#still salty about fox doing it dirty

[lauriel816]

Blorbo is not a person. Blorbo is a type. And my blorbo is chubby-cheeked boys with daddy issues who are named Peter

[teletraan-meets-jarvis]

Monster - Part 1

AO3 Link

Characters: Commander Fox (Main), Captain Rex, Commander Thorn, Corrie Medic Triage (OC), Anakin Skywalker, Fives.

Summary: Fives' death through the eyes of Commander Fox.

Warnings: 16+, swearing, mentions of death.

Word Count: 1.6k

Click here for Part 2

Author’s Notes: First trip on the angst train folks. I've had this in my head for ages because I wanted to try something that wasn't relationship focused and I'm still not over this whole storyline with the chips, they were so darn close to exposing ol' sheev. Fox deserves some spotlight but i'm very sorry it had to be on this. I have got a part 2 practically written up already but wanted to test the waters with this bit first. Let me know what you think!! Fic below the cutoff :).

The title is from the song Monster by Starset. If you're after some good sci-fi related songs for the feels, Startset is where it's at.

Under the knife I surrendered The innocence yours to consume You cut it away And you filled me up with hate Into the silence you sent me Into the fire consumed You thought I'd forget But it's always in my head

Each step was quiet, calculated as CC-1010 moved into the storage bay. His men following his lead as they prepared to surround their target. General Skywalker was verbally defending the Chancellor from where he was captured in a ray shield. The target was unaware of their presence, time to move in.

Set to stun.

“Stand down, soldier! Get on your knees!” CC-1010 commanded, surrounded by his Shock Troopers. The target looked over at the unattended pistols. “Don’t do it solider.”

“GET AWAY FROM ME!”

“FIVES NO!”

Threat. Eliminate the threat.

Good soldiers, follow orders.

Set to Kill. CC-1010 never missed.

No.

Rex was screaming.

General Skywalker was ordering the Guard to lower the ray shields, not that CC-1010 could hear him over the ringing in his ears.

No.

The Captain was at his ARC-Trooper’s side, cradling his head. The blaster wound a disgusting contrast to the pure, shiny, white plastoid of his armour. The blaster wound that CC- no, that Fox inflicted.

No no no no no no.

The pistol fell from his hands and clattered to the ground as Fox came back to himself, the only sound which could be heard among the silence apart from Rex’s begging to Fives to stay with him.

Fox tore off his helmet. He couldn’t breathe. Fuck. The weight of what he just did crashed into him like a tsunami, threatening to take him down, tear him apart.

He stared at his gloved hands which shook uncontrollably. He tried to stop them but his brain didn’t have control of his body anymore. His men were looking at him, he could feel their gaze tearing into him like a jury to a defendant. Watching as their Commander fell apart.

He fell to his knees. No longer able to support his own body weight alongside the weight of his actions. He’d just killed another clone. One of his own vode. His own flesh and blood. That’d never happened before. Sure there had been traitors before among the clone ranks, but they’d never been executed on site. They’d never been pursued by Fox. Lucky them.

The chancellors’ orders echoed in his ears. “Eliminate the threat, Commander.”

Not bring him in for questioning. Eliminate him. No court hearing, no hearing Fives’ side like Slick and others before him. Just execution. And Fox was his executioner. Fuck he was going to vomit.

“Rex” Fox didn’t realise he was speaking until Rex’s eyes met his over Fives’ lifeless body, which he continued to cradle like his last hopes in this war.

Rex’s eyes were cold as ice, the power behind them attempting to freeze Fox to his very core. He didn’t blame him.

The heartbreak at losing another member of Torrent Company cracking the Captain’s usually unshakeable composure. As it fell apart piece by piece in front of Fox’s eyes, he was left staring at his little brother. His Rex’ika. Distraught, heartbroken, empty. He wanted nothing more than to protect him like back on Kamino, when Rex was a young cadet who feared the thunderstorms of their home planet. But Fox couldn’t protect Rex from this, Fox was the reason behind his brother’s agony, his loss. Fox was the monster.

“I-…” he couldn’t get the words out. He couldn’t explain himself. What could he say? I didn’t have a choice, I had to follow orders? That wasn’t going to fix the hole left in Rex’s heart. For losing Fives and for losing Fox too, because the Commander was sure he was dead to him.

Rex finally pulled his eyes away and it broke Fox’s heart. The Captain looked back down at his friend in his arms, his brother. He brought his forehead forward as he raised Fives’s, meeting him in one final Keldabe as he recited the Mando’a that had become far too familiar for them all. Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la. He cradled Fives close to his chest and hooked a hand under his legs as he got to his feet.

Rex’s face was stony, emotionless as he carried his fallen brother out of the storage bay. He held himself together as he brushed past the helmet-less Shock Troopers who stood stock still around their shaken Commander. He didn’t even spare Fox a glance. General Skywalker was hot on his Captain’s heels, going to offer support where he could. Just like that they were gone.

“Sir-“ one of the troopers went to place a hand on his Commander’s shoulder.

“Tell the Chancellor it’s done” Fox snapped out, the words tasting like bitter bile in his mouth. He did his best to regain himself as he grabbed his bucket, re-securing it and his emotions behind as strong a wall as he could fortify in his current state. Still shaking hands clasped around the dropped blaster and Fox finally returned to his feet, slightly unsteady.

“Return to base” his orders were flat as they came through the helmet. His soldiers didn’t react for a moment. He looked each of his men over, their shock at watching what happened bared to the world on their faces. He couldn’t take it. “Now.” Finally they nodded and made the move to leave the Gods-forsaken place.

Everything was a blur; people, places, all fading into nothingness behind Fox as he paced back to his office. His safe space. His feet carried him while his mind drifted, almost leaving his body in an attempt to protect himself from the internal horrors that threatened his grasp on reality.

Next he knew he was back in his office, no idea what route he’d taken to get there. The door had barely shut behind him before he stumbled to the small refresher attached and vomited. Choked sobs wracked his body as he emptied his stomach, tears creating salty tracks down his cheeks.

Once his body stopped torturing him, he finally backed away from the toilet and crawled to lean against the ‘fresher wall. His legs sprawled out in front of him as he threw his head back against the cool tiles. The sharp pain from the action doing nothing to bring him back, to distract him from the agony in his mind.

————

“Fox, Fox!! It’s Thorn, are you there?” The heavy gunner shouted from outside, his fists banging on the door demanding entry.

Nothing.

Thorn had heard what had happened, half the Guard already knew by now. Fox had been ordered to execute another clone by the Chancellor. As soon as the confirmation reached his ears, the Commander dropped everything to find his superior. He’d been friends with Fox long enough to know when he was nearing his breaking point, and he knew that this would throw him off the edge of his sanity.

“Kriff, Fox. I’m coming in!” He announced before punching the code in and rushing in to find his friend.

What Thorn found wasn’t pretty. Fox was propped up against the fresher wall, his head covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his amber eyes glassed over as he sobbed. He looked absolutely wrecked.

Thorn dropped to his side and took hold of his hands in an attempt to ground his friend. “Fox, hey Fox, can you hear me?”

Nothing.

“I heard what happened. I need you to come back to us, yeah. Maker, we need you Fox.” That got his attention, Fox’s watery eyes met his, but the Commander wasn’t fully present behind them yet.

“It wasn’t me” Fox choked out in barely a whisper, tears flowing freely again. Thorn moved forward and pulled the Commander into his arms, their armour fitting awkwardly against one another but it was enough. The broken man clung to his brother as he continued to repeat his words in a tear filled mantra against Thorn’s armour.

After what felt like forever, the shudders that tore through Fox’s body eventually died down to something more manageable. Thorn took that as his moment to try and get his Commander sat up again, maybe even get some water in him. He began to pull away slightly so he could look him in the eyes but as soon as he did, Fox started babbling again. At least it was a few more words than before.

“I set the gun to stun, I swear. I don’t know what happened. Once I saw Fives, everything went dark.” He tried to explain with as much coherence as he could. “They’ll never forgive me for this.” Thorn knew who he was talking about, his batch mates. Cody, Wolffe, Bly, Ponds and Gree. Fox had felt that their relationship was strained ever since he joined the Guard and his brothers went out to fight on the front lines. He’d become the cold leader of the Coruscant Elite Guard, he had the ‘cushy desk job’ while they had to watch their men die day in and day out on the battlefield. The sad truth was that they’d never understand the things the Guard had to go through each day. One night after a particularly tough day, he’d listened as Fox admitted that he wished he could provide his men with honourable deaths in battle to save them from their fates within the Guard.

Thorn’s chest felt like a vice as he cradled his friend, trying to absorb some of his pain as if it would help make things a bit easier on him. He’d never seen Fox like this and it was killing him. Why did the Chancellor always place the worst jobs on the Commander, why did he have to keep him so close, right under his thumb ready to make him do the dirty work. Never thinking about the aftermath, because the clones didn’t matter. So long as Fox kept showing up and performing admirably on the surface, the day to day pain and suffering wasn’t of concern to the Republic, least of all to the Grand Chancellor.

“Fox, I’m going to call Triage alright? He’ll know what to do.” Thorn announced softly, not getting much of an acknowledgment for his words as Fox started to drift off in his arms, his body’s exhaustion overtaking him for a blissful moment.

Continue to Part 2

Back to Masterlist

[pandoraimperatrix]

On the Sea

BatCat | Smut | 2,8k words | Read on AO3

Summary:  Bruce takes Selina to sail in his private island where no one can se them get busy on the deck. This piece belong to my Four Names ‘verse, but can be read independently, but if would be cool of you to check out the main story.

Selina knew she was being watched, and he knew she knew. It was all part of their game. Her legs swinging up and down blocking sometimes the view of the droplet of sweat that he was so attentively following. It slid from the nape of her head, between her shoulder’s blades and was now making its way all the way through her tanned skin to the small of her back; uninterrupted by the laces of her bikini because she had untied it ages ago when she laid to sunbath on the deck complaining she was bored. Bruce had not commented on her place of choice, that coincided to be right at his display, and continued to sail the boat, pretending to have all attention to the ocean and not to his tantalizing wife. That too, was part of their game.

She wanted him to be the first to break, and maybe he would, but it was too early to give up, and he had Selina’s natural impatience at his side.

“Hey, Cat” he called, and it took her a deliberately long moment to turn her face to him, lowering her cat eye framed shades to look at him with half-opened eyes “champagne?” he raised the bottle, before taking a sip without using a cup. He hid a satisfied smile when she swallowed dry.

Selina turned to her side, one hand supporting her head by the edge of her jaw, the other resting on the curve of her thigh. Breasts completely bare and adorned only by a silver medal hanging from her neck and twinkling in the sun. Bruce had to school himself to not choke, and he was pretty sure by the dirty smile on her face that she noticed him twitching.

He had married a witch.

“Should you be drinking and driving, I mean, sailing?”

Composed enough to be able to drink without embarrassing himself, Bruce took another sip.

“This bay is private, no other boats sail here, we’re fine.”

“No one?” she raised an eyebrow took off her shades, biting one temple tip. “Really? Interesting.”

And he knew for certain that she was not thinking about his reckless drinking. Damn, she was good, he could lose that one.

“So… Do you want?”

“Yeah, bring me a flute.”

She sat up, crossing her legs, the salty wind blew hair at her face, and she gathered her soft locks in a pile, using a strand of her on hair to tie it up, missing a few pieces that few around her face and neck. The sun reflected the golden tones of her curls giving her the illusion of an aura. When Bruce joined her sitting by her side with a flute and the bucket filled with ice and the bottle of champagne; he wished he had brought too paint and paper, but he knew that as much as he mastered the techniques, only a true artist could capture the vision Selina was presenting that day.

He rejoiced at the unadulterated pleasure that spread on her face when she took the first sip. Selina sighed, turning her face up to the sun, her leg touching his when her body moved, led by the swing of the boat. When she was actively trying to seduce him she could get everything from him. Made of him whatever she liked. But when she was like that, just her, just Selina, her smile earnest, just pleased by his company, in those moments, without even trying, that’s when he knew that, whatever seduction game they played, it was rigged against him, he’d lost from the start.

“What?” she asked with an amused expression.

Bruce leaned in, looking into her deep green pools, and slowly, erased the distance, capturing her lips. He barely registered the click of the glass hitting the wooden deck when she put her flute down to insert her fingers in his moist hair, while her other hand slid upwards his arm, kneading his shoulder before settling for his neck, rubbing his Adam’s apple up and down with her thumb. He dragged his tongue through the roof of her mouth until the fruity taste of the champagne faded and all that remained was pure Selina. She pulled away, breathing in and languidly offering her neck for meal, which he accepted, starving.

He kissed each of her beauty marks, there was so many of them, and maybe the sun had made new ones. Then, he tried to connect them with the tip of his tongue, pulling her close by the waist, her arms fell from his neck, and she relaxed. Lying down, Selina’s eyes locked in his, so lost in each other that neither of them noticed that her elbow tipped the glass flute down until they felt the cold bubbly liquid touching their fevered skin.

“Oops!” she said laughing and gently pushing him off her to look for the fallen object.

“Let it,” he groaned, trying to pull her back by the hips.

“Easy, big guy,” she said still amused, and standing up to put away the breakable items safely. “What if it breaks? I’m not risking a trip to the ER.”

Bruce sighed sadly watching her go, he lied on the deck, one arm under his head, waiting, when she came back Selina had a plastic bottle in her hand. He eyed it curiously.

“You are starting to look like a beet, and Alfred will have my ass if I don’t take good care of you.”

He made a disgusted face.

“Please never talk about Alfred having your ass ever again.”

Selina threw her head back in loud laughter.

“Dunno, B. Maybe I’m into silver foxes now,” she winked cheekily, kneeing down beside him and then throwing one knee across his hip and settling strategically on his bulging erection. Bruce licked his lips trying hard to not thrust.  

“Haha, so funny.”

She just smiled at that, and opened the sunscreen cap, squeezing product on her palms before starting to apply to his naked chest. And she took her sweet, sweet time with the task. She began with his solar plexus, spreading the white lotion upwards, feeling the roughness of the growing hairs, no reason to shave on vacation.

She kissed the scars she made on his left pectoral, and arched her body forwards to reach his collarbones, and neck, getting her face impossibly close to his and pulling away when he tried to kiss her. Ignoring his annoyed mutter, Selina, pulled his right arm up, carefully applying product from his shoulder to the tip of his fingers, then she did the same to his left arm. By then, he knew there was no way she wasn’t aware of how hard he was. She squeezed more product to her palm, and with the tip of her finger started to spread dollops to his face. He probably was looking funny, because he knew very well the twitching on her lips as she rubbed the bridge of his nose. Annoyed, he tried to steal a kiss.

“Bruce!” she chastised, trying to pull away in such way that instead of her lips, all Bruce could reach was her chin which he bit, eliciting a soft moan that made him realise that whole torture session wasn’t just wearing him down. Ignoring her protests, he propped himself up using his forearms and kissing her chin again, sliding his tongue down, following the paths of the droplets of salty sweat down the curve of her throat, biting her shoulder until he caught her nipple with his teeth. Selina gasped and pulled his head back roughly by the roots of his hair, forcing him to stare at her eyes. She was panting, and teasing to kiss him again, their lips inches apart.

“Let me finish,” she demanded.

“Eventually,” he retorted.

She let out a throaty laugh and pushed him back to the deck.

“Don’t make me tie you up,” she threatened.

Bruce shut his eyes, trying to control his own breath, Selina was still sitting on his erection, and in that moment he’d give her anything she wanted for a bit of friction, so, when he felt her weight shifting he almost cried in frustration.

“What are you- oh…”

He looked down and she was sitting on his thighs now, squeezing sunscreen directly on his abs, she spread the product meticulously with her hands while Bruce watched, he had never thought that such mundane action could be so sensual. Her brow furrowed as she worked, a droplet of her own sweat fell making a small pool in his product covered skin, and she dutifully wiped it again. Then, she reversed her position, giving him premium view of her ass while she worked on his thighs, legs and feet.

“Finished?” he asked, going mad.

She picked the cloth that he had used to protect the deck from the watermarks of the melting ice of the bucket he had brought the champagne in to relief her own heated skin, patting herself on her face and neck.

“I still have to get you back, don’t wanna lose you for something stupid like skin cancer.”

“Yeah?” he said sitting up and picking one of the remaining ice rocks and inserting in his mouth. “What about you?”

She smiled.

“Already applied before we came out.”

“Aw,” he pouted.

Selina reached backwards to his face, thumb rubbing his jaw.

“Don’t be sad, baby, there’s always after sun moisturizing.”

He took her hand and kissed it, trying to lead his kisses through her wrist, but she pulled it back and got off him.

“Belly down, pretty boy.”

“Come on, Selina, one kiss,” he whined.

“No, turn over.”

Sighing, he obeyed. Bruce felt her approaching, he thought her breath on his neck was just his wife being especially mean, but she sucked his earlobe making him yelp. She giggled.

“God, I hate you,” he groaned.

She clicked her tongue.

“Your nose will grow, Pinocchio.”

He chuckled charmed against his annoyance.

“Are you done?”

“Geez, I didn’t even start. And I told you to lie down, why are you sitting?”

“Kinda hard to lie on my belly now, Selina,” he deadpanned.

He heard her have a fit of giggles and rest her forehead on his shoulder to gather her bearings.

“Sorry,” she finally managed, applying product on his shoulders first.

“Are you though?”

“Nah,” she said shamelessly, as her hands slid through his back, paying attention to each corner.

“Just as I thought,” he muttered, sighing.

“Now, I’m done.”

“Hallelujah.”

“You are such a cry baby, Bruce, lie down.”

“Selina…”

“I told you to lie down. Belly up.”

He sighed an did as he was told, trying to imagine what she would invent to torture him now, but was caught completely under guard when in a quick motion, Selina inserted her hand inside his trunks and pulled his cock out, sucking the tip.

“Holy-!”

He shut his eyes, seeing stars, his ears ringing. When he opened his eyes again, he found he gaze on him, and Bruce needed all his hard training to not embarrass himself. Selina’s kisses went down his shaft, to it’s base and spreading kisses around the area, to his navel while her hand pumped. She liked upwards again, twirling her tongue around the head and kissing it lovingly without breaking eye contact with him. One of Bruce’s hands entered her hair, undoing the makeshift ponytail she had made before, scratching her scalp as she hollowed her cheeks, blowing him skilfully.  

“Love,” he called weakly. “It’s enough, please.”

She gave him a last lick before letting go, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Selina walked in her knees positioning herself in his lap, Bruce sat up and his time she didn’t reject his lips, holding his face with both hands while his explored her body, lovingly caressing the curve of her waist, kneading her rear, and pulling her closer by the curve of her knee. He bit her cheek weekly, and sucked the pulse on her neck, his hand grabbing one of her breast and guiding it to his mouth making her moan and thrust against him.

Sighing, Selina pulled his head up again, guiding him back to her lips, her chest only separated from him by the layer of perspiration. She kissed him for what felt like forever and never, never long enough. Pulling his bottom lip until it felt numb, and stopping just to look deep into his eyes every time they stopped to catch a breath.

“What are we going to do about your bottoms?” he asked before sucking her earlobe.

“What about them?” she answered, her voice barely audible.

“I could rip them off,” his hand already pulling the elastic.

She slapped his hand.

“Don’t you dare! I love this bikini, just work around it.”

“You could take them off…”

“Then I’d have to get up.”

He seemed to consider.

“Yeah. You are right.”

“As always.”

He snorted, and kissed her again, his hand changing directions to her centre, pulling the fabric to the side and sliding a finger up and down her vulva. Selina shut her eyes, her mouth falling in pleasure.

“Cat you are so, so wet.”

“Yeah?” she breathed.

“Yes. Is it all for me?”

She let out a suffering chuckle.

“Might be.”

“Oh,” he made when she thrusted against his hand, “does it feel good?”

“Can be better.”

“How so?”

Selina made an impatient sound.

“Just fuck me already, Bruce.”

“When you ask so nicely…”

She lifted her hips, hoisting herself through his neck, and, Bruce, pushed her bikini bottom’s all the way to the side with one hand and aligned himself to her pussy with the other, and Selina fell, joining the two of them together, finally. He groaned against her ear, hands dragging upwards to her waist and holding her hard in place.

“You are so impossibly tight.”

“If you are managing such big words yet, I can get tighter,” saying that she squeezed him, and Bruce cursed loudly, Selina chucked and started riding him. “Look at me, Bruce” she ordered, “look at me or I’ll stop.”

He did, and she smiled sweetly contrasting with how relentlessly she was fucking him, holding his face to look at her. Selina’s eyes shut, she arched her back. Her chin following her movements as she let out a loud moan dragging from the depths of her throat. Bruce held her strongly as she trashed, her thrusts getting erratic and without rhythm, slowing down, until they became just languidly undulations.

Soothing her with kisses, Bruce rose her limp body from his lap, and lied her down on the deck. She oversaw his ministrations with half-lidded eyes, relinquishing control for the time being. Bruce pulled down her bottoms, finally, throwing it at the cockpit’s direction. He dove, kissing her belly, grabbed her right thigh and sucked the soft skin of the inner part, kissing and licking his way to her knee and shin, biting the heel of her foot and eliciting a giggle from Selina.

Smiling fondly at her, Bruce, rested her leg on his shoulder, and then picked her left leg, giving it the same treatment. Then, he grabbed her by the waist, adjusting her body one last time before entering her again with a groan. Selina rose her hands to his face again, tracing his bottom lip with her thumb as he thrusted against her slowly.

“I fucking love you,” she whispered losing herself in the sensation, Bruce started picking up rhythm and talking faded. Coherence completely left when he started rubbing her clit without stopping his thrusts, trying to get her to come again before his own release became too hard to stop. He leaned more into her direction, seeking for more contact, and one of her legs slid down to hook around his thigh, the other one remained on his shoulder, providing an angle of penetration that only someone flexible like Selina could provide.

He kissed her to insanity, moaning inside her mouth, and when it became too hard to concentrating on kissing, he let out her bottom lip with a pop. Bruce, let go of her clit to support his weight against the deck giving him leverage and Selina substituted it with her own. He reached for the leg that slid down, pulling it up again and folding it to let him go deeper, the slight change of angle did if for Selina and she fell apart again, calling desperately for his name. Bruce didn’t stop, seeking his own release relentlessly until he too reached climax.

When his soul returned to his body, he opened his eyes to find her looking at him with besotted eyes, her hands roaming through his back slowly, giving him goosebumps. Bruce let go of her legs, letting her body relax, and he fell beside her, panting.

Selina turned to her side, propping her head on her hand and sliding her foot up his inner leg languidly.

“My knees are completely ruined,” she complained gleefully.

He chuckled.

“We’ll get you a pillow next time.”

She snorted.

“You are such a dork.”  

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

Guys, it's so hot, SO HOT, I can’t remember how rain felt like. So have some hot smut for all your BatCat needs. XOXO

[scapegrace74-blog]

X-Files Fanfiction Masterpost

It’s almost the second anniversary of my very first fanfic post on October 1, 2017, so here’s how I’ve frittered away an ungodly amount of time since then.

Drabbles

Driving - Mulder and Scully in the car, Rated G

Flashlight - Why doesn’t Scully like candles anymore?  Rated G

Basement - A character study of a different sort.  Rated G

Motel - Scully escapes an untenable situation.  Angst.  Rated G.

Pistol - Mulder meets his gun.  Rated G.

Cigarettes - Teenage Dana Scully wants to rebel.  Rated G.

Slideshow - How does Mulder do it?  Rated G

Guilty Party - Where do you go when you can’t go on?  Angst.  Rated G.

Suits - Even Mulder has to suffer the indignities of aging.  Humour.  Rated G.

UFO - Mulder and Scully’s first flight.  Rated G.

1013 Words - A compendium of adjectives describing Mulder.  Rated G.

Faith - A glimpse into Mulder’s inner dialogue. Post-ep for Revelations.  Rated PG.

Winter - Scully has dipped to the lowest point in her horizon.  Angst.  Rated G.

Family - Scully is Mulder’s chosen family.  Rated G.

Run - Meditations on a word.  Rated G.

Unnamed - Mulder’s thoughts during Pine Bluff Variant.  Rated PG.

Help - Mulder wants to be a father.  Rated G.

Travel - See the world, join the Bureau.  Rated G.

Unnamed - Smut biscuit.  Rated NC-17.

Detour - thoughts on the motel room scene.  Rated G.

Walking After You - Scully’s thoughts on the ice in Antarctica.  Rated G.

Unnamed - Mulder’s mind reading in The Sixth Extinction.  Rated G.

Unnamed - Christmas at the Unremarkable House.  Rated PG.

Mobius Strip - Mulder’s thoughts as he drives to South Carolina in My Struggle III.  Rated G.

None at this time - Mulder muses on Scully’s bucket of priorities in Jersey Devil.  Rated G.

The Things We Never Say - Mulder plans for the future.  Angst.  Rated G.

Knock Three Times - nobody does head games like Mulder and Scully.  Set during Plus One.   Rated R.

Inferno - my breakout hit of the summer.  A post-ep for Ghouli in which Mulder comes to grips with the events of that ep.  Rated R.  

Cinders - a post-ep for The End.  Angst ahoy, with a side of dubcon.  Rated R.

Love is to Die, Love is to Dance - the six stages of falling in love with your partners.  Rated R.

A Proposal - how it might have gone down, the first time they broached the subject.  Rated G.

Oxytocin - Mulder has an unhealthy habit.  Rated NC-17.

The Ocean Breathes Salty - Mulder being a douchebag, set around Three Words.  Angst.  Rated G.

Stalemate - Mulder being Mulder, set around The Blessing Way.  Angst.   Rated G.

Dressed to Suppress - Mulder muses on Scully’s evolving sense of style.  Rated G.

Two Weeks - a third person POV angst-o-rama, set during the Revival era. Rated R.

Fic trope mash-up prompt for Survival/Wilderness and Unexpected Virgin.  Post-colonization.  And its sequel.

Fic trope mash-up prompt for Summer Camp AU and Erotic Dreams.  Humour.  I sorta love this one.

Fic trope mash-up prompt for Green Eyed Epiphany and Hair Brushing / Braiding.  Angst.  

Fic trope mash-up prompt for Airport AU and Bathtub.  MSR.  

Fic trope prompt for Royalty AU.   MSR in medieval Russia.  Trust me.

Linguiphilia - dirty talk in the bedroom, MSR-style.  Rated NC-17.

Allotrope - romantic anal sex?  Is that a category?   Rated NC-17.

Prompt response - five times Mulder and Scully got caught kissing.  Rated PG.

Pandora’s Box - prompt response to Scully accidentally finding an engagement ring Mulder bought her, but prior to any relationship.   Rated PG.

Slightly Longer Fics

Files - Mulder thought he was in the doghouse.  Rated R.

Unnamed - Anger and lust - they’re two sides of the same coin.  Rated NC-17.

Hospital - How many times has Mulder been admitted, anyway?  Humour.  Rated G.

Last Full Measure of Devotion and its sequel We Take Increased Devotion - in answer to a prompt asking about Mulder and Scully’s first date.   Rated NC-17.

Detour - the road not traveled. AU for what would have happened if Mulder had stayed and drunk wine with Scully during the ep.  Written for the 2018 X-Files Pornbattle.  Rated NC-17, obviously.

Even Now in Heaven - a pre-XF fic in which Mulder and Scully have a one-night stand before meeting at the FBI.  Written for the 2018 X-Files Pornbattle.  Rated NC-17.

Fuchsia - written for the X-Files Pornbattle prompt “dry humping / frottage, both come”.  I’m such a classy lady.  Rated: NC-17.

No One Falls in Love Under Fluorescent Lights - early season sex, maybe?  Inspired by the Stars song of the same name.  Rated R.

Jude - sometimes healing and insight come from the least likely places.  Petfic! Set during the Revival separation.  Angst.  Rated G.

Sabine - a fic written for the XFilesFicExchange.  Amor Fati post-ep AU.  Mulder’s past catches up with him.  Angst and MSR.  Rated G.

Stories

Unnamed - Scully and Mulder hook up. Scully POV.  Rated NC-17

Unnamed - Mulder and Scully hook up.  Mulder POV.  Rated NC-17

The Wraith - Hallowe’en story.   Rated PG.

Severed - what happens when the ties between them are severed?  Angst. Housed at AO3.  Rated NC-17.

Vacationland - written for the 50 States of Sex collaboration.  I chose Maine.  Set after the failed IVF.  Angst and smut.   Housed at AO3.  Rated R. 

Cardinal Sins - a four part story (plus Epilogue) that explores the possibility of early season sex evolving into something more substantial. West - Lust.  North - Envy.  South - Gluttony.  East - Wrath (trigger warnings for dub-con apply).  Epilogue - Pilgrimage.  Rated NC-17. 

Perushim - a WIP series of one-shots about Fox William Mulder, and what makes him tick.   Housed on AO3.  Ratings vary by chapter.

Novel Length

Second Side of Light - housed at AO3.  A historical AU in which Mulder and Scully meet while crossing the Oregon Trail.   Rated PG for the most part, with exceptions marked in the chapter headings.  A sequel is in the works.

Seventeen - housed at AO3.  A romp through Fox Mulder’s past in search of what makes him tick, one sex partner at a time.  It’s a lot less libidinous than it sounds, but still, Rated NC-17.

Black and White and Red - housed at AO3.   A historical AU set in the 1950s (with flashbacks to World War 2) inspired by the genre of film noir.   Fox Mulder is a heretical photographer.   Dana Scully is a desperate woman.   This is what happens when they meet.

Coming Soon!  Saorsa - an Outlander AU novel.  Sorrynotsorry for jumping fandoms.

[dhiabori]

STRANGE HUMAN ―

my first little drabble with elsie/the saker fey! he was a hunting pet who was crippled by his mistress to stop him getting away, and has since been abandoned in the london underground. elsie was inspired by @wildfaewhump, especially the potential for wing whump >:)

TRIGGER WARNINGS ― starvation, dehydration, disability as a result of injury, screwy ‘i deserve to be punished’ mindset

TAGGING ― @doveotions​

“Elsie, come on, we’re going to be late!” The woman tugs her chick along, dragging her into the maw of the metal snake as it thrums and hums.

Elsie. Saker burbles softly, his voice low and cracked from dehydration; Elsie. Elsie, Elsie, Elsie, he murmurs, shuddering in the shadows. Testing it, twisting the word around his tongue and through his teeth, crowing it, cooing it, sounding it out. Nice. It’s nice. Of all the things humans call each other, it’s pretty, simple.

He decides he’ll take it, just as he takes discarded food. Just as he takes coats from lost property, piling them into a pitiful, dirty nest. Elsie. Nothing like the name he’s long since lost claim to, a name that sung and roiled like the splash of sea spray, like the whistling of wind over his clifftop home -- but Elsie is small and contained. Elsie fits the corner of the platform he’s curled himself into, the stuffy, stagnant air that’s cracked his dehydrated lips. Even licking them does nothing but fill his mouth with the taste of blood.

The crackling intercom cuts through his ears, a hissing of static that makes him rear back. Retreating into his nest, Elsie has to drag himself with his hands, wings draped around him like a shield. They’re beginning to ache from underuse, drooping, almost begging for a strong breeze to flutter their feathers -- but all he gets is hot gusts as the metal snake screeches away. 

Flopping down onto his nest, he watches the humans hurry by through lidded eyes, blinking sleepily. If only he could sleep; if only he could find some refuge from the clenching hunger that twists his stomach, the dull, insistent pain in his hips. The bright lights, the sounds, all stabbing into his awareness like Mistress’ lightning-stick. 

He keens softly, tucking his head under a wing to try to push out the insistent thrum.

Hungry. I’m hungry. It can’t be ignored, as hard as he tries. 

With an effort, he drags himself into a crouched position, whimpering as pain flashes through his legs. Elsie doesn’t know what Mistress did to them, but the ache is deep and grinding; even biting at the flesh does nothing to chase it out.

Still, the ache comes second to his hunger. Cocking his head, Elsie blinks at the steady stream of humans. Food, food -- he’s grown tired of sharp-tasting, nasty little rats, pigeons that flutter just out of his reach, taunting the uselessness of his drooping wings. If only they worked, then he’d be free of this place. Free of the food, free of the corner, free to return to the sky.

A flash of plastic catches his attention, eyes flicking to focus on a bag in a human’s hand. Humans are so particular about keeping their food clean, contained; Elsie prefers his messy, ripped entrails and blood smeared around his mouth. Still, it’s food. He’s desperate for it. 

The human comes closer, closer, as another metal snake slithers into the station with a rush of stale air. Shifting, Elsie shuffles forward, trying to use his wings as support. Pain sparks from the pressure, only worsening the agony in his twisted, trembling legs.

Closer. Closer. Elsie’s fingers dig into the tarmac, breath coming in ragged gasps. 

Closer. His favourite part of the hunt: the moment before the kill, when he’s taut, wound tight and ready strike. Back home, when he could hunt on the wing, the wind would be rushing past him, plucking at his hair. The sea would be rushing up to kiss him, salt-spray burning his eyes.

Closer. Close enough?

Elsie springs forward, snatching the chips from the human’s hands and darting away. Success.

“Hey!” Their shout stops him, wobbling on unsteady legs, gazing up at them with wide, fearful eyes. That’s Mistress’ shout, the sharp one that cuts like his collar, the one that says your fault, your fault. Elsie still doesn’t understand quite what fault means, only it always comes before punishment. It always means he’s been bad, heralds Mistress’ lightning-stick and harsh words.

He cowers, feeling his heart hammer in his chest as the human approaches. No, no, please, no no no no no -- the words slip from his mouth, aching wings fluttering up as paltry protection. Elsie knows he’s worthless, knows he deserves it, a pathetic hunter who’s become the hunted, but he can’t swallow down his frantic fear.

“Hey,” Repeats the human, softer, crouching in front of Elsie. Too close; they don’t look like Mistress, they’re rounder, skin as dark and smooth as a pebble, hair oil-slick black and coily, but they speak like Mistress, sugar-sweet and threatening. 

He’s too weak to scramble back in time, so he drops his head instead, gulping down terrified rabbit-breaths as he waits for the blows to come. If he’s lucky, they’ll only snatch their food, but he knows he can never be lucky. Luck is a human word. The closest his tongue can come is fortunate in hunting, fortunate in finding, things he can never be with the pain that makes his breath catch. 

“Please -- please, no, n-no - no, don’t --” Don’t means stop, Elsie knows that. Mistress called him good when he finally figured that out; he clings to it, his best offering, a kill to toss at the human’s feet. 

The human tilts their head -- curious. He likes that word; it tastes of shellfish, salty and fresh. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m not going to hurt you--” Holding out their hand, the human leans forward.

Liar. There’s a human word, too, a cutting one: Elsie shuffles back, eyes fixed on the outstretched hand. It looks harmless, but he knows he deserves punishment. Knows it’ll come, forced down his throat despite its bitter taste.

“Alright, alright. You’re alright.” The human leans back on their haunches, reminding Elsie of the foxes he sometimes used to see, slinking around the clifftops. “You know what? Keep them.”

“Keep?” Mistress said that once or twice, but it feels painfully strange in Elsie’s mouth, no matter how many times he swills it around under his breath, “Keep keep keep keep--”

“Yes, keep it.” The human chuckles softly, a smile crinkling at their warm, brown eyes. “You need it more than I do.”

“Hurt?” Elsie has to ask; Mistress liked it when he asked, laughed like the warble of a songbird. Yet he can’t help glancing down at the chips, their warmth bleeding through his hands. Perhaps they’re bad, like the chicken he scraped off the platform -- his stomach growls, reminding him that he doesn’t have much of a choice.

Choice, his language has a word for that. A feeling: the freedom of the sky, coastline stretched out below him, a ribbon of golden beaches caressed by the sea.

The human laughs again, rough and pealing. They laugh like the grating ding of the station announcements, making his headache whine -- but they laugh nothing like Mistress.

“No, no, you funny thing. I said, I won’t hurt you. Take them.”

Elsie cocks his head, hardly understanding their sudden kindness. Offering them one last chance to punish him; he’s bad, after all, a hunter who can no longer catch his prey. He should starve.

All they do is watch.

He doesn’t give them a chance to change their mind, but shuffles away, whimpering as his damaged legs flare. 

They don’t get up til he’s safe in his nest again, shoveling chips into his mouth. Strange human. All the landpeople Elsie knows are cruel -- as they should be, to him. He doesn’t even have the strength to bite them like true fey; nor does he have the right to call himself fey. Even his kin won’t want him now, nothing more than a discarded pet. Not even good enough to eat from Mistress’ hand.

Yet this human gave him food. This human didn’t hurt him.

Strange, Elsie thinks, repeating the word aloud a few times as he settles back down, shivering. 

“Strange human.”

[ayakashiramblings]

ABC NSFW Headcanons: Koga Kitamikado

So... in my absence, the only time I went on ARR was to vote for Koga and Aoi. And I just realized one of my top boys is literally at the top! Hence, I’m going to do a super late tribute... 

ALPHABETICAL STYLE!!!

... I’m so sorry for ‘D’ though. Click on ‘Keep Reading’ to NOT SEE IT.

A - ‘Aftercare’ (What they’re like after sex)

Once you’ve been intoxicated by Koga… YOU GET EVEN MORE DRUNK WITH SAKE.

Seriously, a nightcap is what ends a nice round of magic… because he has much more in store!

“I’ve rolled the die to give me a one! That’s super odd!”

Goddamnit, kiss this dork, please. 

Because only amongst soft kisses will the both of you be lulled to sleep.

B - ‘Body’ (Body Part of Yours he Loves)

Your head.

… Wait, no, not like that. Sort of. Hmm...

It’s just that he wants to be closer to you and he’s extremely soft for forehead touches during these tender moments. 

Feels like that’s where you share everything, your thoughts, your deepest secrets... everything. 

C - ‘Cum’ (How does his cum taste like/look like)

You know what? I think it’s pretty good.

At first, I wasn’t certain because he is a sake lover and that will affect the taste.

Plus, he didn’t really say what he likes in Hot Pot, although I’m guessing it has to include thinly sliced meat and leafy vegetables. The thing is beef isn’t good but if he pairs it with the right non-cruciferous veggies, it could come out decently.

Another thing I’ve noticed is his regular food intake. Sure, it’s called an old man’s diet like what Kuya says but pickles and rice for breakfast are good if you want extra flavour.

So it’s one of the tops in the list for the fact it has enough volume with a taste that isn’t bitter, salty or sweet. It’s just... 

Warm. 

D - ‘Dirty Secret’ (DUH)

He hates peaches but...

Your butt... is like the only kind of peach he would ever consider eating. 

Brown peach, peachy peach, pale peach, green peach and whatever the colour your panties are today, he’s going to really secretly enjoy the fuzzy texture but also silently HATE that the closest comparison is his least favourite fruit. 

E - ‘Experience’ (Does he know what he is doing?)

He’s had a few partners but that doesn’t negate the fact that he literally takes any challenge by... the horns. 

He does go to the Entertainment sector but honestly, he’d get closer to the sake bottles then the women there first.

That said, he’s very observant and can suss out any sensitive zones you have to get you screaming all night is all I’m saying. 

F - ‘Favorite Position’ (Again, duh)

Don’t kill me. 

But it’s the CowGirl position.

Not only does he get to see you in all of your magnificent, unclothed glory... (or maybe with clothes? It’s up to you, hun.)

But there’s something about a strong woman just topping him that makes him go wild, especially when she uses his horns to guide him to her entrance as she sinks down on him.

G - ‘Goofy’ (Serious or humorous?)

Dude, expect the both of you to burst out in ridiculous giggles if any supposedly sexy line comes out wrongly.

“Hey, Koga, are you feeling... horny?”

“Depends, are we going to be thoroughly... purified in the shower?”

H- ‘Hair under THERE’ (Pubic Hair Treatment, does the carpet match the shades?)

He does get uncomfortable if any hair on him gets too long for... certain reasons. 

So yup, don’t expect a bush.

It’s interesting how the middle is entirely crimson red while the surround curls are black but Koga sometimes wonders if his lower part is bleeding as a result. 

I - Intimacy

Ladies and gentlemen, the #1 in intimacy. 

He really... really... REALLY does not want to ever lose you again so he keeps his body so close to yours.

Every time he recalls the past inferno, he would be sure to drown out the memories by stroking the flames of passion with his fingertips against your skin. 

And he will check that your eyes are still full of life, even when both of you are in the midst of a climax.

J-Jack Off (Masturbation)

Honestly? Maybe once in a blue moon last time.

This man has had to deal with running businesses, establishing connections, terrible nightmares of losing his woman, and controlling his Carnage. As cheery as he is, he’d rather dedicate his free time to helping the Capital.

Until he met you NOT dying in his arms. Now, he had to give in to these sudden carnal urges that are coming at him with full force to make up for his lack of horny times in his teens. Usually, he tries to satiate them with actually having you but if you are busy, he will do so.

K- Kinks (One or two of his kinks)

Get his horns. 

Have I emphasized it enough? 

No? 

GRAB THEM.

L - Location (Favourite places to do the do)

His office. 

A certain spot will be designated, far away from the precious books that he has accumulated but always near the spot where he can nap for just a short while... 

Only to be reminded of your sweet moans, flushed face and great, now he’s wide awake and has to work off that desire... 

BY DOING MORE WORK.

... Kuya decides to invite you more often to the house because he is getting really tired of seeing Koga not actually taking a break. 

M - Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Canonically, he gets jealous easily. Like, he actually beats Aoi in that department. 

Mention Toichiro giving you a beautiful kimono, Kuya sleeping at your place, Past! Koga giving you a book... wait, what?

Yeah, you catch the drift. No matter who it is, he’s going to want to reaffirm your feelings for him afterwards. 

Oh, but the ultimate turn-on is you beating him in a drinking contest.

... God, I’m making him sound like an alcoholic.

N - ‘No’ (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Absolutely. No. Sharp objects. 

Not only will they hurt you, but he’s also worried that if he himself gets pricked, the Carnage will act up.

He IS kinda into the thought of you wielding a sword though.

O- Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

The God of Giving. He gives so, so, so much. 

Whatever did we do to earn this deity?

Ok, to be honest, it was hard at first because he was worried about the horns poking your thighs and tried to do it as a human at first. 

Until you insisted that he be comfortable and try working out the best position for both of you. 

Do suck him right though. He won’t deny his love for a good blowjob. 

He’s even turned the idea of mutual masturbation into a game - who can make the other come first? The winner gets a prize (probably who is going to save everyone else’s asses next time)

P - Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual)

Koga tries not to be rough, considering both of your... er... jobs and shared tragedy together. 

If you grab his horns though... you asked for it. 

Suddenly, he is thrusting into you so hard that you get sent a little higher up the sheets, the bedding getting more wrinkled and... soaked with certain body fluids. 

He’s going to give you make-up kisses to the hip area though because of a guilty conscience... and also to admire how you are still quivering from the aftermath.

Ultimately has a good balance between slow and sensual sex to rough and rapid romping in bed.

Q - Quickies (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc)

Poor soldier. 

Poor COMRADE OF YOURS.

This is his ultimate battle.

To take you right here, right now and bang like there is no tomorrow when technically they only have 10 minutes in some random closet...

Or to patiently and painfully wait for the sake of public decency (and sanitation) where you can be together without being seen? 

Taking you here in the middle of a hallway during a Gala sounds great but so does waiting until you’re behind closed doors so you can be free with those beautiful lips of yours.

Ultimately, the risk factor is what turns him to quickies if he’s particularly flirty but for more serious times, he’s definitely going to whisk you away somewhere for only the two of you.

R - Risks (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc)

... You know... we are talking about Koga Kitamikado, right?

It’s just a matter of what KIND of risk you guys want to take. A public one, a sex-toy related adventure...

The list can go on PROVIDED neither of you gets hurt.

S - ‘Stamina’ (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

The Carnage does take a toll on this aspect but Koga is an entrepreneur for a reason.

Let his fingers & tongue please you during the moments he has to recharge in between 3 rounds. 

T - ‘Toy’ (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

… Good god, he knows the owner.

But that’s the thing. 

Just because he knows it, unless you’ve expressed interest, he’s going to take things into his own very, very, very capable hands.

U - ‘Unfair’ (How much they like to tease)

Oh, he does tease you if you are acting particularly shy despite being completely nude and fully invested in intercourse.

He’s not going to be as bad a certain fox but he does love seeing you flustered if he hits a certain ticklish spot.

V- Volume (Do they moan/grunt?)

He really hates to admit it but you’ve been the only one to get ANYTHING out from him.

It’s even worse because even Koga can’t deny how animalistic he sounds.  

Growls, grunts, & groans, everything rumbles from him through you in the closest moment.

W - ‘Wildcard’ (Random Headcanon)

Medicine is not the only thing Koga is getting from Yura once you come in. 

No, but seriously, ever since you have given him those tea leaves, he has been hooked on aromatherapy and would like to incorporate that in your sex lives. 

It helps that there are some nice essential oils and massage lotions that help both of you get slick and ready.

Yura can’t judge him because... huehue...

X - ‘X-ray’ (How is the package?)

… I am too embarrassed. Let’s just say he has hit the double-digit integer in inches. 

But if you look at how I ranked him amongst the Dawn and Twilight factions, you know it’s gooD.

Yes, that ‘d’ letter was capitalized. A Capital D for the Man who loves the Capital.

Y - ‘Yearning’ (How high is his sex drive?’)

Before meeting you? His yearning was high… particularly, the yearning to die.

Same, my boy, same.

So honestly, it’s been sort of turned off although he could feel the biological urge and go get someone to relieve him of the ‘baggage’.

Upon meeting you, suddenly he has to adjust his sword hilt and... his other sword.

Z - ‘Zzzz…’ (How fast do they fall asleep?)

Honestly, he’s going to have trouble sleeping the first few times. 

Man is busy and working off that sexual energy just converts his strength to do something else.

Hence, the introduction of sake to share a lovely drink, a lovely moment and a lovely MOMENT TO FINALLY REST... with you!

[naerryn]

A Promised Reward

The setting sun hung low on the horizon as I found myself on board, taking a deep breath of the fresh, salty air of the Atlantic Ocean. It’s only been a couple hours since the research ship had left the harbor of Gotham City.

Officially, my small crew and I were charged with the task of collecting samples of micro plastics near the Arctic Ocean. Unofficially, Bruce Wayne and Lucius Fox wanted to test a couple new technologies off the radar.

Wayne asked me to supervise the crew and to smoother any suspicion about who would use such technology right in the cradle.

I rested my arms on the railing of the ship, admiring the gorgeous sunset while a soft gust of wind tangled through my hair, making a slight mess out of it. “[Y/N]?”, I heard one of the scientists call out my name, sounding rather out of breath before I turned around on the spot to start screaming my lungs out at the sight in front of me.

The elder man, a small rivulet of blood running out of his mouth and down on his chin, collapsed a couple steps ahead of me on the steely ground. This swift motion cleared the view on two crucial spots.

First, there was an open wound in the back of the scientist, blood running out of it and creating a small puddle of the red liquid. Unattended, he would die within the next couple minutes.

Second, there was a heavy armored figure standing right where he stood, a knife glittering in the light of the dark orange sun. Blood covered the blade.

“LexCorp are sending their regards.”, the deep voice of the hooded figure rang through his helmet and after he finished speaking, more armored intruders climbed up the railing behind him.

Of course we had expected that our little excursion wouldn’t pass completely uneventful, but I would have never thought that trespassers would enter the scene this early. They caught us completely off guard, and I would kick my ass later for being so careless.

“She’s coming with us.”, the first intruder said calmly as he pointed towards me while exchanging glances with one of the masked figures. He got rid of his own helmet, revealing a man in his fifties with a well trimmed beard. The face of the man who ended one of the lives I was responsible for.

“Why?”, another intruder raised his voice, not hiding his surprise of the order he just received from the alleged leader of those hired mercenaries that started to swarm out all over the ship.

The two men stepped closer to each another, the hooded one turned his back to me while my eyes started scanning their equipment and my surroundings. High tech weapons and knifes on their end compared to still unpacked boxes and cases.

I could hide behind the boxes or trying to get past the intruders and either head for the bridge, to send out an SOS, or make a run for the lower deck and get to my cabin. There, all my gear is waiting for me.

All those options had almost zero chances for a success, at least under the current circumstances. The only real option left was playing nice and see what the intruders are up to, hoping to find a loophole somewhere, somehow to reshuffle the pack in my favor.

With a loud groan, the two men separated and the masked one strides directly towards my position. I lifted my gaze to look up to the spot of his helmet where I predicted his eyes as he came to stop right in front if me. The suit looked familiar, but I couldn’t place my finger on where I could have seen that before.

“So, you’re [Y/N]? I am disappointed.”, the sonorous sound of his voice was filled with disdain, only interrupted by the soft click of his helmet being loosened by his gloved fingers.

Under different circumstances, I would have bit my bottom lip rather enchanted by the looks of this man, his dark eyes fixed on mine as as he clenched his helmet between one of his muscular arms and his side. But this was a matter of life and death, I needed a clear head.

“It looks like you’re having a clear advantage over me.”

“Only one?”, he raised an eyebrow in slight amusement, cocking his head to the side as his eyes scanned me from head to toe. In a bar, after a long day at work, I would have batted my eyelashes at him, setting for a drink and some small talk together in a quiet corner. Curious about where this encounter would let to.

‘God, I had to stop those thoughts.’, I told myself silently and shook my head almost invisibly, mirroring his motion as I tilted my head to the side.

“You know who I am. I am, on the other side, completely in the blue who you and the rest of this little undertaking are.”

“That’s unimportant.”

“Son, be more polite to our special guest. No wonder you never”, the voice of the leader was heard over the speakers on board, only interrupted by the death glare the man in front of me shot towards the glass front of the bridge.

“Working with professionals just once would be nice, huh?”

“You have no idea.”, he muttered under his breath, a smirk ghosting over his lips before he gestured me with his gloved free hand to follow him. It took me a little bit by surprise how quickly his mood changed. Either he underestimated me, or they have some cards up their sleeve that I am not yet aware off.

“So, your old man wants me alive at the moment.”, I asked as I followed him towards one entrance to the lower deck, where part of the crew and the more interesting stuff was stored before our departure.

“Stop that. You won’t get any information from me.”

We reached the metallic door to the under deck, the intruder had to lower his head to not pump it against the hard frame and started walking down the stairs. I followed him on the stairs in silence, admiring for a split second how nicely his suit fits his trained body. 

“I saw you in the news.”, he started talking again as I reached the final step of the stairs, looking back at me over his broad shoulders. “For an autograph it would have been enough to contact my PR agency.”, the words slipped my mouth before thinking twice, but thankfully I was rewarded with an amused snort.

“Oh please, why only being satisfied with a piece of paper when I am able to get the real deal? But while we are at it, you don’t know where to find this little merman, right?”, he suddenly came to halt and I ran right into his stone hard back, noticing he didn’t even lost balance the slightest through our collision.

I raised my eyebrows in question, looking up at him while he met my gaze with his dark eyes, again looking back at me over his shoulders and a corner of his mouth curved upwards.

“Professional interest. In my job it’s only a matter of time before our ways cross, and I prefer it to be sooner than later.”, he spoke calmly, almost calculated as he moved around to face me directly.  It’s like he was able to read my mind, but it must have been perfectly clear to him that I would ask him about it before voicing his question.

“Haven’t seen him since Metropolis.”, I answered honestly, shrugging my shoulders and judging the look on his face, he wasn’t pleased with this information. But it was true, I stayed back in Metropolis after helping the Justice League bringing Superman back to life. Wayne wanted me out of the way, in case they would fail and I could try to find people for a second chance against Steppenwolf. Thankfully, that was never necessary, but Louis Lane still made sure I was just as big in the news as the others.

“You know how to contact him?”

“Oh, of course. I will just quickly send a message in our little superhero group chat and see if he’s free today.”

“You’re to full of yourself, [Y/N]. For someone who’s supposed to be one of earth best, you’re doing a poor job right now.”, he growled in a low voice, stepping hovering over me until my back hits the cold metal wall.

“I am avoiding unnecessary violence. But at the end of the hallway, on the right, there’s my cabin and we could get my toys out and play.”, I respond unshaken by his words, but his sharp features dropped within a blink of the eye and his mouth felt slightly open.

Yes, I could have said it differently. Like, a lot. I should have. On the other side, he was now the one caught off guard, but the sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the hallway. His comrades were close, it was useless to try a hand to hand fight with him.

“I...”, he stuttered, obviously losing his train of thoughts as his voice died on him.

“What do you want from me? Your leader wanted me alive. Why?”

“As a joker, in case someone caught wind of this and your ‘friends’ showed up.”

So, he’ll let information slip when he’s embarrassed. Noted.

“How long have you guys followed us?”

“Ever since the workers started boarding the ship.”

“Why now? Why not waiting for the ship to be even further away from civilization?”,  he stretched his back, taking in a deep breath as he stared me in the eyes, obviously winning back his full senses.

“You looked so calm. Like nothing could ever hurt you. Our employer wanted us to attack when we observe such a behavior. As a wake up call. No one is untouchable.”, his voice was only a soft whisper, and I wondered what changed his mind on not giving me any intel of their mission.

“Still bitter about Metropolis.”, I muttered to myself, coming to conclusion that their reason for hijacking this ship had nothing to do with me, it’s only the scratched ego of a mad man that lead them here.

“You guys know Luthor is only using you to do his dirty work.”

“He’s paying good. Very good. And we can keep everything we find on this ship. Call it a business opportunity we couldn’t miss out.”, I slowly swayed my head from side to side, weighting their options as Lex Luthor must have approached them with his offer.

“I would have done it to. But why killing the scientist? What about the rest of the crew?”

“He’s the whistle-blower. My old man doesn’t like rats. The rest of the crew is fine. We’re only interested in the... toys.”, he let the last word roll of his tongue with a clouded look in his eyes, moistening his lips with swift motion of his tongue. His eyes never left mine.

And then, I felt something cold on my right wrist, followed by a faint clicking sound. Handcuffs. Lovely.

“I wasn’t aware you’re into this stuff.”

“No, but it will keep you busy for a while. Specially made by Luthor. Buys us enough time to get a comfortable headstart before you can call for help or even follow us yourself.”

Letting his words sink in, another realization hit me, harder then the first one a moment ago. I felt for a cliché.

“Fuck.”

“Bad guy reveals his evil plans, so the hero has enough time to come up with a plan and save the day. Just, this time it brought us the time to get everything we want off this ship and the hero looking even more like an idiot.”, stepping backwards, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face, he juggled his helmet around and rested his back against the wall in front of me.

Now I couldn’t even kick him if I wanted to, he was out of reach for me.

“But an attractive idiot. The pictures definitely doesn’t come close to the real beauty.”

“David, are you done playing around?”, another voice filled the air, we looked up to the stairs at the same time to notice that their leader standing in the middle of the staircase. The elder intruder called the man in front of me son earlier, and now looking at both of them, there was definitely a remarkable resemblance between those two men. Father and Son. Partners in crime.

“Yeah, let’s head out of here.”, the younger man said, likely going by the name of David, if it’s not a cover up. Both man started moving, but David didn’t head for the stairs directly. Instead, he moved right in front of me and his hot breath hitting my face. A smug smile gracing his lips. He won, we both know it.

Cupping my face on one side with his gloved free hand, David let his thumb run over my bottom lip before leaning in, his lips now right next to one of my ears.

“Catch me if you can. I would like to see the marvelous [Y/N] in action. Sweating, heavy breathing. Calling out for me.”, he purred in a low growl, his lips ghosted over my sensitive skin as he backed off and started walking up the stairs before stepping out of my sight.

I felt this wouldn’t be the last time I encounter this man, David. But for now, I had to get rid of this god damn handcuffs and get a hold of someone.

[bugaboosandbees]

Rally to the Queen

Okay. I know that I shouldn’t be starting anything else new, and I definitely won’t start actually writing this until I finish with my Reine Ruse AU, but I ended up getting so attached to my Bee!Kagami design (and so salty about Onichan!Kagami) that I ended up with a whole slew of headcanons about a post-Riposte Bee!Kagami Kagaminette AU.

I call it Rally to the Queen.

Here’s what goes down.

This takes place immediately after Riposte.

Marinette still feels really bad about judging the point wrong. She talks to Adrien to ask how Kagami is doing. He says that he thinks that she’s okay now, but Kagami was totally exhibiting some behaviors that he recognized as the son of a largely absent parent with absurd standards. He doesn’t have the time he’d like to have to check in on Kagami, so he also tells Marinette that it sounded like Kagami was under a lot of pressure at home and was afraid of her mother judging her for losing the fight.

Marinette, of course, feels terrible and her patented Dupain-Cheng-family we-must-adopt-everyone genes kick in, so she decides to track down Kagami’s home address to apologize formally and to make sure that Kagami’s mom knows what really went down.

When she gets there, she’s flustered and awkward as usual but good-hearted and although Kagami’s mom initially is not thrilled about the weird intrusion, she doesn’t hate Marinette.

Since she’s there, she and Kagami end up chatting either that day or some other time. Marinette mentions that she’s looking forward to trying out for the fencing team again the following year to learn aside Adrien and Kagami.

Kagami realizes that she took the only spot on the team. She’s not the sort to feel bad about this and wouldn’t normally, but Marinette was being so kind and she’d actually tried to stand up to her mother for her, so she offers to give her fencing lessons. (Maybe she covers it up as extra practice for her as she’s not really much of a touchy-feely person.)

Anyway, Marinette starts going to Kagami’s house once a week for fencing practice. She always brings fresh baked goods. I don’t think Kagami has many friends, especially with how intense we’ve seen her family to be and being so new to Paris, so she might not really know how to deal with Marinette’s brand of friendship at first.

They become really good friends. I actually think they really would if they spent any sort of time together in canon without misunderstandings and Adrien and sometimes somewhat suspect writing in the way. They are both determined, powerful young women with hearts of steel and an unstoppable drive towards something that they’re very passionate about. They’re both straightforward and value honesty and dislike liars. They would be an UNSTOPPABLE team.

I don’t think Sapotis happens in this AU. There’s no salt against Alya here, but I think it would be reasonable for Marinette avoid giving a miraculous to her best friend no matter how much she’d like to share being superheroes with her. This is because Alya is shown in season one especially to be very adamant about revealing Ladybug’s identity. This was even the main goal of her akumatized form, Lady Wifi. Marinette loves Alya deeply, but I think that there would be reasonable doubt there about whether or not Alya would be able to keep her own secret or if she would use her position as a sometimes-superhero to discover more about Ladybug. We’ve seen in canon that Marinette obviously hates lying to her best friend, so I think it’s reasonable to think that she wouldn’t manufacture a situation where she had to do so even more.

Also, even though Anasai technically took place before Queen’s Battle, just go with me here and assume it didn’t and that Style Queen was the first akuma that Ladybug needed help with. We know that she picked the Bee miraculous in Style Queen and, as Marinette is good friends with Kagami already in this AU, she definitely sees how much this miraculous would play to her friend’s strengths. They also fence together all the time, so Marinette knows how Kagami fights and wouldn’t have to learn a new teammate’s style in the middle of an already complicated fight. Since Kagami isn’t Alya, she wouldn’t already be at the Effiel tower and wouldn’t be turned to glitter by Style Queen, so Marinette would be able to safely get the Bee miraculous to her.

Ladybug and Mitsubachi are a deadly combination. Style Queen never stood a chance. Everything goes pretty smoothly and Ladybug is able to get the Bee miraculous back from Kagami without incident. (That being said, Marinette is a flustered bi mess and totally fumbled once or twice in the fight because damn, Kagami makes a deadly and attractive superhero.)

And because I’m a sucker for redeeming Chloe I am physically incapable of leaving her out of this AU. Oops, lol. Without Queen Bee, the Queen’s Battle arc would definitely have some pretty substantial changes. Chloe’s mom would still be being pretty awful and Chloe wouldn’t have gotten her hands on the Bee miraculous. She’d still have to be upset enough to get akumatized over her mom (so Gabe wouldn’t give up being Hawkmoth (also, he’d have only just learned that the Guardian was in Paris so that might be another incentive)) but she wouldn’t become Queen Wasp because she was never Queen Bee in the first place.

Instead, she becomes a different sort of version of @imthepunchlord ‘s Princess Amour akumanette concept. She just really wants to be loved. Maybe instead of having a Chat Noir “knight” as the akumanette had, some ladybug merch of her’s would hold the akuma and turn into a version of Ladybug that would help and protect and validate Chloe as her knight. After LB beats this akuma, she has an honest talk with Chloe that night because she could see that Chloe was really struggling and, despite their very checkered past couldn’t help but wanting to help.

Ladybug gives Chloe some advice and Chloe does her level best to live up to it in her day to day life. It’s a long hard road and it doesn’t come easily, but every once in awhile Ladybug will drop by and knowing that her heroine is proud of her gives Chloe the push she needs to change for the better.

I should also mention that I’m switching the places of the fox and peacock miraculouses in this AU. If we’re still working with the headcanon that Mr. and Mrs. Agreste used the miraculouses that Gabe has, it makes sense that they’d have the butterfly because everything we’ve been lead to believe indicates that it was a good fit for Mrs. Agreste. That being said, what we know of the Peacock makes no effing sense for Gabe. He’s creative, crafty, and not above playing dirty. That man is a fox through and through, you can’t change my mind. Therefore, Fu has the peacock and the fox is the damaged miraculous sitting in the Agreste safe.

This is relevant, I promise.

So, Ladybug and Chat Noir have worked with Mitsubachi quite a few times. She fits pretty effortlessly into the team dynamic but is definitely with Ladybug in taking the job super seriously and not always being down with Chat’s attitude.

Kagami and Marinette are still hanging out. Kagami is falling for Marinette and Marinette is falling for Kagami, but Marinette had confided in Kagami earlier about her crush on Adrien, so Kagami thinks that Mari is still in love with Adrien and Marinette doesn’t think Kagami would be interested in her, so there’s an awful lot of mutual pining going on.

Hawkmoth is escalating and Fu approves of Kagami after testing her himself, so she gets the Bee miraculous on a permanent basis.

With the extra help, it’s a while before Ladybug’s lucky charm calls for another hero, but, when it does, she needs the peacock. Maybe she was going for Alya with this one, but, being the Ladyblogger, Alya has already gotten herself into the conflict and trapped by the akuma. As she’s looking around, Ladybug spots (lol, get it?) Chloe trying to get Sabrina and some other people to safety, consequently getting trapped or something. She goes to save Chloe, and when Chloe thanks her, she starts to wonder. Chloe has taken a good, hard look at herself and really improved in the past few months. She’s not perfect yet, but no one is. And, you know what? Getting the Ladybug miraculous went a long way towards making her a better Marinette. Mind made up, she offers the Peacock to Chloe and a new hero appears. (I’m thinking of naming Chloe’s peacock form Tirisi or Vindex -- Greek or Latin for (roughly) defender/protector/champion. See my rant on why the peacock miraculous’ powers make sense for my reasoning.)

Chloe gives the miraculous back when Ladybug asks and keeps working to improve herself so that her heroine might someday trust her again. (She loved being able to have the power and agency to connect with and help others -- she really loved feeling strong enough to save others and is starting to feel more confident that she can save herself.) She doesn’t spill her identity and becomes a reliable second-string hero when Ladybug’s lucky charm demands her presence.

Eventually turtle!Sabrina will also come into this AU because she really, really deserves her own character development. (And @mystery-vixen ‘ s design and art and @pyrepyro ‘s art for Turtle!Sabrina is the cutest shit I’ve ever seen in my life.) Maybe it’s some sort of Anasasi situation where Chloe’s in trouble and Sabrina is doing her level best to rescue her as a civilian, idk. (For turtle!Sabrina I was thinking Bouclier or Jadeite, unless you guys have ideas?)

Anyway, eventually, everyone has their miraculouses permanently. (This probably happens after Gabe and Natalie break out the fox.) Endgame is Kagaminette and Chlobrina, two sets of deadly wlw protecting Paris along with the bi disaster Chat Noir who is 100% willing to THROW THE FUCK DOWN with anyone who doesn’t respect the ladies of the superhero team. Chat Noir totally gets along with the whole squad, by the way. Between the four of them, the ladies are great friends and life coaches to our cat boi and help him work through what unhealthy attitudes he has in a respectful and caring way. They adopt him and are always hugging Chat or even just lightly resting a hand on his shoulder since they discovered he was touch-starved. (Especially Ladybug and Tirisi. All four would cut a bitch for that boy, but they’re the most touchy-feely.)

(Eventually snake!Luka joins the squad and he and Chat Noir get together and it’s just a giant group of badass queer superheroes kicking ass and protecting Paris.)

They eventually beat Hawkmoth and Adrien and Luka become the next Guardians (They’d do a great job, fight me). Marinette and Kagami are too busy for that anyway. They got married and Marinette started the world’s most successful fashion line while Kagami set some sort of ridiculous record for the number of gold medals a single person can win in fencing. Chloe and Sabrina get married and (because of Chloe) end up adopting a ridiculous amount of kids that they care for and love unconditionally.

Happily Ever After and The End. :)

Thanks for listening to my rant!

[star-light-fae]

Muse Interview Meme!

█ FILL IN THE QUESTIONS AS IF YOU ARE BEING INTERVIEWED FOR AN ARTICLE AND YOU WERE YOUR MUSE.

Tagged by @othello-nightshade​

Featuring Lunascie and Lrangi together since they’re both twins

01. WHAT IS YOUR NAME?                ❝Name’s Lrangi and this is my sister, Lulu or Luna!❞               ❝I’m Lunascie and this is my idiot brother, Lrangi.❞ Smacks him on the head.              ❝Hey!❞

02. WHAT IS YOUR REAL NAME?               ❝Well, Lrangi and Lunascie are our real names. Now, if you’re going for our full names, our surname is Faestar. Lunascie Faestar for me.❞               “Though if I had to choose, my full name would be: Lrangi Most Handsome Cat Boi, Biggest Di-OW!”

03. DO YOU KNOW WHY YOU’RE CALLED THAT?             ❝Faestar? Mom says that she found the both of us during a meteor shower. And her last name is Fae, so she decided to add Star after it when she adopted us.❞             ❝As for our first names? Mom says that Lunascie means Moon and Lrangi means Sun in a special language. Though I’m not sure if you’ve ever heard of it. It’s not well-known here. Mom does travel a lot.❞  

04. ARE YOU SINGLE OR TAKEN?             ❝We’re both single and open! I’m strictly looking for guys though haha! My sister doesn’t know yet! Right sis?❞             ❝...❞             ❝If you ask me though, I saw her hanging out with a cute Viera lady the other day and-WHY IS MY TAIL ON FIRE?!❞

05. WHAT ARE YOUR POWERS AND ABILITIES?            ❝Ho-kay, now that the fire on my tail is out, you probably guess what my sister does. She specializes in ranged and solely magic classes.❞             ❝I do like to main healing though. Cause mom is a healer. My moronic brother is the idiotic melee DPS who is probably the most useless of the party though.❞              ❝Exact-HEY!❞

06. WHAT COLOR ARE YOUR EYES?            ❝Red and Yellow! We mirror each other! See?❞             ❝Get your hands off my face or I’m going to set your whole body on fire.❞

07. HAVE YOU EVER DYED YOUR HAIR?            ❝Yes. No thanks to him.❞            ❝What? It wasn’t permanent! It’s so easy to dye our hair anyways since it’s white. Though my sister and I do prefer our natural hair colors. Cause they’re like mom’s and her sisters.❞             ❝It was a really dumb color combo he choose. Bright neon Lime green and hot red highlights. It took a month to wash out completely. He tricked me when we were at a spa and I was getting a facial so I didn’t get to see the stupid bottle.❞

08. DO YOU HAVE ANY FAMILY MEMBERS?            ❝Well, there’s mom. And her older sisters I guess. Do we call them out aunts?❞             ❝Obviously.❞

09. DO YOU HAVE ANY PETS?            ❝Yeah.❞             ❝We have a lot. Mom likes pets. Dogs, cats, ferrets, Foxes, rabbits, birds, etc.❞

10. DO YOU HAVE ANY HOBBIES OR ACTIVITIES YOU DO IN YOUR SPARE TIME?            ❝I’m so glad you asked! I lov-mpph!❞             ❝Do NOT get him started. He will go on for hours about what he likes to do in explicit detail. For me personally, I enjoy listening to mom’s stories the most. She has so many to tell. I also like exploring and helping other people. Just like mom.❞

11. HAVE YOU EVER HURT ANYONE BEFORE?            ❝What? The fact that my psycho sister doesn’t say enough for you?❞             ❝We’re adventurers. It’s a given trade.❞

12. HAVE YOU EVER… KILLED ANYONE?            ❝...next question.❞             ❝Ditto.❞

13. WHAT KIND OF ANIMAL ARE YOU?            ❝Does the cat ears and tail not say enough about us?❞             ❝My brother is actually a male Viera. Don’t tell anyone.❞              ❝OI!❞

14. NAME YOUR WORST HABITS.           ❝This girl, is by far, the worst sibling ever! She’s been bullying me this entire interview!❞           ❝You are the worst brother ever! You sleep with your shoes still on, you steal all the hot water from the shower in the morning, you leave your dirty magazines out for everyone to see, you always have first dibs on dessert, you SNORE, and you are an utter narcissistic, playboy!❞   

15. DO YOU LOOK UP TO ANYONE?           ❝Mom.❞           ❝Mom.❞

16. GAY, STRAIGHT, OR BISEXUAL?           ❝He’s gay. Enough said.❞           ❝She doesn’t know yet. I tried signing her up for some dating meet-ups, but she assaults me instead.❞            ❝ONE-NIGHT STANDS ARE NOT DATES.❞

17. DO YOU EVER WANT TO MARRY AND HAVE KIDS SOMEDAY?           ❝Him? Being a dad? He’d be the worst father.❞            ❝I think you mean-THE BEST! You on the other hand, would be the terrible aunt.❞

18. DO YOU HAVE ANY FANS?           ❝Don’t remind me augh. He gets so much fanmail every day.❞            ❝What can I say? I’m handsome-OI! Stop hitting me!❞

19. WHAT ARE YOU MOST AFRAID OF?           ❝Me? Afraid? As if!❞           ❝Says the guy who needed me to hold you hand while you went to the bathroom at night.❞           ❝I WAS A KID.❞  

20. WHAT DO YOU USUALLY WEAR?           ❝He’ll find every excuse not to wear a shirt. Enough said.❞            ❝He-llo? I want the world to see me for all my beauty and glory!❞

21. DO YOU LOVE SOMEONE?           ❝Not yet, but I hope to find some nice guy for me~❞           ❝I love mom. But not this idiot.❞           ❝Naw, you love me sis~❞            ❝Ruffle my hair one more time. Don’t even.❞

22. WHAT CLASS ARE YOU?           ❝Monk, Dragoon, Ninja, Samurai, Machinist, Gunbreaker, and Dark Knight.❞           ❝You forgot Dancer.❞           ❝Shhh! That’s a secret for only my lover!❞           ❝You don’t have one.❞           ❝Oi!❞           ❝As for me, I’m a White Mage, Black Mage, Astrologian, Scholar, Summoner, Bard, Red Mage, and Dancer. I main as a healer like my mother of course.❞           ❝DON’T IGNORE ME!❞      

23. HOW MANY FRIENDS DO YOU HAVE?          ❝A few. I don’t ask for much.❞          ❝All I see you do is hang out with Blue and no one else though.❞          ❝You don’t even hang out with anyone. Do you even have any friends?❞          ❝S-shut up! I’m working on making friends around here!❞

24. WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS ON PIE?          ❝Mother Miounne made me one of her famous eel pies. It’s my favorite kind of pie!❞           ❝I’m telling Mom that you don’t like her pies anymore.❞           ❝Don’t you DARE!❞

25. FAVORITE DRINK?          ❝Mom’s hot cocoa, hot spiced apple cider and lemonade.❞           ❝Can’t go wrong on that.❞

26. WHAT’S YOUR DICK SIZE?        ❝Why it’s-H-hey sis! Put down that gun!❞         ❝NEXT QUESTION. NOW.❞

27. WOULD YOU RATHER SWIM IN THE LAKE OR THE OCEAN?         ❝Oof. The lake. The ocean is too salty for my fur.❞         ❝There is also that one time that giant fish almost bit your butt.❞         ❝Do you have a death wish?❞         ❝What kind of healer are you?❞         ❝One with an idiotic brother of course.❞  

28. WHAT’S YOUR ‘TYPE’?         ❝Me? I’m all for any kind of male too be frank. And yes, the mythic male Viera as well. As for her, she’s not sure yet. Do you need help making a dating profile for her-WILL YOU PUT THAT SWORD DOWN!❞

29. ANY FETISHES?         ❝H-hey sis! Come on! Calm down!❞         ❝LET ME GO!❞         ❝I DON’T WANNA HAVE TO EXPLAIN TO MOM WHY YOU KILLED AN INNOCENT PERSON!❞            ❝IF SHE DOESN’T KNOW, WE WON’T HAVE TO SAY ANYTHING!❞

30. TOP OR BOTTOM? DOMINANT OR SUBMISSIVE?         ❝SWITCH! I’M A SWITCH! SIS, PUT DOWN THE GUNBLADE! HOW MANY MORE GODDAMN QUESTIONS ARE THERE?!❞

31. CAMPING, OR INDOORS?         ❝WE LIKE CAMPING! JUST FINISH ALREADY!❞          ❝GOING BACK TO CASUAL QUESTIONS WON’T SAVE YOU!❞

32. ARE YOU WAITING FOR THIS INTERVIEW TO BE OVER?         ❝YES!❞         ❝GET THE FUCK OUT!❞         ❝I’m home~ How is the interview going-❞         ❝Hi mom...❞         ❝Lunascie, why did the journalist run out so quickly? And why is there bullet holes in the chair?❞         ❝...Shit she’s mad...❞         ❝You distract her while I run for it.❞         ❝Right-OI! GET BACK HERE!❞         ❝Lrangi.❞         ❝H-hi mom!❞    

Lunascie was later caught and she and her brother had to do the dishes after dinner.     

[youngster-monster]

Aloth didn’t expect to find himself back in Defiance Bay so soon, but the city is like a whirlpool, impossible to escape on your way from one side of the Dyrwood to the other. He usually does his best to not overstay his welcome: fifteen years have not yet managed to erase the chaos Waidwen’s Legacy wracked on the city, and the fall of the Wheel has not helped the situation.

But, if not monitored, the city’s conflicts might fester into the kind of instability where the Leaden Key would thrive, and it has become Aloth’s life work to avoid just that. So he found some kind of compromise between his duty and his personal reluctance in the form of a large network of spies and informants. They send him updates on a monthly basis, describing in excruciating detail the political and social happenings of the largest city in the Dyrwood. The heavily encrypted letters are usually as long as a small novel and take him sometimes an entire day just to skim through, which he takes as a collective effort from his contacts to make his life a living Hel.

Or maybe it’s an underhanded way to force him to come see things for himself, if a deeply unsuccessful one: each unnecessarily wordy missive about trade agreements going awry only adds to his reasons to never step foot in the city himself.

But Anathema, his contact inside the rebuilt Sanitarium, has sent him an uncharacteristically terse letter. Its content could be boiled down to ‘newcomer animancer is likely to be a member of the Leaden Key’, without much more context or details. He took it as the urgent warning it is and immediately packed his bag and set for Defiance Bay.

Most cities in the Dyrwood and Deadfire Archipelago make him feel nostalgic, but none evokes such a gnawing sense of longing for the past as the Dyrwoodan capital. They’ve spent weeks here, running around as Renard—

Well. As he did what he did best: tried to save the world, one person at a time, and ended up falling into schemes of increasing scale and importance as a result.

He hasn’t seen his friend (yar sweetheart, lad, Iselmyr corrects, but he steadfastly ignores her) since they parted ways in the Deadfire, Aloth chasing after the Leaden Key and Renard setting sail for gods-know-where. Not a whisper of his name in a decade was odd for such an infamous and influential man, and he still occasionally worried that his friend had found his end while stumbling into another plot to end the world. But he always refused to dwell on the possibility. Renard had survived worse: neither a two thousand year old evil mastermind nor death nor a literal god could stop him, so it’s more likely he went hiding into the most remote place of Eora, hoping to escape the expectations people always seem to put on him.

And anyway his duty is too important for him to be distracted by thoughts of the man he loved (still love, his own treacherous mind says, Iselmyr cackling in the distance). It was important enough then for him to let go—

It still is, he assures himself, forcing doubts and regrets down to focus on the task at end. No point in dwelling on what could have been.

-

Because Anathema is a cruel, cruel orlan who loves to have company in her misery, she makes him go down into the catacombs and has the audacity to arrive an hour late.

Aloth doesn’t have many good experiences with catacombs, tunnels, sewers and other underground labyrinth. Especially not those catacombs. And sure, there are fewer cultists and necromancers this time around, but it’s still as cramped and utterly disgusting as ever — he knows, by experience, that he’ll be better off burning those clothes than trying to get the foul smell out of them.

Going by previous reports, this is where she spends most of her time, using the expensive network of tunnels and sewers to go around the city, but that’s not an excuse for insisting this be their meeting place. There are many dark alleys and dirty inns on the surface, where no one asks question and there aren’t skeletons slowly decaying into dust just feet away. Knowing her, the real reason is that she wants to get revenge for the mandatory monthly report so much that she’d subject herself to this place just so he has to be here too.

It’s not even a meeting, really: Anathema is notorious for disliking kith contact, hence why he believes she might actually have chosen to live in the catacombs. Instead she makes him wait for almost an hour in what used to be the necromancer’s hideout, drops a pile of loose sheets of paper in his arms and disappear the way she came, leaving no trace of her passage as she slips back into the shadows.

He stands there for a moment, clutching the pages against his chest, before Iselmyr takes the helm and lets out an impressive string of curse. He swears he hears her laugh somewhere down the dark passages. Once Iselmyr lets him have the control of his body back he stuffs the stack of paper in his bag and strides off, quietly fuming.

It’s when he reaches Copperlane that he realizes he doesn’t actually know where he’s staying the night. He’s not overly fond of taverns: he’s broken into enough of them to know exactly what their security standards are. But it’s not like he has anywhere else to stay. At this point he would even be glad for a break-in: he feels like burning something, and a robber might do the trick.

After quick deliberations he makes his way toward Ondra’s Gift. The district has made an art out of minding your own business, and its criminality rate is high enough that shady characters such as him — working against the Leaden Key gave him reflexes and habits rarely seen in good upstanding members of society and Iselmyr really doesn’t help him stay inconspicuous — slip right out of people’s minds as long as they don’t start shit. It’s enough advantages that he’s ready to put up with the brothel for one night.

He pushes the door of The Salty Mast and is immediately assaulted by the warm air, smelling like incense, cheap ale and sweat. It’s summer, but the air inside is still hotter than the already sweltering heat outside, and Aloth briefly reconsiders his decision. He could walk to The Goose and Fox before nightfall and get a bed there, or just a spot in their backroom if all the rooms are already taken. It wouldn’t be that much effort. But he’s been on the road for a week straight, he’s dirty and tired, and unlike most other taverns The Salty Mast doesn’t make you pay extra for a bath.

Inhaling one last breath of fresh air, Aloth steps into the brothel.

Maea is still there, nodding in his direction when she notices him, but she’s older. Wearier, like most inhabitants of the city are, nowadays. She doesn’t recognize him, of course: fifteen years is a long time, and he was only a face in the crowd even then. Renard she could recognize. His face is hard to forget.

He pays for a room and drags himself to the most isolated table he finds, keeping his back to the wall and his traits hidden under the shadow of his hood. He would look out of place in most brothels, but Defiance Bay’s standards are… lower than most, and the presence of so many mercenaries and adventurers in the city means there are far shadier people than a simple hooded traveler seeking a meal and company. Such as the group of armed kiths on the other side of the main room, laughing uproariously as they  drink. They alone look boisterous and dangerous enough that all attention is kept well away from Aloth.

It’s not the best of situations, but it’s good enough that he feels safe dumping his newly-acquired reading material on the table to flip through it while he eats through the last of his food supplies. He rarely risks the food in public places: it is frighteningly easy to poison someone, and people will do anything for a handful of coins.

The stack turns out to be quite tidy, separate into smaller stacks attached together with pieces of strings. The first one is the report he originally expected from Anathema this month. It’s boring and predictable enough that he allows himself to skim it without paying too much attention to it. He knows that the matter must be urgent or she wouldn’t have called him there, but at the moment he is by far too tired to read anything important and still and remember it clearly tomorrow.

Still, it’s work, and by trying to commit the details to memory he ends up falling into the half-dozing tunnel vision he often experiences when he’s trying to work through his exhaustion. He’s so engrossed in his attempt at understanding — it doesn’t help that Anathema’s handwriting is as illegible as ever — that he actually jumps when a hand slams on his table.

He looks up sharply, glaring at the interloper who happens to be one of the adventurer he saw earlier. The man is easily a good head taller than him, with a heavy plate armor that just screams ‘I was kicked out of the Crucible Knights and they preferred to let me keep the armor than touch something that I wore on my body for more than a day’, which is a worryingly common archetype for mercenaries in the city. The Knights’ standards are higher nowadays than they used to be, at least hygiene-wise.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he says, probably going for a seductive purr and only sounding like a deranged crow cursed with speech. “You come here often?”

“No.”

“Really? Shame. What if I gave you a good reason to come back, hm?”

“I highly doubt your ability to do that,” Aloth replies, rolls his eyes and looks back to his reports, already dismissing the man. He clicks his tongue in annoyance when he notices the hand still resting upon the pile of paper.

His annoyance turns to anger when his other hand comes to rest on his cheek, the press of cold metal forcing him to raise his face toward the stranger again. “Come on, sugar, that’s rude.”

Aloth can feel Iselmyr clawing at his mind, rising to the surface in her urge to make him swallow back his words with a well-placed fireball — she’s been getting the hang of his magic lately. He doesn’t fight her, letting go of the control of his body altogether.

She shrugs his body on like a coat, settling into limbs so familiar yet so different, throwing their shoulders back and making sure to look the strangers in the eyes as she glares. He chuckles, delighted.

“Feisty, aren’t you?” He gets even closer to them. His breath stinks of the place’s cheap ale, and if it were Aloth in control, he would probably gag at the sensation of it brushing against his skin. “I like that.”

“I’d have a goat’s jig with a pig before I looked at yer stick, ye wagtail toss pot!”

And then she spits on his face.

Aloth has a brief moment of clarity as she withdraws in which he suddenly remembers why he usually never let Iselmyr do the talking when he’s not actively looking for a fight.

“Why, you little bitch—” The mercenary’s hand lets go of his face, for which he’s glad until he sees him raises it in a fist that is, without a doubt, about to collide with his face.

That’s when he’s struck with probably the strongest sense of déjà-vu he’s ever felt. He’s tired and dirty, present here only because of his work concerning the Leaden Key, and Iselmyr’s foul mouth and hot temper just got him into a fight he’s unlikely to get out of unhurt. It’s Gilded Vale all over again. Although this time, Renard won’t be coming to his rescue—

A hand wraps itself around the mercenary’s wrist. The man tugs, frowning, but his expression turns into bewilderment when, instead of freeing his hand, he is sent stumbling backward. The movement reveals the disheveled figure of another man holding him back, traits hard to distinguish in the shadows of the poorly-lit tavern. The mercenary’s face twists in a pained grimace as the grip on his wrist tightens and the newcomer leans toward him, muttering, “Cut it out, asshole, or I’m going to cut you.”

The words are slightly slurred, the tone similar to that of a drunk throwing exaggerated threats around to start a brawl, but the glint of a knife close to the mercenary’s navel suggests this man is being perfectly serious.

The first man wrenches his hand free and stalks out without a word, although he can be heard swearing under his breath. He sulks back to his table where his companions welcome him with mocking laughter.

Aloth turns to his impromptu savior, thanks on the tip of his tongue, but freezes before he can speak. His movements have brought the man back into the flickering light of the dim lantern resting on the table, and it takes Aloth a long moment to first recognize his face and then to realize he is not dreaming.

“Renard?”

Renard blinks, distracted from glaring at the retreating mercenary’s back, and looks down at him. “Huh. Knew I recognized that voice.” Something odd passes over his face — a flash of conflicting emotions in his eyes before they darken into a sort of resignation — and he lets himself drop into the neared chair, sprawling over the table. With one hand he gestures to Maea for a drink. “Didn’t ‘xpect t’see you here.”

“It has been quite some time, yes,” Aloth replies, unsure what else to say to a man he professed his love to before disappearing for ten years.

He should have sent a letter.

They don’t look at each other and stay in that awkward silence until Maea drops two full tankards in front of them, glancing meaningfully to Aloth. He’ll need it. To Renard, she says, “You’re not on shift tonight.”

Renard salutes her with his newly-acquired drink. “I’m here for your delightful company, of course,” he says, remarkably articulated for someone who looks and smells like he’s been sleeping in a brewery for the last decade. He takes a gulp of the shitty ale without the slightest reaction at the foul taste. “Sure as hell ain’t the quality of the drinks bringing me back.”

She whacks him on the head. “If you wanted better alcohol you’d do a better job.”

He grumbles and waves her away, so she whacks him a second time for good measure before striding off to her next client.

Turns out silence is just as awkward with drinks, at least to Aloth. Renard seems content enough drinking the swill they dare to call ale, but Aloth barely sips it in the hope of diminishing the aftertaste while he stares at his old friend in open curiosity.

He’s— changed. He thought the same when they met again in the wake of Eothas’ destructive journey through the Deadfire, but he sees now that the five years after confronting Thaos were nothing next to the change a decade in the chaos of post-Wheel Eora put Renard through. He looked tired then, mere hours after watching a god bring the cycle of reincarnation to its end, and the dark circles have only gotten worse since then, as if he didn’t get a single night of sleep in the decade they spent apart.

His knuckles are still bloody like he’s been in a fight recently and his swollen eye and the rest of the bruises and scrapes on his face are half-covered by the limp strands of his hair that aren’t caught in a sloppy ponytail. He is nothing like the Renard who never got into a fight if he could avoid it, the one who spent hours washing the blood and salt out of his hair and styling it. There’s still dirt or dried blood stuck under his bitten-short nails.

“What happened to you?” He finally says, aghast.

Renard lifts his head just enough to reveal a wry grin. “Ten years is a long time.”

[ghostbustermelanieking]

the definitions of home

s9: post the truth. on the run/unremarkable house origin fic.  part of my series that i write as i rewatch the x files.

Summary: Mulder and Scully, on the road.

note: warning for depiction of the Scully gives William up storyline and frank discussion of it.

---

i.

june, 2002

Fox Mulder disappears from prison on a overly warm night in June. There is no explanation for how he could've gotten out; the guards at the prison insist they know nothing. Some say his spooky reputation precedes him, that the only way he could've gotten out was by evaporation or something. Others are only furious.

Miles away, his former partner, Dana Scully, disappears without a trace from her apartment. She takes her car but leaves behind everything else, outside of a suitcase, some clothes, and a few photos and other keepsakes. Police suspect that her disappearance has something to do with Mulder's escape, although their theories range from willing accomplice to unwilling companion. Her current coworkers refuse to disclose anything. It all remains a mystery.

---

Mulder and Scully drive, under the cover of the night, the moon and the stars. Scully grips his hand over the center console, their fingers knotted together. They stop, briefly, on the side of a dark road so that Mulder can change out of the incredibly incriminating prison jumpsuit, and Scully seizes his face between her hands in a desperate motion and kisses him hard. He gathers her up, crushing her against him. “I missed you,” he whispers into her ear, and she almost falls apart right there, clutching him hard and kissing the side of his neck.

Minutes later, they drive away together, the road inky black before them. Scully doesn't let go of his hand.

They're all the way into Kentucky before Mulder says it, in a breathless voice like he's been punched in the stomach: “Why did you come with me?”

Scully's mouth falls open in shock; she whispers, “Mulder…” with horror in her voice.

“I mean, Scully, it's…” He sounds breathless, like he's about to cry. “It's a lot to sacrifice, just for… I mean, you could live your life, try to be… happy… You don't have to leave your home. Your family.”

“Mulder,” she says insistently, furiously. She tugs at his hand hard. “Don't you know?”

Her voice is so fierce, so insistent, that there is suddenly no question in Mulder's mind. He pulls Scully's hand to his side of the car and kisses the back of it. Tears drip down Scully's face; she tugs their joined hands back over to her side of her car and presses her mouth against the inside of Mulder’s wrist, closes her eyes as his heartbeat pulses against her. He is home for her. He is her family.

ii.

june, 2002

They spend two days in the Roswell hotel, even though it's insanely dangerous. Scully keeps telling herself that it is dangerous, again and again, but she won't let go of Mulder. After a few hours, lying tangled up in his arms with no desire to move, she's starting to wonder if she can't let go of Mulder. (He seems no more eager than she is to walk away; he keeps his arms tight around her, his nose tucked into her hair.) “This is almost a physical impossibility,” she rasps into his neck at one point. “Not having moved for this long.”

“We deal in impossibilities,” he says into her hair. She can't tell if he's happy or sad. She tips her chin back and kisses him fiercely, desperately, because they were going to kill him, she was going to lose him again, and she can't believe it, she can't believe he's here. She kisses him and kisses him, and he kisses her back, and she's crying before she knows it, tears dripping off of her face. Mulder bundles her into his arms, kissing the top of her head, the side of her face repeatedly. “It's okay, it's okay,” he whispers, and she tries to let herself believe that.

“I love you,” she says, because it's easy now, it used to be so fucking hard but now it is so easy. She wants him to know. “I love you so much, Mulder.”

Surprise flickers over his face, briefly, before a similar sentiment comes in to replace it. He leans down and kisses her mouth, soft and salty and dizzying enough to make Scully weak at the knees, even though she's lying down. “I love you,” he whispers, rubbing his nose along her cheek. “Love you, Scully.”

She sags forward in the circle of his arms, her cheek pressed to his chest. His heart thudding in her ear. He's here, he's alive, they were going to kill him but he got away. He strokes her hair gently, his large palm cupping the back of her head.

“I think we're gonna need to go in the morning,” she says into his bare chest, pressing her lips to his skin. “We can't just stay here, we're sitting ducks.”

“Okay,” Mulder whispers.

She sniffles, just a little. “I don't want to go,” she murmurs, almost inaudibly, too vulnerably. She wants to stay here forever, in his arms, in this shelter of the hotel room that feels much safer than it does. She wants to go back to that night over a year ago, Mulder holding their son in his arms, sweet and sleepy, the future brighter than ever. If they don't move, they don't have to confront all that they've done. Nothing is real here.

Mulder kisses the top of her head. His nose is cold. “I know.”

---

They buy a car with cash the next morning, a combination of cash and exchanging their old car. Covering their tracks. Mulder wears a baseball cap low over his face, ragged t-shirts and unshaved face. Red dirt cakes under his nails as he exchanges the money. Scully stands beside him, sunglasses pulled down over her face, her newly dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. He watched her dye it this morning, bent over the stained hotel sink. She looks unfamiliar, strange, alluring. She'd been insecure that morning, staring at him sideways through the newly dark locks, and he'd wrapped his arms around her, mumbled that she was beautiful and meant it. It still feels so incredible that she's here, alongside him. Looking at her feels like looking into the sun.

She takes the keys from his hands outside of the car and climbs into the driver's seat. Mulder understands: no more arguments about who is going to drive. The air conditioner makes a rattly sound when she turns the key in the ignition, before beginning to blow at a weak level. Mulder turns it all the way up.

Scully taps her fingers on the wheel decisively before looking over at him. “Where to?” she asks, her voice soft.

He shrugs a little. “North?” he offers, because he's spent a year in the fucking heat and he'd really like to be anywhere else at this point. The new distance between them (that came in with the daylight, when they finally had to untangle themselves and move) feels surprising, but it shouldn't, after all they've been through.

Scully works her jaw back and forth, nods. Turns the key in the ignition and pulls away. They head north.

---

Mulder lets down his window and rests his arm on the side of the car, the metal stinging like bug bites. The air rushes through the car with a certain hardness, unravels Scully's hair from her ponytail. She makes no move to brush it away. They take turns driving. Mulder wants to talk, fill the car up with noise because if he thinks about anything for too long, then he will fall apart, but every single potential topic he can think of will make it worse. He doesn't know how to talk to Scully anymore. A year and a half of near-constant separation has made them near strangers. He loves her tremendously and feels as if he doesn't know her all at once.

They stop at another hotel, against Scully's better judgement, sometime after midnight. He's exhausted, but he still stops to take a shower, wash the desert off of him. He's surprised—genuinely so, but not unhappily—when Scully climbs in behind him, the water running down her shoulders and darkening her brown hair. Her eyes are sad. When he wraps his arms around her, she holds on with a strength that surprises him, digging her nails into his back. They hold each other under the weak spray.

---

In the morning, they set off again.

iii.

august, 2002

The days slide by in a routine fashion, one after another. They hopscotch from state to state, sporadically taking wrong turns and heading off in a different direction. Scully sends postcards to the people they've left behind: her mother, Bill, Skinner, even Reyes and Doggett. She keeps it simple, varying states between people, brief messages and signing them with only her initials, but Mulder still doesn't like it. “It's too dangerous,” he always says. “Too much activity and they'll be able to find us.”

“It's worth it,” Scully always bites out, eyes flaming as she stares at him. “Mulder, you wouldn't be here if it wasn't for them. They at least deserve our thanks.”

He should probably stop picking a fight—he hates fighting with Scully, at least about serious things that don't involve cryptids or monsters—but this is one fight he doesn't mind picking. He'd rather fight about postcards that probably won't get them caught than the things that matter. All the things they're not saying.

They look like different people; he's still startled every time he looks in the mirror. He's let his beard grow wild in an attempt at covertness, hair hanging raggedly in his eyes. Scully's hair is still brown, and she touches up on it every month; it's long, too, longer than he's ever seen it on her. She pulls it back into ponytails or braids most of the time, but occasionally she lets it tangle around her face, hiding her eyes like a curtain. They look shaggy and dirty, dressed in clothes bought from K-Mart or Goodwill or yard sales. Nothing like the Agents Mulder-and-Scully they used to be. Nothing like the parents they very briefly were, either, and Mulder is glad of this. He hates reminders of the hole between them.

(Sometimes, he'll let him think of those golden three days, the three of them sleepy and happy in Scully's apartment. Much less than he used to let himself think about it in New Mexico. In New Mexico, it was a good memory, a reminder: he had a family waiting for him. People who loved and misses him.)

(Less often, he'll think of his son, unfamiliar to him now. In the arms of strangers. Living in a different house, learning to walk and talk, forgetting who his father is. Was.)

Scully is cold and distant sometimes, clingy and grateful others. They are always closer in the night than in the day, sleep closer than they get when they're awake. He thinks that she feels more regret than anything; guilt, fear, longing. He has plenty of that himself. He understands.

They'll let themselves be happy once in a while. If they spend a longer amount of time in one place than usual, they'll partake in what the town has to offer, go to bars or museums or libraries, of all places. (The first time she suggests it, he calls her a geek in a teasing voice and she swats him lightly and he wants to cry, it feels so normal.) Other times, it's various things in their hotel room: card games or board games they borrow from the lobby or catching old movies on TV. Other times, it's just reminiscing, exchanging stories from the early years of their partnership that don't bring back horrible memories or far-off memories of childhood. (They delicately avoid anything after November, 2000, of course.) One night, they fall asleep on the side of the road, tangled up in the backseat.

The summer is over before Mulder knows it, before he can even comprehend it. Days feel like nothing in this new stage of his life. Everything is too brief. Like the time he spent with his son: too small to get a grasp on. It all slips away.

iv.

fall, 2002

Sometimes Scully will replay it in her mind, almost like a punishment. Self-flagellation. She deserves to suffer for what she's done, she'll tell herself in the worst moments.

It goes through her mind again and again, like a record stuck on repeat. The last night she spent with her son, keeping him up despite her better judgement. She'd tried to distance herself from her for a week, methodically feeding and changing him without any added affection, only because she didn't want to change her mind. But she'd stopped on the last night, when it was too late to change her mind. Held her baby in her arms on the couch, rocked him back and forth in the stunning silence of the apartment, counted the minutes like precious gold.

She almost had changed her mind. Almost told the cheery, sympathetic social worker no, please, please don't take him. But the words stuck in the back of her throat as she told herself again and again: It's for the best, it's for the best.

William had gotten to the point where he wasn't a big fan of new people. William had clung to her shirt as she tried to hand him over, the way he sometimes did around new relatives. She had pried his fists off. She had handed him over to strangers when he wanted to stay with her. (She doesn't think about his new life now, if she can help it, but when she does, she always wonders if he misses her, is afraid of whoever is taking care of him now, or if he's happier now. Never scared, never in danger, not living with parents who do nothing but leave.)

Every time she sees it, the image of the social worker carrying her baby away, William's huge brown eyes—eyes just like Mulder's—watching her, she wants to throw up. She did throw up then, emptied her stomach bent over the toilet before breaking out into sobs.

She'd do anything for Mulder—commit a federal crime, throw away her career, leave behind her family and her life—and she'd do it all over again if it meant he was safe. And she'd told herself during the process of giving William up that she'd do anything for him, too, including giving him up. But now she just finds it ironic, that to keep Mulder safe she left everything to be with him, but to keep William safe, she just left him. Cruel irony that burns in her throat like bile.

She hates herself for this: for all of it, all the ways she's failed. She starts crying sometimes, so hard she can barely breathe, out of nowhere. Mulder always, always holds her, whispers comforting things into her hair, but it feels like he is doing it with a sense of detachment when she cries about William. She's hurt him incredibly by giving away his son; he never, ever blames her out loud for it, but she knows how hurt he is. Even knows that he blames her a little. And she deserves it, all of it.

She doesn't have much of William left anymore—she doesn't have much of anything personal left anymore, but she sent most of William's things with him. She kept some pictures and the doll that Mulder had given her, packed up in a box somewhere. (She prays that it's not stuck in evidence somewhere, where she can never get it back.) But there's one thing she does have that makes her feel a combination of strong guilt and sadness: William's bunny, the one whose ears he chewed and slobbered all over, the one he always had with him. She'd meant to send it with him, but after the social worker left, she'd found it lying in the crib she hadn't taken apart yet. She'd almost called the social worker back to tell her that William left his favorite toy (to tell them to give her son back because she'd changed her mind and she'd never let him go now), but something in her had collapsed. She'd kept it in the crib (in the empty nursery she never, never went into after that) until the night she packed to leave, when she'd slipped it into her suitcase. It smells like William did, like old baby food and baby powder and No More Tears shampoo. Scully never takes it out, but it's enough to know it's there. That she has something left of her baby.

One of the only big fights she and Mulder have had is over William. She's daydreamed going to get him a million times (knocking on the door and someone answering with her baby in their arms and he is so, so happy to see her), but when Mulder suggested it, she screamed at him. She said it wasn't an option. She said she couldn't do that to another person. She said it was over and ignored the way his face crumpled in devastation at losing someone else.

She doesn't want to believe that, that it's over, but it is. It has to be. She doesn't know that she could handle anything else.

v.

december, 2002-january, 2003

They spend half of the winter in Minnesota, snowed into a bed-and-breakfast. The kind elderly lady at the front desk doesn't ask too many questions when Mulder slips her a fifty and always, always pays his rooming fees on time.

It's cold in their little room. They wrap themselves in quilts with all the lights turned off, and press together in the dark hollow the blankets leave. They've been on the road for six months now.

Mulder shaves three days before Christmas as Scully cuts her hair to just below her shoulders right next to him. They look more familiar in the mirror, and Mulder finds himself feeling relieved. They eat the provided meals with the other guests, largely keeping to themselves. They play board games in the homey living room area, and Mulder inadvertently makes friends with the cat that lives in the lobby. A few other longtime guests wave at them every day. There is always fresh coffee. It's the most at home Mulder has felt since he left Scully and William.

They move on as soon as the snow melts.

vi.

june, 2003

They keep moving for most of the next year. Rent apartments or upstairs rooms from unsuspecting landlords for a month or two. Scully accumulates a small collection of personal belongings: various items of clothing, coolers to keep food in, toiletries, books. There's a picture someone snapped of them in a bar and immediately handed over to them, shrugging it off as testing their new Polaroid, stuck to the dashboard with a tiny strip of Scotch tape. They both look tired in the picture, their dark heads bent together, Mulder with his arm around Scully's shoulders offering up a polite smile and Scully’s mouth stiff in surprise, her hand pressed to his chest. They hadn't known the guy with the cameras was there until he said, “Hey, look over here.”

(Very briefly, there was a picture of William on that dashboard. A picture of him crawling across the floor, looking up into the camera. Mulder had found it accidentally, buried under Scully's jacket in her suitcase, and had stuck in up next to the picture of them. Scully had gasped a little in horror when she saw it, shot him a look of horrible hurt and left the car with the excuse of needing the restroom. When she returned to the car, Mulder had retrieved it and slid it into his pocket. He hasn't pulled it out since.)

They're in Washington when they've been on the road for a year, just outside of Seattle. They're renting a room above a little shop, a musty couch shoved up next to a kitchen counter and a little stove, a rickety table in the kitchen, a bed that borders on twin size (the owner advertised it as a double) under a window and a bathroom with a clawfoot bathtub off to the side. Scully points it out offhandedly as she pours Mulder a cup of burned coffee—she phrases it as, “Happy anniversary,” very casually, and just before Mulder can point out that they began their relationship in January, not June, he realizes what she means and barks out a surprised laugh.

(They've been avoiding the other, less pleasant anniversaries, like the day Mulder died, the day Mulder left, the day Scully let a stranger carry their son away. William's birthday. So it seems more than worth it to celebrate the small moments, like the moment of their reunion.)

Mulder rents some videos for the tiny TV and VHS that comes with the room, and Scully curls in his lap as the credits for Psycho run across the screen. He's also bought a cake, despite Scully's protests, and he eats a piece as Janet Leigh makes the decision that will change her life forever. “Did you pick a horror movie about a woman on the run on purpose?” Scully asks.

“Yes.” Mulder sticks a forkful of cake in his mouth. “I wanted to reassure us both by pointing out that it could've been a lot worse, and remind ourselves that we haven't come across any Norman Bateses.”

“Well, thank heavens for small favors,” she says. She grabs the fork out of his hand and takes a bite of the cake. Mulder wrinkles his nose at her and she grins innocently, nestles her head against his shoulder.

The truth is that it's gotten easier over the past year. Living on the road. Living without anyone else. (Without their son.) It feels almost natural at this point, just her and Mulder against the world. She can't say that she likes it, though, the constant moving. Never knowing where they are going to sleep at night or be in a week. The constant fear. It's become almost second nature, and she hates it, every part of it except the fact that she is closer to Mulder.

She turns it over and over in her head before settling on a solution. Later that night, wayward limbs tangled together and Mulder’s cheek resting sleepily against her ribcage, Scully brushes her fingers through his hair and says, “Hey,” softly. He grunts a soft response.

“I think we should meet with Skinner,” she says. “See if it's gotten any safer, if it might be possible for us to… come back.” It's always been her and Mulder against the world, so that feeling could easily transfer to some sort of permanent home.

He lifts his head to look at her, his eyes dark in the light from the window, snakes his arms around her bare hips. “You think they've forgotten about it?”

“I don't know if I'd say forgotten. I was just wondering if… settling down was a possibility. Something like that.”

Mulder nuzzles his face into her neck. “If that's what you think is best,” he mumbles.

She rests her chin on top of his head, sighing a little. “Don't do that, Mulder. We're in this together, you know that.”

“Then let's arrange it. Sounds good to me.” His hand rubs absently up and down her spine.

Scully sighs, shifts her chin a little to look out the window. There are people on the street below, going places, doing things, living their lives. And here they are, and she is not quite sure what they are doing. She'd do anything for him, but she's not sure how much longer she can live like this, even if it has gotten easier.

“Do you ever regret it?” Mulder speaks directly into the skin of her neck, as if embarrassed.

“Regret what?” Scully replies, with astonishment, and maybe a little hurt in her voice. If he's referring to what happened with William, her giving him up, then she can't believe he has to ask. She regrets it every goddamn day.

“This,” he says. “Coming with me. Leaving everything behind.” She doesn't answer for a few beats, so he clarifies nervously, “I know I asked you this back when we first left, and you said no… but I just… wanted to make sure that hadn't changed…”

“Mulder, no,” she says firmly. “No. Never.”

He raises his head, his eyes dark, and she kisses him hard, their noses bumping together. “Never,” she says against his mouth, and he nods, bumps his forehead up against hers. “Let's meet with Skinner,” he whispers.

---

The next day, someone recognizes them. Some small-town sheriff who they worked with years ago, who recognizes Mulder underneath his beard. He doesn't mention anything about being a federal fugitive or arresting him—he seems to just want to chat—but it spooks them enough to work. They leave that night, shoving their last month’s rent under the door and driving off into the east like bandits.

vii.

july, 2003

They meet in a bar in Alabama. Skinner is dressed casually, which is always startling to Scully, and he stands from the booth to shake their hands. He offers to pay for the drinks.

He doesn't have a lot of news from the FBI—Scully can't tell if there really isn't anything happening or if he's holding back. But one thing becomes clear during the procession of their conversation: they can't come back, at least not yet. “They're not actively looking for you, but they're definitely on alert,” Skinner says. “The military, the FBI… if you come back, there's no telling what the extent would be.”

This is code for: They'll use this as an excuse to kill you both. Scully bites her lip, swirls her drink in her glass. She wonders if they should tell Skinner about the end of the world. She wonders if there's even anything they could do.

“Someone recognized us,” Mulder says. “In the last place we stayed in. I don't think he… knew about my sentence or anything like that… but we left immediately.”

“Probably a good idea,” says Skinner. “I wouldn't risk it.”

“We need somewhere to go,” Scully says suddenly, the thought occurring to her just then. “If we get into a bad situation, or are separated somehow, we need somewhere to go to… get our bearings.”

There's a long silence between the three of them. Scully stares at the amber-colored liquid; she's not going apologize for wanting a security plan of sorts. “I'd suggest the house my mom left me,” Mulder offers gingerly, “but I figure it's too dangerous. The neighbors would recognize me, especially considering everything that happened with Amy Cassandra a few years ago.” He sounds embarrassed, and Scully wants to flinch at the memory.

“I have a house,” Skinner says suddenly. When they look at him in surprise, he shrugs. “It was my great-uncle’s. When he passed, he left it to me, but I haven't gotten around to doing anything in it. It's a farmhouse out in Farrs Corner. Isolated. There's a gate to contend with and a very long driveway, and it's completely empty. It'd be a good place to hide out for a little while.”

Mulder blinks at him incredulously. “Sir, we couldn't possibly…” Scully starts.

Skinner waves off her protests. “It's just Skinner now, Scully, and you're right. If nothing else, we could use another rendezvous point.” He tears off a piece of a napkin and writes an address down on it. “Next time you want to meet, call me and we'll meet there.”

They sit in stunned quiet for a few minutes before Scully says, “Thank you.” Mulder takes the scrap of paper and sticks it in his wallet. Skinner nods in response.

Later, in their hotel room, Scully will memorize the address before copying it down and sticking it in her wallet. When Mulder gives her a questioning look, she says, “Part of the purpose of this safe house, Mulder, is in case we get separated for some reason. So we both need copies of the address.”

“That's not going to happen,” he says softly, his hand suddenly warm on the small of her back.

Scully gulps a little, shutting her wallet. She hopes that it won't, but she knows how the world works. “I hope it won't,” she says out loud, and feels Mulder's warm, callused palm stroke the length of her spine.

viii.

fall, 2003

They visit the Grand Canyon in the fall because Mulder has never seen it before. “You've traveled all over the country, but you've never seen the Grand Canyon?” Scully teases.

“I've never heard of a Grand Canyon-related cryptid before. Have you?” Mulder retorts. Scully smirks briefly, snakes her arm around his waist and leans her head against his shoulder. They stare out over the gorge together.

They make it something of a habit, spend September and October zigzagging across the West, visiting national landmarks they've never seen. They spend a week in San Diego in November, Scully showing Mulder her old childhood haunts, places she used to love to go. Mulder half-thinks she's wanting to run into Bill, but they never do.

On their last day in San Diego, Scully drives them to a cemetery that Mulder recognizes with a stunned breath. Three days into January, they'd laid Scully's daughter to rest there. Scully exits the car and goes in alone. Mulder lets her, leans forward in his seat and buries his face in his hands. He doesn't want to think of the little girl he knew years and years ago, sweet-faced and adorable, coloring with crayons on the floor. Who should be almost eight now. He doesn't want to think of his son, of the sister and parents and family he will never know. He doesn't want to think about everyone that he's lost along the way.

When Scully gets back to the car, her jaw is clenched, cheeks red and streaked with tears, and Mulder suddenly remembers the date of birth he read years ago, in Emily Sim’s file. It's today. He suddenly understands; William's birthday was just as bad, worse, for both of them.

He doesn't try to engage her in conversation. He drops her off at the hotel and drives to the grocery store to pick up their dinner, tries to give her the time alone she needs. Tries not to think of his son when he passes the aisle of baby food and diapers. Tries not to linger on memories of Emily. Tries his best not to think, because if he thinks too hard, he just feels sick to his stomach.

When he gets back to the hotel, Scully is asleep, curled up on top of the bed with something stuck under her arm, something baby-blue and soft-looking. At closer look, Mulder realizes it's a stuffed rabbit, worn, its ears looking like they'd been chewed on.

Nausea overtakes Mulder, and he has to grit his teeth together to keep from bursting into tears or crying out. He never even knew she had that.

Instead, he draws the covers up and over Scully with a gentleness that almost surprises him. Wipes his eyes and turns away. Doesn't retch until he reaches the bathroom, bending over the sink.

ix.

december, 2003

They've barely fought about William.

The only time they've ever clashed about William is when Mulder suggested that they go find him and take him back. Otherwise, they delicately avoided it. When Mulder thinks about it, he's almost surprised. A year and a half they've been on the run, and they've never fought about the subject that makes Scully cry or fold up into herself, that makes resentment and grief and guilt rise in his throat, every time it comes up. It almost surprises him when he realizes it.

(He tries to tell himself that he doesn't really blame Scully, that he can't imagine what she went through or how desperate she was, how scared, that he can't judge her for just trying to keep William safe. But it's so hard, considering how many people he's lost, thinking about that little baby curled in his arms. The cold shock of realizing that he'll never see him again.)

(The truth is, he tells himself, he's as much to blame for all of it, and he'll never forgive himself for walking away. But he wasn't there, he doesn't know, and it's impossible to imagine Scully—who held their son on the bed and spoke to him in a honey-sweet voice, who mumbled, “Please don't take my baby,” in a fierce, motherly tone to everyone they saw from the shack in Georgia to the hospital room, refusing to let anyone but Mulder take him until he convinced her to let the nurse look at him—actually letting a stranger take her baby.)

Still, they haven't fought about it, at least not openly. It's the forbidden topic, the one subject they avoid like the plague. As if they know that if they bring it up, it will only end badly. He doesn't want to hurt her, ever. But a year and a half of avoiding the subject adds up. The tension layers on, thickly, and they don't even notice. And it all eventually comes to a head.

They're staying in a hotel in St. Louis, a shitty one because they can't afford anything better at the moment, and Scully is working a shift at the restaurant she was just hired at. She's hoping to get a steady job and a reputation under the fake names they've been using here so that they can rent an apartment, at least for the winter. It's the Christmas season, and Mulder can tell she's sad. Missing her family or remembering her dad or Emily or maybe remembering the delightful Christmas they spent shooting at each other in a haunted house. Or remembering William. Mulder can't say that he's not affected by it in a similar way; holidays have always been painful since he lost Samantha. But a couple of Christmases ago, alone in the New Mexico desert, he'd daydreamed about better Christmases in the future, Christmases he'd spend with Scully and his son. So, yes. It's hard not to think of his son in moments like this, when he's flipping channels on the TV and comes across a cheesy Christmas movie.

He wilts, then crumbles, turning off the TV. He participates in his new private rituals, the rare times they have privacy, and takes out the picture of William, the one he stole from Scully.

He loses track of time, looking at the tiny photo of the son he'll never know. He rubs a thumb over the glossy front of the photo, wipes away a tear with his other hand. And then the hotel door opens.

Scully enters, her dark hair pinned back, unknotting her apron as she goes. “I forgot how much I hated working in the restaurant business as a teenager,” she grumbles, crossing the room in several broad steps. He closes his hand over the photo in an attempt to hide it. “I did well in tips, though, nearly $200…” Scully's voice falters, breaks off as she sees Mulder’s closed fist, his guilty face. “What is that?” she whispers.

Mulder's mouth falls open as he tries to think of something to say. “I…”

“Mulder, what…” She grabs his hand and the photo falls out on the bed. Scully staggers away when she sees it, as if the sight of it physically hinders her. Her hand over her mouth, her face pale. Mulder closes his eyes, the physical weight of this exchange descending on him.

“Why do you have that?” Scully whispers in horror.

He closes his hand over the picture again, tucking it into his pocket. “Don't you remember, Scully… a year ago, I… put this picture up, and y-you didn't want it up, so I…”

Scully sinks into the chair next to the desk, rubs at her eyes with the heel of her hand. “I can't… I don't need reminders, Mulder,” she says, her teeth clenched.

“You weren't supposed to see, Scully,” he says, suddenly upset, suddenly hurt. “He's my son, and I have a right to look at his picture if I want to… And besides that, it's not like I'm the only one hiding things of William's.”

Her eyes flash with anger. “I don't know what the hell you're talking about,” she bites out.

“The rabbit in your suitcase,” he snaps. “I don't know why you'd hide that, Scully, if it's something that belonged to our son, don't you think I deserve…”

“I wasn't hiding it!” she snaps right back, flying to her feet so fast that it startles him. “I didn't even take it out, Mulder, because it was too fucking painful. I can't handle this. Do you understand that? I can't fucking handle it!”

“And what about me, Scully? What about what I can handle?” he says sharply. “I'm his father. I'm just as much involved in this as you are.”

“No, you're not,” Scully replies coldly. “You gave up that privilege when you left us.”

Mulder flinches. Scully's face whitens even further, as if realizing what she's said, and she opens her mouth as if to explain herself, or maybe take it back, but he's speaking before she can, the words spilling out of his mouth uncontrollably. “Fuck you, Scully. I may have left, but I didn't want to leave. You told me to. I begged, and you told me to go. You said I'd be putting you and William in danger if I didn't. So I left, to save you both. And while I was gone, you gave my son away.”

Scully's face is reddening now as she gets angrier; tears well up in her eyes as she spits, “You don't have an ounce of understanding of what it was like for me. You don't have one clue.”

He knows this and he's planning to apologize, maybe, but what comes out is entirely different. “You said you wouldn't leave him,” he says, his voice cracking. He is about to cry, he can tell. “You pleaded with everyone not to take him away from you. You said you'd protect him. You swore.”

Scully makes a small, hurt sound like she's been stung, closes her eyes with pain. And Mulder feels bad, and he should feel worse, but he keeps hearing her say, You gave up that privilege when you left, when she begged, she begged him to leave. I can't lose you again, Mulder, she'd said. William can't lose you. Please. She begged him and now she's blaming him, and he can't take it. He turns and storms out of the room, tears dripping down his face. William's picture like a stone in his pocket.

Scully doesn't follow.

---

He goes to a bar and gets drunk, the good kind of drunk that makes it easy to forget. Not drunk enough to make him sadder or angrier. Mostly, he just wants to forget the stunned, hurt look in Scully's eyes when he accused her of giving his son away. Forget when she blamed him because he left.

(He doesn't stop crying. He hunches up in a booth by himself, avoids the gazes of others and wipes his eyes with shitty napkins. The beer all tastes salty, like the ocean, even though they are miles away. The tears rippling in the alcohol like rain.)

Hours later, he decides it's time he went back to the hotel room. He doesn't know what the hell to do now, but he knows he has to try. Scully is all he has left, Scully is the person who he'd go to the ends of the earth for. He doesn't know if she'll be willing to talk to him, and he doesn't know if he's ready to talk to her, but he has nowhere else to go. He walks back to the hotel, hands buried in his jacket, and that's when he sees it. The flashing lights, red and blue and ominous.

The only thought in his mind is pure panic. He breaks off into a run, praying that no one is hurt, praying that it's just some crazy person who has nothing to do with Scully…

He couldn't be more wrong. He sees the cop cars, and then he sees the men in blue, and then he sees Scully. Being escorted towards a police car, a hand on her arm. She looks dignified, because Scully faces down danger like this with steel in her eyes, and then she sees him and fear flashes across her eyes. He stops straight in his tracks, heels dragging, mouth falling open. Maybe to scream her name. They shouldn't take her because she isn't the one they wants, she doesn't deserve to die, and god, he loves her. And they'll kill to keep this quiet, the impending end of the world. He can't lose her. His mouth forms the first syllable of her name.

Scully shakes her head hard. He takes a few steps closer to the ground as they guide her towards the car, and one of the men is asking her something, and she ignores him. “Go,” she says, and he can't hear her, can only see her moving mouth, but it's unmistakable what she means. Either go or no, but she doesn't want him to come over there. He takes a few more stumbling steps, and she shakes her head again furiously. She is terrified for him and she wants him to go.

The police are asking her what's going on, following her gaze to where Mulder stands.

And because he is a coward (but mostly because he knows there is no chance of getting Scully out if they're both in), he turns and walks away. Doesn't run so as to not attract suspicion. He walks away, his heart thudding so hard that he can feel it everywhere. His face is wet with tears again. He whispers her name under his breath, his throat raw.

Behind him, he can hear the police car pulling away. The sirens aren't on.

x.

december, 2003

He waits it out for a little while, stakes out the hotel. Waits until morning before he makes his decision. Scully doesn't reappear.

It takes a few hours to walk away. He almost physically can't do it, can't leave her behind. Not after everything. He feels like he is going to vomit. The thought of what could be happening to her—that they could already have her in some dark military facility, be doing what they did to him, scheduling her for a fucking ridiculous trial that ends in the same sentence he received, kill her to keep them quiet—makes him physically sick.

He steels himself up, reaches into his pocket and touches the picture of William. Thinks of Scully mouthing, Go, the night before.

He leaves. Walks to the bus station and buys a bus ticket to Richmond. (He's kept enough money on him to be able to leave at a moment's notice, at Scully's insistence, and it turns out she was right.) He's following her plan for if a crisis such as this happens by going to the address Skinner gave them. He'll take a taxi to Farrs Corner, call Skinner from a payphone and ask about their next move. How to save Scully. He'll turn himself in if that what it takes, do whatever he needs to get her out. She knows what is coming, she can take steps to protect herself and William. He's ready to do anything to protect her, protect them both.

The bus ride takes over a day. The isolation does nothing to help him, considering that all he has with him is the photo of William and what little money he has left after buying his bus ticket. He tries to sleep, his head resting against the window. He wishes Scully was with him. He wishes he had stayed behind. He feels horrible, even though she did tell him to go. He owes her better than that. He could've saved her, or at least he could've tried.

No one seems to find him suspicious. He's grateful for that, at least.

He arrives in Richmond the next day. It's the furthest he's strayed towards the East Coast, towards DC, since his arrest, and he feels strangely daring. He wonders if they sent Scully down this way yet.

It's a Saturday, so he calls Skinner's apartment in the hopes that he'll be home. No answer. And he can't very well call anyone else, much less go looking for him. He waits a few more hours before calling again, to the same results. He gives up, then, and begins to work on getting to Farrs Corner.

He has to hitchhike most of the way, but it takes most of the day instead of just a couple hours because it turns out that most of the people willing to stop are only headed part of the way there. He takes a taxi the last little bit, out to the address Skinner gave in the middle of fucking nowhere, and slips the driver twenty extra bucks to pretend he never saw him.

The gate is heavier than he’d expected, and the dirt driveway is too long and too rocky. The night is dark and absolutely too cold. Mulder trudges up the driveway, his toes numb in his shoes. He misses Scully.

The house is a little run-down, a couple of broken windows, a caved-in part of the roof. But there is a light on inside. A car in the driveway that looks stunningly familiar. His breath catches in his throat.

He tries not to run. It could be anyone in that house, he tells himself, taking the steps on shaky legs. It's not necessarily her. He pushes open the door with a shaky hand, the fear and anticipation rising in his throat. There's a lamp plugged in on the floor, next to a queen mattress, and suitcases clustered in the corner. A blue rabbit ear sticking out of the unzipped corner of one of the bags. “Scully?” he calls out, voice trembling.

Footsteps creak in the other room and then Scully is entering, wearing a coat, her hair thrown back into a braid. Relief flashes through her eyes when she sees him, her shoulders sagging. “Mulder,” she says softly.

He's across the room in a few seconds, his hands cupping the side of her face as he kisses her deeply, relievedly. She surges against him, her arms folded around his neck. “I thought you were…” he gasps out, scooping her up and pressing his cheek to the curve of her neck, and she whispers, “I know, I know.”

---

“How the hell did you get out? I thought for sure that they'd caught you.”

“They didn't know who I was, Mulder, it had nothing to do with you. They were pursuing my fake identity. Another waitress accused me of stealing a watch from an esteemed customer that she herself had actually stolen. They let me go as soon as my name was cleared.”

“Jesus, I—Why did you tell me to leave, then? I could've gotten you out of there. You scared me to death, Scully.”

“I know. I'm sorry, Mulder, I am, but I was… I was terrified they'd figure out who you were. And I couldn't risk that. I wouldn't risk that. They want you more than they've ever wanted me.”

“God, I… I thought they were going to do what they did to me… I came here to try and find Skinner, to get you out. I tried to wait for you.”

“I know. It's okay. It's okay. We did what we had to do.”

“I thought… Shit, Scully, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.”

“Shh, it's… I'm sorry too, Mulder. I'm so sorry. I know… I know it's… I didn't mean that…”

“It's okay. We don't have to talk about this right now. It's okay.”

“I love you.”

“I love you. Jesus, I've always loved you.”

“That's impossible, Mulder.”

“Everything's so impossible with you, honey. Do you believe in anything? Anything at all? Couldn't you believe I've always loved you?”

“I love you, too, Mulder.”

xi.

december, 2003-march, 2004

They end up staying at the house much longer than they should. It's Christmas and they really have no desire to leave. They collect firewood and build a fire in the living room. Mulder works on repairing the roof because it's way too cold inside. They finally get in touch with Skinner, who comes over to turn the gas and water back on. Scully goes to visit her mother, cautiously, and Mulder counts the hours until she comes home, teary and emotional, and curls up in his arms.

They spend Christmas wrapped up in quilts and sweaters, the fire blazing and a scraggly little pine tree taking up residence in the corner. (They'll be cleaning up pine needles for days.) Mulder tapes a sprig of holly to the door jamb and calls it mistletoe, kisses her every time they enter. Scully drives to the grocery store and buys groceries. It snows, whiter than it has in years. They're definitely not going anywhere anytime soon.

It's impossible to be in a house for weeks at a time without making yourself at home a little. Scully buys things that are necessary for staying in one place: soap, tampons, food. They eat off of paper plates and plastic utensils until Scully announces she can't take it anymore and buys real kitchenware. Mulder begins to repair the windows upstairs. They have money siphoned off from the thousands of dollars left to Mulder by his parents.

It's not lost on them that they're basically squatting. But by the end of the winter, the little empty house begins to feel like home.

“Have you ever thought about staying here?” Scully whispers one morning, her ear pressed over his heart. “Just… staying?”

“We are staying,” he mumbles into her hair, wild from sleeping on it.

“I mean permanently.” Her palm presses into his chest. Mulder's chin jerks a little, but he says nothing. She takes a breath before continuing. “We've already done a lot of work on the house. We haven't seen anyone else outside of going into town. Skinner has easy access. We have enough money to buy the house. If we settled down, then I could work on getting a permanent job, work on… maybe getting a job at a hospital, a residence… Skinner said I might be able to come back soon, he said it might be safer…”

“Scully.” His fingers run along her scalp, and she raises her head to look at him. He's smiling, just a little. “I love it here. I think it's a great idea.”

She smiles, too, lets her cheek fall further against his chest. “We'll have to get a real bed,” she says. “Furniture. I can get some of my things out of storage.”

“I was thinking I could turn that room back there into an office,” he says. “You know. Just in case we decided to stay.”

She grins, unable to help it. “Oh, you know. It's always good to be prepared.”

“Can never hurt.” He strokes some hair behind her ear, drops a kiss on her forehead.

xii.

april, 2004

She'd never pictured herself buying a house with Mulder. If she'd pictured their future before, it'd been something like their career at the FBI together, maybe moving into one of their apartments one day. (Later, it had been raising their son together, whatever that entailed, but she doesn't think about that anymore.) But now, it feels more right than she ever could've imagined it. It feels like home.

They negotiate it out with Skinner, money is exchanged, and Scully's name—her real name—is on a legal document for the first time in two years. She retrieves her old stuff from storage, bookshelves and her couch and her bed and—more painfully—William’s old crib. She puts her old double bed in the new guest room, having dubbed it too small for the two of them. They still have a lot of empty space, so they risk everything to go furniture shopping together, going from yard sales to antique shops to (finally) a real furniture store. (“This is too high-end for us,” Mulder whispers in her ear as they examine bed frames. “I look like a homeless man.” Scully rolls her eyes, tells him distractedly that he's her homeless man and he'd better help her carry this furniture out to the car.)

The furniture is delivered out to their middle-of-nowhere house while Mulder hides in the basement. He helps her rearrange it as soon as the delivery men are gone. It takes all day, but it's the kind of work that Scully enjoys: mindless but working towards something.

She sits on the desk in the living room that she has claimed as hers. Mulder collapses in the new chair in a way that's probably horribly destructive to the structure and looks up at her, covering her knee with one hand. “You ready to save the world?” he asks.

She doesn't know the world can be saved. She doesn't want to think about it, all the people, everyone she will lose and their son out there with no idea what's coming. She drops a kiss on his head and says, “We'll figure it out.” They have eight years, and that has to be enough time. It has to be. It's easier not to talk about the painful things.

Their new comforter is a blue-black color with white swirls on it that might be stand-ins for stars, Scully can't tell. Her back is thankful for the mattress change; sleeping a foot off the ground on a mattress with bad springs is a horrible idea. She re-dyes her hair red (albeit a lighter shade) and cuts it to her shoulders in the bathroom off the bedroom. An attempt at professionality. Mulder keeps the beard (“It's covert, Scully.”), but goes to lengths to make it look nice. They frame old pictures and paint their new rooms. They attempt to make dinner. (Scully’s attempt leads to her swearing off cooking forever, in a dramatic rant Mulder finds inspiring and she finds embarrassing; Mulder's attempt, he calls a Work In Progress.) They eat together at their new dining room table, a Mason jar with various wildflowers in it stuck in the middle. Mulder pins up the photo of William in his office, along with a picture of Samantha, and Scully doesn't say a word. It's easier not to talk about the painful things.

They go outside at night, sometimes, and look at the stars. It's not chilly anymore, but they still sit too close together. Scully feels almost young again.

“What do you think?” she whispers softly to him one night. “Of this? This… place?” She means, Are you happy, and doesn't know how to ask it.

Mulder drops a kiss on her head, his arm warm around her shoulders. There's so much that they've missed out on, so much they've lost or that hasn't gone the way they wanted, but they have each other. “I think it's home,” he says.

[minero-tan]

11 please!! For the artist number ask!

OH, SOMEONE ACTUALLY SEND AN ASK!! THAT’S RARE, THANK YOU! 

 11. How many OCs do you have? Introduce them 

 OOF, I have 44 if I haven’t forgotten anyone lmaooo but here goes (introducing them in no particular order)

1. Booty = my first oc ever made. She came to life in 2015 when I was showing my friends the butt of an anime girl as a joke. It was all fun and jokes but for some reason despite me joking around she became the most serious and strickt oc. She’s pretty much the mom friend 

2. Up = my second oc ever made. She’s really carefree and loud. I made her in class when I listened to the song “Up” by olly murs and demi lovato. She’s the complete opposite of booty and she gets stressed out by up the most out of all 44 oc's 

3. Delta = my third oc ever made. He died as a normal dude and then got turned into an android. He’s really quiet and usually in a bad mood. Would kill people a lot more if it weren’t so bothersome 

4. Vision = He’s blind. That’s right, i’m a cruel mother who names her blind child Vision. Anyway, he’s a really kind dude who gets along with a bunch of people. The cool uncle in the group 

5. Mokka = A half cat half human boyo. In the story people who’re pure animals have both animal ears and tails while mokka only has a tail. Had cat headphones in his old design because he hated his human part thanks to his mom who neglected and hated him for not being a pure breed (she cheated on her husb. And he left her because of her cheating so she now gives mokka the fault for that), but in his newer design he grew older and accepted his human part. Grumpy guy who flirts a lot but who’s really bad at it. Also he’s real good with computers. oh AND he’s a Prince

6. Tiptoes = alright, don’t judge me for the weird names, I made her when I listened to the song “Tiptoes” by Jayme dee. She was originally a dancer, but in her new design I made a cheerleader out of her. Still, she loves all kinds of dances and she’s really fit. She’s quite cheeky and will nag on grumpy people like mokka

7. Neta = ah yes, the oc who I probably draw the most. She’s a dog who’s really into fashion lmao. She’s really quiet and collected and really popular with the guys, but at some point I made up the fact that she’s a meme dealer and I decided that I have to keep that personality trait at all costs 

8. Enno = Netas twin brother, but they’re the complete opposite. Enno doesn’t care if he gets dirty or not and he will definitely fight anyone who just looks at him weird. Tough guy, but a complete dumbass who probably can’t even count to 10. Very clingy though if he likes someone 

9. Latty = Neta’s and Enno’s wolf cousin. She’s really loud and really stupid. Wants to be like neta. Gets bullied a lot because out of all the wolfes in her pack she’s the only one who has a white streak in her black hair. But she’s quite the optimist and is practically amazed by everything she encounters 

10. Live = The goddess of Life. She’s really calm and gentle. She can revive dead beings, heal beings and it’s said that she’s the reason babies of both animals and humans are born. Really friendly, laughs a lot 

11. Chi = Live’s evil cousin. Her parents were salty that they didn’t become gods as well and that they were left off with the Knight job where they have to protect the gods and gave their hatred onto their daughter. Chi basically murdered a bunch of gods and wanted to kill her cousin as well but the other gods stopped her and locked her away. Will act like a trust worthy person to get what she wants. Mind games are her thing

12. Mocchi = A bubbly normal girl who just sees the best in everyone. Real optimist, can befriend everyone. Is there for you if you’re having a hard day 

13. Zadora = I was really inspired by a horse I knew lmao. Small shy girl who’s scared of a lot of things, especially strangers and big crowds. Kinda awkward but makes a good friend who’s always happy to spend some time with you. Loves her friends and family a lot 

14. Lium = Quiet demon dude who is really awkward. He could put people on fire with his supernatural abilities, but chooses to be nice since he just wants some friends. Gets terrorized by his look alike twin a lot, but he got used to it 

15. Laru = Lium’s evil twin. Will melt the ice cream of a little girl just for the laughs. Picks on his brother a whole lot but if someone else picks on Lium then Laru will snap their neck in half. Basically wants his brother to become evil and do bad things but he’s not quite succeeding. Good friends with Chi 

16. Frei = A fox spirit lady who actually lived in a shrine but then decided to travel. Real carefree and somewhat of a hippy. Really chill person, great to hang out with 

17. G = another android who got build for the military but then got replaced by newer models (I made him before dbh was a thing). Is a killer machine on the battlefield but will pick a rose and just give it to the nearest person when not on the battlefield. Really protective, he basically has it programmed into his brain to fight the enemy and to protect the innocent. Would be an A+ dad 

18. Majo = A small witch girl who’s pretty much an asshole. Will scream if she won’t get what she wants and will laugh at you if you’re dumb enough to give it to her. Fucks with people, not in a horrible cruel way but putting a dollar on the ground and then pulling it away whenever someone tries to pick it up is basically her go to thing 

19. Shepper = A Sheep boy who’s the biggest pushover, only because he’s so awkward and kind. Will listen to your worries but it’s easy to make him get and do stuff for you only because he can’t say No. Will cuddle you and sing you a lullaby if you’re having trouble sleeping. Gets pushed around by Majo 24/7 but he sees it more as baby sitting since Majo is younger than him 

20. Twen = my 20th oc! Get it? Twenty? Hhhhhhhhh,,,,, anyways, he’s a boy with a lot of energy and a passion for football/soccer. Like, he REALLY loves that sport, he will fight anyone who says that It’s bad. Basically your typical white boy. Still a nice dude, he’s a good sport 

21. Rhett = tall dragon boyo. Really shy but also really gentle. Works as a servant and enjoys it. Will breathe fire if he’s getting really flustered. Scared that he will hurt someone with his tail or just with his big size in general. “You want to shake my hand? Let me bow instead since I don’t want to hurt you"    

22. Morgen = a girl who I’ll have to redesign soon because OOF. I made her after listening to "Morgen Stern” by Rammstein. Basically, she’s really ugly and wishes to the stars that she becomes beautiful like all the other girls. Has her face covered up by bandages which I’ll probably change into a mask lmao. Really sad girl, scared to look people into their eyes. She also gets bullied a lot, and she cuts herself. Morgen hates herself and wishes she would be someone else

23. Rema = there are a few similarities between him and Morgen. Rema’s whole body is covered in scars thanks to his mom who hurt him a lot when he was little. She pretty much destroyed his whole face and then called him ugly. After being called ugly for a bunch of years he grew up to believe that he’s ugly. He came into an orphanage after his mom left him on the streets in the middle of nowhere, so in the orphanage he found a mask which he wears since then. Calls himself ugly and believes that other people think that he’s ugly as well but pretty much no one really cares. Real scared to take off his mask. He’s kinda awkward but makes a good buddy. Will tell you that you’re beautiful 24/7 

24. Kairi = a now zombie girl. She worked in a circus but got killed there by some of her co workers, killed everyone in the circus and basically took over the role as the circus director. Now the circus is closed but the few stupid people who visit the long abandoned circus die there by the ghosts of the people who Kairi killed. She’s Chaotic evil, has a lot of fun when killing. Also mourns over her life when she was still alive 

25. Cchia = ayyy, remember Mokka? This is his half sister. The beloved daughter who can do everything better. Mokka can’t really stand her that much even though Cchia is super supportive and nice towards him. She always got all the praise by their mom because she’s a full cat and was made by both the king and the queen and not by the queen and some normal human dude who the queen had a nice night with, so mokka kinda dislikes her, but she was the only one who stood up for him when he needed it, so he also feels kinda bad for disliking her. She was the one who gave him his cat headphones to make him feel more part of the family. She’s basically amazing at everything but she knows jack shit about technology

26. Melior = Pretty much Aph Poland but as a bunny. 

27. Kureiji = He’s a lot like Up but with a shot temper. One second he laughs and the next second he will destroy a whole house if something happened that made him angry. He’s one of the older oc’s but he’s basically a child. Also, really strong like oof, where does he get all his strength from when he’s just a mortal dude 

28. Joycake = I was listening to a song and it sounded like the girl who was singing said “joycake” and I went “wow, that’s a nice name!!!” So yeah. A really energetic and popular girl. Does dumb jokes and is kinda paranoid. Is a model actually. Does not know what personal space is until she needs it herself. Will fight people for 2 cents, also gets breakdowns quite easily 

29. Mirai = Joy’s twin sister (so many twins in this family). Again the complete opposite of her sister as with every twin what I literally just now noticed. Really serious and doesn’t understand a lot of fun. Hates her sister, like, if someone would throw a rock at joy then mirai would probably just keep walking. A hipster, listens to jazz on a rainy day while sitting on her laptop at starbucks. Wears oversized jackets and has messy braided hair like literally always 

30. Blini = ANOTHER android. She’s like 10 cm tall. Has to get charged with her tail like charger which comes out of her back/butt. Turns red if empty, yellow if half full and green if completely full. Gets angry at everyone, except for little kids. Has to get carried 24/7. Will put a virus on your computer if she hates you 

31. Destiny = the goddess of,,, Destiny. She decides what happens to people and how things turn out. Has a deep history with live. She’s really quiet and can be really serious if she has to be, but deep down she’s just a awkward lady who doesn’t know how to make friends. Takes her job real seriously 

32. Faith = Trans woman! Loves life and is just a really gentle person. Another mom friend but in a kind way, unlike booty who will yell at everyone because she’s worried. Will crochet you a blanket if you’re cold 

33. Mattis = awkward dad friend who’s in love with Faith. Has never fought anyone but will act intimidating if he has to. Has good advice to give. Real quiet, doesn’t talk much but he’s a great listener 

 34. Péja = so many androids! I swear that I made them all before dbh was out! A android specifically made for taking care of the household and little kids. Quite a cheeky android who jokes around a lot. Can easily beat the asses of 5 guys at once and will do so. Gives horrible advice, she really doesn’t know what she’s talking about 

35. Bennett = another fox spirit. He doesn’t work at a shrine like Frei does, but works for a specific royal family. Basically, the queen was about to get hanged so she ran into the woods with her baby because she knew that a spirit lived there and asked him to take care of her child. He’s pretty much a nanny now. A real gentle man who respects nature and every creature on it. Bad at fighting but good at hiding. Great with kids 

36. Temmie = A ghost lady who died as a kid but still aged as a ghost??? Idk what I was thinking there. She lived in a house with her parents who were alcoholics and who beat her more than once a day. She chose to not speak anymore since whenever she opened her mouth her parents already told her to shut up. At some point she tried to run away from home but got hit by a truck and died. Now she’s a friendly ghost who’s just kinda hanging around

37: Totengräber = Their name basically means “dead digger”, which is a grave digger. They are some kind of supernatural being who usually lives on graveyards. They dig out the coffins in order to take the souls out of the deceased bodies and to feast on them which gives them their supernatural powers. They’re quite the trickster but all in all very friendly and usually they befriend the local grave keeper. Can become both genders or neither if they wish so. They can also turn into a beast 

38: Błysk = a old ass dragon man, who acts like a snob and a ladies man. Has tattoos all over his body and is not scared to show em off by walking around completely naked. A real dumbass who doesn’t know much. A “collector” dragon, if he sees something pretty then he will keep it. He’s not awkward or shy but he’s been living alone for so long that he kinda forgot how to have a proper conversation with other people 

39. Damien = A dude who kills all of his girlfriend’s. He falls in love, after a while he gets the feeling that she doesn’t love him anymore and kills her. Usually he scrapes off the meat from the bones and eats it but sometimes he also just buries the corpses in the woods to which he lives close to. He’s been searching for his one true love since forever and once he finds her he is not going to ever let her go again. Will probably tie her down in his basement. Real horny. Really good at making friends and great at acting like he’s just a normal dude but pretty much has two sides which got used to working with each other. Cannot be trusted, he’s real good at lying and making things up to his favour 

40. Ghost man who I don’t have a name for yet = he lives in the snowy mountains together with a bunch of little creatures which contain the souls of little kids who ended up dying on that mountain. Real dad, loves all his children. Really chill and sleepy 24/7 but he doesn’t sleep since he’s already dead. Means no harm, he’s just there to take care of the little one's 

41. Zombie girl #2 who I don’t have a name for yet = Do you know the movie “Warm bodies”? I didn’t take inspiration from that movie, but it’s pretty much this girl who’s the only zombie who can even remotely think and act like a normal person. She was on a trip with her camping school club since she loves nature and all, so when they arrived she decided it was the perfect time to hang herself since she had bad depression and tried to kill herself a few times before. But while she was on her way to find a good hanging spot the other campers got eaten by a few of the first zombies. She hang herself and died but like two minutes later she opened her eyes and just went “Why does god hate me”, since the zombies ate a part of her and so “revived” her lmao. She’s smiling 24/7 even while she’s trying to find a new way of killing herself. Numb inside but still friendly. Has no intention of eating people 

42. Yvette = a ghost boy who’s soul wandered off onto an island where it then possessed the life size puppet which was made by “the doctor”. Originally the doctor was hoping that a female soul enters the body since he wanted to have sex with it but once he noticed that a child soul entered the body he threw it out. Yvette sees the doctor as his dad now. He’s a friendly little fella who cannot remember his past, so now he lives on an island with either crazy or dead people. Seeing a half dead person who got sewed onto the body of a cow is something completely normal for him. Thinks that if humans loose all of their limbs that they’re not going to die since everyone on the island is already not a living human being anymore. Sees the right hand (who’s called Espen) of the doctor as his brother. Gets pushed around by Espen a lot. He’s a child,he just needs some love

43. Voks = one of Yvettes friends. She’s made out of bones, rotten flesh and wax. “The professor” who also lives on that island made her. She’s really supportive, curious and happy, but she has to keep the power of her soul quite high so that the wax that is all around her body stays soft and flexible. If it gets too hot then all the wax will melt off, only leaving the rotten corpse from some kid behind. If it gets too cold then she won’t be able to move. Could kill a bunch of people on one spot 

44. Rakel = a deer slasher lady who lives in the norwegian woods. She leaves the woods only to get some sheep which she will take with her and devour. She’s real scared of adults, so if one goes into her forest then she will feel threatened and impale them with her pointy legs and also eat them afterwards. If a human child goes into the forest then she will either take it back to the border of the woods or take it with her to her barn where she will try to take care of the child herself which sadly usually ends up in the child’s death. Rakel always tries her best to keep them alive, but sometimes a little baby just can’t live off of a sheep cadaver. If someone goes deep into the forest then they will never find out again. Even if they put out a trail of some sort, it will just circle them right back to the middle of the forest. Rakel is the only one who knows how to leave the forest without getting lost. She really just wants to be left alone 

[kivaember]

Prompt #10: Coward

Bluebird muttered under her breath as she carefully trudged her way through the ankle deep snow, the soles of her boots catching on a frozen rock here and there hidden underneath. It was a cold night, the air frosty enough that it needled its sharp way into her lungs, and she’d much rather be spending it within the warmth of their family’s yurt, rather than stomping about in the dark, freezing her tail off, because Aza was a ridiculous crybaby.

Thankfully his hiding spots hadn’t changed since they were children, so she didn’t have to go far. With the yurts of the Iriq at her back, she stepped over the threshold of the camp’s outskirts and right into a dense flock of sheep. It was like a sea of fluffy wool, up to her waist and bleating curiously at her as she waded in, gently nudging aside a stubborn ewe here and there.

“C’mon, move it, ya dumb sheep,” she grumbled, making sure not to accidentally kick any. The shepherds would tan her hide and turn her into a new pair of boots if they caught her hurting a single woolly hair on their dumb heads, “Outta my way, c’mon…”

It took a good minute of sheep-wading, but eventually she found her quarry. Aza was sitting on a lone patch of bare, scraggly grass, staring at his boots as the sheep milled around him. He was in his hunting gear from that morning, so at least she didn’t have to smack him upside the head for exposing himself to the elements like last time, but she was still displeased to see him sitting on the frozen ground like a dumbass.

“Aza,” she greeted as she stood right in front of him, thrusting the oil lantern above them so it cast their tiny little clearing, flanked by sheep, in an off-yellow light, “You done communing with the sheep or what?”

Aza looked up at her with a small frown. Age had not hardened him like it did to Xaela men. Bluebird didn’t know if it was a Miqo’te thing or not, but Aza always looked so small, so tiny and delicate compared to the men she had met in the Steppes and around the Ruby Sea. It made it hard for her to think of him as an adult at times.

“I just needed a quiet place to think,” he huffed, then, “What’re you doing here?”

“Looking out for you, as usual,” Bluebird said flatly, “It’s freezing outside. Can’t you brood back in the yurt or something?”

“No,” Aza’s expression was closed off and blank, made almost cold by the stark shadows the oil lantern cast across it, “You and Mom’ll just pester me.”

“I’m pestering you now,” Bluebird pointed out dryly, but she squatted down and set the lantern down, resigning herself to chilling out with her brother and the sheep for a good while, pun intended, “What about Dad? You can help him with his crafting stuff.”

Aza looked away and started ripping up clumps of grass, “I don’t want to bother him.”

Bluebird eyed him contemplatively, “You never bother him.”

Aza just gave a one-shouldered shrug, still avoiding her gaze. It was difficult to think him as nineteen when he was like this. Whenever he was upset, he tended to shrink, to hunch his shoulders and bow his head, to avoid eye contact and try to melt into the background, to try and disappear. She knew why. A habit beaten into him from- well, before. He tended to relapse into old, toxic habits whenever he got into these odd moods, but there was always a catalyst as to why.

“I heard,” Bluebird began carefully, “that you had a fight with Buyant this morning.”

“It wasn’t a fight,” Aza said very quietly.

“Oh yeah? Well, the black eye he’s sporting says otherwise.”

Aza looked miserable.

“Khudus said that he riled you up something fierce,” Bluebird probed, “You know, tribe members fight all the time. I mean, me and Khudus can’t go ten minutes without headbutting each other, so you haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I know that,” Aza rubbed his palms over his thighs, his gaze skittering around them and catching the glow of the oil lantern, “But…”

Bluebird wasn’t a very patient person; it was a point of frustration with Khudus, who tended to partner up with her for hunts despite knowing she tended to sabotage herself by getting impatient and ruining her own ambush by charging out too early. With Aza, however, she always managed to find some scrap of patience, enough to sit there to wait him out as he dithered over the right words to say.

So, she waited, with nothing but the noise of sheep bleating and rustling filling the silence.

“I’m not a Xaela,” Aza finally finished, “And… I’m not a kid anymore either. I’m an adult.”

“…yeah?” Bluebird said slowly, not getting it, “What, is it a shock to you?”

Aza finally looked at her, even if it was to give her his usual ‘fucking-hell-you’re-such-an-empty-headed-dzo’ expression, “No. It’s not. I mean… I was only really taken in out of pity, wasn’t I?”

Abruptly, Bluebird felt ill-equipped, emotionally, to navigate this conversation. This was always something Dad or Mom tended to handle, because she only ever stuck her foot into it. But, she was perceptive enough to know that quickly changing the subject or avoiding to answer would just confirm whatever fucked up, stupid conclusion Aza already came to, so she sucked in a breath and went for it.

“Well, kind of, yeah,” Bluebird said carefully, “But I mean, we didn’t keep you out of pity. I think. Well, mostly. Just know that I like you, and overall there’s maybe about ten percent worth of pity in there. The other ninety percent is genuine affection.”

“Oh,” Aza said, like this was a surprising fact to him.

“Did Buyant say otherwise?” Bluebird asked mildly, already making plans to corner the asshole and pluck his scales out one by one. That lanky half-Oronir was always salty that Aza was the better hunter, but he never dared to be too overt in his bullying when Bluebird was around. Maybe she should remind him who the real boss was around here, if he was daring to be bold…

Aza said nothing for a moment, then, “He was asking when… when I was going to leave. He said I was just… that I was only here, ‘cuz you lot pitied me, and that I wasn’t a real-”

“Fuck him,” Bluebird said immediately, not wanting to hear the rest. She got the gist, “You can stay until you’re as old and crotchety as Chuluun. In fact, I bet Mom’ll want you to stay, ‘cuz she never gets tired of fussing over you like the giant crybaby that you are.”

“I’m not a crybaby,” Aza scowled, his ears tilting back a fraction, “I haven’t cried in years!”

“Liar,” Bluebird jeered, her mouth curving into a wicked smirk, “You cried two days ago when you saw that fox eat a baby bird.”

“It was so tiny though…” Aza mumbled, his face turning a little pink, “And I sniffled.”

“You cried. Big fat tears and everything.”

“Mom says crying’s fine.”

“Yeah, if you’re a baby,” Bluebird chortled, and yelped when Aza flung a handful of dirty snow at her, “Oi, hey!”

“I’m not a crybaby,” Aza grumped, crossing his arms in a full-blown sulk, “I’m just free with my emotions.”

Bluebird almost choked, because that was the worst lie she had ever heard in her life, “You are the most emotionally constipated person I’ve ever met,” she said, “You’re a disaster waiting to happen.”

Aza frowned at the grass at that, “I try though.”

“Yeah, but you’re too much of a coward to follow through most of the time,” Bluebird said, “You always worry about stupid shit. You worry you’re a burden, you worry we look after you out of pity, you worry about the stupid shit Buyant says, apparently. You worry, worry, worry.”

Aza chewed on his bottom lip, his face creasing into an expression of, yup, worrying.

So, she smacked him upside the head.

“Ow!” he reeled back, rubbing his ear with a betrayed expression, “What was that for?!”

“You’re worrying,” she said flatly, “Stop it. Look. Forget what Buyant said. He’s an asshole and a loser, who gives a shit about him? Besides,” she jutted her chin out, looking at her brother down the length of her nose, “Are you gonna believe him over me when I say we want you here?”

“No,” Aza mumbled, but he was smiling, a small, shy little gesture which was made her feel weirdly embarrassed. Her brother was so high maintenance sometimes, honestly, but… well, she was used to it. It was fine.

“Exactly. Now, c’mon,” she said, picking up the oil lantern and getting to her feet, “Stop hiding with the sheep and come back home. We can plan out revenge on Buyant together.”

“Revenge?” Aza hesitated, but he stood up too, brushing the snow and dirt off his breeches. Bluebird tutted and reached out, grabbing one of his hands and tugging him onwards as she waded back into the sheep flock.

“Revenge,” she confirmed, “Buyant’s been getting too big for his boots, it seems. So, we’re gonna teach him who’s boss. You and me.”

Aza looked unsure, but she knew it would take little convincing for him to tap into that vicious streak he kept hidden beneath that quiet demeanour. Aza could be scary when he was riled enough, something Buyant should be taught sooner rather than later. He was prodding a sleeping tiger when it came to bullying Aza, and Bluebird would rather have some control over the inevitable explosion, than learning on the grapevine that Aza lost his temper and murdered him with his bare hands when it got too much.

“It’ll be fun,” Bluebird said, “You’ll see.”

“Well,” Aza hesitated – then smiled, a wicked little curve to his mouth that promised Buyant was going to have a very unpleasant, immediate future, “Only if we don’t get caught. You know what happened last time we were teaching someone a lesson.”

“That was probably because we broke bones last time…” Bluebird mumbled, remembering how that got out of hand. Her and Aza had been lectured by the khatun until their legs numbed under them and their heads rang from all the yelling. Not an experience she wanted to repeat as an adult. That’d just be humiliating.

“And left a trail of evidence a malm wide,” Aza snorted.

“Hey, I wasn’t the one that instantly confessed! Mom didn’t even finish asking if we did it and you broke down bawling and begging for forgiveness!”

“I did not! You’re the one who tripped over herself trying to pin all the blame on me!”

“Well, it technically was all your fault. It was your idea to stage the dzo stampede, after all.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Bluebird barked a laugh at Aza’s sulky retort, something contented and warm settling in her. Yeah, her crybaby brother was so high maintenance, but it was fine. She loved him all the same – even if the idiot had to reminded constantly of that fact. But that was fine too, she understood. He was a coward, but it was how he survived before.

He just needed to have his immediate instinct to hide to be replaced with confrontation. He needed to be bolder, to know that he could square up against something that hurt and upset him, because he’d have her at his back.

And, c’mon, who can be scared with her at their side? She was amazing, incredible and brave enough for the both of them!

Poor Buyant wouldn’t know what hit him.

[knifenymph]

hi again, angel!! could i have a past life reading, please? thanks again! 💜💙

hi lily of course!

i am swimming in the ocean. im playing with friends, but i can feel a sense of panic welling up in me a bit. i play it off with giggles and laughs and turning my head, but i can still feel the dread rising up within me. i hate the ocean. hate what it holds, hate what we dont know about it. i cant stand it- i am terrified of it. the cool, salty water feels foreign and unwelcome against my skin. an intruder that is not welcome in my home, in my abode. my now stringy blonde hair sticks to my face, swinging though when i turn my head to avoid prying eyes. im okay. thats all they need to know. my blue eyes are red rimmed from the oceanic salt. they do well to hide my coming tears. 

side note: she had a narrow bridged, button nose that perks up a little at the end? in this reading she seemed to be about 17-19. faint brown freckles from the sun. her hair was dirty blonde. i couldnt see the rest of her body but she had a well structured face- a good bone structure. it couuuuld be compared to a young megan fox, but not exactly. just a little bit similar. 

i hope this resonates with u!

please leave a review!the rules for readings can be found here!

[alwaysforyouscully]

Ducks are scary, too!

Summary: Part 2 of Fluke men and Foxes, in response to the tag request by @scullyloves-science She wanted the ‘nightmare scene’ but I decided to give y'all - a what happens next scene, when Mulder confronts Scully about her embarrassment.

For @fictober and @today-in-fic

Rating: NC-17 below the cut

AO3: Fluke men and Foxes parts 1 & 2

AO3: alwaysforyouscully

“Mommy” Will cries. “Yes” Mulder says, pumping his fist. Scully ushers William off the chair.  “Baby, we’ll go to the store after while. If you don’t want Daddy’s fluke man then we’ll get something else. Go upstairs, one hour on your iPad and do at least one math quiz, please.”  “Okay but Mommy, no fuke man,” Will calls as he makes the stairs.  “Fluke man,” Mulder calls.  “Shush Mulder, let him go!”  Mulder comes up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist.  “What’s the matter Scully, still embarrassed your son heard your sex voice?”  “Shut up, Mulder.” She says as she tries to pull away.  Mulder holds her tighter and walks them forward a few steps until he has her stomach pressed against the counter.  “It’s natural Scully, part of the human function, you should know that.” 

“Mulder.”  She pushes back but he doesn’t budge. The closeness of his body is unsettling and she feels her pulse quicken.  “Mulder!” she says with more conviction, “In a few years he’ll understand his mom is not scared of foxes. You realize that, right? He is going to be sitting in class with a bunch of adolescent boys and put two and two together that the fact his mom was yelling Fox has nothing to do with the woodland animal but rather his father!”  Her cheeks redden again as she continues to try and break free of Mulder’s embrace.  Mulder isn’t having it and pushes his hips against the small of her back. “Good thing I’m a psychologist.“  The Catholic girl in Scully is mortified at the thought of William telling Grandma Maggie about her ‘fear’ of foxes but the Scully that screams his given name during sex is weakening at this moment. Mulder breathes into her ear, “one hour Scully and you know he has your single-mindedness about a task.”  His tongue trails along her lobe and pulls the flesh across his teeth. Scully shudders and put her hands on the counter for leverage. Mulder continues to rock his hips as he runs his hand from her waist up the side of her breast to her neck. His fingers run along the front if her throat, her skin moist and her jugular jumping under his touch.  “Last night was perfect and beautiful.”  He turns her head to brush his lips against hers.  “The arch of your back,” he nips her skin, “the scent of your arousal,” he trails his tongue along her lips.  Scully is sweaty, well hot and bothered really.  “Mulder,” she pants.  He kisses her and spins her in his arms pressing her back harder into the counter.  “Last night Scully, you were so wet for me, dripping down my chin as I ran my tongue over your perfect pussy.”  Scully pushes against his chest at hearing his words, wanting so much to say they were vulgar but from Mulder’s mouth it’s anything but dirty.  Mulder grabs her hips and lifts her onto the counter, capturing her lips just before she can cry out in surprise. His tongue plays along hers until he is sure she’ll be quite. He pulls her by the hips until her backside is just resting on the edge of the surface.  “Mulder,” she breathes, “we…we can’t do this here.”  Mulder hears her but ignores her plea by grabbing the back of her neck and covering her mouth with his. The kiss is strong and heady and just the kind that causes her to forget that they are in the kitchen about to fuck on the counter with their seven year old son upstairs. The same son that thinks she’s scared of foxes when she is anything but afraid.  Mulder’s hands run from her hips down to her crook of her knees and pulls them up and apart to rest high on his hips. The movement causes the most delicious contact between her sex and his.  He is so hard at this point he is sure the clothes separating them would be no problem for his dick to get through.  Mulder breaks their kiss, “last night Scully, I made love to my wife, the mother of my child but right now I want to fuck the woman of my dreams.”  Scully pushes him back slightly and starts to undo his pants, running her tongue up the salty skin on his neck. She stops to brush his ear with her lips, “Fuck me Mulder, please.”  Her hips steadily rolling against his to gain more contact.  Mulder, suddenly lucid at the sound of his zipper being lowered.  “Wait, baby. God we’re in the kitchen.”  He grabs her ass and hauls her up onto his body, her legs wrapping tighter around his hips on instinct. “The guest bath has a lock,” he breathes.  Within minutes Mulder’s pants are around his ankles and Scully is straddling him on the toilet seat. She raises up and positions him at her entrance.  Sinking down, they moan in unison, “Hell yes!” before she starts a her rhythm.  Their skin is hot and she is dripping wet causing wet slapping sounds as she fucks him.  “Damn Scully, slow down, we have time.” She slows and puts her feet on the floor, raising off his body.  “You’re right Fox, we do have time.”  Scully turns her back to him and backs up to realign their sexes.  Mulder realizes what she is doing just as she sinks back down in him.  “Holy shit Scully,” he grunts as he bottoms out inside her.  In this position Scully can keep her feet on the floor, allowing for more leverage. Mulder pulls her shirt over her head and unhooks her bra as she picks up the pace again. Mulder pinches and rolls her left nipple while his right hand slips between her legs to find her clit.  “Aww, Mulder. God yes!”  Her rhythm is punishing, rising and falling like a metronome. Mulder tries to keep pace but gives up and allows her to drive. He’s close and doubles his efforts on her body.  “Come on baby, that’s it, fuck me harder.”  Scully tilts her hips and Mulder almost loses it.  “Fuck! Fuck! Don’t stop.”  Scully starts to falter and Mulder grabs her hips to keep the pace. Scully reaches down and rubs her clit frantically, her body starting to quake.  Mulder comes with a shout, “Fuck! Ohh! Fuck!” and his arms drop to his sides as Scully slumps with her back against his chest.  “Oh my god, Mulder. That was… that…was.”  “Yes it was Scully. Yes it was. Come on, I bet our hour is almost up.”  They clean up in the bathroom before heading upstairs to check on Will. Mulder stops in their bedroom to change shirts and Scully goes into Will’s.  “How’s it going, baby?”  “It’s okay. I did my math quiz but had a question.”  Scully’s eyes widen, “Oh what was it.”  “I figured it out. I came to ask you but you weren’t downstairs.”  “Oh?”  It’s alright but you know Mommy, when we go to the costume place, I promise no foxes but no ducks either.  “No ducks, Will?”  “Yeah, I don’t want to upset Daddy.”  “You think ducks will upset him.”  “Can you keep a secret?”  “Sure, honey.”  “Well daddy is big and strong and I heard him yelling about ducks, when I came downstairs. Mommy, I think he’s scared of ducks just like you’re scared of foxes.”  Scully smiles and ruffles his hair. “Okay, William. It’ll be our secret. No, ducks.”

[heatherannehogan]

the lesbophobia thing

Lesbophobia is real. It's the prejudice, bigotry, and oppression that exists at the intersection of homophobia and misogyny. Let me say it again: Lesbophobia is real. Hate for lesbians is real.

However, it is essential to acknowledge and understand that the term lesbophobia has been co-opted by a loud and growing contingent of LGBTQ women in communities that share troubling ties and ideology with factions that exist inside the alt-right movement — worse, the dangerous dogma that's attaching itself to word the lesbophobia has found a new home at AfterEllen.

I first encountered the word lesbophobia in response to the post I wrote called Queer Women Take Over The 2016 Emmys. Her Story got a revolutionary nod for Outstanding Short Form. Kate McKinnon took home a trophy for Saturday Night Live. Sarah Paulson won for The People vs. O.J. Simpson. And Jill Soloway scored another victory for Transparent. On social media there was a small outcry that I hadn't chosen the headline "Lesbians Take Over the 2016 Emmys," despite the fact that Kate McKinnon was the only winner who explicitly identifies as a lesbian. (In fact, Sarah Paulson is on record saying, "I refuse to give any kind of label just to satisfy what people need.") The reasons the handful of dissenters gave for my decision to call the Emmys queer was that I am a lesbophobe, an espouser and executor of lesbophobia.

To be very honest with you, I shrugged it off. The most unwinnable battle we have at Autostraddle is labeling LGBTQ people in a way that satisfies everyone. It's such a constant struggle, we laid out an explanation about labels in our official comment policy. Recently on a Pop Culture Fix, I wrote about the new queer characters coming to The Good Wife spin-off. One of them will be a lesbian, according to the show's writers; the other's sexuality has not been labeled. So, I said, "The Good Wife spin-off will prominently feature two lesbian, bisexual, gay, homosexual, or otherwise queer-identified women." Just to cover all my bases because it was almost Christmas and I was tired and I didn't want to have to argue about labels. And yet, the cries of lesbophobia came in again. I got a couple of emails, a dozen or so tweets. Essentially: "Lesbian is not a dirty word! Saying queer is lesbophobic!"

So, on December 26, I tweeted something I think is a true, fair, and accurate analogy:

Yelling "lesbophobia!" when someone says "queer" is like yelling "war on Christmas!" when someone says "happy holidays." Come on, y'all.

A couple of days later, AfterEllen's official Twitter tweeted at me and said: "@theheatherhogan oh, agreed. It's like yelling "biphobia!" and "transphobia!" when someone says lesbian."

To which beloved Autostraddle cartoonist Dickens replied:

"AfterEllen is three weeks shy of transforming their website into an online support group for victims of wyt lesbian genocide. This is honestly the most ridiculously entitled white lesbian coated petrified bullshit I have seen in a long time. And if you don't think white supremacy has reached out its dirty little fingers and touched a few groups of marginalized white folks, well. Keep an eye on their feed here and there. Keep an eye on their former writers. They aren't just trying to Make Lesbianism Great Again… They are asserting their strength. They are erasing the visibility of the defectors. They are sliding their salty little asses into spaces and feeds where they must know they are clearly not wanted or cared for. I was never a fan of AE but this new image they're building for themselves is a little too Nazi-adjacent for my galaxy Blaaaack aaaass."

Dickens was, of course, correct. And her point was proven once again the very next day when an article blasted out to the 125,000 followers of AfterEllen's official, verified Twitter account cried: “Lesbian Spaces Are Still Needed, No Matter What the Queer Movement Says". It suggests that trans women and bisexual women's desire to be included in queer women's spaces is to blame for the decline of lesbian-specific spaces, which lesbians need to stay safe from trans and bisexual women.

That kind of rallying cry feels very much like the "Save Our White Neighborhoods" rallying cry of the alt-right, so I went on a deeper dive to try to find the origins of what I called "the lesbophobia movement" on Twitter. And what I found was more horrifying than I ever imagined.

A few weeks ago AfterEllen — which everyone presumed dead after the company that owns it effectively fired everyone, including longtime editor in chief Trish Bendix — announced it had acquired a new editor named Memoree Joelle. In October, Joelle, tweeted a Change.org petition that she'd signed called Take the L Out of LGBT. The petition is a direct response to a previously failed petition that called for GLAAD, the Human Rights Campaign, HuffPo Voices, The Advocate, etc. to Drop The T from LGBT. The most popular supporter of the petition is a guy you might know called Milo Yiannopoulos. He signed it, tweeted about it, and dedicated 3,000 words to it in a post on Breitbart. Thanks to Milo's urging, Matthew Hopkins, one of the main perpetrators of Gamergate, wrote a post called "Why #GamerGate Should Help the ‘Drop the T’ Campaign" on his personal blog. Hopkins called it "one of the most politically important campaigns of our generation."

In addition to signing and tweeting about the petition, Joelle commented her approval. When former AfterEllen writer Elaine Atwell brought Joelle's support of the petition to light, Joelle's comments disappeared from the petition, and so did Elaine's byline from the hundreds of articles she wrote over the last five years at AfterEllen.

The comments on the Change.org petition mention lesbophobia multiple times and equate it with trans activism, as do the subreddits that discussed Joelle's contribution to the petition. "Part of lesbophobia is hating us for our same-sex attraction, but another very big part of it is hating us for our rejection of men," one user wrote on /r/GenderCritical/. (Trans women are almost always referred to as men on this particular subreddit.) Another Redditor on /r/actuallesbians decried the "male entitlement and lesbophobia" of protesting the petition. "The moment we talk about your rape culture or your male violence we're 'transphobic' or 'biphobic.'" (The men in this comment are actually trans women and "rape culture" refers to the constantly espoused idea in TERF communities that trans women are male predators.) The lesbophobia tag on the blog GenderTrender is a deeply disturbing trip down an anti-trans rabbit hole. The lesbophobia tag on the website 4th Wave Now is horrifying; it equates allowing trans kids/teens to come out and live openly as their true gender with child abuse, ideas that are — again — shared with Breitbart and Milo Yiannopoulos. Reddit and Tumblr are absolutely flush with lesbians using the word "lesbophobia" to back up the ideas presented in these "Drop the T"/"The L Is Leaving" petitions.

These spaces that use the word "lesbophobia" to attack trans and bi women or people who use the word queer share more than than an ideology with Breitbart. You'll find them saying things like "trans women want to colonize the lesbian community." You'll find them using the phrase "SJW" (meaning Social Justice Warrior), a pejorative term coined by the Men's Rights Activist movement. And you'll find a lot of talk about how the correct "biology" is the thing that allows people access to the protections of the majority. And lots and lots and lots and lots of just truly sickening propaganda leveled at trans and bi women. It's very much about creating an in-group and scapegoating an out-group through tried and true tactics that have been — I'm sorry — utilized by Fox News and the alt-right for years.

I wrote about these things on Twitter, and you can read Dickens further unpacking them here and here. (You should read that last thread before you jump in here and call her "my black friend.")

Look, we didn't just wake up one day with an openly racist, openly sexist, openly xenophobic, openly ableist, openly anti-semitic president in the White House, appointing the leader of the most dangerous white supremacist website in history to his top advisor position. We watched blatant and unabashed white supremacist language and ideas slowly take over the movement from the inside. We watched the most powerful scapegoat the most vulnerable. We watched Fox News make heroes out of the white men who murdered unarmed black children and terrify people with their whole War on Christmas bullshit and equate all Muslims with terrorists. A Nazi didn't walk into the West Wing and have a seat; the slow creep of white supremacy laid the path for him.

Vox did a fascinating interview with former conservative talk show host Charlie Sykes earlier this year. He quit over Trump. But the whole interview is him agonizing about how, to him, the GOP had always been about fiscal conservatism and states rights and he believed in that ideological purity so deeply that he fooled himself into believing that's what the GOP was about to everybody, despite the fact that he saw the white supremacy and fascism slowly gaining power and momentum until it took over.

To realize, first of all, that you’re part of a movement that was not the movement you thought it was, that you’re aligned with people that you didn’t really understand you’re aligned with, and to realize that everything that you thought about the conservative intellectual infrastructure was really piecrust thin. You thought you had this big principled movement and then suddenly along comes Donald Trump and you realize that it was just was just the pastry on top. So I think disorienting is a great term. Disillusioning is not too strong either.

To me, what we're talking about with lesbophobia is a similar thing. Is lesbophobia a term some lesbians have rallied around to protest the prejudice and bigotry that exist at the intersection of homophobia and misogyny? Yes, of course. Absolutely. HOWEVER. I had to go searching for people using the word lesbophobia like that because my entire experience with the way the word kept popping up in my timeline and in my comments and in the comments sections of other websites was to decry the use of the word queer and to espouse anti-trans and anti-bi ideology. And that includes every single person who landed in my mentions on Twitter when I started talking about this. I did not click on a single profile without finding anti-trans, anti-bi language; or ask a single person if they believe trans women are women and have them say yes.

If you are a woman who is using the word lesbophobia to NOT do those things, and you're more angry at me for pointing out that it's happening than you are at anti-trans/anti-bi people who have hijacked its meaning, I ... I truly don't understand. What's happening at AfterEllen is terrifying me. Maybe the website is technically dead, but it still has clout and power and it's using it to push some really dangerous ideas about lesbian exclusivity, and those ideas are shared by a very loud group of people who use the word "lesbophobia" on their blogs, social media, Reddit, etc. to vilify the people (like me) who stand against them.

I don't want to cause anyone pain. I don't want to make anyone feel unsafe or unloved or unaccepted. I DO NOT BELIEVE LESBIANS ARE NAZIS. I AM A LESBIAN. If you truly think that's what I was saying when I unpacked these ideas on Twitter, I'm sorry. It was not my intention.

I do think, however, that it's imperative for you to open your eyes to how the word lesbophobia is being used to persecute and oppress trans and bi women in very vocal and influential spaces that have direct ties in ideology and language with the alt-right.