell of sugar. Frowning now curiously, Hob turned and reentered his tent, turning over the envelope in hopes of locating a clue as to its author. Seeing the small, delicate feather affixed to the wax seal of the letter, Hob immediately scrambled to open it. He stopped in his tracks, tore the top open in one swift movement of his thumb and began to pour hungrily over its contents.

…but he did not eat it immediately, as he had done in the past. Instead, he stood, rereading it time and again, working to convince himself that he had correctly ascertained the nature of Rue’s request. After a sixth review, Hob reeled bodily, his mind and heart racing in unison as he stood, looking dumbly around his empty tent. To be permitted -- nay, requested to familiarize Rue with the intricate, often intimate movements of ballroom dance; to take one of their long, beautiful hands in his own; to draw them closer, as a waltz, the customary dance of the Grand Ball, so often requires; to hold; to- to touch… Hob’s chest constricted within him as though gripped in the terrible vice of some unseen hand, and for a moment, his shoulders burned beneath his overcoat.

But no; he shook himself chastisingly. He would not delude himself with such fantasies. To receive the confidence of the graceful, ethereal Master of Ceremonies in this tender matter was a sign of trust and companionship that he would not disappoint. He would not, indeed could not, preoccupy his mind from that so preciously offered duty by turning an errant ear to the misguided ramblings of his goblin heart. He would only do his utmost to serve the Bloommaster. 

He would only secret himself away from the Pagoda to find the most perfect, quietest place in the grounds, shrouded in canopy and protected from inquiring eyes and gossipping mouths, the better to put Rue’s nerves at ease. He would only pull an entire tree down with his bare hands to use its cylindrical figure to flatten the ground, the better for Rue’s elegant claws not to stumble over the uneven soil. He would only capture countless jars of everburning fire-bees and affix them to the branches of the trees with careful knots of twine. He would only trade favors with the mysterious, yet amiable Miss Choppley in return for one of her strange, mortal music boxes. He would only dance alone in the center of the clearing, the midday sun cascading through the branches of the trees, arms spread and hands poised as though holding a large, soft body, to ensure that there was ample space for Rue to move. 

He would only do this, all of this, so that the honorable and desirable Delloso de la Rue might dance at the Grand Ball, as they so profoundly deserved. He would do only that. Only a favor for a friend.

Straightening his posture, Captain Hob put pen to paper. He had a letter to write, and after that, much to do in the scant time before the Lady Boil and Lord Blemish were to wake with new orders from their traditionally debauched goblin slumber.

...

...

...

“It’s going to be fine.”

“It might not…”

“It’s going to be fine, Rue.”

Rue stepped away from their bedroom window, straightened some pillows on their bed, then walked straight back again, gazing watchfully down toward the Goblin Pagoda with one feathered claw over their beak. “It might not,” they repeated, a nervous lilt to their words.

“Rue, please. The man’s so in love with you it makes him look like a kicked puppy.”

“I’ve certainly offended him. He’s a busy man, and this is such a trivial thing to ask of him, and -- oh, it’s only the first letter I’ve even sent him before and it’s for a favor, oh, Wuvvy,” Rue groaned, clapping their paws onto their face.

It had only taken a handful of minutes after sending their letter for Rue to begin to angst over it. Truthfully, they had only even sent it to begin with at Wuvvy’s insistence. Rue had nearly torn the letter to shreds after writing it, but not to make the same mistake twice, they had carefully folded the parchment with one, thick claw, safely stowed it in away in a thick, cream-colored envelope, pressed down a wax seal and, following a rush of sentiment, plucked one of the feathers from their chest to ornament it. Then, before they could second-guess the decision, they called up a garden sprite and handed the letter off into their deft, minuscule hands.

It wasn’t that they regretted writing it, per se. The idea of taking a private lesson from Captain Hob terrified and excited them in equal measure. To have time alone with him, or indeed with anyone, was, in a Bloom as eventful as this one, a gift that came only so seldomly, but those few and precious moments of the Captain’s time that had been Rue’s alone to experience had filled them with a buzzing warmth. It was only - well, it was so bold. 

To teach someone to waltz, as Rue knew the customary dance was to be, was an intimate endeavor. The form of the waltz, as a partnered dance, demanded synchronicity, proximity, contact between its performers. The thought of one of Hob’s broad hands spreading over the small of Rue’s back, the sheer concept of their hands clasped beside them, the faintest imagination of the two of them orbiting each other, mere inches apart, gliding across a dance hall without a thought in the world of anything but the fey they each regarded in each other’s arms… it was enough to make Rue dizzy, especially after so much time spent at such distance from each other. 

And it was, they knew, a nearly blatant romantic overture to suggest. 

Rue was halfway through turning from the window again to say as much to Wuvvy, when upon the wind they heard the faintest whisper of movement, and they turned back to find a carefully folded paper airplane resting upon the windowsill. Glancing back at Wuvvy for support, they gingerly picked up the contraption, unfolded it, and read it with trepidation.

The good Captain’s first letter was an immediate balm to Rue’s nerves. His earnest appreciation for Rue’s request made something within their heart swell dangerously close to bursting. He had implicitly understood anxieties within Rue that they had not even the guile to mention. And some of the things he said, those wonderful and sentimental and characteristically heartfelt things he had said, what could Rue even call some of them -- honest flirtation? They pressed the palm of one claw softly to their heart, where it jackhammered below their feathered chest. 

Not a moment after they had finished the first letter, another landed again in the windowsill. Struck with curiosity, Rue leaned out the window to see if they could spot from whence it had been thrown. Seeing no one, Rue hastened to open it.

I am well - better, now that you have asked.

Rue nearly swooned. Glancing up from the notes, they found Wuvvy looking at Rue with an expression of, to her credit, restrained smugness. As she inspected Rue’s face, it began to soften into something more like affection. “Well?” she prompted. “I was right, wasn’t I?”

Rue cast their eyes downward, a flustered happiness warming their broad face. “I’m going to need a proper gown,” they said.

[mldrgrl]

The Matchmaker

by: mldrgrl Rating: PG Summary:  Based on this old prompt I got, which I originally said I couldn’t handle, but then inspiration struck and I had to roll with it.  

Scully has only just barely opened the door to the dark office when Mulder is shoving a file into her hands and closing the door behind her.  The projector is on, but the screen is blank, just white square of light and Mulder’s silhouette as he takes her to-go cup of coffee from her hands so she can shrug out of her overcoat.

“Once upon a time,” he says, handing her coffee back to her.

“Really, Mulder?  Once upon a time?”

He smirks good-naturedly and snatches up the remote to the projector to advance to the first slide.  “Once upon a time there was a little tiny tree in a great big forest in New Hampshire.”

“Mmhm.”  

Scully tucks the unopened file under her arm and passes through the warm light of the slide projector to put her satchel down at her workstation.  She takes a momentary glance at a grainy, black and white photo of a large tree and sips her coffee.

“Estimates have placed this particular tree to be somewhere around 400 years old.  This is the earliest photo of it I could find, in the Manchester Daily from 1929.”

“Did someone cut this tiny little tree down and release a great big swarm of deadly mites like the ones we encountered in Washington state?”

“No, nothing like that.”  Mulder winces and scratches the back of his head before advancing to the next slide, another black and white photo from a different angle, wider so that the tree in question stands small and alone in the middle of a field against a backdrop of mighty oaks and firs and pines.    

“Well?” she asks.

“Did you know there are countless legends about enchanted trees?  Trees with magical powers, trees that have the ability to heal or harm or grant wishes or foretell the future?”

“Folklore.”

“Every single culture has some kind of legend about the power of a tree.”

“Mulder, you once tried to tell me the same thing about Bigfoot.”

He ignores the wisecrack and clicks through his slides, narrating the images that appear on the screen.  “The Jinmenju tree in Japan is said to have fruit with human faces that laugh at people who happen to walk by.  There’s the sacred Norse tree Yggdrasil, center of the cosmos and where the Gods gather for daily court.  In Iranian mythology the Bas tokhmak is said to contain seeds that eliminate sorrow and despair.  And the Hungarian égig érő fa or sky-high tree that only selected shamans are entitled to climb and encounter magical worlds in the clouds.”

“Sounds suspiciously similar to Jack and the Beanstalk.”

“And then there’s the Hart’s Location Flame Thrower Redbud.”    

Scully presumes the new slide is the same tree that was in black and white at the start of the slideshow, only now it’s in color.  The leaves are multicolored, mostly red and purple, but some are so dark they’re nearly black.  Though small, the tree stands out in sharp contrast to the yellow fieldgrass, blue sky, and the green trees behind it.

“Well, it’s certainly beautiful,” she says.

“The locals call it The Matchmaker.”

Scully snorts softly.  “And why is that?” she asks.

“If you open up that file I so generously put together for you, you’ll find newspaper clippings from the past half-century, most of them wedding announcements, citing this tree as a key to what led these couples to a happy union.”

“Mulder...you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Of course with any good legend, there’s a catch.”

“Of course there is.”  She puts her coffee down and opens the file, but doesn’t take more than a passing glance at the pages she flips through.

“From what I can gather, and keep in mind this is the Cliff’s Notes version of things, people believe the tree can predict compatibility in couples who make the pilgrimage there.”

“And how, pray tell, does the tree do this?”

“Glad you asked!”  Mulder advances the next slide, a close up photo of the left hand of a woman.  The ring finger is disfigured in some way, appearing to Scully to almost resemble a twig.

“What the hell am I looking at, Mulder?”

“You’re looking at an example of what might happen if a couple is not compatible.  There’s an online Usenet group dedicated to finding matches for anyone who’s had, let’s say, experiences with the tree that have left them unrequited.”

“Unrequited?”

Mulder scrolls through the next few slides without comment.  There’s another photo of the side of a woman’s face with what appears at first to be a small pinecone earring, but on closer look the pinecone is actually attached to the earlobe.  There’s another of a hand, masculine this time, with veins that look like tree roots creeping up from wrist to knuckles.  The last one is a forearm covered with a thin layer of moss.

“They say the only way to reverse the effects is by true love’s touch.”

“True love’s touch,” she repeats.

“Hope you’ve got your hiking boots ready and an overnight bag in the car,” he says, clicking over to an aerial photo of a forest.  “We’re headed to a little town on the outskirts of Crawford Notch State Park.”

She tries not to sigh in response.

*****

The flight to Manchester is less than two hours and they arrive just before noon.  Scully has flipped through the file Mulder gave to her, and though the clippings make for amusing anecdotes, she sees nothing noteworthy or remarkable.

“What exactly is your interest in this case,” Scully asks, buckling her seatbelt after she takes her usual navigational seat in their rental car.  “Not that I even believe there actually is a case here, let alone an x-file.”

“You don’t think it’s unusual just how many couples cite that tree as a turning point in their relationships?”

“Not really.”

“You’re not even a little curious?”

“About what?”

“The tree.”

“Quite honestly, I’m far more curious about what you’re going to buy me for lunch than I am about a matchmaking tree.”

He chuckles.  “Ah, well, lucky for you our first stop happens to be a diner not too far from here.”

“Yes, lucky me.”

*****

The diner resembles a small cabin and is nestled amongst the trees off the side of the road.  She doesn’t want to admit it, but the drive so far has been beautiful.  The highway is narrow and tree-lined and it’s autumn.  Miles upon miles of yellows and reds and golds and greens and oranges.  To say that the road is picturesque would be an understatement.

The little cabin-diner is warm and cozy.  A wood-burning stove is on in one corner, easily heating the small space.  There’s a long counter with swivel-seats dividing the cabin in half, lengthwise, and four booths pressed up against the front windows, two on either side of the door.  Only one man sits at the counter, sipping coffee and reading a newspaper.  He looks up briefly when Mulder and Scully enter, but immediately returns his attention to his newspaper.

A waitress in an emerald green, button-down dress and starch white apron comes out from behind the counter with two menus.  She smiles congenially as she says good afternoon and waves to the booths.

“Take your pick,” she says.

Mulder looks to Scully and she sees him glance at the counter.  She nods and cuts her eyes to the nametag pinned above the pocket of the woman’s uniform.  “The counter is fine,” she says.  “Janet.”

“Sure.”  Janet turns and her blonde curls bounce lightly against her back.  Her shoes squeak as she makes her way back to the other side of the counter and places the menus down side by side.

“What do you recommend?” Mulder asks.

“Can’t ever go wrong with a burger,” Janet answers, pulling an order booklet out of her apron pocket.  “But, the special today is meatloaf.  And the soup is tomato bisque.”

“I’ll do the burger.  Medium well.  Is that pie under that dome back there?”

“Pecan.”

“More of a sweet potato guy.”

“Yeah, me too.  Well, sweet potato girl.”  Janet laughs and winks and Mulder chuckles and nods.

Scully clears her throat and slaps her menu down on the counter so hard that Mulder jumps.  “I’ll have the chicken salad,” she says, pushing the menu towards Janet.  “Balsamic vinaigrette on the side, if you have it.”

“Sure.”

Janet swipes the menus from the counter, scribbles their orders down and rips the paper from the pad to slide it through a small window behind her.  Scully adjusts her napkin and cutlery as Mulder swivels towards her and leans in close with his elbow on the counter and his hand across his forehead.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you being hostile to the witness.”

“The witness?”

Mulder inclines his head towards Janet and then raises his eyebrows.  “Did you even read the file?”

“I gave it a glance.”

“Janet is one of the unrequited.”

“Too bad for Janet.”

Mulder narrows his eyes a little at her and puckers his lips to form a question.  She doesn’t know why she’s suddenly feeling so catty, she just does.  No, that’s not true.  She does know why she’s feeling catty.  The past year her partnership has felt like a game of ping pong, bouncing between extreme highs and extreme lows.  And the wedge that was driven between them by Diana Fowley, may she rest in peace, is not far enough in the rear view mirror for her liking.  They’re on the mend, both professionally and personally, but she still can’t help but feel threatened in some way when Mulder turns the charm on with strangers.

“I’ll stop being hostile if you stop flirting,” she blurts out, regretting not only what she’s just said, but the way in which it flies out of her mouth.

“Flirting?”

“Forget it.”

“Flirting?”

“Nevermind.”  

Mulder straightens in his seat and puts both hands flat on the counter.  Scully rolls her shoulders back and tucks her chin down.  She lets her hair fall across her cheeks to hide her embarrassment.  Janet is suddenly there in front of them again, two glasses of water in her hands.

“Didn’t even ask if you folks wanted something to drink,” she says.

“Got any iced tea?” Mulder asks.

“Sure do.”

“Two lemons, please.”

“And for the lady?”

“I’ll just have the water, thank you,” Scully says.

Janet is gone for what feels like only seconds before she’s bringing a glass of iced tea to Mulder and a small glass dish of lemon slices.  Mulder thanks her warmly and for some reason, that makes Scully feel even more chagrined.

“Janet,” Mulder says, reaching into the interior breast pocket of his jacket to grab his ID.  “My name is Agent Mulder and this is Agent Scully.  My partner and I are actually on an assignment right now that you might be able to help us with.”

“Me?”

“Have you ever been out to see a tree they call The Matchmaker?”

The smile on Janet’s face wavers and then fades into a frown.  She stands stock still for a few moments and then grabs a rag from the side of the counter as though she’s about to clean something, but then just twists it nervously her hands.

“What do you know about it?” she asks.

“Not much, which is why we’re here.  We know from our preliminary investigation that you’re amongst the group that calls yourselves the unrequited.”

Janet nods slowly.  “That’s not...a crime, is it?”

“No, no.  We’re trying to determine if you might be the victim of one though.  It’s my understanding your contact with the tree has left you with some sort of affliction.”

Janet nods again and then hesitates before tucking the rag in her hands into her waistband and coming around the counter.  Both Mulder and Scully turn in their seats and Janet turns her back to both of them.  She lifts the hair up off her neck and it’s then that Scully’s interest is finally piqued.  The back of Janet’s neck is rough and scaly, resembling tree bark.  Scully whips a pair of latex gloves from her pocket and leans closer to Janet.

“Do you mind if I…?” Scully asks.

Janet glances over her shoulder at Scully, looks at the gloves she’s pulling on, and then nods her head.  “Go ahead,” she answers.

“Agent Scully is a medical doctor,” Mulder says, unnecessarily.  

Scully gently prods the ridges at the back of Janet’s neck.  It appears as though the skin is very dry and may flake away, but in reality it’s very thick and does not give at all.  Mulder hovers over Scully, his chin nearly touching her shoulder.

“It could be an allergic reaction,” Scully says.  “It appears to be a localized eczema.  Have you seen a dermatologist?”

“I’ve been to every dermatologist in the area,” Janet answers, dropping her hair and turning back around.  “They’ve done biopsies, tried laser removal, creams, gels, cryotherapy, the whole nine yards.  No one knows what it is or how to treat it.”

“And you think the tree that Agent Mulder mentioned earlier has something to do with this?”

“Oh, I know it does.  I was foolish enough to ignore the warnings and so...well, now I’m one of the unrequited.”

“I see.”

“Can you walk us through how it happened?” Mulder asks.

“It was about five years ago now, I was a senior in high school.  Me and my boyfriend at the time, Anthony, we thought it would be like a funny thing to do just before graduation.  We’d been together all through high school, grown up on the same block, and we were planning on getting married the next fall.”

Scully lets her eyes drop momentarily to Janet’s hands and notes the absence of a ring on her finger.  

“You knew of the stories before you went up there?” Mulder asks.

“Oh yeah,” Janet answers.  “I mean, if you’re from around here, you hear all about it from the time you’re a kid.  And everyone wants to brag about it, you know?  You hear from all your friends, my parents touched The Matchmaker and then got married, but no one wants to talk about the other side of it.”

“You and Anthony?” Scully asks.  “You never married?”

“Well, how could we?  He wasn’t the one.”

“According to the tree.”

“If it was true love, I wouldn’t be afflicted.”

“You really believe that?”

Janet points to her neck.  “I didn’t until this happened.”

“You didn’t believe in the legend when you went there?” Mulder asks.

“Not really.  Who would believe that a tree could do this?”

“You folks need to talk to Hattie Vale,” the man at the other end of the counter suddenly pipes up, even though he doesn’t even look up from his newspaper.

“Hattie Vale?” Mulder asks, swiveling in his seat to face the older man.

“Mmhm.”  He nods once and turns the page of his paper.  “That cursed tree is part of her legacy.  Janet, I’ll take my check now, if you please.”

“You got it, Wallace.”  Janet gives Scully a wry smile before she heads behind the counter again, ripping a page out of her booklet.

“Can you tell us how to find Miss Vale?” Mulder asks.

“Take the red bridge about a mile inside the entrance of Crawford Notch. Sign’ll say private property, but it’s just to try to keep looky-loos away from the tree.”  Wallace takes a few bills out of his wallet and puts them on the counter.  “Thank you, Janet.”

“See you tomorrow,” Janet says.

“Miss Vale lives out by the tree?” Mulder asks.

Wallace folds his newspaper and then stands and tucks it under his arm.  “Go right at the fork, that’ll take you to Hattie.  Go left, that’ll take you to The Matchmaker.  And take my advice, don’t touch that tree.”  

“You have a personal experience you’d like to share with us?”

“No.”  Wallace pulls a hat out from his jacket pocket, slaps it on his head, and walks out of the diner.

“Why do I not believe him?” Mulder says to Scully as he turns back to face the counter.

*****

Hattie Vale’s home is exactly where Wallace says it would be.  While the diner was a faux cabin, Hattie’s place is the real deal.  Scully would not be surprised if it did not have running water or electricity.

The woman that greets them on the porch is both ancient and spry.  She’s stocky and squarely built, wearing a thin housedress and a hand-knit sweater and moccasins on her feet.  Two long, grey braids fall over her shoulders to her hips.  Her face is sunburnt and weathered, deep lines in her forehead and at the sides of her mouth.  She grins broadly, revealing a handful of missing teeth.

“I had a feeling I might get visitors today,” she says.  “And here you folks are.”

“Are you Hattie Vale?” Mulder asks.

“Sure am.  Who’s asking?”

“My name is Agent Mulder, this is Agent Scully.”  He stops at the edge of the porch and holds up his badge and Scully does the same.

“That supposed to impress me or something?”

“Ah, no Ma’am,” Mulder says, chuckling as he tucks his ID back into his pocket.  “We’re investigating some unexplained afflictions associated with a tree in these parts referred to as The Matchmaker.”

“You’re about three centuries too late for that, bub.”

“Forgive me for my tardiness.”

Hattie laughs heartily at Mulder’s joke and Scully has to fight not to roll her eyes at him when he gives a pleased grin in her direction.

“Come on in, I got coffee I can put on.”

“That’s not necessary, Mrs. Vale, we only want to ask a few questions,” Scully says.

“Come on in anyway, let me put my feet up.”

Mulder hops up the stairs onto the porch and Scully trudges up behind him.  She’s surprised to find that the cabin actually does have electricity and is fairly tidy and well-furnished.  The large room is a combination kitchen, dining area and living space.  Hand-woven rugs are strategically placed on the wood floors.  Knitted blankets are draped over the couch and a lounge chair.  There’s no TV, but there is a transistor radio perched on a folding tray next to the chair.

Hattie plops herself down into the lounger and pulls a lever to extend the footrest.  She leans back with her hands over her belly and flexes her toes inside her moccasins.

“How long have you lived out here?” Mulder asks, waiting for Scully to take a seat before he perches himself at the edge of the couch.

“Well, I was born here, so I figured I might as well die here too, but I did move out to Vermont for a time when I got married.  After I raised my kids and my husband passed, I thought it was as good of time as any to come back.  That would’ve been somewhere around 1942, I think.”

“That was fifty-seven years ago,” Mulder says.  “You had already raised your kids and been widowed by then?”

Hattie laughs again.  “I was born in 1885.”

“You’re 114 years old?”

“Don’t look a day over 100, do I?”  She wiggles her shoulders a little and lifts her brows.  Even Scully has to smile in amusement.

“Mrs. Vale,” Scully starts.

“Hattie, please.  Never liked formalities.  So stuffy.”

“Hattie, can you tell us anything about the tree?”

“Maybe why some might say it’s cursed,” Mulder adds, and Scully grimaces.

“A curse?  Bah.  Sounds like you’ve been talking to my grandson.”

“Who’s your grandson?” Mulder asks.

“Name is Wallace Byrd.  He’s my girl Rosemary’s boy.”

Mulder and Scully give each other a glance.  “We did...happen to run into someone named Wallace,” Mulder says.

“Wally had a bad go of it when he was a young man.  He blames the tree for it, silly boy.”

“So, you don’t think it’s cursed?”

“Not at all, the tree is blessed, if anything.”

“Do you happen to know how it came to be blessed?”

“Oh yes, I can tell you exactly how it came to be.”

There’s a twinkle in Hattie’s eyes as she starts to tell the story of the tree, one that makes Scully even more dubious and Mulder even more interested.

“My four times great grandfather, Jean-Luc Benoit, came to this area from Quebec City in the first half of the 1700s,” Hattie says.  “There was a Winnipesaukee tribe that lived nearby and they traded goods often.  Jean-Luc fell in love with a squaw from the village called Little Flower, and she with him, much to her father’s dismay.  Sensing that Jean-Luc was going to ask for his blessing to marry his daughter, her father met with some of the elders of the village and they told him he would have to ask the white man to pass a test of his true love if he were to take one of their women away.”

Mulder nods encouragingly at Hattie and then grins at Scully.  His enjoyment of the tale is palpable.  She keeps her gaze straight ahead, afraid she might slip and very unprofessionally roll her eyes at him.

“Little Flower’s father took the advice of the elders,” Hattie continues.  “Except, he decided he was going to give the would-be suitor an impossible task.  He told Jean-Luc to plant a seed, and only when that seed had flourished and become a tree, could he have his daughter’s hand in marriage.  Jean-Luc said his love was unhurried and he would plant the tree and wait as long as it took.  A ceremony was held for the planting and to everyone’s astonishment, the tree grew overnight.”    

“Overnight?” Mulder asks.  “Incredible.”

“I’ll say,” Scully murmurs.

“But, that wasn’t to be the end of it,” Hattie says.  “Little Flower’s father was distraught by the turn of events.  Instead of turning to the elders as he had before, this time he went directly to the tree, believing the Gods may have grown the tree as punishment for his trickery.  He apologized for his wrongdoing and pleaded with the tree for a sign that would show him that Jean-Luc was worthy.  When he went home, his village was in chaos.  They told him that right before their eyes, his daughter had started growing leaves where her hair was and roots where her feet were and that she reached up to the sky and her arms became limbs and her fingers became branches.”

“She turned into a tree?” Mulder asks.

“So they say.  Little Flower’s father was distraught and horrified.  He tried pulling her feet from the earth, but the roots just grew deeper.  When he saw that he could do nothing, he ran to Jean-Luc and asked for his help.  The instant that Jean-Luc touched the tree that Little Flower had become, she was restored to her human self.”

“And since then, people have come to ask the tree to show them who their true love is?” Mulder asks.

“That’s about right.  Mostly locals though, passing the story along to their children and grandchildren.”

“Mrs. Vale, Hattie, are you aware of any pesticides that may have been sprayed around the tree or perhaps any poisonous foliage that might surround the area?” Scully asks.

Hattie shrugs.  “Been years since I’ve been out by that tree.  The state took that part of the land years ago when they formed the park.”

“Have you heard about people coming away from the tree with afflictions?” Mulder asks.  “Skin problems, or physical ailments of some kind?  You said your grandson, Wallace, believes the tree to be cursed.  Has he been suffering from an ailment after contact?”

“Ailments?  No.  Broken heart is more like it.  Wallace brought his sweetheart out to the tree before he proposed.  He was a believer in the legend and said the tree showed him that Corrine, that was his girl, was his true love.  A week before their wedding she was killed in an automobile accident.  He never got over it.  Now, he thinks the tree cursed him to a life alone.  I tried to tell him many times not to take stock in that tale.  It’s just a tale, after all.”

“So, you don’t believe in the legend?” Mulder asks.

“Believe in a tree that grows overnight and wraps a girl up in branches?”  Hattie laughs.  “You’d have to be crazy to believe in that kind of thing.”

It’s Scully’s turn to grin and Mulder smiles good-naturedly.  He stands, and Scully does as well.  

“Thank you for your time,” Scully says.

“Could you tell us, what’s the best way to reach the tree from here?”

“Once you cross back over the bridge head due west.  The ‘no trespassing’ signs should lead you right to it.”

*****

It really is a stunning tree, Scully thinks, as they stand before it.  The photos didn’t do it justice.  The sun shines onto the top of the tree, making it look alive with red-purple flames.  The branches curve out and the leaves cascade like a waterfall.  The field grass flutters in the wind like a golden wave around their feet and the leaves of all the trees that surround them shake and rustle.  She has to brush her hair from her eyes and away from her cheeks.

“Well, I guess we should take a look,” Mulder says.

“What is it that we’re looking for?” she asks.

“You tell me.”

“I don’t know, Mulder, I’m not a botanist.  Plants aren’t something I ever took a strong interest in.  I’m not even sure I’d truly be able to identify poison ivy if I came across it.”

“Leaves of three, let them be.”  Mulder smiles as he pulls on a pair of gloves.  “Something we used to say as kids to avoid it when we were camping.”

“And somehow I’m guessing you still managed to pull your share of rashes.”

“I don’t know where these baseless accusations are coming from, but I will neither confirm nor deny the generous supply of Calamine Lotion my mother kept on hand for such occasions.”

Scully snorts softly and pulls her own pair of gloves on.  Mulder is already crouching before the tree, running his hand over the dirt. He picks up a fallen leaf and twirls it by the stem.

“It looks like a heart,” he tells her, turning it upside down and holding it up between pinched fingers.  He’s right.  

“Bag it,” Scully says, handing him a plastic bag.  “We’ll need soil samples as well.  Maybe scrape some bark off as well.”

“I take it your theory is the tree is toxic?”

“Perhaps.”

“Mmhm.”  Mulder seals up the leaf and stands back up.  “Any of those poisonous plants you mentioned before known to cause skin irritations for over five years?”

“Mulder, I’m fairly certain that contact with this tree is merely coincidence.  Take Janet, for example, she could have daily exposure to an allergen without even knowing it, causing that rash at the back of her neck, her laundry detergent, for example.”

“Something that all of the dermatologists she’s been to have failed to diagnose?”

“I’m only saying that there are more probable explanations for why someone would develop a skin irritation than a centuries old legend.”

“Probable, but not implausible,” he says.

“Mulder, you’re crazy,” she answers with a shake of her head and a small laugh.

He pockets the plastic-wrapped leaf and then walks away from her to circle the tree.  Scully studies the lush mane of leaves, trying to determine the best possible way to part them and reach the trunk.  She puts her hands into a gap and a few birds fly up and out of the tree in a panic, their wings flapping wildly.  She jumps back, heart racing.  A sudden breeze ruffles the back of her hair and she shivers.  Goosebumps prick her arms, but she isn’t cold.  Her shoulder pulls up automatically as the inside of her ear is tickled with what feels like a soft whisper.

“Mulder?”  She turns, but no one is there.  She hurries to the other side of the three and spots Mulder a few yards away, looking up into the white pines that border the clearing.

Scully turns back to the tree and finds another gap in the leaves to part.  She cautiously pushes them aside and finds she’s able to lift a section back and step under the canopy of branches.  Hunching slightly, she pulls her pocketknife out and scrapes a bit of bark from the thin trunk and bags it.  She crouches down to collect some dirt as well.  As she straightens her knees, her heel comes back and catches on a tree root and she stumbles.  Her first instinct is to throw her arm out and her hand smacks into the tree trunk.  She can feel the bark bite into her palm through her glove and the inside of her wrist is scraped in her efforts to prevent herself from falling.

“Dammit,” she mutters, wobbling into her hunched position and letting go of the tree.  She pulls the sleeve of her blazer up to inspect her hand.  There’s debris on her glove and the inside of her wrist is scratched red, but the skin wasn’t broken and she’s not bleeding.  She rotates her wrist a few times and fortunately it doesn’t feel sprained, just a little sore.

“Scully!” Mulder calls.

“Yeah,” she answers, warily.

“Where are you?”

“In here.”  She can hear the crunching of the field grasses and leaves underfoot as Mulder approaches.  She pulls the cuff of her sleeve down over her wrist before pushing the leaves aside like drapery and steps out from the canopy.

“You have…”  Mulder approaches and reaches up to pluck a leaf from her hair.

“Thanks.”

“It matches,” he says, twirling the red leaf softly against the ends of her hair.

A breeze comes up again and that same whisper and tickle of her ear returns.  She shivers again and moves her hand up to take the leaf from Mulder, but he pulls it back and puts it in his pocket.

“Find anything interesting?” he asks.

“Bagged up some bark and some dirt.”

“You ask the tree if it was cursed?”

“I did.”

“What was the answer?”

“Stop letting your crackpot partner talk you into fruitless jaunts to the forest.”

Mulder chuckles.  “There is some poison oak in the woods up there.  You’ll be happy to know I steered clear.”

“Wonderful,” she says, wincing as her wrist burns slightly when she peels off her gloves.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You think those are storm clouds rolling in over there?”

She nods slightly, rotating her wrist in her pocket.  It’s beginning to itch.

“I guess we should probably head out then?”

“No argument from me.”

*****

They leave New Hampshire with nothing more than the samples and family legends.  Mulder finally accepts there isn’t much of a case to be had, especially when they can’t find any other afflicted locals to speak with, and they return home.  They run the samples through the lab, but the results don’t account for any toxins.

A week passes and Scully’s wrist doesn’t seem to stop itching.  It’s at its worst during the day at work and seems to calm at night when she goes home.  She sees a dermatologist who can’t find anything wrong, but gives her a prescription for an anti-itch cream that does nothing to help.

They’re out of town again, on a case in Iowa.  She shouldn’t be relieved to be doing autopsies again, but it’s been awhile since she’s been in a morgue and not out in the field.  She’s either too busy to notice her itching wrist, or it miraculously ceases to bother her for the day.  When she’s back at the motel, having a pizza dinner over crime scene photos and witness statements, her whole hand starts to feel like it’s on fire.  She excuses herself from the table and shuts herself in the bathroom.

By all outward appearances, nothing is wrong with her wrist.  It’s not inflamed, it’s not scratched, it’s not even red anymore, but her skin crawls.  She holds it up to the light and takes a closer look, running her thumb across the line where wrist meets palm.  There does seem to be a slight bump where there wasn’t one before.  She checks her left wrist in comparison and then the right one again.  When she scratches at the little bump with her nail, she can actually feel a slight pull under her skin.  She pushes at it with her thumbnail and then her skin ruptures and what looks like the stem of a leaf emerges.

“Oh my god,” she whispers.  There is a pair of tweezers in her toiletry kit that she finds and then plucks lightly at the stemp, but it doesn’t budge.  It doesn’t hurt and it doesn’t bleed and no matter how hard she pulls, the stem is immobile.  After only a few minutes she’s nearly in tears with frustration.  She wipes her watering eyes dry and then goes back to the table to rejoin Mulder.

“I need to show you something,” she says.

Mulder pauses with his hands full of photos and looks at her.  He sets them down and then wipes his hands on his pants and leans forward, elbows on the table.  “Okay,” he says.  “Show me.”

Scully pulls the sleeve of her shirt up and drapes her hand across the table, wrist up.  Mulder looks down at her hand and then up at her.  He moves his face closer to her arm and tilts his head from side to side.

“What am I looking at?” he asks.

“When we were in New Hampshire, I scraped my hand on that tree.”

“The Matchmaker?”

“Yes.  It wasn’t a bad scrape, no skin was broken, but since then, my wrist has not stopped itching.”

“What is that?”

“I don’t...I don’t know.  I tried using my tweezers on it, but it wouldn’t come out.”

Mulder picks up Scully’s hand with both of his and runs his thumbs across the bottom of her palm.  Her whole arm tingles when he touches her and she can feel something move beneath her skin.  

“It feels like...I’m not sure...”  Mulder puts a little more pressure on Scully’s wrist and slides one of his thumbs up to her palm.  Suddenly it feels like her whole hand opens up somehow and something unfurls out of her wrist like a butterfly to rest in her palm.  It’s a red, heart-shaped leaf.

They’re both silent, staring down at her hand, at the leaf.  Her arm still tingles and she sways slightly, lightheaded.   “Mulder…how did…?”

“I don’t know.”

“What just happened, Mulder, it’s impossible.”

“Well, there is one explanation.”

“Don’t say it.”

“You touched the tree.”

“A tree didn’t do this, Mulder.”  She jumps up from the table, determined to pull the leaf from her hand, but it’s stuck to the stem and the stem won’t budge.  “I need scissors.”

“Well wait, maybe you should see a doctor.”

“I am a doctor!”  She rushes back into the bathroom to get the small scissors from her toiletry bag.  Mulder follows behind and watches as she attempts to cut at the leaf and the stem, but the scissors just slide right off of the leaf as though it refuses to be cut.

“Stop,” Mulder says, putting his hands on her shoulders.  “Come on.”

“Mulder, there is a leaf growing out of my hand!”

“I can see that, come out here.”

Mulder guides her out of the bathroom back to the table, but she doesn’t want to sit.  She stares at her palm and at the leaf while Mulder sits and then he brings her towards him with his hands on her hips.

“Let me see,” he says.  

Scully reluctantly shows him her hand and he holds it gently, tracing the shape of the leaf in her palm with his index finger.  He pinches the leaf between his fingers and pulls gently and the stem slides out of her wrist without any effort at all.  When it’s completely free of her hand, she feels something wash over her that she can only describe as utter euphoria.  She sways slightly on her feet, leaning into Mulder and putting her hands on his shoulders to hold herself up.

“Scully?”  The leaf flutters to the ground as he grabs her hips.

“Oh, I feel…”

“Sit down.”  He stands and tries to urge her to sit, but she holds onto his arms and shakes her head.

“No, I…”  She feels overwhelmed by something she can’t describe, but the force with which she aches to be as close to Mulder as possible is powerful.  It’s like she can’t breathe, but he is oxygen.  It’s like she’s freezing and he’s a warm fire.

“I really think you should sit down,” he whispers.

“Mulder,” she says, blinking lethargically.  Her voice is slow and her eyes are heavy.  “If it was the tree, then that would mean…”

Mulder puckers his lips a little and his chin juts forward as he swallows.  “It would mean whatever you want it to mean,” he says.

Her heart hammers in her chest.  She tingles from head to toe, but especially where his hands grip her hips and where his arms press against hers.  She opens her mouth a few times, but doesn’t know what to say.

“I heard you, you know,” he says.

“Heard me?”

“When I was exposed to the artifact.”  He lets go of her with one hand to reach up and lightly touch his fingers to her forehead.  “I heard you.  I don’t need an enchanted tree to tell me what I already know.”

She should feel embarrassed, and maybe two months ago she would have, maybe even two minutes ago, she would have, but not now.  She drops her gaze to his mouth and then she looks up into his eyes again.  By some unspoken, mutual agreement, they both lean in.  Mulder bends and tips his head to the right, Scully lifts onto her toes and lets her eyes slip shut just before his mouth touches hers.  The kiss is soft and unhurried.  It’s tender and sweet in a way that makes her feel warm and secure.

“I can’t believe this is real,” she whispers against his lips.

“What part of it?”

“All of it.”

“Of course you don’t.”  He chuckles and bends down to pick up the leaf he dropped.  He twirls it between his fingers and then brushes it against her nose.

“It’s just not possible.”

“All of it?”  He cocks his head a little and his eyes fall to her mouth.

“Maybe not all of it.”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m having a hard time believing it myself.”

“Which part?”

“All of it.”  He smiles, and bends to kiss her again, but she leans away and puts two fingers against his lips.

“Why did you take me up there?” she asks.

“I’ve owed you a nice trip to the forest for about seven years.”

“Is that all?”  

“Autumn in New England?  I only wish we could’ve found something worthwhile to stick around a little longer.”

“So, you never intended for…”

“For you to start becoming part tree?  Not at all.”

“Oh my god, I just can’t...I can’t wrap my brain around it.  It’s…”  She covers her face with both hands and shakes her head.

Mulder kisses the knuckles on her right hand.  “You wouldn’t be you if you believed it.  Once upon a time there was a very skeptic little g-woman named Scully.”

“You are not allowed to start any stories with ‘once upon a time’ any longer,” she says, taking her hands away from her face.  “Bad things happen in fairy tales.”

“Well you are forgetting one thing though.”

“What?”

“They always end with ‘happily ever after.’”

The End

[jamiceofcourse]

Hardwood Beach 001

“It’s looking like a sunny day today ladies and gentlemen. A high of 95, scorching heat, no clouds in the sky. The only place to be is inside or on the beach. I’m Korrine Mayer. Stay cool.”

Jova’s body stiffened as the haze settled over her room. It was hot as hell and her bones craved the beach. Unfortunately, in New York City, some of the best beaches were tar beaches, blazing asphalt above the smoggy clouds with expansive views of the city skyline. But even that wasn’t an option, as she lived in a pre-war, first-floor corner apartment.

No rooftop.

No beach. Yet.

“Yeah. We about to make something shake.” Jova grabbed her laptop and started to create a flyer. Palm Trees. Sand. Cocktails. In twenty-five minutes, she had a flyer for a one-day only beach day. A full tropical experience right here in her apartment:

Jova planted flyers all over the building, slide some under doors and even posted a few outside. The first knock came at noon. It was a hard knock toward the bottom of the door. A little girl and her unassuming mother barely filled up the door frame.

“Hi. We would like to go to the beach!” A small voice exploded out a little body that donned a white swimsuit with sunflowers all over.

“Well come on in!” Jova gestured behind her and four eyes widened at the expansive horizon. A light breeze kicked up salty air as seagulls swooped down to grab tiny crabs out of the water. THE WATER. Clear as glass and went on forever.

A squeal escaped the little girl as she ran toward the shore, the lady scrambling after her. By 2pm, word had got out and it seemed like over 200 people were laid out in the sand, swimming, and chatting at the beach bar.

“What is Jova up to?” Ms. Hairston questioned through gritted teeth. 

“911, what is your emergency?”

“A beach! This woman has a beach in her apartment.”

A long sigh settled over the complaint. “Mrs. Hairston?”

“It’s Ms. and yes! Jova Hart has an entire beach in her apartment right now packed with over 200 people. That is a fire hazard!” Ms. Hairston’s voice shot up an octave and before she ran down a list of complaints, the receiving operator quickly appeased:

“We’ll have a car over there as soon as possible Ms. Hairston. Sit tight.”The line went dead and Ms. Hairston’s phone almost surrendered under her tightening grasp. 

Back on Hardwood beach, jet skis raced back and forth. Kids chased each other in the sand and the moms lazily clinked glasses as they toasted to another Jova experience. The sun began to settle beyond the horizon and Jova took her bullhorn, herding the crowds to the exit as Hardwood beach was coming to a close. Huge sand-sucking machines swooped up tons of sand and the water seemed to drain out of the baseboards.

“Gracias preciosa,” The old lady smiled at Jova as she took her daughter by hand.

“Thanks for a wonderful day Jova,” as the little girl sleepily rubbed her eyes.

As they shuffled out, two boys in blue waddled up to her doorstep. “Evening ma’am, we got a complaint about you housing a beach in here?”

“Yep, you just missed it. I’m sweeping up the last bit of sand here.”

The officers peeked beyond the door frame and saw nothing but a sandy sheet, cheetah umbrella, and a bear with sunglasses. “Well, enjoy the day ma’am, happy you could beat the heat.” They turned on their heels and left with no fuss just as Ms. Hairston approached Jova’s door with a huff.

“Thank you officers, this woman has a bea-”

“Have a good day Ms. Hairston!” The officers shot back as they exited the building.

Two for your mistakes.