#and it is fine if people say this to criticize the way breasts are overly sexualized and fetishized or what have you...

[uncanny-tranny]

The whole "breasts shouldn't be politicized because the primary purpose of breasts is to feed babies!" can be a fine jumping-off point, but I really wish people thought deeper than that when we talk about the ways in which bodies are politicized and restricted.

Like, why's it that when we talk about breasts, they must have some Higher Purpose? It's true that breasts aren't inherently sexual, but they aren't valuable solely because they can potentially feed a baby. A human body doesn't have to serve a Higher Purpose in order for it to not be legislated against or policed, and I just wish people would remember it isn't always about babies, about other people, about anything else other than the people who have that body.

[celticcrossanon]

CC Critical thinking is required and then make own conclusion based on Liverpool bump including several photos from other events days or weeks apart or mere hour apart- yes baby shifts but if the bump extends out and passes boobs then later the bump deflates so boobs extend passed the bump and is significantly smaller therein lies a problem. Unless tw is a shape shifting alien that sort of anatomical change does not exist imo. By 3rd trimester often bump becomes so large women strain on bending down to reach and tie shoes when in a sitting position and sometimes not able to reach at all- it remains as such until birth the bump doesn't get smaller. Bump drops some prior to birth-  but a bump is not a yo-yo going up and up and down or size from basketball to a cantaloupe in appearance or does the space from below breasts have @ 2-3 inches before bump forms and extends only to see xxx amount of time later space is visibly @ 6 or more inches between breasts and bump. Who knows maybe she was padding for extra attention as per usual- just look at all the coat flicking to pull back and be seen in photos. Was she overcompensating to cover for surrogate or just for obsessive need to be visibly the center of attention. Maybe she doesn't realize she is not the first flower to carry a baby through to birth. She believes she is above others and not to be questioned. Either way it appears to be sketchy overly dramatic behavior from a desperate to be seen person who obsesses on image and be the news.

*****

Hi Nonny,

The being able to squat with her knees together in high heels was a huge tell for me that Harry's wife was never pregnant. That and the deflating-expanding belly were the two big tells for me, plus the lack of vascularity that all pregnant women get (the slight softness/puffiness due to the increased blood supply), the ankles that never swelled, the wrong shape of the moonbump (too high up the body, square at one time and pointy another time) - all those things taken together say never pregnant to me.

I would like to think that the moonbump and coat flicking was just from a desire for attention, but unfortunately her actions have serious repercussions. Pretending to be pregnant when she wasn't means that she interfered with the line of succession, as only babies carried and birthed by the mother are eligible for the line of succession, and by law the penalty for Harry going along with her deception is for Harry to be removed from the line of succession. This is one reason I want the surrogacy news to come out, as it solves the problem of Harry very neatly.

People have differing beliefs on this topic and I am fine with that. I am not trying to tell anyone what to believe.

Meghan certainly behaved as if she was the first woman to ever be pregnant, didn't she?

[poisxnyouth]

teacher dave chapter 5 (d.d)

A/N: well...........here we are........aren’t we? it’s been a while (over a year...). to all of y’all who have been in my inbox begging for this for so long - this is for u <3 -hailey

WC: 3.1K

“Shut up,” David whispers harshly as you hike up your skirt, propping yourself against a shelf in his storage room. The sound of his fingers tugging down the zipper of his black jeans seems too loud, juxtaposed with the noises of your breathing. You don’t pay attention, hands on the back of his neck, as he tears open a condom and rolls it on, stuffing the wrapper in the breast pocket of his white dress shirt. He spreads your legs and supports your weight against the shelf, routinely placing a hand over your mouth as he slips it in slowly.

 David feels you breathe heavier into his hand, eyes boring into yours, before he pulls it away and drops his head to your shoulder, hips moving steadily. He goes carefully, both hands gripping your hips tightly and holding you up as he fucks into you, the only noise being the conglomeration of your quiet breathing. On a particularly harder movement, you gasp as he hits deeper and the shelf shoves against the wall loudly, your legs wrapping around his waist. He makes a lower noise in the back of his throat before you speak in a whisper, “Is Miss Sh-”

 “Be quiet,” he cuts you off, shaking his head, “I really don’t want to think about her right now.” 

 You nod as David’s grip readjusts, pushing your thighs up and pinning you to the shelving, leaning up and attaching your mouths. The strip of wood is pressing perpendicularly into your spine and you can already feel the bruises David’s pressure is going to leave, his teeth gently clashing with yours as he continues his movements. 

 It only takes a small whimper into his mouth for him to pull away and put his hand over your lips once more, eyes scanning your face deliberately. He whispers quietly, voice gruff, “You like this?”

 You nod against his grasp, a silent urgence for him to speak more, “Get yourself off. I would do it, but I’ve got my hands full.” 

 You obey, fingers running from the nape of his neck down his shoulders and his front, moving to touch yourself. David’s gaze drops between you as your free hand tangles strands of his hair between your fingers, his breathing heavy, “Faster, honey. We gotta hurry this shit up. It’s taking too long.” 

 His hips speed up, too, hitting deeper, and you feel his fingertips press harder into your skin as you get closer. David shuts himself up as he cums by sinking his teeth into your shoulder, simultaneously tugging each other closer. He slinks away quietly moments after, removing the condom and tying it as you move to slip the sleeves of your blouse back over your arms and adjust your underwear. He does the same, rebuttoning and tucking his dress shirt, quickly tying his tie into a Pratt knot. David’s rebuckling his belt as he watches you peek under the fabric to glance at the marks on your shoulder, quietly speaking, “Sorry, baby. It’s habit now.”

 The new outlines of his teeth on your shoulder aren't the only ones, accompanied by deep violet bruises embossed into your skin from previous storage room sessions. He does it to keep himself quiet, and they always bruise deeply, but it catches his eye during class when he spots you subconsciously pushing at them. David’s regret is only a guise.

 He takes a step forward and kisses you deeply, hands on your waist and tugging your body closer to his. You feel both of his palms slide down to the width of your hips and down to your ass, gripping tightly.

 “God damn it,” David gripes as you run your hands down his front, stopping to fiddle with the flap of his belt, “You’re insatiable, you know that?”

 “So are you. We don’t have time,” you say in a whisper, fingers still on his belt. His semi-hard dick nudges your thigh slightly, and you take it upon yourself to begin unbuckling him.

 “Stop it, sweetheart,” David’s hand leaves you to push away your touches, “I want you to do something for me.” 

 You tilt your head, placing your hands on his chest and gazing at him in a way which urges him to continue, “Go sign yourself out, drive to my place, go in, and wait for me until I get home.” 

 “It’s twelve, I’ll be waiting for-”

 “Do it,” he says again, pressing kisses down the column of your throat, “I’ll give you the key. I need to fuck the life out of you, not this piddly shit. I’m tired of it.” 

 You look at him doubtfully before agreeing, watching him pull his keys from the front pocket of his jeans and remove his house key from the ring, placing it in the palm of your hand. David continues speaking, “No clothes when I walk in, please.” 

 “Dinner tonight?” you ask him, moving to straighten his tie, “After?”

 David shakes his head and presses a kiss to your cheek, voice dropping, “I’m not your boyfriend.”

 “You should be,” you reply quickly, eyes rolling, “It’s not like we’re fucking other people.” 

 He clears his throat and steps away, realizing he missed a button on his shirt and correcting his mistake, “Speak for yourself.”

 “Excuse me?” you blink, instant attitude as your eyebrows scrunch together, “Then what the fuck, Dave?”

 “It’s so easy to get a rise out of you,” he says easily, hands coming to your waist, faces close, “Yes, we can have dinner. You know that you can stay as long as you want to.”

 “You’re such an asshole,” you gripe, hitting at his chest, “I was literally like, ‘Oh, so that’s why he doesn’t want to be a thing-’”

 “I don’t wanna talk about this right now,” David urges, shaking his head, “Later. You know the drill.”

 He kisses you quickly before abandoning the room, momentarily leaving you to your own devices as he turns lights on in his classroom, hearing him piddle around aimlessly. David, without fail, forces you to toss the remaining condom - every time. This means you have to grossly carry it around with you and discreetly find a way to throw it out; usually in the metal disposal box of a bathroom stall on campus. Regardless, it’s disgusting, and he never understands why it’s a bone of contention. 

 “Honestly, Y/N,” David shrugs as you time your way out of his storage room, waiting a few minutes to exit after him, “Just throw it out of the window when you leave. It’s not a big deal.”

 “It’s gross!”

 “Whatever,” he rolls his eyes, going through papers on his desk, “Your paper sucks.”

 David stuffs your paper into your hands, the number sixty-five scribbled and circled at the top of the page, “Do it over and do better. Actually, do it while you’re waiting for me. I want it done when I get there.”

 “Are you kidding me?” you protest, annoyed with his presence, “Why are you being such a dick?”

 He tuts and shrugs his shoulders, “I literally told you how to get an A and you didn’t listen to me. It’s up to you, now.”

 “How am I fucking you and I still get this?” you drop your voice, “Is that really how this works?”

 David steps towards you, hands stuffed into his pockets, “I don’t give a fuck how good you suck my cock. Bad work is bad work. Get over yourself. Fucking doesn’t give you an A.”

 “I suggest,” he continues, “You leave, and work on that now. You have a lot to fix.” 

 You huff, sighing deeply as you stuff it into your bag, “I hate you so much.”

 “The horrible price I pay as your teacher,” David quips sarcastically, leaning against his desk, “Cry me a river, sweetheart.” 

 “I swear, sometimes you do it on purpose,” he rolls his eyes and shakes his head, “You give me shitty work just so I pay more attention to you.”

 “Asshole,” you retort, “Maybe it’s just bad work.” 

 “Nah,” he tuts, fingers running through his hair, “You know what kind of shit I like to see from you. Teacher’s pet.”

 David glances at his watch and then you, sighing deeply, “You should leave. The bell rings in . five, and I have copies to make. I’ll see you later. Text me if you need anything.”

 “Fine,” you say, still annoyed with him, “Computer?”

 “Yeah, whatever,” he shrugs at your question of using his personal computer, standing up straight from his position against his desk, looking around before pressing a kiss to your lips. You take the hint and bid him goodbye, clueless as to why you’re giving him the pleasure of knowing you’ll oblige him for whatever he asks of you. 

 ++

Every single margin of your paper has arrows and his scribbled, sloppy handwriting, describing your mistakes in harsh detail; one of them specifically reads, “Am I really this bad of a teacher?” David’s notes all come across sarcastic and overly critical of your writing, explanations, and citations.

 “If we ever get into an argument, it’s a guaranteed win for me. Your reasonings suck.”

 “This is exactly what I told you to not,” he underlines five times, “do. So why did you do it???”

 “I hate that I’m going to have to read this twice in my life. Do better.” 

 “Jesus! NO.”

 Even his annotations piss you off, and you’re annoyed as you sit in front of his computer, rewriting it to his specific taste. You finish rewriting the paper after three hours and raiding his fridge for a few beers in the middle of the day, and he’s completely unsurprised to see the pile in the trash when he walks through the door. 

 “I should’ve known you’d steal my shit,” he gripes, not actually caring as he sets his things down, unbuttoning his collar and making his way over to you. You’re still in front of his computer, parked in his chair, and David presses a kiss to your forehead, leaning down to read what you’ve written. 

 He only skims through a couple of lines before nodding his head and standing up straight, “Already better. Print it, I’ll grade it later. Why are your clothes on?” 

 David tugs at the sleeve of your blouse as he takes a swig of your drink, watching as you stand and begin to pull off your clothes. He makes a common admission before you lean up to kiss him, “I’ve been thinking about this ever since you left. Thought about you snooping through my stuff and my dick got hard.” 

 “I didn’t snoop,” you reassure as he shamelessly drags your hips closer to his, “But maybe I should have? What’s there to find?”

 “Guess you’ll find out sometime,” David shrugs, teasing as he attaches your mouths and places the Corona back down, hand on your ass as you tug at his tie. You blindly untie it, dropping it to the floor and focusing your fingers on the buttons. His free hand works on his belt, both of you breathing heavily into the kisses while he gently pushes you towards his bed. 

 It’s a familiar stumble as he sightlessly steps out of his shoes and shrugs off his dress shirt, a too formal garment for his profession, jeans pooling around his ankles. His fingers pull your underwear down your legs and unclasp your bra, lips leaving yours and quickly placing themselves on your skin. The saliva on your skin is visible, the light hitting it, as you lie on his bed and he kisses downwards, eyes fluttering closed as he settles between your legs. 

 The fact that you have been fucking your teacher for weeks now, no matter how much you do so, never becomes routine. Every time it happens, you’re just as shocked as the first time, and you relish in the noise he makes as he tastes you and holds your thighs apart, pressed against the side of the bed. David watches your face like a hawk as he goes down on you, mentally noting every indication of enjoyment you supply him with. 

 You whine his name and tug on his hair as he leaves a painful hickey on the sensitive skin in the uppermost of your inner thigh. He pulls away and glances down at his work, bringing up his fingers to rub over it and press into it, watching as you gasp in momentary pain. 

 He rolls his eyes, murmuring under his breath, “You’re the one who likes being all marked up.”

 David digs through his bedside table for a condom before you pluck it from him and toss it, tugging him closer, “Come on. Please? I’m on-”

 “The shot. Yeah, I fucking know,” he rolls his eyes again, “You try this shit almost every time.”

 “Daviiiid,” you say, pushing slightly at the waistband of his briefs, “It sucks with one.”

 “Fine, just this once, but I’m pulling out,” Dave gives in, “You’re my student. No babies.”

 “No babies,” you repeat, nodding and kissing him again, palming him gently before tugging him out. He pushes the undergarment down his legs and settles between you again, taking his time and watching your face.

 “Hit it from the back,” you suggest, attempting to move over.

 “No,” David stops you, holding you down, “Here.”

 You easily give in and you feel him push into you as one of his hands wraps around the circumference of your neck. The sight of your cheeks going a reddish pink, eyes rolling back and mouth dropping open, is enough jerk off material - should he ever need it - to last him for the rest of his life. 

 “Fuck yes,” he says at the sensation of being bare, head dropping as he groans slightly, “So much better.”

 David watches your face become redder before he removes his touch, a white handprint visible from his pressure. He holds himself up above you as he closes his eyes, hips moving steadily. He gives into you, pulling out and rolling you over onto your stomach. You instinctively arch your back, one of his hands coming to your shoulder for leverage as he slowly slips himself inside, grunting deeply and twisting his face up as he bottoms out.

 A higher pitched whine emerges from your throat, your moans mixing with his as he fucks into you. He roughly pulls your body by your shoulder to meet him in the middle, grip tight, and he doesn’t stop you when you begin shamelessly touching yourself. You feel David kiss sloppily down your spine, teeth grazing gently. 

 He wishes he could see your face when he stops his movements and reaches around to press against your lower abdomen, feeling you slacken and grip at his forearm, suddenly a million times noisier than before. Combined with your own caresses, you nearly instantly cum at the combination of sensations. 

 David follows you shortly afterwards, hastily remembering to pull out and jerk himself off, cum splattering across your lower back. He feels the sweat trickle down his back as he recovers, panting and breathing heavily as he blinks himself back to reality. He reaches for his shirt on the floor, carelessly wiping you clean and tossing it back onto the carpet. Dave doesn’t pay attention as he tugs his underwear back on and you climb under his covers, running his fingers through his hair.

 “Shit,” he groans, getting in next to you, “I kinda pulled out...a little late.”

 “Jesus, you suck,” you sigh, pressing your thighs together and scooting closer to him, head on his chest.

 “No babies, though,” David says, holding his pinky up, “Right?”

 “No babies,” you repeat, half-heartedly pinky promising with him, “Can you grade my paper?”

 “I just came,” he reasons, shaking his head, “Give me a fucking sec.”

 “I love my job,” David begins randomly, eyes closed again, “But God, I miss blunts.” 

 “You smoke?”

 “Not anymore,” he says sternly, slapping at your arm slightly, “Don’t try to talk me into it. They test us.” 

 “I was just asking,” you roll your eyes at his accusatory tone, changing the subject, “You should be my boyfriend.”

 David opens his eyes lazily, glancing down at you, “You’re horrible at pillow talk, you know that?” 

 “You deflect every time I bring it up,” you comment quietly, “Just say no already.”

 He sighs and you feel the band of his watch land on your waist as he throws his hand over your torso, fingers rubbing delicately at the skin as he stares at the ceiling, “It’s not a no.”

 “But it’s not a yes either,” you reply, listening to his heartbeat beneath your ear, “Which is a maybe, which is actually worse than a no.” 

 “You’re too cynical,” David shrugs and shakes his head, one hand smoothing over your hair, “It’s not that deep, sweetheart. I’m still your teacher. I know that you know why I have reservations, and you know what it would mean if we did. I’m not sure I want that for you.”

 “For me?” you reply, turning to look at him, almost offended, “What would be at stake?”

 “Not dating your teacher?” he responds, tone becoming ruder, “If this became anything more, I’d feel like I’m taking something away from you. You still have a few months left before you’re done. You shouldn’t be thinking about me.” 

 You scoff ignorantly, unmoving, “So, you wouldn’t even try it?”

 “Sure, I’d try it,” David rushes out, “But, honey…” 

 He sighs again stressedly, swallowing, “You’re not listening to me. It’s not about you; this would be short-lived at its best and you know it. It’s not like I’m going to be leaving here, and you are.”

 You both go quiet in each other’s embrace and David makes a soft groan before getting up, walking over and grabbing your paper from his printer. You watch him from his bed as he tears the cap off of his red pen with his teeth and leans against his desk in his underwear, spitting the cap out and reading your essay quietly. His eyebrows remain scrunched together as he grades it, scribbling and writing sporadically, the noise of the pen against the paper noisy in the silence. 

 You watch him chew on his lips as he flips through the pages and rereads paragraphs, quickly scratching a grade at the top of your first page. David tosses your work on the bed before speaking, “Better. See what happens when you listen to me? I’m showering, if you’re coming.” 

 It’s a one hundred, accompanied by a messy, scribbled heart.

[smurphyse]

Hi! If you're still accepting Good Omens prompts, what about something with Ineffable Wives where Az's self-conscious about her body and Crowley's there to show her how much she loves it (sfw or nsfw up to you). Or the other way around, Az being abs fine with her body and Crowley being like "damn, she's pretty!" I love your fic on AO3 you write so beautifully!

Soft & Beautiful by dustylangdon on my AO3 (it would mean a lot if people could kudos and comment there too!)

Trigger Warnings: Smut, NSFW, Body Issues

Tags: Smut, NSFW, body worship? Kinda, Mirror Sex? Kinda

Hope you like it, Nonnie!!

It’s going to be a good night. Date night! It was Crowley’s favorite night of the week. Surely, they could make date night every night of the week, though according to Aziraphale it would be “overly indulgent and gluttonous.” A bit ironic, coming from her, but whatever, Crowley could pack a week of dates into one single Thursday. She loved the opportunity to dream up all those things for them to do anyways.

As per usual, Crowley had a box of chocolates in her right hand, and a bouquet of lilies in her left, both done up with red and black bows. Crowley knew Aziraphale wouldn’t mind if the sweets and flowers were absent each week, but she loved to see her wife’s face lit up as she unwrapped the bows; it sent her heart into absolute overdrive.

She had a delicious night planned; some sushi at Az’s favorite place, then the Botanical Gardens (a bit of hanky panky on the roof under the stars), then some cheesecake for dessert (which they’d saved from a lunch date yesterday), and Aziraphale for second dessert. A Perfect Night. She was practically skipping as she made her way to the bookshop, weaving in and out of the busy SoHo foot traffic, ignoring the many men and women staring at her.

If you asked Crowley how she thought she looked tonight, she would smile devilishly and tell you, “Absolutely ravishing, darling,” and she would be correct. Her long black skirt clung to her hips and fanned out fabulously as she rounded corners, burnt-orange crop top clinging in the places Aziraphale liked best. The way her Creepers sounded clomping along the sidewalk made her feel powerful and larger than life. It was a bit chilly for October, but she could always miracle up a cardigan if she got cold. She’d probably snuggle closer to Aziraphale instead of doing that, though, it seemed much more fun.

She pushed open the door to the shop with her hip, watching the flowers in her hand closely, willing them to stay perfect or Aziraphale. Your reward is seeing that smile on her face… and maybe I won’t toss you down the garbage disposal.

“Angel!” she called, looking through the stacks for Az. She rounded three or four bookcases before deciding she wasn’t down in the shop, “I brought chocolates!”

Receiving no response, Crowley made her way up the spiral staircase, wincing with anxiety each time it groaned under her weight. She supposed Aziraphale kept it together with pure will as well, the same way Crowley did gas in the Bentley.

She poked her head through the bathroom door, no Aziraphale. She looked through the library Aziraphale had upstairs (obnoxious, she knows, but where else would she keep her personal books?), no Aziraphale. She was about to bypass the bedroom completely and go back downstairs when she heard a groan coming from inside.

She rounded the corner quickly, thinking her angel could be injured, or worse, only to find Aziraphale inside. She stood in front of her dressing mirror, her soft curves clad only in underwear. The light blue lace wrapped itself softly around her hips and over her breasts, the delicate stitching standing brightly against her pale skin. Her usual light makeup was already applied, her white curls hung over her shoulders, the top half done up in a small bun (just as Crowley taught her how to do).

“Angel,” Crowley swallowed thickly, giving Az a megawatt smile when she turned to face her. She did not return Crowley’s smile, wringing her hands looking dejected.

“Hello, dear.” She turned back to the mirror, her eyes running down the length of her body critically, teeth buried deep in her bottom lip, worry etched across her soft and delicate features.

“I brought chocolates,” Crowley sing-songed, shaking the box for emphasis. Aziraphale just looked at her through her mirrored reflection, that same upset look flashed over her face once more. “You’re not ready yet, not that I mind. I love the underwear.” She gestured at Aziraphale’s breasts in the reflection, wiggling her fingers gaily. She dropped her hands when Aziraphale still didn’t smile, “What’s wrong, angel?”

Crowley set the box and flowers down on a nearby table, then walked up behind Aziraphale, wrapping her hands around her waist and placing a sweet kiss on her neck. Their eyes met in the mirror again, and Az gave her a small smile.

Crowley kissed her shoulder, trailing damp kisses up the side of her neck until she reached the back of her ear. “You don’t like chocolate anymore?” Crowley gave her hips a squeeze, expecting Aziraphale to giggle and lean further into her like she usually did, but she wriggled out of Crowley’s grasp instead.

“I hate it when you do that,” she groaned, her face flush with new anger as she pushed her wife away. Her lip trembled slightly, and she turned back to face the mirror again, hands coming to rest against her stomach. She trailed them slowly over her waist and then over her love handles, coming to a stop above her thigh. She sighed as she looked at herself, the angry blush across her cheeks turning dark red as Crowley’s heart broke apart in her chest.

“Angel,” Crowley whispered, hurt. She had been excited for tonight, and figured Aziraphale would be too, not upset about something like this, something that didn’t matter. “Talk to me.”

She wanted to reach out and grab Aziraphale, to hold her close and brush her fingers through her hair as she listened to her, but she kept her distance, waiting for her angel to come to her. She watched her face in the mirror, waiting for Aziraphale to smile at her like usual, but she rounded on her instead, hands on her hips as she faced her wife.

“Do you think I’m fat?”

Crowley’s eyes widened in shock, “What’s it matter that you’re fat?”

“So you do think I am fat?”

“Doesn’t matter what I think, angel, matters what you think. I like how you look no matter what. What’s it matter that you’re a big girl?”

She looked at Crowley, guilt flushing over her features over her outburst. She tucked a stray curl behind her hair, eyes moving to the floor. “Gabriel says I’m soft.”

“Well, fuck Gabriel.” Pause to backtrack, “Don’t, actually, fuck me instead,” Crowley shouts, shaking her head, “Who gives a shit about him or his opinions?”

“Well, you both agree that I’m fat.” Her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes wide as she looked at Crowley. God, she could be so dramatic.

“Fat, skinny, you’re my angel. I love you the way you are,” Crowley countered, crossing her own arms, daring defiance.

“You mean you love me in spite of how I look.”

“Mmm, not what I said. Stop being stupid.” Aziraphale’s mouth flew open in outrage, but Crowley cut her off with a wave of her hand, “You’re soft, so what? You’re fat, so what? Angel, I

love soft Aziraphale. I love fat Aziraphale. You know why?”

“Why?”

“Because I love Aziraphale. I love you, I love your hair, I love your books, I love you.” Crowley stepped forward until she was just in front of Aziraphale. “Plus, you’re so soft to touch, angel.”

Crowley reaches out a hand, lightly trailing a finger up her thigh, smiling softly as Aziraphale shivers. Az’s arms uncross, falling to her sides as she leaned into Crowley’s welcoming touch. Her wife’s fingers began rubbing light circles into her thigh as she breathed in her ear.

“Like a pillow, and the sounds you make when I touch you are so lovely.” Aziraphale felt Crowley’s smile against her cheek as she gasped at Crowley’s words. Crowley’s long, slender fingers smoothed a path up Aziraphale’s chest and neck, followed by Crowley’s warm kisses.

“Th-that’s not my poi-point, Crowley,” she stuttered, her eyes squeezing shut as she tried to keep her head straight. Her mind was getting hazy the more Crowley’s hands wandered around her waist and into the band of her underwear.

“What is your point, then?” Crowley murmured against Az’s neck as she sucked dark marks along the hollow of her throat. One of her hands reached down to rub Aziraphale through her lace -originally a surprise for her wife before she started looking too long in the mirror.

“I don’t like the way I look sometimes,” she groaned in frustration, her mind flashing once more the the way her love handles hung over her hips, the stretch marks along her belly and breasts clawing through her desire-fueled haze.

Aziraphale turned away from Crowley again to look in the mirror, and Crowley laced her hands around Az’s waist again anyway, looking at her body with love and reverie.

Crowley frowned as she saw Aziraphale’s look of shame, resting her head on her wife’s shoulder. Suddenly, she flashes Aziraphale a damnable smile full of lust and excitement, “Can I show you my favorite look on you?”

Aziraphale glowers at her, knowing her scheming face all too well. Crowley moves her head from her shoulder and kisses it. Her hands begin to wander once more, squeezing and grazing sensitive spots, one of them coming to a rest underneath her bra clasp, the other resting once more in her waistband.

“I, uh, I suppose,” Aziraphale breathes, her eyes fluttering shut as Crowley’s hand dips under her panties, middle finger stroking her lightly as she feels wetness growing. Crowley smiles against her shoulder as she applies more pressure, only slightly, just enough to dampen her fingertip as Aziraphale leans into her embrace.

Crowley kisses her shoulder again, nipping marks along her neck. Her tongue swiped after each bruise, easing some of the pain as Aziraphale began to squirm beneath Crowley’s touch. She wanted to squeeze her thighs together, to get some friction, but her standing position made it nearly impossible.

Without warning, Crowley’s other hand snaps the clasp of Az’s bra open, and she gasped loudly in shock, her eyes flying open to meet Crowley’s yellow ones. Crowley winked at her, chuckling against her wife’s shoulder as she slid the bra off and dropped it to the floor.

“I thought you were showing me your favorite outfit,” she growls, her brain upsettingly clear, the wonderful haze she had been in shattered, in a single instant.

“Oh, no, darling.” Crowley bites her shoulder softly, then kisses it away, “I’m going to show you my favorite look on you… my favorite face you make, my favorite view…” She looks back to the mirror lecherously, smiling as she hooks a finger around Az’s waistband, pulling her underwear down as she begins to protest.

“Oh, no no no, the bed is right over there! Less than five feet!” Az cries, stuttering protests as Crowley kneels to pull her underwear the rest of the way off.

“Do you trust me?” Crowley asks, nudging the panties over still complying Aziraphale’s feet. She kisses the inside of her knee, nuzzles her thigh as she looks up at the angel. Her big yellow eyes pleading with Aziraphale with unabashed love and faith, asking for the same in return.

“Of course I do,” she relents, watching nervously as Crowley moves to lean the dressing mirror down, so that it’s focus is Crowley on her knees.

Crowley moves back between Aziraphale’s legs, still on her knees, and kisses her way up her thighs, alternating little nips and licks along each of them as she nudges them apart with her hands. She looks up at Aziraphale before she continues, looking for permission. Aziraphale, teeth sunk deep into her bottom lip, nods, earning a hungry smile from the demon.

Aziraphale gasps loudly as Crowley leans forward and greedily delves her tongue into her, her hands flying to the ginger’s poofy curls. Crowley groans deeply as she tugs on her hair, the feeling of it vibrating through Az as she uses Crowley to hold herself up.

The warmth building in her blossoms white hot as Crowley’s tongue flicks and soothes along her clit, and a sob of content escapes her as Crowley begins to push two fingers in her, giving her no time to adjust to their pressure before she starts to pump them quickly.

“C-Crowley,” she whined. Her knees were beginning to tremble beneath her, and she was grateful that Crowley didn’t seem to mind her fisting her hair so tightly. It was the only thing holding her up as she shook and rocked against her fingers and tongue.

Crowley watched her hungrily as she consumed her, tongue hot and wet and pushing against her so quick and pointedly she felt tears begin to spring in her eyes as she neared her climax.

“Cro-,” Her wife’s fingers scissored and bent inside Aziraphale, brushing her and filling her with such pressure and ecstasy that she couldn’t even warn Crowley as she came, shaking and trembling as she cried out, clenching and squeezing her thighs as Crowley worked her over.

When she finished, Crowley used her free hand to ease Aziraphale’s fingers from her hair, wincing as her wedding ring snagged a stray hair. She sat back on the floor, leaning against the bedframe and spreading her legs apart, patting the insides of her thighs as she beckoned Aziraphale.

“Sit,” she commands, smiling and taking Aziraphale’s hand to help her down, legs still trembling. Crowley kissed her temple as she settled between her legs, pulling her close against her chest and smiling. The moment Aziraphale settled into her, Crowley’s hands began to wander again, one moving to cup her below, still shaking with sensitivity, the other brushing circles along her stomach.

“Now,” she whispers, her voice dripping like honey with lust and desire, “look at yourself. This is the view I get to see every time I go down on you. Isn’t it wonderful?”

Aziraphale followed her gaze to the mirror. From this angle, they both could see everything, and her heart skipped in her chest, fighting to break it’s way out and run down the stairs, out the bookshop, and away from her forever.

“I- I don’t know, Crowley,” she whispered. The light from the street poured through the half-shuttered blinds, blanketing the two of them in dusted lamplight. Their tangled bodies -Crowley’s still upsettingly clothed- pink and heaving as Crowley smiled at her, all of her.  She saw the way it highlighted every curve, every drop, every place that rolled together when she sat or stretched. She saw every pink line and dimple, every inch of cellulite put on full display and still Crowley looked. She didn’t look past, or ignore, she saw every roll, lump, dimple, and she smiled at all of it.

“It is.” she dips her fingers in, brushing the clit on her way out. Az gasps quietly at the touch. Crowley begins kissing behind her ear, her other hand reaching up to lightly rub her nipple. Az leans into her touch now as Crowley works her over, fingers setting another steady pace of rocking, slipping around her with ease, her love welcome and warm against the cool floor.

“You’re soft like velvet, and I can’t get enough of you. I love feeling your skin, love feeling you pressed against me. It’s intoxicating, the smell of vanilla and musk… I could spend all day underneath you, breathing in that smell, whether it be you riding my face… or napping, I’ll do it over and over again.”

Az’s eyes shut tightly as she comes, Crowley telling her how beautiful she is until she finishes, shuddering and moaning softly as Crowley only slows her torturous rubbing on Az’s clit slightly. The heat in her cheeks was unbearable, and she could feel Crowley sweating behind her, her shoulder damp as Aziraphale rolled her head back onto it.

“Look how cute you are,” Crowley whispers, her finger moving so slightly, Az’s legs twitching in sensitivity. Crowley kisses her again, and Az shivers as Crowley’s pace begins to quicken again. “Especially like this… cheeks red, eyes blown with lust, legs apart just for me. An absolute moaning mess as you quiver under my touch. It’s breathtaking.”

Crowley moves one of her hands to hold Az’s hips down, squeezing one of her love handle softly. Az cringes, but Crowley holds her still, her fingers unrelenting as Aziraphale tries to hold onto any piece of sanity still bouncing around in her brain.

“You know how I feel about that…”

“You’re soft and beautiful, angel.” her hand squeezes again, moving across Az’s stomach and thighs, putting pressure, Crowley’s other hand slowing on her clit slow in antagonization. “Trust me and look at how soft and beautiful you are.”

“Crowley, please…” Aziraphale panted, squeezing her legs together tightly, groaning at the loss of pace. She ached for friction, for another release, just one more.

“You want something, darling?”

“Please make me come again,” she begged, on of her hands snaking up behind her to grip Crowley’s hair tightly, a shock rolling through her as Crowley groaned in her ear, “Please!”

“You have to say it, and I will. I might even make you come a fourth time.” The thought made her head swim, and she moaned in frustration as she tried to form words.

Az nuzzles her face into Crowley’s neck, her legs tightening again around Crowley’s softly moving hand, a pathetic, carnal attempt to finish what had been started. “Say it, darling. ‘I’m soft and I’m beautiful,’ say it and I’ll make you come.”

When Az doesn’t answer, she lightly grabs her chin and makes her look toward the mirror. “I love looking at you like this, darling. You’re absolutely divine. The way you bite your lip is so god damned sexy it makes me want to come just from giving you pleasure.” Az moans loudly at the thought, feeling Crowley grind against her back, wetness pooling underneath her skirts. “Please let me hear you.”

Unsure, her voice a bit quiet, “I’m sssoft,” she whispers mouth agape as Crowley picks up her pace, “and beautiful.”

A smile spreads across her face as Crowley’s hand adds more pressure, her stomach turning in anticipation. Crowley groaned in her ear as she wriggled in her grasp, hooking her ankles around Aziraphale’s to stop her moving as much.

“I’m soft and beautiful,” she groaned, louder this time, living for the attention and joy she felt as she watched herself writhe and be held open by her wife, Crowley’s look of pure bliss shook her to her core. She believed it, she knew.

“Again,”

“I’m soft and beautiful,” she moaned as Crowley’s eyes caught hers in the mirror. She smiled wolfishly at her, a curl stuck to her forehead with sweat as she whispered ‘again, again, again,’ in Aziraphale’s ear. Then, she caught her own eyes in the mirror and smiled as she declared loudly, “I’m soft and beautiful,”

“Good girl, angel, again,” Crowley grinds against Az’s back for any friction or relief, her knees tightening around Aziraphale as she moans into her ear, her orgasm shuddering through her in waves as she listens to Aziraphale praise herself.

“I’m, I’m soft an-” her orgasm over takes her. Crowley rides her through it, hands roaming and rubbing as she goes, the hot dampness coating her hands as she shakes against Aziraphale, holding her tight as they both ride out their climaxes on the floor of the bedroom, the mirror forgotten as they clung to one another.

“And beautiful,” Crowley finishes, her arms clamped vice-like around Az’s body, her ankles still holding her down against the floor.

After a while, breathing through their fatigue, she loosened her grip, unhooking her ankles from Aziraphale’s, placing a kiss to her temple. Aziraphale collapses in her arms, head lolled over Crowley’s shoulder, panting heavily. Slowly, she turns to face Crowley on her stomach, groaning as she brushed against her sensitivity, “How’s this view?”

Crowley looks over her shoulder to look at her ass, and Az gave it a small wiggle. Smiling ear to ear, Crowley whispered, “Breathtaking, angel, an absolute godsend.” Her forehead shone with sweat, yellow eyes heavy with exhaustion as she held Aziraphale.

Grinning, Az runs a hand up Crowley’s skirts, pushing them above her knees. Crowley’s brow furrows in confusion, “What are you doing?”

“You told me to fuck you. Earlier, remember? It’s payback.”

Crowley rolled her head back and let out a heavy laugh, “I love you, angel.”

“I love you, my dear.”

***I really hope you guys like this. I had a really good time fantasizing about this and then writing it. Idk where the mirror part came from, but it really struck home with me? I’m by no means a big person (I’m actually underweight due to a debilitating illness, whoo, and it bothers me how my body looks sometimes, so undernourished and sick looking), I used to have really bad body issues (anorexia and bulimia) and though now I am 100% confident with how I look I know not everyone is and I still have fleeting moments of doubt with my sexual attractiveness. I actually laid down in front of my floor length mirror and tried to imagine this scene/sexual situation with another person. By myself, it would be unbelievably daunting to do anything like masturbate and do it. It terrified me to think about!! But then I imagined someone like Crowley, who would love me unconditionally and wholly and never judge me, goading me to accept and love my body and self, to see myself as sexy and attractive as my partner would, and the end part of the scene (“I’m soft and beautiful”) just exploded into my mind at breakneck speed.

I really hope you liked it, Nonnie. I hope it was okay, and that I didn’t accidentally offend any big girls by it? I was trying to write it like if I my partner was chubby or big, and I tried to worship her through Aziraphale. Please comment and kudos if you liked it, it would mean a lot to me.

You can also follow me on Instagram, Tumblr, and Twitter @dustylangdon

Send me more prompts!!!!!! <3 I also do art! (badly, but still!!)

[werevulvi]

I'm curious. How do you feel about the idea of dating a GC dysphoric male? Personally i can't do it unless they were completely detrans or desisted bc i had too many terrible experiences with mtfs both while i was more woke and when i turned around. It's just way triggering to me and i'm unwilling to compromise on that lol. Also he'd have to be non-op, i don't like neovaginas regardless of labeling. What is your current stance?

Assuming we'd get along well and really like each other a lot, be compatible as people (sexually and otherwise), be on at least roughly the same page about stuff that matters, and able to "agree to disagree" where our opinions differ, have similar goals in life, etc, which goes for anyone I'd date... I'll only focus on the kinda stuff that would realistically generally differ a GC dysphoric male from a GC regular male, I think would only really be his relationship with his body, participation/involvement within trans circles and transition (physical and/or social) related stuff.

And when it comes to that, I feel kinda like this: I draw the line at genital surgery too. I get queezy about neo-vaginas, as well as neo-penises. In fact I feel queezy about any genital surgery that's more drastic than male circumcision. Although I'd probably be fine with other kinds of surgery like breast implants, FFS, etc. I can absolutely find feminine males attractive and wouldn't mind calling a male partner my girlfriend, she/her, etc. Although I draw the line at ever referring to a male partner of mine as a lesbian. There goes my limit.

In regards to dysphoria, it is nice being able to relate to dysphoric partner, even if the dysphoria isn't going in the same direction. However, if he'd have strong genital dysphoria, that would make it difficult for me enjoy sex. Although it's not like I'd have to have PIV every single time, I am kinda traditional/old fashioned in what types of sex I actually enjoy (and believe me I've tried a lot of different kinds, and there's a ton more I wanna try, but penetration and oral remain as my top 2 favourites), especially with males. So if he'd have a ton of genital dysphoria that would greatly impact our sex life, we'd be having a problem. I'd be completely dissatisfied, to be perfectly honest, and I don't wanna end up in that sorta situation to begin with, if at all possible to avoid.

I know that is probably very TMI (and for that I'm sorry) but honestly it's my biggest concern about possibly dating a dysphoric male, so kinda had to go there, lol. I hope you don't mind. Because I know that having intense genital dysphoria seems to be far more common among dysphoric males than dysphoric females, for reasons I can only speculate about. So I've never been overly concerned about that aspect being a problem when dating other dysphoric females (two of my previous partners were/are dysphoric females), but it most certainly becomes a big question in regards to potentially dating dysphoric males.

So I do have a few concerns about dating dysphoric males, even if they're gender critical, but I wouldn't say "never" on that point. It is fully possible that I could love such a person and wanna spend the rest of my life with him. But yeah, to be realistic, I'm probably quite unlikely to find a dysphoric male that I'd actually be compatible with, and I don't see much of a point in trying hard to look for one. And with all this said, the number of dysphoric, transitioned males I’ve ever been actually attracted to have been 2 trans women. I knew both irl, kinda. They were barely acquaintances, and very different from each other. One was very masculine but passable, white, and interested in me, but fully transitioned, so the idea of neo-vag put me off there, as well as her aggressive behaviour. The other was very feminine but non-passing, black, not interested in me, but early in her transition and came off as very sweet and kind. So with those kinda prospects, me dating a dysphoric male feels like an unlikely thing to actually happen. Because there are so many little things that need to fall into place, and there are so few dysphoric GC males out there, and I don’t even do long-distance dating anymore. So in theory, yes, but in practice... probably won’t happen.

[g0ldpainted]

King!Noctis reacting to S/O announcing pregnancy

Hey :3 it’s been forever, oh my. >.< I’ve been working on some stuff and this ended up being the next thing I decided to upload.

All other chocobros will follow within the next days! Due to the length I chose against squeezing them into one upload.^^

Edit: Gladiolus can be found here. Prompto can be found here. Ignis here.

For Noctis, I decided that it plays after the game. However, there are no spoilers in here (I think), so you should be fine even if you haven’t finished the game. [let me know if you think smth is a spoiler, pls.]

Genre: Fluff, no sadness, alternative ending, pregnancy announcement

Words: 2500+

The queen of Insomnia was nervous, incredibly nervous. For the past 6 years, they had been dating and about three years ago, he popped the question: Noctis proposed to her. There was no doubt she'd say yes. Everyone knew about their relationship, it was never a secret, to begin with. The entire nation eagerly awaited their engagement. Their wedding was enormous, every corner of Insomnia celebrated their relationship. Posters, cakes, special merchandise, a beautiful dress,… it was perfect. 

There was only one question that bothered both of them: When's the next prince coming? Or will it be a princess? Is she pregnant?

Friends joked about it, especially Prompto, the news reported on it and whenever the queen was just a tiny bit bloated, they assumed she was pregnant. Rumors spread like wildfire. Unfortunately, they never were expecting. It was quite common that the next heir was born either shortly after the wedding or conceived within the next months. But it's been over three years by now. People even went as far as to doubt their marriage. Reporters spread fake news regarding split ups all the time. To stop those comments, the queen did her best to show public affection to her beloved whenever she could. But that wasn't enough. 

Part of the nation still stopped believing in their relationship. Not once did they consider stress playing a big role in this. The couple wanted nothing more than a baby, but that was easier said than done. 

(there’s a read more here)

For years, they had been trying to conceive but it was to no avail. Well, the queen was pregnant, twice. But she so happened to miscarry within the first two months. No one knew except for Noctis and a few selected friends. That information luckily never spread through Insomnia. Losing two potential heirs took a toll on their relationship, caused more trouble than they believed it would but in the end, they came back stronger. The bond they had, the love they shared was unbreakable.

But due to public pressure, they even went as far as to get a calendar for the queens most fertile days. They kept track of her cycle and even planned when to make love. She took pills to boost her hormones, too. But unfortunately that caused even more unnecessary stress; both of them ended up too stiff to engage in the act. Most of the time, they weren't in the mood or either of them was too tired and therefore, they gave up planning. It was too much of a strain.

"It'll happen when the time is right", they both always said to themselves. And now the time had come.

It wasn't planned, wasn't expected but it sure was a happy surprise. However, the queen decided to keep it a secret until the critical time was over - which was surprisingly hard. Only selected royal nurses got to know. They had to provide her with tips and appointments for ultrasounds and other preventative check-ups. 

The pregnancy hit her hard, morning sickness was a daily issue, her back hurt and sometimes she experienced small cramps. Luckily, Noctis was busy for most of the day and when he came to their room later at night, he didn't mind rubbing her back and taking care of her - after all, he loved her more than anything.

The only thing that worried him was her lack of interest in him. She constantly declined any advances of him, claimed to have a headache or feel bad - which was true, he just didn't know it was. He sulked about it every now and then, believing it to be his fault and worrying about his marriage when really she just dealt with pain and definitely didn't need her sore breasts to be fondled with. Little did he know that their relationship was finally about to take the next step; starting a family.

After two and a half months of dealing with a frustrated Noctis, morning sickness, work, the fear of losing and all kinds of pain, the queen asked her dearest husband to take a day off. Being the pessimist he's always been, he immediately prepared for the worst, believing that their relationship was doomed to fail. And now she was standing in their room, fidgeting with the first ultrasound photos of their heir. Or well. Their heirs. She was nervous, shaking lightly while Noctis got ready in the bathroom. They both settled for comfortable, baggy clothes. Even though they'd spend the day together, they wouldn't leave the castle. They decided on walking through the indoor garden instead.

Just as the king stepped out of their bathroom, the queen stuffed the photos into her tiny clutch. It was the only reason she was willing to carry it with her. Guards were at every corner, if she'd need anything they'd get it for her, there really was no need for carrying a bag at home. And Noctis thought so too.

"Why are you preparing that thing? I thought we were staying here," he wondered, running a hand through his slightly wet hair.

"Oh.. Uh, yeah! I.. Just wanted to.. Take some handkerchiefs with me! You know.. Allergies and such," she hastily replied, awkwardly smiling at him as she quickly closed her clutch.

One of Noctis' brows raised in suspicion: "Your pants have pockets, though.. And since when do you have allergies?"

"But.. It makes me look weird. I prefer carrying them around in a bag. And perhaps I'm just.. Uh.. Getting sick. But I've had issues with pollen lately.." she reasoned, hanging her clutch around her shoulder.

"You're weird," Noctis stated, frowning lightly but grinning at the same time, "But that's why I love you."

His wife was screaming internally but only flashed him her brightest smile. He soon held out his hand for her to take. In these 6 years of being together, he never stopped holding her hand. It was his way of knowing she was still with him. It reassured him. And, as always, she laid her soft hand in his. The only difference was that her hand was shaking - from excitement. Of course, he noticed, but he decided to keep that to himself, assuming it's her shaking from fear of telling him about wanting to break up. With each step they took to the garden, the pace of her heart sped up. She wasn't worried about him reacting negatively. No. She knew he'd be happy and was overly excited to share the news.

"It's been a while since we spent an entire day together.." the king broke the silence, squeezing the hand of his beloved queen softly. 

"Indeed. I'm glad we could find some time for us," she replied, her voice shaking lightly.

"Oh yeah, I missed being with you," Noctis admitted, glancing down at his queen.

"I missed you, too," she smiled up at him.

Although her smile was genuine, it seemed a tad bit fake. The corners of her mouth weren't lifted as far as they usually were. Something was bothering her. At least that's what Noctis saw. And he was partly right. They walked the last few meters in silence. The tension between the two grew, both could feel it weight them down. And then they finally reached the beautiful garden. Roses, lilies, amaranths, frangipani, hydrangea and some sylleblossoms in memory of Lady Lunafreya. The garden was lively, full of blossoming flowers and trees. A pond was right in the middle of it, harboring tons of koi of all sizes and colors. Once they walked over the bridge above the pond, they found themselves near a small playground which was created for Noctis when he was younger.

"This garden truly is a master piece. You did a good job deciding on the flowers and taking care of them," Noctis praised her, attempting to lift the heavy mood off of them.

"It's mostly our gardeners, though," she replied, "But I'm glad you like the flowers I chose."

"Well, but you're contributing some hours into it, too," he reasoned as they walked through the greenest parts. 

"Indeed," she agreed, anxiety rising the closer they came to the little playground.

A few more meters filled by a terrifying silence was what it took for her to set her plan into action. Of course, she wouldn't just blurt the news out. This was something way too special.

"It's amazing your father built such a wonderful playground for you," she began to speak, breaking the silence between them. 

"Yeah, he did a great job. He.. He didn't just let instructors build it either; he helped them," Noctis proudly explained as they approached the royal playground.

It wasn't just a simple playground, it was designed to resemble a castle and was full of Lucian signs and official flags. It even had a throne room which was located on top of a tower that Noctis used to climb up to when he was a child. However, aside from the "adventurous" way up, there were also some simple stairs leading up to it. The throne room usually had two chairs; one for the king and one for the queen. Or one for Noctis and one for his dad - that's how he used it. But now it had two, smaller chairs added to it. Both specifically designed for a prince or princess, for their children.

"I'd be a shame if it went to waste.." she mumbled, biting her lip harshly for a moment.

Noctis looked at her, was about to ask if she was okay but before he could do that, she let go of his hand and ran over to the ladder leading up to a first platform of the playground.

"We can't let it go to waste, c'mon!" she ordered with a smile spread across her face.

Surprised by the change of attitude, the king frowned lightly but, of course, hurried after her.

"Hey.. What're you d-" Noctis wanted to speak, climbing up the ladder while his queen disappeared onto another platform by walking over a chain bridge.

She giggled while her heart was almost beating out of her chest from excitement. Noctis started laughing as soon as she saw the genuine smile of her. They chased each other through the entire playground until the queen finally arrived in the throne room.

"Slow poke!" she shouted, teasing him playfully while she quickly opened her clutch and pulled out the ultrasound photos, placing one on each little "throne" ahead of her.

Afterward, she quickly walked to the side, looking out of a "window", enjoying the sight of their garden from there. It was still just as beautiful.

"Old man, hurry up!" she continued to tease him, her heart almost bursting through her chest.

"You're too fast for me, I lost track of you for a second.. Sneaky little-.." he finally made his way up the tower into the throne room.

It was decorated just a little bit. Not too much. A couple balloons were floating around and a red bow was wrapped around each little throne. That should've been enough to give him a hint, at least that's what his wife thought. 

"What's going on?" he wondered, taking a first few steps inside.

She didn't look at him, didn't say a word either - he was supposed to explore and find out on his own before she'd say anything else. However, she couldn't hide her happiness and excitement; her smile was brighter than ever. While she listened to Noctis footsteps, she almost squealed out loud - but she held back, only let her head hang in an attempt to hide her smile.

But he saw her smile. And in that exact moment, all his worries were erased.

With slow, steady steps he walked over to the thrones. Of course, he noticed that two of them were new. That bow was unmissable. And he immediately got the hint but refused to believe that it finally came true; that their dream was finally coming true. But then he saw two photos, the ultrasounds. His mouth fell ajar as he bent down to pick them up. And that's when his queen turned around. She wanted to see his expression, his joy. The moment he saw her name on top of it, (Y/N) Lucis Caelum, tears welled up in his eyes. The king that was known for being rather unemotional gave in to his emotions, let tears run free from his happiness. After taking a first quick glance, he turned his head towards the mother of his children, the love of his life. 

"A-are you..-?" he wondered, unable to finish his sentence as his voice cracked.

Although it was so obvious, he needed reassurance, needed to hear it from her.

"Y-yes honey, I'm pregnant," she assured him, tears filling her own eyes at the sight of her husband shedding a few tears.

He stepped closer to her. She met him halfway, closing the distance between them entirely. Noctis took one of her hands in his, holding both ultrasound scan photos in one hand.

"And..-.. Twins?" he stuttered, his mouth still opened widely.

"Twins," she continued to assure him.

The king shook his head in disbelief, pulling her into a gentle embrace right away.

"Oh six.. We're going to be parents," he whispered into her ear, "O-of twins, too."

She giggled at how flabbergasted he was. Immense happiness filled both their hearts and relieve washed over them. 

"(Y/N), we're going to be parents!" he exclaimed, his lips forming a huge smile.

"Yes! Yes, Noctis. We're going to be parents" she reassured him again while he cheeks began to ache from smiling so brightly.

"How.. How Long?" he asked, creating a tiny bit of distance between them so he could look into her gorgeous eyes.

"A little over two and a half months," she answered, wrapping her arms around his neck, "Almost three. And exactly 74 days."

He pulled her back into his embrace, kissing her hair over and over again: "Holy six.. I love you so much."

"I love you, too," she mumbled, playing with the back of his hair.

"I promise I'll do my very best to protect you. Forever. All of you. You and our babies," he whispered, gently placing one of his hands on her stomach, "You mean the absolute world to me. I'm so.. - thank you so much."

Before she could say another word, he trailed kisses from her ear to her lips. Once he reached them, he placed a soft yet very passionate kiss on her lips. She was his world. She was all he ever wanted; his best friend and his lover. He couldn't imagine the world without her - and certainly didn't want to. He loved her with all of his heart. And now, more than ever, he needed her to know how much she meant to him. That's why he spent the rest of the evening showering her with his love; placing kisses on either her lips or her stomach, holding her gently and pampering her in every possible way. 

For the first time in over two centuries, the Lucis Caelum lineage was expecting twins. The kingdom was bound to applaud to this - they'd be overjoyed as well. You bet that once those two bundles of cuteness are born, uncle Prompto, uncle Gladiolus and grandmum Ignis will shower them in gifts and cuddles. Not even they can resist two adorable mini Noctis'.

[somekindofseizure]

When the Ink Dries Part V

Rated: Explicit

Notes: Thank you @icedteainthebag for spending immense amounts of time working this through with me and for being brilliant.  @gazeatscully and @h0ldthiscat for the hugely helpful early stage beta’ing that helped get it to this point.

And to all of you who’ve been so supportive and amazing.

Parts I-IV can be read here

* * * * * *

Chapter 11

The strident echo of Stella’s boot heels grew humbler come late afternoon as they clicked down the damp concrete sidewalks of London’s shopping districts.  All morning long, she’d walked arm-in-arm with Scully in a mood seemingly unscathed by pain and weather best described as a permanent cold sweat.  But now Scully could feel Stella’s arm growing heavy, leaning a little rather than leading, and beneath the buttery leather of Stella’s off-day civilian jacket was a tightly clamped fist, the humps of four bracing fingers visibly knuckling the black calfskin.  Scully asked if she needed another painkiller.

“One last stop,” was Stella’s indirect answer.

“Are you sure because -”

And then Scully saw it.  Secretive and svelte, a door tucked trenchlike down four wrought-iron steps--a place that looked as likely to sell James Bond his spygear as it did his girlfriends their racy underwear.  Scully had been watching Stella fight to feel like herself all day, and one look at this shop said it was meant to be the pièce de résistance in that carefully drawn battle plan.   

“Nevermind,” she said.

The first time Stella ever suggested they go shopping together, they’d just arrived in Chicago, one of their early girls’ weekends when they’d managed to make their paths cross amidst conferences and con artists (psychics, was Mulder’s word for them).  A  wicked midwestern wind had whipped past as they stepped out of the taxi and Stella promptly announced that she hadn’t packed appropriately.  A bit of a rash declaration for someone who’s just arrived, Scully had thought, a bit like someone who, say, wanted to go shopping.  In an effort to act fast, she’d offered to sacrifice up her own warm coat.

“Don’t be silly, what’ll you wear then?” Stella had asked as she slipped her shoes off and claimed the bed closer to the window.  She liked to control the amount of light that got in.  Which, during sleeping hours, was none at all.

“Your trench is fine for me.”

“No, the weave is too flimsy.  Wasn’t built for this.”

“We don’t have anywhere we really have to go anyway.”

“All weekend?” There’d been an unusual lilt in Stella’s voice that Scully disconcertingly identified as glee.  She’d kept her back conveniently turned to Scully’s pouting as she swanned into the bathroom.  “Call down and ask the concierge where the nice shops are.”

Scully had closed her eyes and thought of the circumstances in which she usually went shopping: when a barbecue stain on her favorite shirt valiantly fought off a third tour of spot treatment, when the soles of her shoes disappeared into puddles of mysterious green acid, when she accidentally lost weight on Mulder’s diet of sarcasm and chewable seeds.  Shopping did not represent release or self-expression or feminine bonding to her; it was a pilgrimage of debilitating necessity, a quest guaranteed to humble and shame her into austerity until the next time it needed doing.  

Huffing loudly as she disappeared into the sound-proof vacuum of the rotating doors, she’d trudged out of the Chicago hotel that afternoon a martyr.  But a few shops, a glass of wine, and a piece of cake later (cake!), and she was following Stella in and out of jangling doors with the slightly giddy buzz of a first-time rebel in a John Hughes film.   

Now they were about to enter a lingerie shop decidedly more slick film noir than Breakfast Club.  Scully found herself holding her breath a little as she opened the door for Stella.  Stella took a step in and folded the umbrella behind the door.  The clerks stopped what they were doing and smiled demurely, folded their hands patiently across their bellies.  It was as if the Queen of England had just walked in.  Did Stella come in here that frequently?  Or was it just a trade secret the shopgirls had, a way of spotting a certain type of woman?  

Once, in New York, she’d picked out a pair of jeans for Scully without her even trying them on.  Scully had stood in the art deco hotel bathroom, pulling them up with the tags still on, stunned as she zipped and ran her hand over the normally denim-defiant curve from her waist to her ass.  If she were patient enough for scheduling to permit, she’d realized, she might never have to suffer the agony of buying jeans--or anything else--again.  All she’d have to do was keep a running list of things she needed in the back of her mind and save all her shopping for Stella’s weekends.

“Would you mind that?” she’d asked.

“No.  But the list-keeping is part of your problem, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“You tell yourself you need something too many times, it’ll start haunting you.”

“That your big shopping advice for me?”

Stella had come into the bathroom for a little bottle of body lotion from the countertop.  Scully’s suit was hung over the back of the door.  

“My advice is stop buying up a size.  You’re not going to grow into anything.”

She’d swatted Scully’s bottom on her way to the minibar.

Wherever they went, they always visited at least a couple stores.  Stella would shoot withering glances at snot-nosed salesgirls while accepting their free glasses of champagne, criticize craftsmanship at twenty feet through a tinted window, effortlessly translate sizes from US to UK to Euro and back again.  “You’ll get the hang of it,” she’d tell Scully, but Scully knew the implications of this were false.  She’d never known Stella to, say, flip through a copy of Vogue, had never actually heard her entertain fashion as a topic of conversation.  It wasn’t a learned skill for her.  Some combination of confidence, pragmatism and hedonism had bred (among other things) a shopping savant in Stella Gibson.

And the clerks in the posh lingerie shop knew a master when they saw one.  Scully watched them bat their eyelashes in Stella’s direction, biting their tongues with admirable restraint, knowing their help was neither needed nor wanted.  Scully wondered how they even found the time to get ready for work--each one of them made up like Brigitte Bardot in the role of a French maid, little black dresses and heavy eyeshadow, veritable mission statements across their well-brassiered chests regarding the pursuit of fantasy.  She felt compelled to stay close on Stella’s heels this far from realm and country, but that meant being included in the glow of their interest.  Could they pick out the people who didn’t belong just as well?  She began to fidget, play with her hair, clear her throat.  A bell rang out relief and the Bardots turned their heads in unison, a kickline of painted pouts.  The new customer paused under the doorway and shook water out of her hair with her fingertips.

“Is it properly raining now?” asked Bardot Number Three and Scully watched the customer smile and answer, but her mind saw something else entirely.

She’s in her grade school camp t-shirt, slightly preoccupied with her bralessness.  Mulder stands soaking wet at her door, nervous, tall as a tree without her heels on.  She’s thinking she should go change, grab a sweatshirt, but it seems presumptuous that she’d need to, or vain, or overly demure, or maybe she’s just too curious what he’s doing here to take the time...

Scully turned back to Stella, who had set her sights on a deep indigo piece of satin and was shoving it under her arm for future reconsideration.  Then she picked up a simple black balconette bra, unadorned and unpadded, convent attire by this brand’s standards, and handed it over her shoulder to Scully without looking.  

“Stop following me around and go try this on.”

Scully stepped into the bordello lighting of the dressing room, yanked open the black velvet curtain and pulled it shut behind her.  It was more formidably weighted than she’d expected it to be, rooted like a native jungle plant, waving the past away as it welcomed her into its midst.   She hung her coat on a hook, feeling slightly on edge, but she had yet to regret buying anything Stella had picked for her.  Neither, for that matter, had Mulder, she recalled.  One button on her sweater and he’s taking a pair of stilettos out of the box in awe, another button and he’s smoothing the wool felt of a pencil skirt over her hips as she marvels barefoot at its perfect length.  

She began to move more quickly to shake the memories off, a driver who’s suddenly concluded she’s being tailed.  She tore the sweater over her head half-buttoned and her long hair fell in a mess around her face.  Slightly breathless, she grabbed the bra off its hanger, glanced in the mirror to see if she’d lost him.

His mouth is on her chest and she is taking off her t-shirt, the waves in her hair multiplying exponentially with every moment he stares up at her...

The bra seemed to clamber of its own will up onto her torso and she did the rest, quietly fastening her grip on the present moment as she tightened the straps, pinching each cup like the edge of a piece of spinning pottery, determined not to be spooked off course.  Her hand automatically went over her belly-button, a tic she had at mirrors that Mulder sometimes teased her about, but he wasn’t there.

Yes, he is.  He is holding her from behind, a hand on her breast and she is breathless…

Her throat suddenly tightened and her tongue went as thick as the curtain, feet sinking into the floor like quicksand.   The air became too thick to breathe.  Her skin boiled but her fingers froze, and her hands tingled as they thawed against the mirror.  Leaning forward, she looked away from the surface, sought the solace of reason--panic attack, panic attack.

But his hand is here, tight…

Anger and terror swirled in her belly as she pictured herself stuck there overnight and forever, becoming one with the flora like the Amazonian curtains and dim lighting, forgotten and forsaken, and she tried to suck in more air but his hand--

“What’s taking so long?”

Scully tried to answer, but her mouth had gone dry, her teeth just beginning to fall into a rhythmic chatter.  

“Dana?”

She managed to swallow and some saliva flowed again.  The word came out hardened with effort.

“Yeah.”

The curtain opened with a sharp thwap, and in the mirror Scully could immediately see understanding scrawled in the ballpoint blue ink of Stella’s eyes.  The tension in her shoulders began to release and her ankles wobbled free as Stella bent creakily to the floor and handed Scully her sweater.  Scully held it up against her chest like a shield and Stella snapped open the back clasp of the bra.  

“There,” she said softly, pushed the straps down Scully’s arms a few inches.

“I couldn’t breathe.”

Scully could see the effort it took Stella to lie.

“I was off on the size, probably.”

Scully nodded.

“Too tight.”

Scully thanked her the way she knew Stella liked her thanks best--quietly, refracted through as many insignificant elements as possible.  It was exactly how they’d looked at each other in Ed’s psych ward bathroom, surrounded by 1940s kitchen-appliance-green tile and maniacs.  There, in that pause, was the tiny satin ribbon of intimacy between them, a tight little bow, pulled evenly in both directions, a knot sewn securely through the middle.

“I’ll be waiting out there,” Stella said.

And when Scully came out, Stella was standing behind another customer at the register, true-to-form, as though nothing had happened.  The violet piece of lingerie was now out from under her armpit and splayed fondly over two hands.  Scully cleared her throat, relieved to have a lecture to offer.

“I thought you said you weren’t interested,” she said.

“I’m not interested in the doctor.  I didn’t say I wasn’t interested in sex, period.”

“You’re not exactly in fighting shape.”

“I take offense to that.”

Bardot Number Two was wrapping and stickering a set of garters with the speed and gravity of a beknighting.  

“You’ve got hairline fractures that could become clean breaks,” Scully pressed.  

“I promise, I’ll tell them to be gentle.”

Scully lowered her voice to a modest decibel.

“When was the last time you asked a guy to go softer?”

Stella laughed, a low, evil chuckle that meant never and you know it.

“Why do you assume it’s going to be a man?”

Scully tried not to sound too curious, too invested.

“Aren’t they usually... these days?”

“Usually and unmemorably,” Stella murmured.  

They both shuffled a little closer to the register as the customer ahead finished up.  Bardot took the purple thing from Stella and gave her best now-here’s-a-woman-who-knows-how-to-buy-underwear hum.

“Sorry, I know you don’t want to hear it,” Scully said.

“On the contrary, Dana,” Stella said.  “You know I like it when you play doctor.”

Bardot’s eyelashes twitched a couple times.  Only Stella could scandalize someone who sold crotchless panties for a living.  

“Anyway, I would be remiss in my duty if I didn’t say it,” Scully continued, swallowing her warning with a lick of her lip, scratching her scalp in quiet defeat.  She’d have all day to negotiate exactly how long Stella was going to wait before she started taking strangers to bed.  She’d rather do it without an audience.

“It’s not for me,” Stella said with an exasperated sigh. “It’s for you.”

Her eyes twinkled with mischief, her hand out to the cashier as the receipt chattered into existence.

“For Mulder, rather.  He deserves a little something for letting me borrow you on such short notice, don’t you think?  Why are you looking at me like that?”

And that’s when Scully started to cry.

 *

 The late afternoon light fills their bedroom with a penny jar haze, the sun picking up speed as it rolls into their old house and then spins to a stop on the stuffy closet floor where Scully is seated.  She’s wearing a pair of faded blue track shorts, baking on a peel of of wood floor turned Mediterranean orange as the panels make stripes on the bottoms of her thighs like a beach chair.  It feels like summer inside.

 Outside, it’s light-jacket autumn, a day meant for reading with your head in someone’s lap, a Golden Retriever-led jog, taping leaves into notebooks.  It’s the kind of day that represents the occasional success of the universe despite its many known faults--the kind of day you’d feel lucky to get if it happened to be your birthday.  But Mulder hasn’t acknowledged the concept of luck in a long while, and Scully’s universe has been narrowed to the confines of their house’s termite-gnawed walls, its moth-infested closets like pock-marked moons round every corner.  The things she needs to see die and be reborn are all here in her home.

 They have a longstanding tradition on his birthday that he can talk to her about any one topic, anything he wants, for any length of time, and no matter how boring or ridiculous she finds it, she may not shut him down, ask him to stop, even politely change the subject until twelve midnight of the fourteenth.  It began after a few years of Scully’s watching him mope through cakes and picnics and concerts, feeling like a failure as he willed the day to be over with.  She had always felt deeply responsible for the success of people’s birthdays and he seemed to deeply relish hating his; this put them, as always, at a crossroads.  

 “You think you’re the only adult in the world with a birthday?” she’d ask crossly sometime around September twenty-eighth, the time of year she’d begin suggesting possible plans.  Sports events and restaurants, desserts splashed up with promises of lewd frosting-themed side-events--none of it welcomed.  

 “Mortality and unmet expectations, I get it,” she’d say.  “We’ve all learned to deal with it.”

 “I’ve hated it since I was a kid, though,” he’d say with an edge of competitiveness in his voice.

 When he finally told her what would make him happy, it was an accident, a bit of snark during his morning slideshow.

 “Come on, Scully, act like it’s my birthday and humor me,” he’d said.  

 Yes.  She would humor him.  Come October thirteenth.  

 Initially, Mulder had doubted her ability to follow through on her offer, even for one day.  But Scully proved herself that first year, regarding the eight lives of octopuses, no less (an obvious test).  Her low tolerance for pseudoscience was outweighed by her determination and respect for birthdays; she’d nodded patiently with her best Red Riding Hood face, every so often asking a relevant question, and if Mulder could tell she was faking interest, he didn’t complain.  Maybe it was that he liked her suffering for him, or maybe he was just that good at deluding himself - but either way, she knew he knew it meant she loved him enough to do it.  And that, she would have lectured if given the opportunity, was the very point of a birthday.  

 After the success of that first octopus birthday, Mulder was sold.  He spent the next October and the next making lists on the back of napkins and magazines in waiting rooms, carefully narrowing his options so as to choose wisely, make the most of his chance to fill her brain with the best of the nonsense that inhabited his own.  Over the years, Scully perfected a series of false reactions.  Last year, when he revealed the morning-of that he’d chosen something “cosmic,” she’d tittered cheerfully about Mercury in retrograde and Venus in her rising house.  Astronomy, he’d corrected, you know, science, and she’d squealed science?  Is it MY birthday? as he buried her in a smattering of toothpaste kisses.   

 Specifically, the topic was sun outages:  the phenomena of communication disruption during periods following the vernal and autumnal equinoxes, when the sun’s apparent path puts it between Earth and a satellite, the power of its radiation hoarding and burying the signals.  It could be happening, he said, right then.

 “Imagine, Scully,” he said with typical Mulderian awe.  “How powerful that is.”

 And for the first time since they’d begun their tradition, Scully almost failed.  She folded her arms across her chest, leaned back on the arm of the couch.  Rain was pounding the roof and the house reeked of pizza as Mulder idly pulled at her socks.  The day was almost over, she was almost in the clear.  He had, of course, spoken of many more far-fetched things than solar episodes, but this was science and she, a scientist.  It sounded fake to her.  He leaned forward as she struggled to control her right eyebrow during the part about the effect of such outages on the Bombay Stock Exchange.  

 “You--should see--your face,” he laughed.

 Really, but no, really she asked over and over, squinting and dubiously cocking her chin, and she learned that the only thing that delighted him more than her succeeding at her game was losing it.  She was subjected to a punishing foot massage, wherein she moaned exaggeratedly when he squeezed a good spot.  He mimicked her, making silly noises back.  Each time she made her sound, she felt it originate a little lower down in her body, and then heard his response a little further up, and soon he was kissing her neck and sucking her earlobe and telling her she was the best girlfriend in the history of the world.

 “Mm, I think you’ve found your topic for next year,” she told him.

 “Hard science,” he mumbled and she didn’t even mind the wordplay when he used that voice and put his hand on her waist.  It had been a hard year but a very good day.

 By the following year, Mulder’s depression had deepened with the same steadfast intensity he applied to all things.  She requested the day off anyway.  Their tradition would revive him, and if he couldn’t get off his office chair, she’d spend it in his lap purring at him while he talked about forest fairies or vampires or anything really.  As the day approached, he drew no lists on napkins, gathered no topics.  Instead, he made clear his wish not to acknowledge another year’s passing at all.  And come this morning, he banned her from so much as taking the ice cream cake out to thaw.  

 He doesn’t want her attention but she can’t leave because it’s his birthday.  He’s given her no choice but to spend this perfect autumn day off like an accident, a misfiring smoke alarm or a snow flower, and now she sits with her legs crossed as she reaches into the closet and roots out the rot, makes piles she hopes will somehow make their life grow come spring.  The leafy breeze momentarily muscles its way into the room, mulches the smell of her cotton-distilled sweat as it licks the underside of her hairline and the creases of her thighs, reminds her just how ripe she is--twenty seven hours since her last shower and four months past picking.  She swallows the fresh perspiration off her lip, sinks a little deeper into the floor.  She’s lonely and sweaty and Mulder is unshaven and in another room that might as well be another continent.

 This is the state of things when she comes upon a man’s toiletry bag buried under a heap of shoes she doesn’t wear anymore, an archaeological strata that places it somewhere around the year they bought the house.  She remembers Mulder used to keep something like this in the office for emergencies--the same place she kept her lipstick and sometimes a plastic egg of cheap pantyhose.  The idea is bitterly funny now, of Mulder having ever cared that much about shaving, or for that matter, she about pantyhose.  They have both stopped even turning the lights on in the bathroom most of the time.

 Thin rolls of dead animal skin peel off into her lap like a bad sunburn and she almost tosses it directly into the ‘out’ pile, but there’s a vague whiff of sentiment about it.  And what doesn’t have sentimental significance to Mulder?  He is a walking collection of grudges and past associations, a pantry closet full of expired tea bags and spices still holding onto their spot on the shelf in case of the future.  It is only the present he undervalues.  This is the tiny, spiteful part of her that wants to throw the bag out anyway--the part that has turned her nostalgic as well.  There are certain bottles in the bathroom that remind her of him, entire drawers of her dresser, types of chocolate bars and bottles of wine and dozens of songs she’s taken out of daily rotation.  She keeps the kit in her lap, knows by now that these little spasms of cruelty pass quickly.  She unzips it as she gives herself time to determine its fate kindly.

 There are razor blades and a brush and a dark blue velvet-coated box.  Its color is doubled, tripled, quadrupled in depth by the clamoring reflective surfaces around it, though the edges of the blades have gone dull from years of sifting against thick leather and a closet floor.  It’s a color she might buy a sweater in to match her eyes, a classic soft-edged cube that snaps open and shut along a gold stripe, jaws threatening fingers like an alligator.  The diamond it holds is modest in size though it shames the silver razor blades in luster, twinkling like a star in the sun.  At first, she feels nothing, assumes it’s something he’s inherited, that it has nothing to do with her, an artifact.  But when she turns it in her fingers, she sees an inscription inside the band.   “S.  My partner always.  M.”

 And then all the dust in the room is in her throat at once and she begins to cough, a single and then a series, a speeding treadmill of hacking she can’t seem to slow.  She snaps the box shut and holds it tight in her fist as she moves to the bathroom, unable to drop it as she splashes cold water on her face with one hand and sips like a desert traveler right from the faucet, choking and spitting when it won’t go down.  She is still doubled over the sink, catching her breath, when Mulder appears in the mirror over her shoulder like a phantom.  She wipes her mouth with the neck of her grey t-shirt and notices the ears of dark sweat all over it.  She becomes acutely aware of her shorts riding up her ass.  These are things he might have liked sometime, but now he’s here for his ibuprofen or to pee, and she’s self-conscious about how she looks.

 Except he doesn’t excuse himself or reach for the medicine cabinet.  He raises his eyebrows in concern.  This still happens, where she’s still aware of the stubborn and unconditional love between them, but the moments have become less frequent and more ephemeral.  So she tries to hold on to this one with the grip of her eyes, a muscle once taut and toned from use in their partnership, now a bit atrophied.

 “You okay?” he asks.

 She nods.

 “Dusty in there.  Should take a Benadryl when you do that.”

 And he turns to go.

 “I was cleaning,” she says.  This alone, when he was himself, would have started a conversation.  Mulder rushing to her piles, quick to make sure she hasn’t discarded anything he considers important, which is everything.  Was everything.

 “I know.”  He’s already down the hall.  She’s alive.  She doesn’t require CPR.  He doesn’t realize yet the stakes are actually much higher than that.  

 “I found something.”  

 She can tell he’s heard the urgency in her voice in the way he looks over his shoulder.  No signs of extraterrestrials here, just a velvet box held out in her open palm.  She doesn’t care about the ring, not really, but she needs it, is counting on it, to get some answers.  

 Still he seems unruffled, saunters back with the mild interest of someone who’s just spotted a spider, still deciding whether to kill or it save it.

 “What is this?” she asks.

 He sniffs, both lips folded into his teeth, then pops them out.

 “Come now, Scully, you haven’t been out of the FBI that long.”

 “You know what I meant.  When did you buy it?  Were you planning to give it to me?”

 “A year and a half, two years ago,”  he sighs.  And yet, at some point, he sat in some jeweler’s shop, discussing the circumference of her finger with a swooning saleswoman.   Is it this small?  Or more like this?  No like this, but it’s slender.  I don’t know, I’m torn, she’s very small but she has strong hands.

 “But then this stuff came up.”

 He always refers to it this way, his depression, like it’s a case or an event, a busy calendar, and not like something he has to own and admit to.  She licks her lips, shakes her head.

 “I… don’t know what to say,” she says.

 “Guess I’m glad I haven’t asked then.”

 “That’s not what I meant,” she says, eyes up, glare powered by the red circles forming on the apples of her cheeks.  She is angry, not embarrassed now, and she hopes he damn well knows the difference.

 “Mulder, ‘this stuff’ isn’t a thing that’s going to just go away.  You have to address it, let people help you.”

 Let me help you, is what she really wants to say, but say that and she might as well chase him from the room.

 “That’s not what it is!”

 He can’t even say the word.

 “What is it then, Mulder?”  

 It’s not just August now, it’s August inside a volcano, August on Mars, and the sweat beads even faster on her cheeks, sends rivulets running down her sides and the back of her calves, but she doesn’t care.  Whether he still likes it, whether it’s his birthday, whether she should have showered, whether she should be ashamed.  This is the closest she’s come to solving the case in months and the only thing she cares about is not going home with an empty report.

 “What--if not depression--could be so powerful you’d change your mind about that?”

 “You want to get married, I’m sure there are plenty of guys better suited who’d be willing.  Still got your looks, Scully.”

 Before she can hear him finish her name, she throws the box at the wall like it’s something she’s trying to break; neither of them grants it so much as a glance when it lands on the floor in one piece.

 “You know I don’t give a shit about that, Mulder.  I have never asked you for a ring.  But I am asking you for us.”

 “I’m fine.  We’re fine.”

 “No.  You’re not and I’m something you put at the back of a closet and forget about,” her voice is cracking now and she lowers it in order to glue it back together.  “When was the last time you looked at me--”

 “I’m looking at you right now--”

 “Talked to me, really talked to me--”

 “Stop it, Scully.” A sense that it’s coming.

 “Fucked me.”

 He nods, bites his bottom lip for an extended second, eyes coming into a scowl, vaguely self-righteous and jealous, and she feels a single cold tear steal down her cheekbone like an angry runaway out a window.

 “That’s what it’s about,” he says.

 Scully breathes deeply, a slight relief rippling through her.  Stella has told her she should say fuck more often and in this moment, Scully understands why.

 “This passion you feel for whatever you’re doing in there?”

 “I’m--”

 “I don’t care what you’re doing.  You once had it for me.”

 She can feel herself shrink with every emotionally impoverished word, sees her stores of dignity running lower each time she gives him another glimpse into her heart.  He still knows her well enough to notice and cares enough to lower his voice a little, wipe the gleam of irony off his face.

 “Scully, I just need a little more time.  I’m right on the edge of something and it’s taking up all my bandwidth.”

 She steps a little closer.

 “Fuck your bandwidth, Mulder,” she tries and feels strong again.  It’s a jackhammer, this word, and a lifeline.  “You once had so much passion for me that you walked into a tattoo shop and had my initial painted on your body knowing it might make you clinically insane.”

 Suddenly, he smiles--not sarcastic, just soft and familiar.

 “Maybe it finally has.”

 She steps closer, reaches into the sagging waistband of his pre-depression jeans, skating her hand down his lower abdomen.  She hears him lick his lips and knows it’s more likely impatience than desire--how irrational that assumption would have seemed to her ten years ago--but she keeps her eyes on her own wrist, sliding down the rightmost edge of  his red boxer briefs.  She’s doing it blind but there’s a tendon that has always twitched under her fingers and if it’s still there, if he’s still him at all… and it does.  She peels her face back up the sheet of his chest, but she’s not yet ready to risk seeing the dead look in his eyes, so she puts off identifying the body and scratches his beard with her fingernails, looks at it the way she did when it first grew in.  Like it’s a novelty, like she could have some fun with it before she demands he get rid of it.

 Kiss me, is what she would have said then, if she had to say anything at all, or just done it herself.   

 “You don’t fucking get it,” he says, but he’s whispering now and his muscle is settling against her hand and he’s grabbing her shoulder so that their chests sway together and apart as he talks.  “You don’t understand.”

 “I don’t fucking get it,” she agrees and takes his hand, puts it up the inseam of her shorts, rests it on her inner thigh, waits for him to make the rest of the journey on his own.  It is a mere two inches, unobstructed by underwear, simple and straightforward, and if he can’t go that far for her--

 “You think I’m not furious about the fact that I can’t make love to you anymore?”

 But his fingers do travel.

 “Then don’t make love to me.”

 And one of them is inside her before she even finishes the sentence.  She gasps, rises up a little onto her toes.  The floorboards creak under her feet, pliant with the last of the year’s heat.  He locks his knuckles and pumps her for moisture as she closes her eyes, afraid to look for him, afraid he won’t want her back.  She’s ashamed that that matters to her, that it isn’t enough if he’s willing to devote his time and attention--that she needs his desire as well.

 “That what you want?” he asks.  “That what you want from me?”

 “No,” she says, at the risk of losing her chance, of losing everything.  But by now, the word is rolling off her tongue and she is reckless in her vulnerability.  She can be rigid and distant again tomorrow, at work, or when she comes home to find him ensconced in his research, eating with her back against the refrigerator, going to bed alone.  “I want you to fuck me.”

 His finger slips away as she tears her shirt over her head, drops it to the floor and toe-heels backward toward the bed.   Sweat molds her wild hair in one sloppy instant to her shoulders, her waist, her lip.

 “Come on, old man,” she taunts even though they have agreed in the past not to make those kinds of birthday jokes.  All bets are off, have been off for longer than she cares to admit.

 His feet shuffle closer, and she finally finds the courage to look into his eyes.  They’re following her too, nervous but hungry as she sprawls out on the mattress like the bride he’s never made of her.  She runs her tongue slowly between the top and bottom edges of her teeth, drops her chin open when he finally planks his body over her like a starved wolf, bends on his haunches to kiss her tentatively on the mouth.  Yes, he’s tentative at her mouth but he’s hard against her leg and thank God, she whispers aloud.

 He laughs, and this fills her with such intense momentary joy that she feels she might float up off the bed.  It is over.  How many times has she has told herself it was serious, that it would need professional treatment.  But she was wrong, it is over now, he will be fixed with this one simple physical reunion.  The hope is weighty and uncomfortable, makes her breathe harder and writhe in the swooshes of sheets that lately only smell like her.

 “It’s not because I can’t get hard,” he says and she can tell this is not one of his boyish jokes.  “Or that you don’t make me hard.  That’s not why I don’t come to bed.”  

 She hears the word hard and watches her fingers twist his shirt.

 “Then why?”

 He strokes the apple of her cheek and disappears behind his eyes for a moment.  

 “Forget it,” she says quickly. “Doesn’t matter.”

 “It does.  Dammit,” he says to himself rather than at her.

 “Stay with me, Mulder.  Stay, please.”  But he’s shaking his head no and she can tell that her neediness is making it worse, but if it could be dismissed, it wouldn’t be need.  Need, she has found, can only be shared or passed back and forth, never vanquished.  “It’s just me.  I’m right here.  I’m right here.”

 He angrily bounces the mattress under his weight, but she is not afraid of him.  

 “Don’t say that to me when you’re going to leave!”

 “What?”

 “I know your patience is growing thin with me, Scully, I can feel it.  And it’s just like that time, with Philadelphia.”

 She can hardly believe her ears, cannot believe he’s dragged this broken record out, and frankly is almost relieved.  This?  Not the absence of their son or the petty, pointless end to his life’s work, or the times she has accidentally but thoughtlessly embarrassed him in front of her family or the million shitty things they’ve said in passing to each other since he started pushing her away, cruel little lockboxes they’ve been too tired to bother springing open.  No, this stupid thing, the faded tattoo on my back, let’s dust that one off.

 “I was in Philadelphia because you made me go.”

 “I know and you were right, I make everything about me.  And I was right too, to hold onto you so tight.  Because when I don’t, you leave me and you find someone else.”

 “We weren’t even together then.”  She’s landed safely in the past now, feels safer with every second she stays, is willing to pull up a chair and pour herself a drink there.  And how ironic that at the time, it was the least safe she’d ever felt.

 “You didn’t even try to be with me.  You put it on me but you didn’t try either, you didn’t tell me how you felt.”

 “I was dying,” she seethes.

 “You were miserable and you’re miserable now.”

 “Is that what you’re waiting for me to do?  Fuck someone else?”  She lifts her hips and rubs up against him, chooses her words carefully.  “Because I can do that if you prefer.”

 She turns over onto her stomach and turns out her hips, feels his straining jeans scratch peach splotches onto her salt-sticky skin.  She wiggles the band of her shorts down to her hips and pulls her hair over her shoulder to make sure he can see the whole of her tattoo, the head eating the tail, going round and round as it intends to do her whole life, and she almost snickers at the appropriateness.  How clever, how deep she’d thought herself the night she picked it out of a book of cheap designs.

 “Fuck me like this so you can see it.  Show me how much you hate it.  Show me you think I deserve what happened to me.”

 She is really gambling now, breathing hard into the mattress as she tosses her chips.  He doesn’t touch her, but breathes harder too--she feels it travel like a hot steam iron up her spine.  A drop of his own sweat falls into the valley of her back and she swallows with her ear to the bed, a decades-old fight held tight for dear life between her gritted molars as she speaks.

 “I swear to God, Mulder, if you don’t do it--”

 And his arm comes around so suddenly and lifts her off the bed with such force that she loses her breath.  He squeezes her nipple so tight she knocks her head back against his shoulder.  He fumbles with his pants with his other hand, his weight on his knees between her legs.  She tosses her hair back between them and tries to look over her shoulder, but the sun glints a hard edge through the window, for a moment right into her eyes, and she thinks of the sun outages, of whatever has been standing between them for two years, powerful enough to suck the signal not only from their conversations but their silences, their touches, their pencil taps, eyebrows arcs.  Then he leans forward with her packaged under his arm and the glare is gone, he fixes it just like that, a simple tilt on an axis, a shift in perspective.  

 “You belong to me,” he growls in her ear, and though this is the game they’re playing, she knows in the moment, he means it and in the moment, she wants him to.

 “That’s right.”

 “This how you want it, Scully?  Pissed off and hard and rough?  This what’s been missing for you?”

 And then he’s smooth, so smooth, and straight against her thigh, poking at the white edge of her shorts and it has been so long she’d like to look, except that it’s too perfect, him holding her to him in one arm and pressing the bed away with the other.

 “Yeah, hard,” she says.

 “That how that homicidal asshole fucked you?”

 The homicidal asshole was shy and careful with her in bed, a sweetheart right up until the moment he decided to try to kill her--but this, of all times, is no time for the truth.

 “So hard.  So much harder than you ever have.”

 There’s a crackle of elastic losing its give as he tears her shorts down to her thighs with both hands.  He grabs her hips and pulls them, dragging her back onto her knees.  He pushes one rough hand into her hair and sharply claps her on the ass with the other.  She moans and stretches her ribs as his giant hand travels from her scalp down over her face, capturing strands of hair in the swoop back to her breasts.

 “Just fuck me, Mulder, I’m ready.”

 And she continues to try to keep track of both his hands; a thumb down the center of her abdomen as she sucks it off the mattress, one kneading her hip and now one on her lower back as the other disappears and is he wrapping it around himself, she hopes?  She exhales hard and spreads her knees a little.  But no, he collapses her to the bed and starts to trace her tattoo, tickling and torturing her, making her wetter and wetter as she gets flashes of that finger inside her just moments ago, flashes of Stella’s hand up the back of her shirt in a bar their first night and she doesn’t even feel guilty for borrowing a little extra arousal there or stealing friction from the mattress because this is the most functional thing they’ve done in months.  

 The finger goes round and round and round, eventually too many times to be a tease.  She ceases to squirm and moan and just waits, not sure what else to do, beginning to tremble as the air grows cold and the down stands up on her arms and legs.  An angel passing, her mother used to say.  His hand is casket-heavy the next time it flattens itself on her lower back.

 “I can’t,” he says wanly.  “I’m sorry.”  He strokes her hair once, like she’s an oil painting he’s not supposed to touch, and not someone who just begged him to take her.

 “You should go, Dana,” he says now.

 And he says it with no more flair than if he meant to bed or to the store or to work so you’re not late.  But she knows exactly what he means because he calls her what her mother calls her, and her teachers and her priests.  The bed trembles when he leaves it, and she stays but just for now.  This is where she’ll mourn the last of her resilience, cry quietly with her shorts around her hips.  There’s a cake in the freezer.  There’s a ringbox across the room.   Yet another thing she never asked for, never had in the first place, and still managed to lose.

 *

 “Why didn’t you tell me before?”  Stella asked.

 They were sitting at the only the two-top in a self-consciously rustic pub, a place that had undergone a makeover and tacked on the word gastro to seem fancy.  Most of the patrons were concentrated at a long communal farm table splitting the room in half.  In the back, at a rickety little thing where waiters probably stole meals between shifts, Scully could smell the parts they couldn’t reclaim--lime rind-swept kitchen floors, the slightly stale, slightly oversexed glaze of beer-soaked blonde bartop.   One whiff took her back fifteen years and a body of water to where Stella, in a halo of gold liquor, first fingered the cross around her neck and silently absolved her of responsibility in any of the recent events that had almost killed her.  Now here they sat, another country and another split brow bone, a penitent lingerie bag between their feet.  Scully crunched her salad.  

 “I hadn’t really been thinking about it,” she lied, gulping.

 Stella stared into her ketchup as she dipped three French fries at once, a miniature silent treatment.  Scully was aware they came in various sizes; best not to upgrade.

 “I didn’t want to make it about me,” she admitted.

 “Does he know where you are?”

“I haven’t turned my phone on since I’ve been here,” she said.

“Mm, mature.  He’ll be a wreck.”

 Scully scoffed at this and Stella looked piqued.  

 “And by that you mean, what?  That he wouldn’t notice you’re gone?”

 “I moved out.”

 “To come here?”

 “No, before.  I’ve been out of the house a month now.”

 Stella balanced an uneven bit of lettuce and tomato in her burger before biting into it again, then wiped her cheek with a knuckle.  She squeezed the last of a lemon rind into her Diet Coke and gulped it down, dropped one hand like a hockey puck in the center of the table as Scully waited to see which way this was going to go.

 “That bad,” Stella mused.

 Scully nodded and Stella took a measured breath, slightly louder than the others but not quite a sigh.  She watched Scully eat, a reluctant referee.

“It’s not that I don’t love him anymore.”

 “Then what is it?”

 “He’s very difficult.”

 Stella crumpled a napkin in frustration.

“Of course he’s difficult, Scully.”

 Scully looked up at the sound of her last name, the realization dawning that Stella was going to take his side.  Scully hadn’t even thought of it that way, as a thing with sides to be taken, until the moment Stella introduced the concept.

 “What did you think you were getting?  Somebody easy?  Steady?  Bloke who puts a ring on your finger, comes home at five-thirty and watches the game with his mates on Sundays?  You’d scratch your eyes out in boredom.  You like to think you’re traditional but you’re not.  Or you wouldn’t be sitting here.”

Scully didn’t know if that meant here with me or here in the existential sense, having made all the choices you’ve made.  

“He’s not there,” she said, wondering if this was how couples therapy would have sounded had Mulder not refused it.  Reductive little phrases they could bear to send forth into the room, unfairly burdening them with the significance of a much wider range of emotions and events.  This could have summarized, for example, the way he’d begun to spin like a wayward compass after years of being her due north, how confident she’d been at the beginning of the spiral that they’d find their way out together, how sometimes she was so lonely and lost that she wished he’d just take her with him.

“Sex?”

Scully flickered her eyes up at Stella and back to her plate.  Over the years, Stella had almost never asked anything about her sex life with Mulder.  It was unclear whether the perceived danger was sadness or arousal.  Either way, this was different, a metric.

 “No sex,” she said softly.   This, for example, would have summarized the events of his birthday last year.

“He’s depressed.”

 Mulder had never allowed her that simple concession, the peace of having something to call it, something to treat.

“Yes.”

It was strange for Scully to have the focus lifted from persuasion.  The lens turned inward and sharpened her guilt.  Even in the worst of times, like the ones Stella had helped see her through, she had cried, screamed, shot things, wished she could shoot more things, prayed.  But she’d still gotten out of bed, she’d still felt like some version of herself, still loved the things she loved and hated the things she hated.  Her depressions had reasons, beginnings in horrific events and endings in coping mechanisms.  She had no idea what it must feel like to have them start and stop nowhere.  

“I didn’t know what else to do,” she said, the shame in her chest bubbling up into her throat in the form of  defensiveness.  “I’m not going to apologize for saving myself.”

 “Of course.  I understand.  So you’ve moved out of the house then.”

 Ah yes, the impossibly passive aggressive custom of wrapping up unwanted bits of conversation by reiterating something previously mentioned.

“Yes, I got a furnished place.  It’s fine.”

She shook her head at her plate as she picked over the carrots she’d parsed aside when she realized they were (inexplicably) pickled.

“Sorry.  I’ve ruined our day.”

“That’s silly.”

“Keep that lingerie,” Scully said. “I’ll just get upset every time I look at it.”

“If you wish,” Stella said at a clip that indicated she found this kind of self-prescribed sentimentality patently absurd, but not worth arguing.  She began to smolder across the table.  Scully put her elbows on the table, hands clasped at her nose.   I haven’t done anything wrong.  I haven’t done anything wrong.  The clues to Mulder’s moods were neatly filed away, but Stella’s were buried under centuries of breeding.  There was no way to know what exactly had tripped the wire--was it that she’d left Mulder in his time of need, or simply that she’d put Stella through an unpleasant lunch?

 “I’m getting dessert,” Stella announced brusquely as she waved a hand at the waiter.  “I’d advise you to get your own if you want something.”

 Scully bit her upper lip and raised her eyebrows, shook her head helplessly at the waiter as Stella ordered a dish of mousse and then formed a pensive letter L with her arms across her ribs, stroking her lips with her thumb.  It was as if Scully had left the room.  The shadow of Stella’s disengagement fell as cold as her attention did warm.  Scully looked out the window and began to count the cobblestones in the street, starting over three times as she tried to develop a more organized method of keeping track.  She didn’t look when she heard the mousse arrive.

 A kick under the table, like the ones during breakfast.  Eighteen cobblestones, Scully noted, for when she started counting again.

 “You should have told me when you arrived,” Stella said, and then she paused significantly, as if to indicate how unnatural, how forced this kind of open communication felt to her.   She raised a pinky and waved it in the direction of her stitches.  “Regardless of this.”

 “You’re right,” Scully agreed in a small voice.

 Stella nodded, generally as uncomfortable lording any sort of moral high ground as Scully was mining the low.   

 “Sorry,” Scully said as Stella swallowed.

 “I wouldn’t have had to sleep on my fucking couch.”

 Scully sucked her cheek a second, not sure if she was meant to laugh yet.  Stella scraped the mousse with her spoon.

 “Did you see that he brought me an extra spoon?” Scully asked.

 “Don’t you dare, I said get your own.”  She took a breath and flashed her eyes across the table. “Fine.”

   Chapter 12

 Scully rested her chin on her arm as she watched the city go by from the cracked-open black taxicab window--the mighty Thames, rushing the past away and away, the windy little be-lanterned streets desperately holding onto it.  This was, Scully told herself, as good a place as any to find yourself crying in public; stoic but generous in its sharing of burdens.  Stella’s lunchtime tough love had softened into evening easy silence and about halfway home, she took Scully’s hand at a traffic light, folded it into her warm palm and held it there on the cool leather center seat between them.  As the car lurched into green again, Scully let her fingers go slack beneath the weight of Stella’s wrist and looked back out the window, let herself be comforted by the lullaby of older and wiser.

 “I’m getting hungry already,” she said absently as they rounded the corner onto Stella’s block.  There was an old pub tucked into the end of the street, the kind with a crest and an animal in its name.  Scully wondered how often Stella went in there to have her Scotch, her after-work  glass of wine.  It was possible this was too close to home for her to spend much time there at all.

 “That’s what you get for eating salads,” Stella said.  Their voices were sunrise rusty from the long lull in conversation.  Stella paid the driver and looked past Scully at her front door, brow furrowing.

 “You may be in luck,” she added curiously.  “I think that’s a container of soup waiting for us.”

 Scully turned and saw not only soup, but a person attached to said soup.  She held her  questions, worried the answer would take longer to give than the walkway would allow.  She hesitated outside the taxi and waited for Stella to lead the way up to the door.

 “Dani?” Stella asked, though she was clearly sure.  The girl--actually, she was a woman, but young, no older than thirty--squinted and smiled close-lipped.   Maybe thirty-two, now that she was second-guessing herself.

 “Ma’am.”

 She held her free hand over her eyes, though there was not--had not been all day--any sun to speak of.  She seemed to hug the tub of soup a little tighter against her hip.

 “What are you doing here?” Stella asked.  Dani’s accent was different, though Scully couldn’t quite have described how.

 “I thought you lived here, Ma’am,” she said.

 “I meant in London.”

 “Oh.  Yes, Ma’am.  I asked for a transfer.  My girlfriend and I broke up and um.  Yeah.  Gonna be living here now.”  The way she said ‘now’ almost sounded like it had a letter I in it somewhere.  

 If the news that this girl had moved to London meant anything to Stella, she didn’t show it.

 “This is Dana Scully.  She’s an old friend.”  Scully caught the way she looked down, knew she was slightly unnerved by having to define it.  “Dani and I worked together in Belfast.”

 Dani shifted the soup from one hand to the other to offer a handshake.  Her eyes were deeply hooded and soft-rimmed, squinted into narrow, friendly crescents when she smiled.  She was nervous.

 “Did you want us to take that?�� Scully asked.

 “Oh.  Yeah.”

 Scully reached for the soup and held it up like a lab specimen, mouth watering as she watched the noodles swish around in the cloudy broth behind the plastic.  

 “Looks perfect.”

 She smiled at Dani just in time to see her looking back at Stella, a little sigh rising and dying on her chest.  It would have been impossible to spot, had Scully not at some point also looked at Stella that way.  Stella, oblivious or indifferent to any sighing or gazing, simply waited for further explanation.

 “I thought you might like something easy,” Dani finally offered.  “Recovering and all.  I made it, act-u-ally.”  

 The girl looked down at her sneakers, pride and embarrassment and courage all funnelling down to the pear-shaped space between her Converse.  Her pin-straight cinnamon colored bob poked forward past her ears.  Scully bit the corner of her bottom lip to keep herself from smiling too broadly.

 “But I can see that you’re fine,” Dani said.

 “It was very kind of you.  Thank you.”

 Dani sucked up a breath, desperately trying to seem casual and failing.

 “Right.  I’ll be goin’ now.”

 Stella nodded and smiled and Dani looked at Scully one last time, a plea for help, Scully thought, or an apology, she wasn’t sure.

 “I hope you don’t mind if I steal some of it,” she said.  “I’m starving.”

 “Course not.”  And with that, Dani backed down the walkway with her chin held up.  “Bye.”

 Scully had barely had time to grin when Dani turned back from the sidewalk.

 “Ma’am.”  

 Stella turned stiffly on her heel and suddenly Scully was eternally grateful she’d never been put in the position of being Stella’s subordinate.

 “Maybe we can have a coffee sometime.”

 Scully could not imagine how long the pause felt to Dani--a bus ride, a lifetime...

 “That sounds nice.”

 Scully waited to make sure Dani was out of earshot.  Stella unlocked the door and entered a code into an alarm system. 

“I didn’t even used to set this thing,” she mumbled.  

“Hey.  Stella.”

Stella pushed her boots off and threw her jacket onto the staircase railing.  She headed up the steps and Scully followed.

“What?... No, I did not sleep with Dani.”

Stella unbuttoned her jeans, tossed the little black bag to the furniture and collected her robe.  Scully’s feet were street-swollen, and when she leaned on the bed and shifted her weight forward, the soles burned.  

“How do you feel?  Do you want me to bring up a glass of water and a painkiller?”

“No,” Stella mumbled almost inaudibly.  “I have to be careful with them.”

“Oh,” Scully said, looking down to hide the surprise in her eyes.  This is how she had always learned important things about Stella.  Accidentally, in passing, and if she was smart, without further questioning.

“Soup then?” 

“After I wash up, yeah?  Need to get the city off me.”

“She’s awfully cute, isn’t she?”

Nothing from Stella.

“She made you soup,” Scully said.  “You must admit, it’s cute.”

“She felt bad for me.”

“She asked you out.  And risked hyperventilating doing it.”

“She’s a child--”

“Thirty is hardly a child--” 

“And she’s a cop.” 

“You’re telling me you haven’t slept with lower ranking police in your employ.” 

“She’s a woman, it’s different.”

“Oh,” Scully laughed.  “These are your principles?” 

“Yes,”  like she was being asked if she had milk in the house, or if she knew how to play the piano.  “Don’t mock them just because they’re not the same as yours.”

Scully hadn’t meant to nudge any soft spots.  She was here to tend to them.  

“I know you have principles,” Scully said with careful earnestness.  “But you can still be flattered.”

Stella shooed her out the door and Scully took no offense.  This was something Stella did on all their weekends together, occasionally hid in the bathroom for twenty minutes or disappeared into the hotel bar alone for an hour.   

“I mean, is it that all young women look at you like that or what,”  Scully muttered rhetorically as she headed back down the stairs.  Stella’s tossed-off reply was almost swallowed by the gulp of the door shutting.

“Only the redheads.”

 *

 Scully lay on the couch with bent knees, hands holding her ankles, a glass of red wine on the Persian carpeted floor beside her, book open face-down on her chest.  She’d tried to read it and gotten distracted thinking about the conversation she’d just had with Stella.  Was it Dani’s innocence that was sticking with her?  A woman in her early thirties would have been through things, been broken by people and broken others.  Certainly, Scully had.  And yet, she’d seen nothing at that point, nothing at all compared to what was coming.  

There was another possible explanation.  She and Stella spent their time together in near-isolation, partially out of circumstance, but also because they were protecting their relationship from anything which might challenge it.  She’d seen fawning shopgirls and cowed bartenders admire Stella dozens of times.  But she had never seen Stella get a hug from a sibling or a parent, had never watched her friends laugh at a dinner party.  Through Dani, she had gotten to see with her own eyes that Stella had other people who cared for her, and that felt good.  At the same time, old friends was a very approximate categorization.  Scully knew she’d been just a little relieved that Stella hadn’t returned the girl’s interest.

She finally got up and made her way to the microwave, hit the stop button before it beeped in case Stella had fallen asleep.  The room filled with the scent of coconut, maybe lemongrass.  She was sitting on the living room floor with her legs out and crossed at the ankles, blowing and slurping at a spoon when a pair of cloud-grey pants stepped into view.  She hadn’t even heard Stella come down the stairs. 

“I think it’s tom ka.  Want some?” she gurgled, looking up.

“Is it any good?”

“There’s no steak or Scotch in it, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

Stella smirked and strode past Scully to the spot beside her, leaned one hand on the sofa and inched down to the floor.  Scully moved to take the other hand, but saw it was already occupied with a half-full glass of Scotch.  The deep V-neck t-shirt she’d put on shifted to reveal extra freckles as she settled in.  Sometimes Scully forgot Stella had them.

“I was going to watch something,” Scully said, nodding up at the blank TV.

“It’s been broken for months.”

“I can put something on my laptop,” Scully said.

“Let’s not be desperate.”

“Months?  What do you do when you’re alone?”  

Stella bit her lip and looked up to furnish a good, if obvious, answer.   

“Nevermind,” Scully said with a smile.  “Don’t answer that.” 

She thought a moment, eager to avoid slipping back into her own thoughts.  The room hummed with silent, important questions she didn’t want to ask or answer.  Paul Spector.  Dani.  Mulder.  The comment about the pills. 

“But talk to me,” she said more seriously.

“Okay,” Stella said.  “What would you like me to tell you?”

“Anything frivolous.”

Stella sighed, as though Scully were purposefully being difficult.  Scully gave her a gentle, blinking nod. 

“No, really.  I’d like it.  Just tell me things I don’t know.”

Stella looked at Scully hard enough that Scully knew she was on her second round of Scotch.  Scully, armed with only half a glass of red and some vegetarian soup, looked at her lap, pleased as  Stella began to tell her things she’d never told her, things that didn’t matter at all and presently mattered the world to Scully.  About the lush hills of Northern Ireland, so green after it rained that they looked spray-painted.  About trying to manage bureaucracy amongst centuries’ old battles about bloodlines.  Her voice was like stained glass, split into colors and slightly translucent, a window into the church where Scully had once briefly gotten the chance to kneel.

Scully stroked the carpet in varying patterns as she listened, turning the color over from its patted-down charcoal to the bright space-black hidden in the interior pile.  When she was little, she would draw pictures in the rug in her bedroom sometimes--hearts and eyeballs and her name - and eventually, her fingers would go numb with carpet burn and--she accidentally brushed Stella’s hand and the electrical charge nipped them both.  Scully startled and sucked her finger for a second as Stella gave a jungle cat’s grin, eyes doing all the work.  She lifted her glass and let the ice cube graze her teeth, then tongued it, teasing it with the possibility of entry before she sent it on its woeful retreat back to the bottom of the glass.  The glass landed on the floor and the ice cube spun like a time machine.

“Do you remember that first drink we had together?” Scully asked.

“That awful karaoke thing.  How could I forget?”

“You were drinking out of a glass just like that and I was--I was…”

Scully reflexively touched her collarbone and squeezed the back of her neck.  More than a decade and she still couldn’t explain whatever she’d felt in that bar dancing with Stella.  The ice cube in Stella’s glass grew rounder as Stella swirled a current around it.  It clinked when the uneven shores of carpet set it slightly askew.

“You thought she’d remind me of you, didn’t you?  That’s why you were so interested.”

“Hm?  Oh.  Dani.  Well…” she looked around and plucked at the rug again, now focusing on one of the tiny cartilage-pink rosebuds.  “You know, the hair and… yeah, I guess so.”

She hid her embarrassment over her left shoulder, but she could hear Stella’s lips spread, wet and slow against her gums.  It was the smile she’d been pushing for earlier, not a huge smile, but a smile worth feeling foolish over.  She turned and caught the end of it just as Stella raised her drink and then eclipsed her teeth behind it--glowing, gone in seconds, not back for years.  Her tongue made a noise like a can of soda opening when she finished her sip.

“I did meet someone who reminded me of you,” she said.  “A forensic specialist.”  

Scully brought her eyebrows to a suggestive half-mast.  There was that word again:  met.  

“More redheads?”

“Actually, it was the reason I agreed to go.  Ireland, I said, they have gingers there, don’t they?  Plenty, Ma’am, they said.”

Scully chuckled quietly.

“No.  Her hair was dark.  But it was long like yours is now.”

She reached for Scully’s ponytail holder, hooked it under her nails, and dragged.  Color spilled like a tipped can of paint:  Crazy Crimson or Ruby Riot or Crisp-Apple Cranberry all over Stella’s muted living room.  Stella stroked it a couple of times and then patted her leg as an invitation.  Scully slouched down to put her head there and looked up at the ceiling as Stella’s fingers straightened ropes of hair across her lap, scratching lightly at the scalp and wiggling underhanded through tangles fermented by wool coat collar and cross-Atlantic morbid humidity.

“I meant she was like you, not looked like you.  She was good like you.”  

Scully would once have been able to accept this kind of compliment gracefully, but somewhere along the way, somewhere on the run or in their home in the middle of nowhere, she’d lost the ability.

“And what happened?” she asked, unsure whether she was rooting to hear a win or a loss.

“We had drinks a couple times, I got to know her.”

“And?”  Scully’s fingers were picking at one another across her stomach.

“And she told me she was brought up in Croydon.”

“Should I know what that means?”

“It means she’s straight.” And then, before Scully could interject – “Straight, straight.”

“That’s bullshit,” Scully blurted, inexplicably irritated.  She could not seem to decide tonight if she wanted Stella to have everyone or no one. 

Stella started to laugh, but then gasped like a knife had gone through her chest.  Her hands went to her ribs to apply pressure, her eyes blinking shut in agony.  Scully kept her eyes on Stella’s hand, memorizing its placement as Stella tried to keep the pain from radiating.  When the worst of it had apparently passed, Stella once again reached for her drink and Scully reached for something to say that didn’t involve nagging or MRIs.

“Noticed you didn’t bring me a glass.”

“You have wine.  That’s enough for you.”

“You’re always so strict about how much I get to drink and you get to drink as much as you want.”

“You have the tolerance of a virgin on prom night.”

“Come on, just a--what’s it called with Scotch again--a little bit,” Scully said. 

Stella’s hand went to her glass and in a moment, there was an amber-dripping knuckle over Scully’s mouth.

“It’s called a finger.”

Scully hesitated a moment, glanced at Stella to be clear what was being offered.  A drop fell to her lips.  She opened them and Stella’s finger hooked the roof of her mouth.  Scully cushioned it with her tongue, closed her lips around it.  The smoky brine of the liquor quickly gave way to the mine-salt taste of skin, and then Stella slowly began to pull her finger back.  Scully playfully tightened her lips, held on tighter and lifted her head as Stella tugged the line.  Scully finally dropped her head back to Stella’s leg.  Stella placed both her hands on the floor beside her.  This, Scully knew, was not usually how Stella worked--tossing the first one back, giving it a chance to swim away.  

“Still want a glass?”

Scully shook her head no and licked the cocktail of grape and Scotch and Stella off her mouth.  She rolled over onto her side to face Stella’s body, pressing her ear into the soft material of Stella’s pants.  She lifted the cotton t-shirt slowly and began to trace the bruises along Stella’s ribs like a child learning a map, watching the evenly-charted abdominal muscles puff and contract at her touch.  A boundary broken but easily mended, a doctor’s exam, if in a moment they decided they needed a lie to believe.  Stella didn’t stop her and Scully had lied to herself enough for one lifetime.

So her face followed her fingers and she brushed her lips against the battered coasts of Stella’s ribcage.  Irregular deep blue centers, ringed in violet and yellow, radar plagued by tropical storms.  Fury rose in her heart at the person who’d done this to Stella, and a string of Latin terms scuttled across her brain, proper names and recovery estimates, all quickly washed away each time a wave of Stella’s breath pushed her skin to Scully’s mouth.  This was the smell she associated with Stella--not the curated clouds of perfume that stuck to the cables of Stella’s sweaters and even made their way into Scully’s suitcases, but her skin--clean and alive, a warm, teeming turquoise waterfall, an unpredictable climate all its own.  She breathed Stella in and felt a helpless collision of affection and desire barreling up her throat.  She steadied that and spoke softly so as to protect Stella from the impact.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No, I like it,” Stella said in a whisper, the pace of it grave with responsibility, but the pitch sugary with pleasure.  

Scully sat up, dragging her hair up across Stella’s lap until she once again felt the weight of it on her own back.  She swept her hand around the side of Stella’s neck, searched her eyes for a yes, a no, anything.  But none came.  The side of Stella’s breast pressed into her arm and made a warm spot on her sweater.  She blinked, moved her face closer, blinked again, spread her fingers, flexing up into the base of Stella’s hairline.  Hovered.

“This is not up to me,” Stella began, eyes traveling over Scully’s nose, her top lip.  “So either kiss me or knock it off.”

And so Scully kissed the first person ever since she’d first kissed Mulder, the only person she and Mulder had both ever kissed.  This kiss was the reason she and Mulder had found their way to each other, it was the reason the room was spinning, and for the moment, she wanted to let it be the reason she was so far from home.  No sad stories, not hers or Mulder’s or Stella’s, just this beautiful, perfect thing on a living room floor.

Her hand moved up Stella’s shirt, this time past the bruised territory, a little higher to soft, safe ground, and she smiled as she felt the satin of what she already knew to be the bra from the shop.

“Careful now,” Stella said.  “You said you’d be upset to see this.”

It had been so long.  So very, very long.  She had always believed loneliness was a choice, and she couldn’t bring herself to choose it another second.

“I think maybe I’d like to be upset.”

Stella put her arms up and Scully pulled the shirt off.  The color was even deeper here in the boat cabin light of Stella’s living room, and it set Stella’s eyes swirling like the innermost curve of a rainbow.  

Scully whispered, didn’t want to have to hear herself say it.

“Sometimes it hurts to look at you.”

“Sometimes it hurts to be looked at,” Stella said and placed the heel of her palm in the hollow of Scully’s cheekbone.  “But not by you.”

Stella’s kiss was as Scully remembered it, but more so--lashing and lush, elusive lips and a strong tongue.  Scully allowed it, enjoyed it, patiently moving her thumb up and down the center seam of the bra cup, and when she caught the satin silhouette of a prickled areola, Stella paused long enough for her to take over.  With Stella’s tongue sedated between her teeth, she fit their lips together like two bits of a lock, each more secure with each bit of torque.  Stella swallowed the change of pace with a gracefully defeated hum, a sound that went down Scully’s throat just like the soup, warm and welcoming, the home she currently lacked despite the two actual residences held in her name.

Stella pushed Scully to the floor, but instead of joining her, knelt at her ears.  She bent at the waist, breasts spilling forward into an upside down kiss.

“Take off your pants,” she whispered, then gently pecked Scully’s nose, her cheekbones as Scully wiggled around with her clothes.  She was nervous, unsure what was coming next, but fairly certain she wanted whatever it was.  And when she was at last lying still in her cotton panties and Jackie-O cardigan, Stella’s hands began to crawl ever-so-slowly down the front of her torso, working the pearly buttons of the tidy blue top open.  Scully waited, kissing Stella back with her eyes open to take in the strange and disorienting view of Stella’s collarbones over her forehead.  Perfectly constructed but fragile from this angle, a limestone statue, shadows settling into each lovely dip and even crease of bone.  And then Scully’s belly was bare, her sweater peeled to the sides and Stella shifted forward.  There was a rush of soft and strong and black and blue over pale everywhere, a phoenix from the ashes--breasts brushing Scully’s eyelashes and lips, fingertips diving head-first down Scully’s waist, tongue winging into Scully’s belly button.  Nothing was where it belonged and it all felt right.

“You deserve this,” Stella said.

“Deserve what?”

Stella’s answer was a lick under the elastic of Scully’s simple cotton underwear, a pluck at it with her teeth.  Scully’s hands went to her forehead to steady herself as red and black and gold bangle bracelets clasped and opened behind her eyelids.  A few moments ago, Scully had felt as though she could simply kiss for the rest of her life, if only someone was kissing her like that, like there was no other room in the house they’d rather be in.  Now she needed more, needed everything, and Stella was going to give it to her. 

“So innocent,” she said and Scully could feel Stella’s bottom lip stick momentarily to her abdomen, a hand go down into the wet center panel of her underwear.

“And then this,” she said.  Her knees came up against Scully’s shoulders and Scully grabbed them, both because she had been needing something to hold onto for a long time now, and because she wanted that thing to be Stella.

It was one finger and then two, and it was Stella’s body combing Scully’s with easy tempo, lips parted as they stroked her stomach, the well-mannered satin bra rolling over in the fray of skin-searching-skin until both Stella’s breasts were mostly undressed, one and a half straps falling down her arms, and all of Scully was buzzing and humming like a bumblebee.  The back of Stella’s hand pushed against Scully’s underwear, eager to get it out of her way, and her nipple brushed over Scully’s pubic bone.

“Fuck,” Scully whispered.

“Mhm.”

It was nothing, a noise, a verbal tic used often in daily conversation, but it was also a glimpse of the relief that was coming, the way it would wash over her.  She wanted it so badly her fingers dug into the tendons of Stella’s knees, wanted it so badly she almost felt sick.  She’d come here to offer relief, not receive it.

“Lift your hips,” Stella ordered and she did, allowing the damp cotton panties to slide down her thighs, but she also reached up to the waistband of Stella’s drawstring pants and pulled them down, her fingers strumming the black satin triple T-straps over Stella’s hips.  Stella shook one leg to get them off, grunting a little with the effort of balancing on three limbs instead of four.  Once they re-framed Scully’s shoulders, they were strong as Greek columns, scars of various wars etched into them, soft and smooth around the curves, held together by a tiny flag of deep blue satin (a matching set, of course.)  Scully ran her fingertips over the warm strip of fabric, thick enough not to betray any moisture.  She smiled a little as she recalled Stella admiring it in the store and traced the lace pagan’s cross across the front with her thumbs.  Smoothing her hands back down the outsides of Stella’s thighs, she then snuck her fingers back up under the triple black satin straps that held the panties to Stella’s hips.  She watched the bands tighten around her fingers, the matching strap thong lifting a little as she played.  She couldn’t decide whether to take them off or not. 

“I’ve never done this before,” she said.

Stella had Scully’s cotton underwear around her knees now, and she crawled forward a bit for the next push.  Her breasts brushed the tops of Scully’s thighs, the perfect, round split-center of her ass hovering right over Scully’s sternum.

“Done what?” Stella asked, clearly trying to make her say it as she stepped Scully’s now useless ankles out of her saturated cotton bikini briefs one at a time.

“I’ve tried it--you know, with men--but--mmm--good God, you feel nice--”

“You’ll figure it out.”  She kissed her way back up Scully’s legs.  “You’re a medical doctor.”

A low blow followed by a tongue jab to the clitoris strong enough to bring Scully gasping up onto her elbows.  Scully laughed her cardigan down her shoulders a bit, dragged her nose up and down the Stella’s panties, then, decision made, moved them over with her fingers and replaced them with her mouth.  Stella sighed and tiptoed into her like she was getting into a hot bath.  

Scully had forgotten the taste, had told herself there wasn’t a distinct difference between men and women, that they were all just sweat and soap and human hormones, a single brand’s line of musks so similar they were not worth naming.  But as she got Stella wetter, sunk her tongue deeper, it came back to her, a flavor she couldn’t imagine anyone else in the world having, part metal and part dessert, the remains of a bittersweet chocolate souffle stuck to a fork.  She knew why she’d made herself forget this now, that she would never have believed herself if she remembered Stella tasting like cinnamon off a piece of aluminum foil, the sugary powdery inside of a bubble gum wrapper.

Scully’s hand looked for Stella’s waist and squeezed, wanting to pull her closer, wanting the weight of her whole body.

“I promised someone that I’d tell you to be gentle,” Stella said and Scully nudged Stella’s clitoris with the tip of her nose, kissed it in apology.

“Just testing you.”  

Stella reached around and snapped open her new bra, shimmied it down her arms until it trapped Scully’s thighs under a tight band.  The bottoms of Stella’s breasts hung soft against Scully’s belly, the rolling weight of them sending a moan straight up Scully’s center into her mouth, where it came out vibrating against Stella’s wet skin.  Stella’s breath went backstage-curtain quiet as she sat her hips back a little further and dropped her chest a little deeper.  Scully moaned again once for Stella, and then again for herself, and then lost track of who she was doing it for.  Stella rolled her hips over the short distance of Scully’s tongue and reached for Scully’s breast, fingers sneaking under the slim cotton triangle bra she wore only on vacation.  She rolled a bit harder against Scully’s mouth and at the same time took a nipple between two nails.  Scully’s legs came off the floor momentarily.

“I’m going to come,” she said, consonants disappearing into Stella’s body, eighty bucks worth of satin cinched at the left side of her mouth.  She tried desperately to hold out, tried to remember what Stella liked best.  She liked Scully’s dirty talk, but that was currently impossible.  A sharp, withholding tongue, was it?  A puffy, swollen lip and the flat of her chin, and then oh yes, a finger up the crack of her ass, slipping it under the single strap of silk there.

Stella nearly collapsed, caught herself with a hand pressed hard into Scully’s sternum, heavy as the one Mulder had placed on her back as he sent her away, but this one called her back to herself, energy and desire charging into Scully’s heart through flexed, shaking fingers.  Even with her arm trembling beneath her weight, even with her face bruised and her serial killer unpunished and her companion crying in underwear stores, Stella didn’t give up, kissed and sucked her, finger-fucked her G-spot like both their lives depended on it.  It was possible, Scully thought, that theirs did.

Scully’s tailbone began to dig into the carpet so hard she thought maybe she could feel the grains of wood beneath it, and Stella’s knee crept almost over her shoulder, angling toward her armpit.  She was just barely managing to keep the bruised, tender parts of herself from the friction, and she let her breasts dip deep into the hollow of Scully’s pelvis while Scully’s face reached up into Stella’s upturned hips.  They were perfectly matched swoops of human being, a pair of slick cream-colored come-fuck-me high heels fit together in a box and separated by a single sheet of tissue.

“Dana.”

Anythinganythinganything she wanted to say but didn’t dare talk over this rare bit of feedback.

“Your mouth…”

Scully swallowed a groan to make sure she heard the rest, kept her mouth doing whatever it was that Stella seemed to like so much.

“It’s perfect, it’s so fucking perfect,” Stella continued, tip of her upper lip just under Scully’s clit, finger firmly circling that spot, oh god, that fucking spot is it even the same spot I don’t even know this spot perfect you want to talk about perfect.  Her hand flailed from Stella’s waist to her thigh and landed on the arch of Stella’s foot, squeezing it tight overhead in lieu of a queen-sized bed frame as her back strained and stretched.  She was trying very hard not to arch it into Stella’s ribs.  Stella breathed like a ceremonial drum into Scully’s body, pussy fluttering like a snare at Scully’s mouth and finally, finally she was moaning and Scully’s body gave and gushed around Stella’s fingers and they were both coming in a closed circuit of electricity, each of them giving life and each of them swallowing it, end to end to end to end.  

“Fuck,” Scully said and buried her face against Stella’s leg.  There were tears puddling in her ears. “Fuck.”

Scully looked up to see Stella half-laughing, half-wincing, balanced like a wobbling sheet cake on her hands and knees, hair melting like butter frosting around her shoulders.

“That was fucking unbelievable,” Scully said, boneless as dough, spotting Stella’s thigh and calf with kisses. 

“You’re fucking unbelievable.” 

“The rug…” 

“Don’t worry about it.”

Stella gathered her breath and began to move gingerly, losing the tangle of the bra, bringing one leg back over Scully’s face and inching toward the sofa on her knees, slithering out of the remaining pant leg like a second skin.  She swore under her breath and sucked her stomach in as she pushed herself up onto the couch and scraped the cashmere throw off the back of it.  Scully watched and waited, feeling helpless as she prepared to be sent to the bedroom.  But once Stella had settled into the back crease of the sofa, she held the blanket open and Scully sat up on her elbows.  She slipped in carefully, filling the spaces left by Stella’s body as she tried not to press against any of them.

“If you say I told you so, I’ll kill you,” Stella said.

“Sssh,” Scully said.  She’d located at least one of the misaligned ribs earlier, and now she placed her fingers strategically around it, compressed it just-so with the palm of her hand.  

“Exhale.”

Stella did, and her lungs went completely still.

“You can still breathe.”  And Stella gradually let her breath return to normal, trust growing as Scully caught each exhale.  Minutes passed, full songs worth of breath.

“That feels so good,” Stella finally whispered.

“Better than what we just did?”

“Nothing is better than that,” Stella said, moving Scully’s hand so she could tuck her face under Scully’s chin.  She slipped her arm around Scully’s waist.  “Except you coming like a rock star on my two-thousand-dollar rug.”

“Oh my God.”

But her body had cooled to match the perfect temperature of Stella’s and as it turned out, it was difficult to blush at Stella’s temperature.  

“Should we move to the bed?”

“I cannot move.  You can go if you want.”

“Okay,” Scully joked and moved a couple of muscles for show.  Stella’s arm tightened around her waist.

“Promise you’ll tell me if you need more space,” Scully said, but Stella was already drifting off.

The next time Scully heard Stella’s voice, it was already morning.  Somehow, Stella had managed to climb out without waking her.  Her voice was low and soft in the next room, a one-way conversation Scully could only hope, half-naked on the couch, was a phone call.  Her sleepy brow furrowed.   Mulder, she was almost sure she’d heard Stella say.   

*

[thedietian]

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Description:

Are you Desperate To Get Rid Of Your Embarrassing Saggy Breast Now But Find It Impossible Without Going Through Risky & Expensive Sugery? “At Last…Now You can finally learn how to firm your breast naturally and look good in your bikinis & sexy clothes With more natural, Perkier and shapely bust and revitalize your sex life with Your man drooling over your breast every single day…all without any surgeries involved!”

From: Lilian Brown Date:

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Don’t you ever hate that UNEVEN BREAST of yours?

On this page I’ll tell you a story of how I overcame my embarrassment with my saggy breast, how I was able to firm my breast naturally without surgery and live my life full with confidence and better sex relationship with my husband, and most important of all, how you can achieve the same result as mine!

How I got back my firm, natural & nice cleavage bust…

It sucks doesn’t it when your breast are dropping down, almost touching the ground.

Don’t you just hate it when your man goes limp by just having one look at your saggy bust?

I know how you feel. Because I’ve been there just like you are now.

Trust me, once my breasts were in really bad shape.

About 7 years ago, I was a 31 year old female who hated my breast so much.

They were “awfully saggy” and out of shape.

My breasts hang quite low as well.

In fact I would be afraid that one day my breasts would sag until can touch the ground

In my bra, the breasts’ size would look miserably fine. But when out of the bra, my breasts, would sag terribly, either they were too flat or hung too low until my top is pointing far south.

My skins tend to be very loose and very elastic.

In fact they tend to wobble to and fro until I can almost tie them in a knot!

I have been pregnant twice and have breast fed for a couple of months each time after delivery.

After the pregnancy my big saggy boobs have indeed worsen until about an inch apart from each other after a while!

I was literally sick and tired of trying to wear clothing just to minimize the embarrassment of these loose sagging breasts which tended to fall out of my bra when I was bending over!

Just like you, I was very insecure of my breast; I hated so much of even getting naked in front of the mirror, let along having sex with my husband

I almost wanted to file divorce the day my husband started to criticize me and lost his appetite on my body

My struggling never seemed to end…

I always heard people recommending me about breast lift or enhancement surgery as medical option.

But the slightest thought of having my breasts going under the knife has terrified me

Emotionally I was feeling unstable and often broke down because of my husband wasn’t really exited about my breast anymore and my sex life is suffering.

Moreover all my friends constantly talk about my saggy boobs, calling me names like Pendulums, Super Droopers , Sag Bags, Marble-Stuffed Stocking Feet and they are nearly always brought up in conversations…..behind my back!

I’ve had enough. My boobs are giving me real bad backache and are constant pain in my life!

Embarrassed, Alone, and no where to run I was pretty Freakin’ Scared that I would stuck with these sagging breast for the rest of my life!

Then a few years back I’ve made some revealing discoveries about my saggy breast problem.

I began to notice my breasts were much firmer and perkier than before.

My husband noticed it and I’m better looking in my bra now

You might be thinking that I could have cheated my way through surgeries or something.

All I could say is that I did not spend a single penny on those.

In fact I couldn’t afford that myself!

So here’s what I did…

About 7 years ago I have been actively researching some of the ways I could help my breast without thinking of breast lift surgery.

I’ve become very much obsessed with the subject of loosing my saggy breast.

I wanted to know everything that there is to know about curing this embarrassing body.

I used to spend hours at the library literally consuming tons of books, journals and magazines about breast, skins medication and many others.

Well I didn’t just read. I’ve interviews countless of other people with huge saggy boobs problem as mine and endlessly picked the brains of every health therapist, doctors, surgeons and others.

I had since started the long, often frustrating road of trial and errors until I finally pieced together a complete and overall picture of the dark side of breast enhancement surgery and how we would loose our saggy breast using some of the better, cheaper and safer alternative natural methods which I would reveal to you soon

7 Years of study, researched, trial, error and experimentation

After more than years of hardworking and in depth research on a daily basis, after going through several eureka moments, not forgetting the long process of trial and error and dozens of interviews and self experiments, I applied my years of training to finally covering the solution to my saggy breast problem all without the need of any expensive breast enhancement surgery

It has taken me quite a few years with good amount of research to get to where I am now and to know exactly what works and what doesn’t in firming our breast naturally.

Yes, after desperate trial and error, myriads of other useless treatments, disappointments and agony, a simple and safer ways to enhance my breast without surgery has opened the door to my new and much brighter life.

I knew this was only the beginning, that I had unearthed something big and needed to discover more

Now, 7 painful years and thousands of work hours later, I no longer have saggy breast like I used to.

Why didn’t I try breast lift With Implant surgery at first?

Thorough the years, many women have suffered from agony of these small or under-developed saggy breast. Some of them even suffer from breast sagging to side!

Apparently most of the people I met with saggy breast problem has only this costly and life-threatening solution in mind; *breast implant surgery*.

To determine the actual cost of breast implant surgery which you could end up with, you should take some of these numbers into account.

Overall, if you want to solve your saggy breast this way, then be prepared to burn a hole in your wallet.

If you are like me or like the rest of the people, many of us just don’t have this kind of money to splurge on breast enhancement surgery to improve our breast size or appearance.

But nonetheless, if cost is not a significant issue for you when it comes to breast enhancement surgery, then perhaps you should be aware of the dangerous complications arising after the surgery.

You’ve been lied for too long and it has to stop!

If you think surgery can solve 100% of your problem, wait till you read this.

If you are the unlucky ones, you could suffer from myriads of after surgery effects such as scarring, infection, breast hardening, sores around nipples, bleeding and drainage due to a ruptured breast implant, and sometimes serious reaction to anesthesia.

Imagine in some cases during surgery your nipples and areolas may have to be completely removed or transplanted into higher position.

The scariest thing that could happen to you is when the surgery could also leave you with mismatched breasts or unevenly positioned nipples!

Not only that, you can forget about future breast feeding as it may not be possible considering the fact that the surgery removes many of the milk ducts leading to the nipples.   

Breast Implant surgery is NOT WORTH risking your Breast that Might damage beyond repair!

Here’s the latest news; 300,000 women in America will receive breast implants this year.

While many of these people are familiar with common treatment from breast implants, unfortunately there seem to be overly massive amount of shady information about the surgery that only people within the industry would keep to themselves.

Which is the reason why you can find breast enhancement solutions can be confusing, tenuous and sometimes frightening process.

Breast enhancement industry is a billion dollar industry.

With these billions at stake, these breast enhancement companies will tell you just about anything to get you sign up for their surgical treatment.

They’ll even lie right to your face!

Thousands of women are suffering, and many are dying, as a result of corporate greed, and because the FDA didn’t do its job.

It normally takes a great deal of time to get to the facts.

Hence for more than 7 years, I’ve researched and studied these ‘very promising’ breast implant surgeries from actual cases, real life stories of people who had their breast went through the knifes.

What I’ve uncovered in the end was simply shocking. Here are the facts you should know about now

FACT #1: Silicone Used In Breast Implants Is NEVER Guaranteed To Be Safe

Before the start of the surgery, it all started with a pristine, crystal clear, silicone gel implant, just the one show to the left, and like the one we were shown by our Plastic Surgeons during consultations – often accompanies by the assuring words

But do you know that silicone which was the essential ingredient used in breast implant, was actually been banned in 1992 by FDA?

Silicone breast implants actually went on the market since 1962, without any safety testing!

Today millions of women are unaware that their bodies were being poisoned by these modern day vanity contraptions which were bought in good faith

Breast implants have nEVER been proven safe by the FDA nor the Manufacturers, and this applies to Saline as well as silicone!

Hence you should be cautious of any doctors who advised you about the safety of silicone use.

And yes the silicone may make your breast feel natural.

But can you afford the risk that these silicone may be able to migrate throughout your body ie your organs, in your lymph and possibly resulting into forming tumors?

NOTE: These women are considerate enough to allow their pictures to be shown in the hopes that this will alert others to the dangers of implants or any kinds of breast surgeries sought

WARNING: These pictures below will reveal some disturbing pictures of the failed implants

As such many suffering women have told regulators of breast implants that caused rock-like scars, of silicone leaching into their organs and oozing through their skin, or unending pain

Recently, dozens of women and critics who blamed silicone gel breast implants for damaging health effects urged the Food and Drug Administration NOT to lift its 11-year ban on the devices.

Most of these women have these to say; “My bones still scream with pain,” breast cancer survivor Pam Dowd, of Boise, Idaho, said at the hearing. She described having silicone scraped off her chest wall when leaking implants were removed in 1995.

Carolyn Wolf of Centerville, Virginia, described *a long thin greasy glob* of silicone oozing from her eye and X-rays showing it lodged elsewhere in her body even after the implants she had for 29 years were removed.

“We beg you, please protect the younger generation,” she said

Studies have shown that although the leaks are very hard to detect, surprisingly it is possible for these silicone solutions to travel through the intact shell even in small quantities.

This “gel bleed” is an unfortunately a common problem that is now coming to light with these implants

This problem can extend to your children if you breast feed with silicone implants

FACT #2: Your Breast Implants Warranty May Not Insure you Against Breast Breakage, Shift or Leak Once ruptured, these implants will need to be replaced.

Some women have reported that their implants deflated or ruptured in the first few months after being implanted and some have deflated over several years.

Through each implant may carry each respective manufacturer’s warranty, but nonetheless, they differ wildly.

FACT #3: Implants Are NOT Permanent Device

Don’t fall into this trap that one surgery is not all it takes.

In real cases, you should be requiring not 2 but several surgeries throughout your lifetime.

Haven’t you even realized that the average lifespan of a breast implant is around 10 years only?

If you can foresee yourself changing the battery in your car in the future, you might as well expect to have another second surgery after your implant expiry date.

FACT #4: You Will Also Be Denied And Will Be Dropped Health Insurance Coverage If You Have Breast Implants, Even If You Are Suffering From A Ruptured Silicone Breast Implant Later.

Believe it or not, your health insurance policy may not cover or reimburse you the cost of breast implant surgery done for purely cosmetic reasons.

Based on my findings with Food and Drug Administration’s Breast Implant Consumer Handbook, “For some women, companies may increase premiums, drop coverage, or deny future coverage following breast implant surgery or following complications from the breast implants or surgery. Policies on coverage may also change from year to year.”

Even if your health insurance company does not overcharge your premiums or drop you, they may not even cover any surgeries or risks associated with complications due to your cosmetic breast enhancement surgeries.

Since the FDA and other implant makers concluded that MRI (magnetic resonance imaging) is needed every few years after you’ve done your silicone-filled implants (to check for breast cancer), the cost of this procedure make rake up to thousands of dollars (about 10 times the cost of mammography).

Sadly, your insurer may not cover this.

FACT #5: Studies Have Shown Than There’s A 21% Of Increased Risk Of Having Cancers For Women With Implants, Compared To Women Of The Same Age In General Population.

In most cases, many of these women were unaware they’ve developed cancer in the first place as the result from complications

More often that not, these implant women were three times like to die from lung cancer, emphysema and pneumonia as other plastic surgery patients.

This fact is based on yet another study on medical records and death certificates of nearly 8,000 women who have done breast implant surgeries (on either silicone gel implants or saline implants) as well as more than 2,000 other plastic surgery patients.

Not only breast implants can cause unnatural, invasive and often painful experience to you, the researchers also uncovered many potentially life threatening health hazards from breast implants. These includes swollen and tender glands under the arms, recurrent unexplained low-grade fever, hair loss, memory loss, skin rash, headaches, chest pain, and even shortness of breath!

FACT #6: Many Are Unaware For The Fact That Saline-Filled Breast Enhancement Implants Tend To Have A Greater Risk Of Leaking Into Breast Milk And Deflation Than Silicone Gel Implants

In addition to that you may suffer from permanent lose of all sensations in your nipples.

Not forgetting about the complications from bleeding, blood clots, tissue necrosis, infection, scaring, implant rejection, implant rupture or leakage, additional surgeries, severe anesthesia reaction. These complications may linger for many years to come in your life.

In fact, from one of the studies published in Lancet medical journal, Dr Lori Brown of the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) says, “There is emerging consensus that both the incidence and prevalence of breast-implant rupture are much higher than previously suspected”

FACT #7: If You Are Not Happy With The Breast Implant Results, There Is No Such Thing REFUND!

There would be no refund to you if you are not happy with the overall shape or results from the surgeries. If you opt to remove these implants from your body, you will have to fork out additional thousands of dollars in additional surgery

CONFESSIONS FROM A REAL LIFE BREAST IMPLANT PATIENT

A Top Hollywood actress’s Account on Implant Removal

I vividly remember the day I first thought about taking out the implants. It was 1999, and I was starring in a short film. Before I began the love scene, I stood in the bathroom looking in the mirror and suddenly, for the first time in my career, I was afraid to expose myself. Where once I’d felt proud and empowered to walk into a room naked, I now realized that my breasts were defining me before I had a chance to define myself, in both work and my personal relationships. Even though I was intelligent and a trained actress, many of the people I met, including casting directors, weren’t taking me seriously. I was sick of my breasts walking into a room five minutes before I did.

Finally, a year later, I asked a doctor to take out my implants

Your answer to your saggy breast problem

Chances are you are like me 7 years ago, desperately seeking safest and most effective non-surgical methods to uplift your breast.

I know how you feed because I was once in your position.

But today that is going to change – because I’m going to share with you my methods which I used to help loose my saggy breast and how you can do exactly the same

You can ignore other hype and ill advice given to you about lifting your breast without surgery

In fact if you rather want more natural ways to reshape your saggy breast, then this will be the most important message to you

Saggy Breast No More Natural Breast Enhancement Secrets The Complete Guide To Enhancing And Loosing Your Saggy Breast Without Any Surgeries!

The Saggy Breast No More breast enhancement program is a downloadable guide to a better breast jam packed with cutting edge saggy breast enhancement techniques previously known by only a handful of people.

This program contains all the information you’ve ever need to lift your breast naturally, safe and effectively – WITHOUT any gimmicks, hype or empty promises.

In this program, I’ll show you some of the common questions and answers about everything you need to know about your saggy breast

Who I am and why you should listen to me

You may have heard stories of how thousands of people who have gotten good results from breast enhancement surgeries and other miracle products and solutions but have you heard of people who suffered unfortunate experience from these?

I know all of these because I’ve gone through what you’ve been

As a former woman with awful saggy breast, I would like to show you how I’ve permanently shaped my breast without any need for breast enhancement surgery, faster, effective and safer than anyone thought possible, all by using simple step-by-step formula which I’ve experienced through

And it wasn’t always that way…

I went through years of embarrassment and emotional hardship in my life.

Imagine I was not able to wear nice sexy evening dress to dinner, not able to look and feel good about myself in front of the mirror and worst of all I’ve had my man loosing interest in my boobs.

After going through the steps to cure my saggy breast, I no longer have saggy breast like I used to.

Nowadays I help many other women friends doing consulting as well as sharing some of the methods I used to help loose my saggy breast

What’s even more exciting that is that it virtually worked and improved on all types and shapes of breast sizes.

Janet Jones Owensboro, KY

“…this ebook has all the information I needed to know in order to realize what was causing my breast to sag and how i can help fix it…the home remedies really helped me to perk back up my saggy breast….and now I feel confident, sexy and I don’t feel like I have back problems anymore..”

Kat Manassas, Virginia

Lillian Brown has penned a masterpiece on one of the greatest physical challenges facing the feminine gender—“The Horrors of Sagging Breasts.” In her 72 page and four chapters mini book titled ‘Sagging Breasts No More’; Brown deals emphatically with the causes and cures for sagging breasts. She discusses in detail on the many causes of breast sag and how to avoid them.

In chapter two of her book, Brown answers several questions relating to the cure and avoidance of breast sag-including; breast feeding, underwire bras, breast lifts and breast implants. Using an explicit approach, she answers each question directly and on point with a uniqueness that is hard to equal.

In this very informative piece, Lillian Brown offers first hand advice on itchy/scaly nipples, hairy nipples, inverted nipples, Mastopexy treatments, nipple hardness and other abnormal breast conditions and genetic breast disorders. She treats each topic distinctly with clear and vivid illustrations to aid assimilation.

Her writing style is simple and easy to understand. She brilliantly gives clear and concise answers to several breast related unanswered questions by millions of women. Lillian has written a complete book on the symptoms, causes, avoidance and cures for sagging breast, leaving no stone unturned.

It is a highly recommended reading for any woman who needs to find the answer to breast sagging or for the one who wants to avoid it. Her book cuts across a wide range of ages from 18-65.

Although it’s not the first book on the subject, its completeness, accuracy and content makes it a preferred compliment to previous literature on the subject.

From start to finish, Brown held me spell bound as I digested content after content. I certainly found this book worth reading and putting to work some of her counsel. I highly recommend it. It’s a Job well done!

Vanessa Syracuse, NY

I have a daughter who would turn 18 and was going for the breast implants.

As with any other concerned mother I was very skeptical about the surgery and was worried about the risk involved.

Fortunately, with the help from Lilian’s Saggy Breast No More program, I finally persuaded my daughter to try something natural and safe to firm up her saggy breast.

Finally after a couple of weeks she is now able to see some gradual improvement over her sagginess. But best of all she can now spend her money on COLLEGE instead of surgery.

Maria Driskell Los Angeles, CA

When I’ve started to follow the tips and guidance from Lilian’s book, I never thought it would work on me. But all I can say that some of the advice really worked wonders for me and I started to notice some improvement of my breast sagginess over a couple of weeks after trying out some of the specific exercises mentioned in her book. Even my husband has noticed the changes. I’m glad I’ve found this great help and thanks to Lilian for writing it

God bless,Cristina A. Bulkley Boston, MA

My breasts are getting more firmer than before! I am 45 years old and I always thought it was too late to achieve the sort of softness and firmness I had during my early twenties. I’m very pleased with the guide and I’m telling all my friends about this wonderful guide.

Kristen Ross Rocky Mount, NC

Once you’ve learn the exact steps of what I’ve gone through, you could be possible have the results like the above.

Just imagine for a second..

And the great news is ….these methods which I used are now available for you to try it now!

How Does This Program Work?

You’ve probably been wondering how my program can work for you especially when it does not involve any breast lift or enhancement surgery.

Although the results might seem like magic but as soon as you’ll discover, Saggy breast no more is based on solid understanding of scientific principles and natural ways to breast lift.

It first addresses some of the common problems on your breast.

Why Does This Program Work Over Other Expensive Pills Or Surgeries?

You could be wondering why this program will work when there are tons of other methods like pills or breast lifting surgeries.

Here are simple reasons.

You may not want to spend exorbitant amount on something which don’t guarantee your safety or long lasting effect.

Breast enhancement surgery may bring you fast results but they may not guarantee you permanent results.

What could be worst than spending more money for maintenance in future surgeries

You Deserve Honest, Accurate And Up-To-Date Information Based On Sound Scientific Research.

What you basically need to know now is exactly what is takes to loose your saggy breast without the need for surgery. You don’t need any gimmicks.

Here are some of the things you’ll discover in my program

I can promise to you that the information in this guide is based upon hard work, tried and tested methods.

I’m very confident that the program will help you; I’m even willing to back it with a 100% money-back guarantee!

Is Saggy Breast No More worth your investment?

Before I answer you that, allow me to ask you these;

Would You invest on My safe and effective natural firming program

Would You Rather Spend US6000-US10,000 On Surgeries Which Could Even Endanger Your Life And Might Not 100% Guarantee The Results You Wanted?

Let’s face it. Your breasts are your assets. They’ve added to your sex appeal. They’ve given the life importance sustenance to your child.

Sadly, your used to be round, firm sexy breasts are, at the unfair age of 40 or so, drooping towards your waist.

Over time, the ligaments from which your breasts are suspended stretched, and your breasts therefore will sag out of proportion.

If you are one of those women who have had children/weaning, have breastfed or when you are after menopause, there are always high chances your sagging breast will occur even earlier than you ever thought

That’s why I can stress highly enough you should take charge of your situation now before it’s too late. Now it’s your chance for you to improve your breast without going through the surgeries.

I’m not here to make a fortune out of you. I’m not here to spend time for nothing in writing this. I’m here to share and help you by providing my honest methods which helped me and I sincerely hope these methods can benefit you as well

My program works for most women with different types of saggy breast

My program uses common, effective remedies as well as safe methods you can do

Most of my methods would take from 5-10 minutes to do each day

You can start noticing results in as fast as 3 to 4 weeks

My methods will help improve your breast firmness as well as many other degree of sagginess

My program is the most effective and safest non-surgical saggy breast enhancement system available to day.

These exclusive bonuses are guaranteed to help make you look and feel absolutely beautiful!

BONUS #1: Natural Remedies For Loosing WeightDiscover some of the finest and most natural means to help you loose your weight without any pills or drugs.

Don’t surprised when some of these remedies literally tell your fat cells to shut up and get on the same page towards weight loss

Here are some of the natural remedies which you will learn more aboutDandelionDexatrimGarciniaHerbal DiureticsPyruvateGlucomannanExilissCitricomaBItter Orange …and much more. Plus I’ll give you some tips on my 12 step cross training support program for loosing weight

BONUS #2: Secrets To Finding The Right Bra Size

Most women never realized that an ill fitting bra and severely affect your health and well being. Most problems that I can relate to are severe shoulder and back pain with the constant resistance to the pressure on those areas of the body.

These problems if not rectified will cause severe and prolong pain to your body and overall health

BONUS #3: Sure Fire Weight Loss Strategies

Are you one of those who always look for a magic pill or foolproof plan to lose your weight swiftly and painlessly?

In this bonus guide I’ll show you the following

How to choose your perfect diet plan which suits you whether you are thinking of Zone or Atkin diets or other programs like Jenny Craig or Nutrisystem

So how much does this coast?

I could have charged you as much as US197 for my program considering the exclusive information which you can’t find this anywhere else.

But nonetheless, I would like to help you as well as many other people with the same saggy breast problem. I want to make this information accessible to as many women who are dead serious on improving their saggy breast

This is why I have decided to offer this program as instantly downloadable ebook.

Doing so will allow me to offer you at a much lesser cost which you don’t have to pay a lot compared to the hard copy manual. Plus, you also get the program INSTANTLY (No more wasting time waiting for snail mail)

Your investment in this life changing non-surgical saggy breast enhancement program is only US97 – and you will be able to gain immediate access to the bonus reports at NO EXTRA COST.

As soon as you have placed your order, you will be directed to a page where you can access the program as well as the bonus INSTANTLY

All the manual and reports are available in PDF format, which can be viewed from any computer, where you are using PC or MAC.

You can either read them on your computer screen or print them out for easy reference.

Click Here To Download Your Instant Copy Now!

Let’s be blunt here. The money which you invest in this program is a tiny drop in the bucket compared to all the money which you could be wasting on hopeless breast enhancement pills and gadgets that didn’t even work

If you even consider going for breast lifting surgery, the savings are more than enough to put towards a car or even as a down payment for your house.

By ordering today you can instantly save at least US6000 over the cost of the surgery alone! And this is not forgetting the additional money which you need to fork out for your surgery recovery or future maintenance

60 DAY UNCONDITIONAL MONEY-BACK GUARANTEE!

Invest on this program and test it up for up to eight weeks. If you still have not achieved your results after learning and applying every step as taught in the program, then I want you to simply write and tell me. I’ll send you a prompt and courteous, no hassles, no hesitation 100% refund

On the other hand, if Saggy Breast No More program exceeds your expectation and has given you the result which you have already dreamed for, then I want you to email me your success story. Share to me so I can help and inspire other women from your success as well.

Saggy Breast No More Natural Breast Firming Package

Yes Lilian, this is what I’ve been looking for!

I want to love my body and feel sexy and be confident with my breast. I don’t want to spend money on surgeries that don’t work!

I also want instant access to the products right now!

And I know that for the first 100 29 people only, I will be getting an exclusive special bonuses and I can get all of these at special price of only

(for next 29 people only)

All orders processed securely using industry-standard 128-bit SSL Encryption

NOTE: “The Saggy Breast No More Enhancement Program ” is a manual which can be downloaded into your computer. There will be no physical products to be shipped. After you have placed your order, you will get INSTANT ACCESS to the webpage where you can download all the program materials. These manual and bonus reports are saved in Adobe PDF format, which are viewable under your MAC or PC

I’m not interested in making a fortune out of this. I’m only interested in working together with women who are serious into improving how their awful saggy breast may look and who would put forth the effort needed to make their dreams a reality – women who simply require the right information and encouragement to help make it happen

If you are one of these special women who are committed in improving your life, then order today and I’ll see you on the other side.

I’m here for you every step of the way. Your success is my SUCCESS and its guaranteed!

Download Saggy Breast No More Now!

P.S. This is the only chance where you can get the sexy dress you’ve always dreamed of, feel confident of your breast whenever you wear the unpadded bra and have the best sex life with your husband come drooling over your breast every single day. Take action to realize your dream now

P.P.S Still having doubts if this program is right for you? Visit the frequently asked questions page for some honest feedback about the saggy breast no morenatural breast enhancement

P.P.P.S Remember, with my no hassle, no hesitation 60 day total refund guarantee, there is absolutely no risk on your part. You have nothing to lose at least by trying my saggy breast enhancement program, and you need to act quickly to get in on this offer before the price goes up, so click on the link below to order today!

Shaggy Brest No More | Copyright 2009 – 2010 © All Rights Reserve – How To Lift, Firm And Cure Saggy Breast NaturallyHome – Site Map – Order – FAQ – Terms – Privacy – Disclaimer – Affiliates – Contact Us

Click here to get How To Fix & Firm Saggy Breast – Prevent, Fix & Avoid Sagging Boobs at discounted price while it’s still available…

All orders are protected by SSL encryption – the highest industry standard for online security from trusted vendors. How To Fix & Firm Saggy Breast – Prevent, Fix & Avoid Sagging Boobs is backed with a 60 Day No Questions Asked Money Back Guarantee. If within the first 60 days of receipt you are not satisfied with Wake Up Lean, you can request a refund by sending an email to the address given inside the product and we will immediately refund your entire purchase price, with no questions asked.

The post How To Fix & Firm Saggy Breast – Prevent, Fix & Avoid Sagging Boobs appeared first on The Dietian.

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[echo-ech0]

Dude... You said that Natsu and Lucy are just friends, and even though I see them as pretty romantic, I don't mind your opinion. Nalu is beautiful, as a OTP or as OTP. They are happy around each other, they have a great relationship and great chemistry. Whats the problem if they didn't get a kiss in the end? Pfft! Does this really matters? I don't care if it is 'confirmed' or not, as long as they can be together and happy.

except the "romantic" aspect is primarily based on him touching her breasts and fanservice that Mashima didn't really want to make, but the overly obsessed na*lu 'fans' complained too much about him not drawing enough of them.as for "they're fine as long as they're together," yes, I agree, but as friends. there is absolutely no way they could make it as a couple because of what I mentioned above and multiple other reasons that would make a much much longer post/answer and I would have to log onto my computer to properly tag everything.anywayfrom what it seems you're not a disrespectful shipper (I guess), so I'm not gonna say to get off my blog, but realize that people have different opinions and have a wide range of viewing things. I will never be able to ship those two romantically or platonically for many reasons, so they're just friends and that's all they'll ever be on this blog and to a few others.I catch people using things like "ship and let ship" "don't hate!!!" and "antis are just dumbfucks!!!!" and lol, it just make me wish I had a better way of explaining things like some of those really wordy critical blogs that can analyze anything and have a specific answer. point is, this answer is getting longer than I wanted it's almost 5am, and I don't ship it and never will.