#but for North Dakota I’ll take it

[good-night-space-kid]

Just got decent Mexican food for the first time in ages god bless Mexico 😌🙏

[moonxknightx]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : STAY WITH ME (PT.3) : :;

╰┈➤ ❝ [PAIRING] ❞ 2017!Logan Howlett x F!Reader

・❥・GENRE: Fluff and a bit of angst at the start

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆FANDOM: X-Men

ੈ✩‧₊˚ WARNINGS: Violence, blood/injury, strong language, emotional distress

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥SUMMARY: ogan is preparing himself to go to North Dakota, and you share a tender moment before he leaves. Later, he returns with a young mutant, Laura, and a group of enemies confronts you. After a violent encounter, you’re injured, and Logan helps you recover, leading to a deepening connection between you two.

Previous Part | Next Part

“ARE YOU SURE YOU GOT EVERYTHING?” You asked Logan as he finished up packing his bag.

Logan sighed while rubbing his forehead. “I think so yeah.” You gave him a small smile while walking towards him.

“Here for you.” You said as you handed him a bag of chips. “For when you’re hungry on the way.”

Logan looked at the bag of chips and then at you. “It’s your favorite right?” You asked when you noticed Logan staring at you.

Logan cleared his throat while nodding. “Yeah these are my favorite, thank you bub.” He gave you a small smile while taking the chips out of your hand and putting it in his bag.

You watched how he turned back to you, unsure of what to do now. “Please be kind for the girl Logan.” You said, causing Logan to roll his eyes.

“I’m serious!” You said a little louder while hitting his arm. “I know.” Logan said with a slight smile.

“Well go then. You promised Gabriela you would be there at 8AM.” You told Logan who nodded and grabbed his bag.

You followed him to his car and watched how he threw his bag on the backseat.

“Well…i’ll see you in a few days then.” Sighed Logan as he opened the door to the driver’s seat.

“Wait.” You said as you came up to Logan and wrapped your arms around his torso.

Logan was surprised at your sudden action but hugged you back nonetheless. “Be safe okay.” You whispered against his chest.

“I will. You too okay? And take good care of Charles and Caliban.” Said Logan as he looked down at you still wrapped around his body.

“I will.” You smiled as you finally let go of him. It pained Logan to see you let go of him. If it was possible, he would’ve taken you with him. But it was too dangerous and someone needed to stay behind to care for Xavier and Caliban.

“See you soon bub.” Said Logan while placing a kiss to your forehead before getting into his car.

You were stunned at what had just happened. Logan almost never initiated physical touch. I mean not since last year. Before, he used to cuddle you and kiss your face all the time but that stopped after the Westchester incident. And now he had kissed you on your forehead again.

You watched as Logan drove away. You kept looking until his car was out of sight before going back inside.

“So he will be back in a few days?” Asked Caliban as you entered the kitchen to prepare breakfast for Charles.

“Yeah.” You sighed softly. Caliban raised an eyebrow at you but didn’t say anything more as he retreated to his room.

When you were done preparing breakfast for Charles and grabbing his medication, you teleported yourself into his tank.

“Good morning Charles.” You smiled as you walked towards his bed. You placed the usual tray with breakfast on the small table opposite his bed before turning back to Charles.

“Good morning.” He sighed as he tried his best go get up. “Here let me help you.” You offered as you pulled the sheets back and helped Charles into his wheelchair.

“How are you feeling today?” You asked while watching how Charles rolled himself towards the table to eat his breakfast.

“Better than yesterday.” He said before taking a bite of his toast. You smiled as you started making up his bed.

“Something is bothering you.” Charles suddenly said. You turned around so you could look at him.

“Come here.” Charles offered while patting the chair next to him. You did as he asked and sat down next to him.

“Logan is going to be gone for a few days.” You said quietly as you prepared the meds for Charles.

“Is he on a mission?” Asked Charles as you handed him his pills and a glass of water. You hummed. “Sort of.” You answered.

“I regret what i said to him yesterday.” Charles mumbled before taking in his pills with a large sip of water.

“I know.” You spoke softly, remembering how he called Logan a disappointment yesterday.

“He’s dying, child.” Charles said as he looked at you. You tried your best to avoid eye contact as you looked up at the huge ceiling of the tank.

“We will find a cure or a way for him to survive.” You said quietly. Charles smiled at your words before nodding.

“Would you like to play a game of chess my dear?” Charles asked, noticing your slight change in behavior, upon hearing that Logan was dying.

You looked at Charles and started smiling. You always enjoyed playing chess with him.

“I’d love to old man.”

~

You were laying on your bed when you heard tires screeching outside. You immediately got up and went to your window to see, Logan?

“What the fuck?” You said to yourself before running downstairs and heading outside, Caliban following after you.

“Logan what happened?” You asked as Logan got out of his car.

“Did something go wrong?” Asked Caliban as you both watched Logan walk away.

“The job was wrong to begin with.” Logan said before heading inside, leaving you and Caliban both dumbfounded. Logan wasn’t even gone for two hours. What happened?

“What’s this?” Asked Caliban as he pulled out a green backpack and a ball out of the trunk of Logan’s car.

You turned around and your eyes widened as you recognized the ball. It was Laura’s.

“Logan!” You called as you inspected the backpack. “What?” Sighed Logan as he stepped back outside.

“Look at this.” You said as you showed him the backpack and the ball.

“What the…” Began Logan.

“Who’s that?” Asked Caliban as he pointed at a car approaching.

Both you and Logan looked up at the same time. “Fuck!” Cursed Logan as he watched the car.

“You two get inside and keep Charles quiet.” Logan ordered. Caliban immediately did as he was told but you lingered.

“Logan what’s happening?” You asked slowly. “I don’t know. Get inside now.” Logan ordered again. This time you did as he told you and went back inside.

You sat down in front of the camera screen and watched how a blonde guy stepped out of the car and walked up to Logan.

“Donald Pierce…” You mumbled. “The guy from that business card?” Asked Caliban as he also looked at the screens. “Yes. Get Charles, Caliban.” You said, not taking your eyes off the screen. Caliban nodded and quickly went to retrieve Charles.

A few minutes had passed, Caliban came back with Charles and Logan and Pierce were still talking until someone suddenly threw a metal pipe at Pierce’s head.

“What was that?” You asked as you immediately stood up. “Laura.” Smiled Charles.

You gave Charles a confused look and ran outside, Caliban and Charles following after you.

When you got outside, you saw Laura slowly approaching Logan while Logan looked really fucking confused.

“This is Laura.” Smiled Charles as he motioned for the girl to come closer. “We’ve been waiting for you.” He said. “Come it’s okay.” Charles added.

You watched how Laura walked over to Logan and snatched her backpack out of his hands before following Charles.

As Laura passed you, she shot you a glance before disappearing inside.

You went up to Logan to look at Pierce who laid very unconsciously on the ground.

“Are you okay?” You asked Logan as you took his hand in yours. “Yes i’m fine.” Logan said as he looked down at Pierce.

“Caliban, take his body and drop it somewhere else. Text me when you’re done so i can pick you up.” Logan told Caliban before walking inside the building.

“What if he wakes up before i arrive?” Caliban asked you as Logan had already disappeared.

You looked at Pierce for a while before kicking him in the neck. “Now he won’t.” You said before going back inside as well.

When you entered the living room you saw Logan pulling onto Laura’s backpack while she held it on the other side.

“Logan!” Said Charles while watching. “Logan let go.” You said as you came up besides Logan and ripped his hands away from Laura’s backpack.

Logan huffed and walked towards the sink to grab a glass of water. You sat down next to Laura and gave her a kind smile which she sort of returned.

“Logan, the woman you met, that’s not her mother.” Charles said while following Logan.

“So she talks?” Asked Logan while looking at Laura. “We’re communicating.” Said Charles quietly.

“Communicating?” Repeated Logan as he handed Charles his pills. “Take these in now. We have to get out of here. It’s not safe here anymore. And you can’t have an attack out there, you understand?”

Charles nodded but raised his hand. “Yes but this is the mutant that i told you about.”

Your head whipped up at hearing the word ‘mutant’. “She needs our help.” Charles added.

“She isn’t a mutant!” Scoffed Logan. “Yes she is!” Yelled Charles.

“What’s her gift Charles? Eating? Pipe throwing?” Asked Logan sarcastically while shaking his head.

Suddenly there were rumbling noises outside and the building began to shake slightly.

Laura immediately got up and looked around her. “Hey it’s okay.” You said as you got up as well, trying to calm the girl down.

“Yes it’s just the choo-choo.” Charles said, trying to imitate a train.

“No it’s not.” Grunted Logan as he looked on the camera screen. You quickly went up to Logan and saw multiple cars heading towards your direction on the screen.

“We have to go.” Said Logan as he pushed Charles towards the back door of the building. “Let’s go!” Logan said to you while walking faster.

“Logan the girl!” You said as you looked at Laura. “Leave her, let’s go!” You sighed and motioned for Laura to follow you but she stayed inside.

“Fuck!” You groaned as you followed Logan outside. You helped Logan with getting Charles in the car before getting in yourself. Logan sprung behind the steering wheel and started the car.

He immediately drove off, hoping to find a way to escape but unfortunately cars were closing in on you on all sides.

“Fuck fuck fuck!” Yelled Logan as he punched the steering wheel. “Logan!” You said loudly.

“Stay here okay?” Said Logan as he got out of the car to see Pierce in front of him again.

You watched them closely through the window until you saw Pierce punching Logan to the ground.

“Oh fuck no!” You said as you got out of the car. You saw how Logan tried to get up but a group of men came pouncing on him, hitting him and kicking him where they could, until Logan was bleeding.

“Hey assholes!” You yelled, getting the attention from the men who were attacking Logan.

You heard them growling before some of them ran towards you. A small smile appeared on your face as you teleported away just in time.

You spawned behind them and touched their shoulders. “Hit each other until you’re both dead.” You whispered into their ears before teleporting again.

The two men started hitting each other without wanting to, and soon enough they were both on the ground.

You teleported to Logan and pierced the other guys who were still hitting and kicking Logan, in their necks with a small knife you always carried with you.

“Here get up.” You said as you helped Logan up. “Are you okay.” You asked as he held onto you. “Yes, are you?” He asked while checking your body to see if there were any injuries. “I’m fine Logan.” You chuckled as you cupped his cheek.

“There she is!” Sounded Pierce from behind you two. You and Logan quickly turned around to see Laura coming out of the building with something in her hands.

You watched how Pierce tried to lure Laura to him, but Laura didn’t listen. Then she threw the thing she was holding before Pierce’s feet.

It was the head of one of his men.

“Holy fuck.” You said as you watched the sight in front of you. Logan kept you close to him as he watched Pierce’s men raise their guns to Laura.

“We have to help, Logan.” You whispered, but he shook his head. “Not yet.” He said.

The moment Pierce’s men began to fire their guns, Laura started screaming and jumped from man to man scratching at their necks, heads, shoulders, stomach’s and legs.

Then you saw it. Laura had two metal claws coming out of her hands. “Logan…” You breathed as you squeezed his arm.

Logan couldn’t believe his eyes. Charles was right. She was a mutant. And very much like Logan too.

“We have to help her!” You yelled before teleporting to Laura, helping her fight off various of Pierce’s men. Logan joined in as well. Scratching at their bodies as best as he could.

One guy tried to grab you by your neck but you were too fast. You teleported behind him and whispered something in his ear. Before you knew it he was choking on his own tongue while falling to the floor.

“Watch out!” You heard Logan yell as someone grabbed you by your arm and slammed you to the ground.

You felt lightheaded and tried to teleport but it didn’t work. You saw how the man climbed on top of you, a knife in his hand.

Suddenly Logan jumped onto the guy and smashed his claws into his head. “Get the fuck away from her.” He said as he pulled his claws out of the man.

He quickly went over to you and helped you up. “Fuck, are you okay?” Logan asked worriedly. “I’m fine.” You grunted as you held your head.

“We have to go.” You said while watching more cars approach. “Sounds like a plan.” Said Logan as he pulled you with him.

“Here get in!” He yelled as he opened the front door to the passenger seat. You jumped in the car before Logan did the same on the other side.

“Charles are you okay?” You asked as Logan took off. “Y-yes i’m fine.” Said a slightly confused Charles.

“We have to get Laura.” You told Logan. He gave you a nod and turned the car around.

“Laura!” You yelled as you neared her. Laura looked around and saw the car. You watched how she jumped onto the last guy, scratching his head open before she jumped onto the car.

“Fuck she’s amazing.” You smiled slightly as Laura slid into the vehicle through the rooftop window of the car.

Logan sped up and drove right through the entrance gates of the old facility you two had made your home.

“We’re being followed.” You said warily as you saw multiple cars chase after you, from behind and from the sides.

“Shit!” Cursed Logan as he tried his best to keep ahead of them.

A car was approaching your left and you watched how Laura smashed her claws through the window to hit the driver’s head.

“Wonderful…” Chimed Charles as he was watching the young mutant.

The same happened a few more times and you helped Laura. Using your teleporting ability to switch from car to car to kill Pierce’s men.

When it was clear you guys were ahead, you teleported back to Logan’s car.

Logan immediately looked at you with wide eyes. “What? I’m good at what i do.” You smiled causing Logan to shake his head.

“Watch out!” You said while pointing ahead of you. A train was approaching. “We have to be faster.” Logan muttered as he pressed as hard as he could on the gas pedal.

You were pressed back into your seat as Logan drove the car over the railway just in time.

You looked back to see Pierce and his men being stopped on the other side of the railway because of the train.

“We made it!” You exclaimed excitedly as Logan kept driving at full speed.

Suddenly you felt a sharp pain in the back of your left shoulder. “Fuck…” You murmured as you tried to look at what it was.

“Are you okay?” Asked Logan in a worried tone while looking at you. “Yeah i’m fine.” You said uncomfortably as you shifted in your seat.

“You’re bleeding.” You heard Charles say from behind you. Logan immediately looked at your shoulder and saw a red patch of blood forming on your shirt.

Logan cursed under his breath while tightening his hands on the steering wheel. “Logan it’s fine. It’s just a little scratch.” You told him softly.

“Yeah sure.” Logan sighed as he put his eyes back on the road.

~

After being sure you all were a big step ahead of Pierce, Logan pulled up at a small gas station to refill the gas of the car and to think of what to do next.

“I’m going to the bathroom to see what is going on with my shoulder.” You said softly as you got out of the car with a few grunts.

Logan watched how you disappeared in the small store the gas station owned while sighing.

“Logan.” Charles said, making Logan turn his head to the back of the car to see Laura getting a bit restless.

“Take her to that thing over there.” Charles pointed in front of him and Logan followed his finger. It landed on a small machine in the form of a pony. It was that kind of thing where you put in some coins and the pony would move for a minute or so. Logan scoffed while shaking his head.

“Please Logan.” Sighed Charles. Logan rolled his eyes before getting out of the car. “Fine.” He said while opening the back door for Laura.

Laura followed Logan to the pony and got lifted onto it by him. “Here.” Logan said as he handed Laura a handful of coins. He explained to Laura what she needed to do and then told her to stay put before also entering the small store of the gas station.

Logan immediately made his way to the restroom while calling your name.

“In here.” You said as you opened your stall. “Are you okay?” Asked Logan softly. “No i need your help.” You sighed as you went out of the stall into the main area of the restoom with a mirror and a sink.

“Here.” You said while handing Logan a small first aid kit. “I just bought it.” You explained when you noticed Logan’s confusion.

“I need you to stitch me up.” You spoke softly while turning to Logan. “Okay.” Was all he said as he stepped closer to you.

He placed the first aid kit on the sink before clearing his throat. “I think it works better if you take off your shirt.” Logan said awkwardly while avoiding your gaze.

“Okay.” You nodded and tried to take your shirt off, but you couldn’t due to the immense pain you were feeling in your shoulder.

“Here let me.” Logan offered quietly as he put his hands on the hem of your shirt. He very carefully pulled your shirt up and gently removed both of your arms out of the sleeves without causing too much pain.

“There you go.” Smiled Logan slightly as he threw your shirt on the sink as well.

“Thank you.” You smiled while looking up at him. Logan suddenly realized that you were just wearing a bra now and quickly looked away.

“Okay let’s get you stitched up.” He said while clearing his throat. “Yeah sure thing.” You said as you turned to the mirror. You watched how Logan moved behind you and opened the first aid kit. He grabbed the needle and a thread and started prepping.

After years of keeping his emotions tightly guarded, Logan finally allowed himself to let you in. Seeing you get hurt had triggered something in him, even though the injury was small, he realized he couldn’t stand the thought of losing you too.

It was a small yet profound moment when he helped you tend to your injury, his hands gentle despite the hardened exterior. As he carefully stitched up your wound, the walls he'd built around his heart began to crumble, revealing a vulnerability he had denied for far too long.

In that shared silence, Logan's silent admission of trust and affection spoke volumes. When he finished stitching your injury, he turned you around and looked into your eyes, and in an unspoken understanding, you both leaned in, sharing a tender kiss that sealed the beginning of a deeper, more genuine connection.

“Lo…” You whispered as your lips parted. “I love it when you call me that.” Logan breathed as he pressed his forehead against yours.

“I’m sorry it took me this long to let you in.” He said quietly while closing his eyes. “It’s okay Lo.” You smiled softly while running a hand through his hair.

“Please don’t ever get hurt again.” Logan chuckled slightly. “It wasn’t even that bad asshole.” You laughed as you playfully hit Logan’s arm.

“Still, i don’t like seeing you in pain.” Logan shrugged. You rolled your eyes before taking a step back. “I’ll be more careful then.” You smirked slightly before you heard someone clearing their throat.

You both looked to your right to see Laura in front of you.

“What the fuck.” Muttered Logan, immediately transforming back into his usual grumpy self.

You watched how Laura walked towards you and handed you a new white shirt. “Thank you Laura.” You smiled sweetly.

“Did you even pay for that?” Asked Logan, but Laura ignored him and left the restroom.

Logan sighed as he rubbed his temple. “I’m going to pay for that shirt. See you outside?” Asked Logan softly. You smiled and gave him a nod.

You watched how Logan placed a soft kiss on your forehead before leaving the restroom as well.

Logan couldn’t help but smile as he exited the restroom and thought back to the kiss you and him shared just moments ago.

He was so glad it happened, but he was also so angry at himself for letting it take so goddamn long. He knew he wanted you a long time ago. He was just so afraid of scaring you away, or hurting you, or letting you die. But Logan knew that was all nonsense now. He would never let anything bad happen to you. He would protect you until his last breath.

He swore that to himself.

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[zanmor]

Using Your Vote Strategically

Your vote doesn’t matter (probably). Luckily you can make it do a bit more.

Your vote is one of a few hundred million game pieces. Knowing how best to use it requires you to understand your place on the game board. Let’s take a look at that board.

Current polling has the following ten states (yellow on the above map) as highly competitive in this year’s presidential election: Maine, New Jersey, Minnesota, New Hampshire, Virginia, Wisconsin, Michigan, Pennsylvania, Nevada, and Georgia. Realistically those first three have only gone to Democrats since at least 2000 so speculation is more focused on the last seven (and even New Hampshire has been solidly Democrat since it voted for Bush in 2000).

If you’re one of the roughly 37.5 million voters who lives in one of those states, congratulations! Your vote will actually help decide who wins the presidency in November. As such you should probably vote for one of the major parties. To the other 82% of the electorate, it’s time to think a little harder about how you’ll utilize your vote in the fall.

Meanwhile there are 35 states that solidly belong to one of the two parties and that ain’t changing. They’re blue and red on the map above.

These states have only given electoral votes to their respective party since at least 2000 and current polling (according to 270towin.com) shows that they will do that again this year, well beyond any margin of error in the polls. California for instance is currently polling heavily in favor of the Democratic candidate and has voted for a Democratic candidate since 2000. Obviously that’s not about to change. That’s the case with these other 34 states as well. Which means if there’s any way to “throw your vote away” then it’s by blindly tossing it in with the millions of others that will not impact the electoral college or party platforms in any way.

The states where your vote matters least are:

California, Texas, New York, Illinois, Indiana, West Virginia, Alaska, Missouri, Hawaii, Louisiana, Kansas, Nebraska, South Carolina, South Dakota, Montana, Oklahoma, Kentucky, Idaho, Tennessee, Utah, Arkansas, North Dakota, Wyoming, Mississippi, Alabama, Washington, Massachusetts, Maryland, Oregon, Connecticut, Vermont, Delaware, Washington DC, Rhode Island, and New Mexico.

If you live in one of these states I have no qualms about advising you to vote third party in the general election. It will not change the electoral college outcome. But it can have important benefits you wouldn’t see by simply tossing another ballot on the mountain. I’ll talk below about those benefits. First, the last part of the game board.

The following six states (green on the above map) are technically polling within the margin of error where they could potentially go either way. I personally think it’s unlikely they’ll flip but you can make your own call on that and vote accordingly. If you live in North Carolina, Arizona, Florida, Iowa, Ohio, or Colorado, I think you’re likely to get more use from your vote giving it to a third party candidate based on current polling.

As I said above, I don’t expect that third party voting will impact the electoral college outside of those few truly competitive states.

So what does voting third party do?

If enough people vote third party it can do two helpful things: 1. if a party’s candidate receives over 5% of the popular vote then they can get federal matching funds in the next election, helping spread messages currently relegated to the sidelines, and 2. the major parties are more likely to take note of these votes and try to adjust their platforms to grab these voters in later elections. Voting for one of the two major parties doesn’t send any sort of message. What little utility your vote has in that regard is lost.

Voting for a candidate like Jill Stein of the Green Party can accomplish both of the above goals. Her platform is incredibly progressive. Across the board it’s a lot of things that leftists have been clamoring for. It will show establishment Democrats that there is voting support for those policies.

By supporting a third party candidate (not an independent solo candidate) we could see her get 5% of the popular vote and gain federal matching funds in 2028. It’s not about if she would be a good president or if you like her personally—she is not and never will get elected. It’s about hitting that 5% and showing the establishment that if they cater to the folks who like this platform that they can win votes.

Five percent of the 2020 election would have been just under 8 million votes. Four million Californian voters could have voted Green Party and Biden still would have won the state by over a million votes. We can definitely find 4 million votes in the other 40 states that otherwise are unlikely to impact the election. And we should.

[moonlightspencie]

Everything Goes Wrong

Description: A few bouts of bad luck aren’t all that bad.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!Reader

Warnings: none. this is straight fluff

Word Count: 2.4k

The case had been a hard one, especially in the dead of winter in North Dakota. Not only had we been working tirelessly for a week and a half, but the cold had pretty much knocked me on my ass. I was sure I could say the same for the rest of the team, too. We were groggy and exhausted by the end of it.

Not to mention, we were all a little irritable with the fact that the hotel had screwed up our sleeping arrangements, leaving many of us pairing up in rooms that didn’t exactly accommodate two people.

I didn’t exactly pull the short end of the stick, getting paired up with Hotch this time around, but we definitely all were over having roommates. I needed alone time desperately a few times over the course of the time we spent, and never got it. I couldn’t have been the best person to room with considering how snappy I could get.

Then, right as we thought we were going home, plans changed again.

“You’re kidding,” Derek said as we stepped out of the local precinct.

We looked around at the snow pouring out of the sky. We could hardly see a few feet ahead of us.

“How are we supposed to get home in this?” Emily asked, groaning. “I hate the winter.”

Hotch let out a harsh breath. “Let’s try to get back the hotel, at least. I’ll call and see if we can take off, but don’t pack up yet.”

We were a chorus of annoyance as we trudged to the SUVs. It was a hard drive back, and I was more than thankful I wasn’t the one trying to drive in this. Our five minute drive to the hotel took thirty. The roads were a mess, and visibility only got worse as the minutes ticked by. It was a miracle we made it back at all.

Though, as expected, halfway through the ride Hotch got word that we would be staying the night again. Nobody took that news real well.

I sighed as I stretched out on the mattress almost an hour later. It felt more than good to finally rest after a full day on my feet. I couldn’t wait until it was my turn in the shower. I could practically feel the hot water soothing my sore muscles already.

Suddenly, silence fell over the room. It was already quiet, save for the sound of running water, but now… Something was off. Literally turned off.

I stood up, walking towards the heater with hopes that this wasn’t what was wrong. I should have known better. As my hand reached out to feel the warm air rushing out, there was nothing. I sighed heavily, retreating back to the bed to take a seat once more.

It was several minutes until Hotch was walking out of the bathroom, a towel around his shoulders, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt. At least he looked comfortable before I had to deliver the news.

He took one look at me and knew something had happened.

“What is it?” he asked, voice exasperated.

I gave half a smile, nodding towards the heater in the room.

“I think we might be sleeping without heat.”

He furrowed his brow, doing the same thing I’d just done. He groaned quietly when he, too, felt no warm air against his hand. He mumbled something about calling the front desk, but judging by his facial expressions alone, there wasn’t much they could do about it at the moment.

He hung up the phone, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry. First we don’t have enough rooms and you have to get stuck with me, and now this. This is ridiculous,” he huffed a sigh, looking around the room.

“It’s alright. You didn’t choose this place, and you certainly didn’t make, well,” I paused, gesturing around vaguely, “all of this happen.”

He shrugged, reaching up to rustle his wet hair with the towel around his shoulders as he stepped past me. I stood for a moment, just watching as he sat on the edge of the mattress. Then, I decided now was as good a time as ever for a hot shower, in hopes that the water would still be warm.

It was.

I got out of the bathroom almost an hour later to find Hotch already asleep in bed. For him to immediately hit the hay proved that we’d worked too hard on the case. I snuck into bed next to him after shutting out the remaining lights, curling into the comforter for some warmth. The cold seeping into the room from the broken heater was getting a little bit noticeable, but luckily for me, he definitely ran hot. I realized it the second the warmth under the blankets hit me. I effectively passed out within a few minutes.

The next morning was especially warm as I woke before my alarm went off. The heater must’ve kicked back on sometime in the night. I went to stretch, but found it much more difficult to do than I had anticipated.

I looked down to see Hotch curled up against me, and my eyes immediately widened. I swallowed a lump in my throat that formed quickly. I certainly hadn’t been expecting to see him like this, with a strong arm holding me to him. It was… attractive?

It would be a lie to say I’d never noticed him before. Who couldn’t? Even if he somehow didn’t catch an eye the second he walked into a room, he just had an aura around him. Some kind of presence that could pull a person in before they knew what was happening.

But, now, in the same bed with his arm draped over my stomach and his breath against my neck… This was a whole new feeling.

It was butterflies and warm cheeks and— something that I probably shouldn’t feel while next to my boss. But, then again, he definitely shouldn’t be cuddling with a subordinate. We were both a little guilty.

He shifted in his sleep, his arm around me moving a bit until his fingers were just under the hem of my shirt. Cuddling was one thing, but if I felt his hand on much more of my stomach, I felt I might combust.

“Hotch,” I whispered.

He didn’t budge.

“Hotch,” I said, a little louder this time. “Hey.”

He shifted again, this time squeezing his eyes together a little harder.

“Time to wake up,” I said, my hand on his arm.

His eyes slowly opened, though they suddenly snapped open when he realized where he was. He pushed himself off of me, quickly glancing over me to confirm he really was doing what he thought he was.

“I’m sorry,” he rushed out.

“It’s alright. It was cold last night,” I said quickly, trying to soothe the nerves that were obviously eating at him. “At least it warmed up this morning.”

He shook his head as he stood from the bed, running a hand through his hair quickly. I swallowed, knowing he felt like he crossed a line.

“I really don’t mind,” I tried again.

“We should be downstairs soon,” he replied, glossing over my attempts. “I’ll be out soon.”

He walked into the bathroom without much of a glance in my direction. I huffed out a breath, quickly getting dressed before I heard the water in the sink stop. He opened the door right as I sat on the edge of the mattress again, hardly catching my eye as he did.

“Hotch,” I called, determined to get his attention.

He hummed in response, immediately ruffling through his bag as if there was something he was actually looking for. I stood, taking a few steps in his direction.

“Can you at least listen to me?”

I watched as his shoulders dropped with the breath he let out. He straightened, turning to face me.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, not meeting my eyes again.

“I’ve already told you it’s fine. You really need to take my word for it.”

“I was practically on top of you,” he said, looking at me at last.

Unfortunately, he finally looked right as my cheeks were heating up a tad. I didn’t expect that innocent of a phrase to have any effect on me, but apparently my brain had other ideas.

“You didn’t mean to. It was freezing last night, and we were kind of forced to share a bed.”

He was quiet again.

I continued, “Besides, when have I been the type to hide my emotions that well? If I was upset you would’ve known immediately. Honestly, you were keeping me warm.”

He cracked a small smile, though he tried to hide it.

“I promise I was okay with it. Really.”

He nodded. “Alright. Just— Don’t report me to HR.”

I laughed. “Deal.”

Half an hour later, the team was waiting in the lobby of the hotel for news on our travel arrangements. Hotch and Morgan had gone off to figure it all out, leaving the rest of us to sip on coffee and watch the blizzard outside.

“Well, technically, the blizzard ended 4 hours ago. Now, it’s really just a heavy snow,” Reid stated, hardly glancing away from the magazine in his hands.

Prentiss rolled her eyes, looking towards me for some kind of understanding. I smiled at her, sipping at my coffee. We heard voices soon thereafter coming towards our small group. Hotch and Morgan walked up, chatting quietly.

“We should be able to take off within the next few hours,” Hotch stated, glancing around at us. “I’ll be getting a call when they’re ready. Until then, let’s get lunch and make sure we’re packed up and ready to go.”

“Eating on the company dollar?” I asked with a smirk.

He looked at me, a small smile on his face and… a bit of a blush on his cheeks?

“Yes. So, make sure you all decide on someplace good.”

Now, when I looked back at Prentiss, she was the one with a smile on her face. One that wasn’t sympathetic in the slightest. I knew what was happening in that head of hers from the twinkle in her eye alone.

I started walking towards the elevator, knowing she’d follow me, but still hopeful that maybe she’d leave it be. My former assumption was correct.

She caught up just as the doors started shutting, crossing her arms as she stood next to me.

“So,” she started.

“So?”

“What was that?”

I sighed. “What was what?”

She quirked a brow when I looked at her. I shook my head, looking away again.

“You know what. I’ve got to say, I never expected to see Hotch blushing. What did you do to him?”

I chuckled. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Oh? Who did?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I asked, stepped forward as the doors of the elevator opened on our floor.

I hoped that line would shut her up for the time being, but that was once again wishful thinking. She practically chased me down the hall.

“You’re not getting away that easy.”

“Ugh,” I groaned. “Nothing actually happened.”

“He was smiling. And blushing.”

“You ever think it’s just because I’m charming?”

“No.”

I made a sour face, finally reaching my door. She raised a brow, giving me a proud smirk.

“I’ll find out, you know?”

“You’re sure about that?”

She shrugged. “Pretty sure.”

“Sure about what?” Hotch asked, walking up on us.

I looked away quickly, hoping to catch Emily’s eye before she said something she shouldn’t. Luckily for me, she got some sense in her head at the last second.

“Nothing. Just can’t pass up an opportunity to tease her.”

He raised a brow. “Right. Well, pack up. Sooner we’re done here, the sooner we can eat.”

She nodded once, sending me a quick wink before she turned and walked towards her own door. I finally unlocked the door, walking inside with Hotch hot on my heels. We silently packed the rest of our things, though neither of us had really unpacked all that much to begin with. He finished first, standing near the door to wait for me rather than leaving for the lobby. I glanced over my shoulder as I put my toiletries bag in the suitcase.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Just about.”

He hummed. “Prentiss was bothering you, huh?”

“When isn’t she?”

“What about?”

I shrugged. “I don’t even really know.”

He chuckled as I turned around. “You’re not a great liar.”

Maybe I liked him better when he was being shy about being all over me. He seemed a little too self confident now.

“Says you,” I replied with raised brows.

We made it to lunch in one piece, deciding that even though the roads were mostly cleared now, we’d stick close by.

Prentiss nudged me a few times during lunch, trying to get information out of me, but I refused. Though, it certainly didn’t help that I found myself looking at Hotch much more often than I usually would.

Maybe I’d had a small crush on him before, but now my brain wouldn’t stop reminding me of it. Every time he laughed or talked or moved or breathed. He was stuck in my head. It was ridiculous.

Embarrassment really came when I looked at him again only to find him looking at me. He quirked a brow as my eyes widened a bit at being caught.

Emily definitely caught that interaction.

I shook my head at her as she teased me, definitely noticing the self-satisfied smirk Hotch tried to hide at the interaction. He knew. Bastard.

We started the leave the restaurant when we got the okay from our pilot, but I didn’t get far before I felt a hand on my arm keeping me behind the others. I turned.

“I’d like to see you in my office when we get back,” he said with a quirked brow.

“What about?”

“We’re not sharing a room anymore, I need somewhere where I can speak to you in private.”

“You going to try to cuddle me again if I agree to be alone with you?”

“Not yet,” he replied, a smile barely there on his face. “Maybe next time. We’ll have to see how that talk goes when we’re home.”

I nodded, hiding a smile of my own. “Deal.”

[eveomo]

bounties and blessings - arthur morgan x f!reader

chapter 1 (SFW, will probably be edited in the future)

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ synopsis : after meeting a seemingly dangerous yet kind outlaw during a bounty, your world seems to get turned upside down after you can't seem to stop running into each other. could this be the beginning of something you've both been longing for?

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ warnings/tags : MINORS MAY INTERACT WITH SFW CHAPTERS (NSFW WILL BE TAGGED), depictions of violence, arguments, angst, eventual smut, unprotected piv sex, guns, gun violence, swearing, mutual pining, strangers to lovers, soft arthur, animal death, PTSD, mentions/depictions of abuse, attempted SA (very brief and for plot purposes only), NO PREGNANCY, NO BABIES, MC isnt a frail weak girl who constantly needs saving, often grammatically incorrect (probably)

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ contains : arthur morgan x f!reader, no use of y/n, reader changes the plot for the better

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ wc : 1.9k

posted to AO3 here

It was a blazing summer day, sweat collecting along the brim of your hat as you rode your palomino arabian into Valentine, slowly making your way to the sheriff's office. As you approach the front of the decrepit building, you swing your foot over the saddle and dismount, grabbing the reins to hitch your horse. 

You pulled your bandana up a touch higher and pulled your hat down to cover your eyes before entering the building. Approaching the board, you scan for any bounties that would truly be worth your while. Then, your eyes caught a poster. 

$75 for some idiot that decided to shoot a rancher's son and a lawman for one cow? Easy money. Was it the biggest bounty you’d ever done? Absolutely not, but it offered more money than anything else pinned to the board. You tore it down and folded it before shoving it into your pocket and nodding at the guard seated at the front of the office. Turning on your heel, you exited the building and mounted your horse. 

          “You ready for some fun girl?” Patting her golden coat, you clicked your tongue and tapped your heels to get her moving. As you rode, you reached back to grab your canteen, guzzling down at least half of it with your horse huffing underneath you. 

          “It’s hot ain’t it, Lenora?” You soothed, petting her mane as you kicked your heels once again to get her into a gallop, welcoming the breeze on your face as you rode. Turning off the path, you began to wind and turn throughout the forest, seeking the abandoned cabin the man you were after was hiding in. Your heart skipped a beat as you spotted it in the distance, excited to have some income once again after having to run from the law after a bar fight gone wrong in another town. Having finally arrived at your destination just north of the Dakota River, you dismount and leave Lenora in the brush, sighing as you pull your bandana over your face and retrieve the lasso attached to your black leather saddle. 

Taking effortlessly light steps, you approach the back end of the cabin before hearing two other voices just west of your location. You crouch behind a broken down wagon sitting in the field surrounding the home as you take a deep breath and tune into the words drifting towards you through the wind. 

          “John, if you’re messin’ with me after last time I’ll give you a real reason to run from camp.” One gruff voice huffs out, while another insists that he saw something duck behind a wagon. Your eyes narrow and you peek your head around the wheel, deciding the coast was clear before darting out and crouching down below a window next to the back entrance. Confident that you were going to secure this bounty before unwanted competition appeared, you darted up to peek into the window, seeing your target shine his gun. Quietly, you edge the door open before taking light steps towards the balding man. With an incredible speed, you grab your revolver from your holster and knock the man unconscious with the grip. 

Letting out a pleased hum, you put your gun back in its holster and grab the lasso from your side and begin to secure him tightly. Before you can truly process the creaking of floorboards, you whip out your gun and turn around, pulling back the safety and pointing the barrel at the intruder's head. Unsurprisingly, the sight of a barrel pointing in between your eyes greeted you. 

         “‘Scuse me Miss, I don’t mean to be a bother but I think you’ve got some’n that belongs to me and my friend out there.” The man speaks first, a deep gruff voice with a clear southern drawl. You sized him up quickly, he was tall and broad, a blue button up with a brown leather jacket, a clearly very old hat concealing his head of hair, and a black bandana covering the rest of his face. Obviously another bounty hunter or an outlaw. 

Scoffing, you reply, “Clearly, Mister, this dope here is comin’ back with me. I knocked him out, I tied him up.” you emphasized, pointing behind you. Taking a step closer, you point the end of your gun closer to his head. “I’ve killed men much bigger than you for much less than this.” You watch his eyes narrow as he sizes you up, making you shudder. Admittedly, you were nervous. Somehow you had forgotten that there were others nearby, focusing on being quiet and quick rather than paying attention to your surroundings, and in front of you was a very large, clearly much stronger than you, man. 

          “Look, darlin’. You hand ‘em over, and the three of us can split it. Whatddya say?” One of his eyes squints while the other remains the same, revealing his hidden smirk. 

          “If you think you’re gonna intimidate me into splitting a $15 bounty, you’ve got me mistaken, sir.” Before he can think to answer, his friend calls out. 

         “Arthur! What’s taking so damn long in there? Thought’chu said it’d be empty!” As he looks to the side, you take his momentary distraction as an opportunity to pull a throwing knife from your thigh and dart around him, wrapping your arm around his throat and pulling him to the ground, disarming him and knocking his hat off in the process. He grunted with surprise as you pressed the blade to his jugular and leaned down to whisper in his ear. 

          “Here’s what’s gonna happen, Arthur. Unless you want to bleed out right here, yer gonna get up, walk out, and tell yer little friend that my friend over here-“ you nod your head to the direction of the still unconscious man laying tied up on the floor “-wasn’t here and y’all need to search for some other bounty. Whaddya say?” You drawl, mocking him for his earlier offer. He chuckles lightly before removing his instinctive grip from your arms and raising his in front of him in defeat. 

          “Alright, girl. You got me, okay? We’ll be outta yer hair now.” He grunts as you remove your vice grip from his throat and sheath your knife back into its strap, allowing him to stand. He picked his hat back up and placed it on his head, and then retrieved his revolver from across the room. As he did so, you heaved the large, unconscious man over your shoulder with a grunt and gestured for the outlaw to leave first. 

         “Damn girl, you are one strong lady.” Arthur comments with a laugh, shaking his head as he walks out with his hands up in an attempt to make you trust him. You roll your eyes and watch as he takes a step to leave before stopping. You raise a brow and sigh frustratedly. This wasn’t your first time fighting over a bounty, but the result of this particular conflict left your hands clean and your mind confused. 

          “What are ya doin? Git!” Your free hand falls down to your side, hovering over your gun holster, shooting a heated look in the outlaws direction. 

He scoffed before answering, “Would you relax? Was gonna ask if you was all alone out here.” 

You laughed and shook your head.

“Why on earth would I tell you that?” You’re not stupid, you know he could’ve killed you if he had wanted to, but he didn't. It’s not that you aren’t strong, in fact you were very strong,  but when you had him on the ground it wasn't hard to tell how abnormally strong he was. It would’ve taken nothing to pull your arm away and either stab or shoot you, but he didn’t. Why?

          “I dunno, maybe you’re lonely out here. You’re clearly strong,” he chuckles when he says this, gesturing to the man on the floor behind you, “but it ain’t very safe for a lady out in these parts.” He shrugged, seemingly trying to figure out why he even asked in the first place. He didn’t seem the type to care all that much about the going ons in other people’s lives, in fact he seemed like he would otherwise be guarded and closed off. 

        “I ain’t no lady, sir. I’ve done a lot of very bad things to a lot of people. Good and bad.” You shook your head, and continued. “It ain’t very safe for anyone out in these parts. Everyone robbin’, killin’, shootin’, I ain’t the only one that has to look out for myself.” With a sigh, you place your gun back in your holster. ‘Is this guy leaving soon or what?’ you think to yourself. He seems to think about what you’re saying for a minute, pulling down his bandana to scratch at his stubble. And oh, oh god. He’s hot. So hot you swear the colour drained from your face and immediately came back as a bright red. Your breath hitches in your throat and you clear your throat.

         “Well, I s’pose that’s true. Bye now, ma’am.” He speaks, snapping you out of your brief trance. You watch as he leaves, nodding at you as the door shuts behind him. You wait about 2 minutes to see if ‘Arthur’ and his friend ‘John’ would re-enter the small cabin, guns drawn. However, they didn’t, and so you secure the unconscious man onto the back of your Arabian, and leave.

𐂂

Truthfully, Arthur didn’t want to hurt a woman, whether she was pointing a gun at him or not. He could tell that she was bluffing the moment he unholstered his gun and pointed it right back at her, too clear that she wouldn’t have shot him unless he tried to hurt her. This worried him, why isn’t her first instinct to kill an intruder, especially a male intruder? Besides this, the gang could use someone who was strong, capable, and actually stealthy. You would be perfect for late-night stagecoach robberies, silently slinking into barns while someone else distracted the homeowner. Even if this was true, he knew Mrs. Grimshaw would be quick to make you clean laundry and chop vegetables. 

“Arthur! Are you even listening to me?” John speaks, interrupting his thoughts. 

“No.” Arthur replies cheekily, looking at John under the brim of his hat. He wasn’t listening, how could he? He had just missed an incredible opportunity to bring someone useful to the camp, and he didn’t. 

“I was asking what happened with that bounty, asshole.” John scoffed, riding alongside Arthur on their way back to camp, $50 sitting in each of their pockets from a couple street robberies. 

Arthur sighed before speaking, “There was a girl, she got to him first.”

“And you just left? Let her take him?” Astounded, John shakes his head and picks up his pace. “What is happenin’ to you, Arthur Morgan? Lettin’ some girl take our bounty?” 

“What’d you want me to do John, shoot ‘er? Dutch told us to keep a low profile, not to go around killin’ young girls for a $75 bounty.” He scoffed, hearing voices appear in the distance and the rather unappetizing scent of Pearson's stew. Whatever John said next, he didn’t hear.   Arthur hitched his horse and strode over to the collection box, giving $30 and keeping $20 before retreating to his tent and bedroll for the night. He kicked off his boots and sat down, retrieving his journal from his messenger bag to write about his day. He pondered what to write about, but he already knew. 

He wanted to write about you. 

PLEEEEASE LET ME KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS!!! i really struggle w accurately writing characters to how they are !!! if anything is corny/needs changes LET ME KNOW!! ok love u all hope u enjoyed!! chapter 2 should hopefully be out by next week<3

(also pls like + reblog ok thanks BAIIIII)

[bullet-prooflove]

Sunflowers: Brendon Acres x Reader

Tagging @kmc1989

Companion piece to Lifeline

You don’t make much money working for the FBI. They pay you a modest stripe end, one that parallels how much it would cost to house you in the penal system. It’s just enough to afford a shitty apartment in an even shittier part of town. When you factor in transport, utilities and food, there’s barely enough cash left over to purchase art supplies, let alone any luxuries. It makes things harder when Brendon’s birthday comes around. He’s a man of wealth, of means and you barely have two dollars in your purse to rub together.

It shouldn’t matter but it does.

Brendon was the first person who showed you any kindness when you agreed to work for the FBI, he treated you like a human being, saw you for who you are. It was him that lobbied for you to consult with Special Investigations because you were dying out there in Art Crimes under Henderson’s control. Brendon had given you back a part of yourself you thought you’d lost, he’d shown you a different path and you will forever be grateful for that.

It’s your dress that helps you figure it out, the black one with the yellow sunflowers. You’d picked it up at a thrift store a couple of days before, it’s in surprisingly good condition. It’s insane that you used to spend thousands of dollars on clothes in your previous life and now you’re trying to work out if you can make a twenty stretch.

You’re sitting at your desk when Brendon sets a mug of coffee down in front of you. He takes up his usual perch on the corner as you tidy away the pictures of the Degas you’ve been studying. It’s a fake, you can see it even without seeing the piece of art up close.

“I’ve always loved sunflowers.” He tells you, his fingertips brushing over the fabric of your sleeve. “The problem is I’m allergic to them, I break out in hives if I’m anywhere even close to one.”

“What do you like about them?” You had asked him and he’d given you that smile and a half-hearted shrug.

“They just make me happy.” He tells you, you can see the truth of it in his eyes. It’s such a silly little thing but the fact he’s chosen to share it with you, speaks volumes. “They’re fun, colourful, they make me think of brighter days. I think that’s why I’m smiling so much this morning, your dress…”

He trails off, his gaze slipping down to his coffee mug as his cheeks flush pink.

“Maybe I’ll try to wear it more often.” You tease and he laughs at that. It’s such a rich, vibrant sound and it lights up something inside of you.

You like this man, really like him.

You haven’t felt like this in a long time.

It takes a few days for you paint the picture. You choose an A5 sized piece of paper because you feel canvas would be too intimate and you aren’t ready to give that much of yourself to someone else. Creating art, it’s a private experience, when you gift it to someone else you’re really handing them a piece of your soul, showing them your true self.

You spend your evenings hunched over the battered desk in your apartment, working to the sound of Vance Joy as you mix your paints. You have a very specific colour pallet in mind. A rich blue that matches the hue of Brendon’s eyes, a vibrant sunshine yellow that contrasts against it. You have a scene in mind from the last time you were in North Dakota, four sunflowers swaying lightly in the breeze alongside the barn your family used to own. It’s the last happy memory you have of that place and you’re giving it to Brendon.

Brendon doesn’t expect to spend his birthday shuttling between LA and Salt Lake City but then again it’s the nature of the job. He’d been looking forward to getting dinner with Simone and Cutty but it’s past midnight by the time he gets into the office. His birthday’s over before he even realises it.

It’s when he collapses into his desk chair that he notices the brown paper envelope sitting on his  desk, his name written in your pretty looped scrawl. He’s intrigued when he picks it up, his fingers breaking the seal eagerly.

He can’t help but smile when he sees the artwork. It’s an original piece, painted by your hand, he’s known you long enough to recognise your style. The bold use of colour, the delicacy of the drawing itself. He thinks he’d know you anywhere.

When he turns over the piece, he studies the words written in dark pencil and something just blossoms in his chest.

Brendon,

May all your days be as bright as sunflowers.

Mona.

Love Brendon? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[olympeline]

Hetalia FACE family as classic Simpsons quotes:

Arthur: Alfred I told you not to bring guns to the dinner table!

Alfred: You said the breakfast table

Arthur: IT’S THE SAME TABLE

Arthur: I suppose we could get more involved in Alfred’s activities, but then I’d be afraid of smothering him.

Francis: Oui, and then madame guillotine.

Arthur: That’s not what I meant!

Francis: It was, cher, admit it.

Matthew: History is written by the winners, Al

Alfred: I thought it was written by losers

Arthur: *Bound for the couch* Only French history

Matthew: Papa, can we please listen to one story that doesn’t end up being about Alfred?

Francis: Of course, petit! Alfred was still having trouble in school, and Alfred-

Matthew: *Exasperated* Paaaa!

Alfred: Hey, he’s just giving the people what they want: Alfred by the ass load!

Arthur: *Holding a tray* Boys, you want some scones before you go to bed?

Al & Matt: AAAAAGGGHHHHH!!

Arthur:…

(He later did the chainsaw and hockey mask bit but the scone scream was louder)

Arthur: *Drunk sobbing* ARRGG I HAVE THREE KIDS AND NO MONEY! WHY CAN’T I HAVE NO KIDS AND THREE MONEY?!

Francis: *Coming in with Alfred* Sorry I’m late, I’ll start dinner-

Arthur: No need. Already made.

Francis:…

Arthur: *Defensively* Mattie loved it! Didn’t you, son?

Matthew:…

Alfred: How was it, Matt?…Good?

Matthew: It tastes like…burning

Alfred: *About Peter* Are you guys adopting another kid?

Francis:…Perhaps

Al & Matt: *Cheer and high five*

Francis: Oh sure for you two a baby is fun and games but for me it’s all diaper changes and night feeding!

Alfred: Doesn’t Dad do that?

Francis: *Darkly* Oui, but I have to hear about it

Arthur: Now boys, on your first day of school, I'd like to pass on the words of advice my big brother gave me.

Alisdair: Arthur, you're dumb as a mule and twice as ugly! If a strange man offers you a ride, I say, take it!

Arthur: Fucking traumatic childhood…

Quiz show host: Okay, the capital of North Dakota was named for what German ruler?

Alfred: HITLER!

[goaliekisses]

Malkin’s teammates share what sets him apart; favorite memories before his 1,000th game

they’re all like ‘he’s so BIG AND FUNNY AND BEAUTIFUL’ and sid is like, repeatedly ‘he’s so DOMINATING also let me rattle off a list of my favorite geno goals and also did i mention, he’s so dominating? i’m so lucky to have seen them close up i’ll cherish them forever (like i cherish him)’

Sidney Crosby still remembers the first time he saw Evgeni Malkin play.

It was the 2005 World Junior Championship in Grand Forks, North Dakota. It was the second World Junior appearance for both Crosby and Malkin, but the two hadn't gone head-to-head in the tournament in Helsinki, Finland the year prior. They finally met in the gold medal game, with Crosby and Team Canada winning the tournament with a 6-1 victory over Malkin and Russia.

Malkin made his World Championship debut with the senior Russian team later that season. Watching that tournament, Crosby couldn't help but take notice again of the young Russian prospect who had been drafted by the Penguins the year before.

"He was just dominating," Crosby recalled when I sat down with him earlier this week. "He was just 18 then. I thought he was pretty special from the first time I saw him play."

Crosby and Kris Letang were both drafted by the Penguins that summer, and Crosby made his NHL debut in the season that followed. Letang and Malkin joined Crosby in Pittsburgh a season later, and the three have been together now for 17 seasons.

Through Malkin' career 999 games, he's amassed 451 goals, 714 assists and 1,165 points, ranking No. 3 all-time in franchise history in each category behind Mario Lemieux and Crosby. When the puck drops for the Penguins' game against the Blackhawks in Chicago on Sunday, Malkin will join Crosby in the record books as the only players in franchise history to play 1,000 games with the Penguins.

I spoke with Crosby, Letang and a number of other teammates of Malkin about what makes Malkin so special and some of their favorite memories of Malkin over the years.

Crosby remembers it being "pretty hard to communicate" with Malkin during those early years together, when Malkin's English was extremely limited. Still, that didn't stop Malkin from quietly tagging along with his teammates when everyone would hang out outside of the rink.

"I mean, he didn't say anything," Letang said. "He would just come and have dinner and not say a word. He would just say the same thing, 'hamburger,' all the time. ... He was so shy earlier on and didn't speak much, but his humor is funny, like joking around making fun of everyone."

Letang was a little amused recalling that Malkin insisted on his teammates calling him "71" rather than his name back then.

Players who made their debuts with the Penguins later in Malkin's career remember being a little intimidated by Malkin at first.

"Obviously, you're pretty scared," Jake Guentzel said with a laugh about his first time meeting Malkin. "He's a superstar. My first game I sat alongside him and Phil (Kessel), I think you get pretty nervous. You don't want to mess up."

"It was a lot of intimidation on my part," Bryan Rust said. "I was probably feel a little nervous to meet him, just a guy of his stature both physically and with what he's done."

Brian Dumoulin said that he felt like he was "tiptoeing" around Malkin early on, and was a little nervous being around someone of Malkin's stature, until he realized he just had to talk to Malkin like any other person.

"I wouldn't say he's the most outgoing guy when you first get to know him," Dumoulin said. "It takes some time to get to know him and for him to open up and for you. I remember people were saying to Geno, like 'Why don't you say hi?' He's like, 'Why don't you say hi to me?' That's kind of how it was for 'G'. I mean, you've got to approach him just like anyone else. That's how he wants to be treated."

A common trend in players' first interactions with Malkin is Malkin getting their names wrong, much to the amusement of his teammates.

"It's such a Geno thing to do, to not remember names," Kasperi Kapanen said. "I don't know, I actually should go ask him now to see if he remembers my first name or not."

Consensus seems to be that Malkin's gotten better with names over the years, but it's still a bit of a running gag for a teammate to ask him what a newer teammate's name is to see what he says. Marcus Pettersson remembers being in the stick room with Patric Hornqvist in his first week after being traded to the Penguins when Malkin walked in the room. Hornqvist pointed to Pettersson and asked Malkin what his name was. Malkin paused, then pointed to the stick Pettersson was holding, and read the "Pettersson" label out loud. Players used to do the same at the yearly rookie parties, making it a game to see if Malkin knows the actual names of the younger players. He might know a guy as "Rusty" or "Dumo," but beyond that?

"That's the thing," Dumoulin said with a laugh. "He might not know my first and my last name, but he knows my nickname, you know? That's all that really matters, I don't care. He doesn't have to know my name or anything like that. It's pretty funny."

Some players think that Malkin's notoriously bad memory with names might be a little bit of an act, given his sense of humor.

"He called me 'goalie' for the longest time," Casey DeSmith said. "He's definitely a character in the room. I remember the first time he said like, 'Good game Casey' I was like, (shocked face) 'What'd you say?!'"

"He just kept calling me Jack," Guentzel laughed, recalling his rookie year. "I don't know if he was just messing around with me, playing a prank on a young guy. But it was just funny, because nobody really knows."

When you ask players what makes Malkin so special or how they'd describe him, it's that sense of humor that is often mentioned first. He keeps his teammates laughing, and keeps the room light.

"There's no filter," Letang said of Malkin. "It comes out raw with that kind of broken English. It's the broken English that makes it funny."

"His sense of humor, I think is awesome," Rust said. "He just kind of sticks to himself, he's kind of quiet most of the time. Then all of a sudden, he'll just start cracking jokes, he'll just kind of pop in there just at the right time. He has the whole room laughing."

"Every day, he always says something," Kapanen said. "He's got those one-liners that make everybody laugh, and he's just a funny, fun guy to be around. He's one of the funnier guys I've ever met. So it's been a pleasure to be here with him.

"He's always got some smartass comment to make or something sarcastic," DeSmith said.

"He's spontaneous," Tristan Jarry said. "He's just always yelling, always getting the guys to laugh."

On the ice, it's Malkin's passion, drive and skill that get mentioned by his teammates as what sets him apart.

"It's just his natural ability," DeSmith said

"He's generational talent," Jarry said. "Being able to watch him every day in practice and in every game, it's something special."

"He's passionate," said Rust. "He loves coming here and he loves playing hockey. He loves being with this team, in this organization, in the city. You can see it when he's playing well, you can see it when he's playing bad. He just wears his emotions on his sleeve and he just wants this team, he wants himself, and he wants everybody else to do so well. You can see how much he cares."

Pettersson compared Malkin to a train, and spoke about admiring that same passion Rust spoke of.

"He's fire," Pettersson said. "He's like a locomotive when he takes over the game, he's so powerful the way he drives the puck. I just think about whenever he gets fired up on the ice, scores a big goal or something like that. Like when we were in Toronto and he had a pretty bad tripping call on him then scored. When he gets fired up, he creates so much energy for us and it's fun to see him in beast mode when he gets like that."

Dumoulin said that Malkin is a "magician" with what he's able to do on the ice.

"Pittsburgh is very lucky and I think I'm very lucky to be able to watch him play for so long," Dumoulin said. "I mean, on the ice, he's the magician. You never really know what he's going to do with the puck, whether it be D zone, offensive zone, neutral zone. It's just fun to watch him get the puck and just go. He's always a game changer every time he's out there. It's exciting to watch."

"I think of him as a beast," Letang said. "He's just so strong, so big, skilled. He's kind of unstoppable when he's playing well."

Crosby said that if he had to choose one word to describe Malkin, it would be "dominant."

"The way he can take over a game is pretty rare," Crosby said. "There's not too many guys who can do that, and he's done it for a long time."

Crosby said that he has "tons" of favorite on-ice memories of Malkin, with a big one being his first NHL goal against the Devils in 2006.

"Then against Tampa, when he walked through everybody," Crosby added, referring to this goal in 2012.

"Edmonton, the spin-o-rama," Crosby said, talking about this goal from 2015.

"That Carolina game, the hat trick he had in the playoffs," Crosby said, on Malkin's performance in Game 2 of the Eastern Conference Final in 2009.

"I've been lucky," Crosby reflected. "I got to see a lot of those close up. Those are memories that I'll cherish forever."

Letang mentioned Malkin's entire performance in the 2009 playoffs -- when Malkin led the team in scoring with 14 goals and 22 assists in 24 games -- as one of his favorite memories. He also named Malkin's goal in the last game of the 2011-12 regular season against the Flyers: It was the first (and only) time Malkin hit the 50-goal mark in his career, and capped off a regular season in which Malkin won the Art Ross Trophy as the league's leading scorer, the Hart Memorial Trophy as the league MVP, and the Ted Lindsay as the league's top player as voted by the players.

Letang was asked what he thinks Malkin's legacy will be in Pittsburgh, and he thought it was a tough question to answer. He mentioned the three Stanley Cups they won together, and Malkin's impending 1,000th game, but said that Malkin's legacy to him will be something different.

"I don't remember those guys for the hockey part," he said. "I remember those guys for being with them. He's funny. He's hilarious. He's loud in his own way."

If one were to make a Mount Rushmore of the top four Penguins in franchise history, Malkin would surely be on it. His skill, dominance and passion are what has made him one of the greatest to ever play for the Penguins. But it's who he is off the ice that has him so beloved by his teammates.

[sisterspooky1013]

Gaslight, Chapter 45/48

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

Welcome to North Dakota

Mulder blinks rapidly in an attempt to moisten his weary eyes, making the tail lights on the cars in front of him explode into streaky starbursts. It’s dark, past 10:00 pm, and he feels drunk from too many hours watching the white blur of the fog line whip by in his periphery. He yawns and rubs one hand roughly over his stubbled cheek, then looks over at Scully. 

She’s asleep again, as she has been on and off throughout the day. The kids have been clingy, and he hasn’t been able to get her alone for long enough to hear what, exactly, happened at the hospital. He just drives, never going more than 10 mph over the speed limit, taking them as far away from his blunder as possible. Gratefully, Peter seems to be okay, but Mulder can’t shake the feeling that Scully’s confidence in his ability to keep the children safe has been damaged beyond repair. His confidence in himself certainly has been. 

A roadside sign indicates a cluster of motels at the next exit, so he changes lanes and gets off the freeway. The shift in motion and cessation of the hum of high-speed rubber against pavement rouses Scully from her nap, and she looks around, disoriented, as he pulls into the parking lot of the Riverside Inn. 

“Where are we?” she croaks, reaching into the console for a bottle of water. 

“Fargo, North Dakota,” he says quietly. “I can barely keep my eyes open. If you want to keep going, you’ll have to drive.”

Scully shakes her head as she swallows a mouthful of water. 

“No, let’s stop,” she says on a sigh, looking into the back seat where Abby and Peter are both sleeping. “It’s been a long day.”

Frenchie woofs from the back of the van, and Abby’s eyes snap open. 

“Are we home?” she asks absently. 

“No, sweetpea,” Scully says with a thin smile. “Not for a couple more days. But we’re going to stop here for the night.”

“I have to go potty,” Abby mumbles, her eyelids heavy. 

Scully turns back to Mulder. 

“Why don’t you take Frenchie for a walk, and I’ll get us checked in?”

He nods, watching her face for signs that her feelings for him have changed, but she just looks tired and distracted. 

He walks Frenchie towards the sound of rushing water, looking back over his shoulder to watch Scully carefully extricate Peter from the van and drape his sleeping form over her torso. His head lolls around on her shoulder and she expertly shifts her weight to prevent him from slumping out of her arms before holding her hand out to Abby. She’s so natural with them, so intuitive, it makes him feel both in awe and frustratingly inadequate. 

Frenchie tugs on the leash and he allows her to guide him down a darkened path. He closes his eyes and pulls in a deep breath, letting the burble of running water and the chirp of crickets drown out his self-loathing, if only for a few minutes. 

-

“Come on,” Scully says, hoisting Peter up and then offering her free hand to Abby as they walk toward the motel lobby. “Spy names only, remember?”

Abby nods mutely, then drops Scully’s hand and runs ahead to open the glass door to the lobby. A bell above the door jangles, and a white-haired man seated behind the desk lifts his head and removes his glasses, a delighted smile spreading across his face. 

“Well, hello there,” he coos, and Abby moves behind Scully, obscuring herself from the man’s view. 

“We need a room, please. Just for the night,” Scully says with well-practiced detached politeness. 

“Of course,” the man says, putting his glasses back on and clicking around on his computer. “Two beds?”

“Yes, please,” Scully says as she places her ID and a stack of twenties on the counter. “We’ll be paying in cash, if that’s alright.”

“Oh,” the man says with a befuddled frown. “Just one moment, let me ask the boss if that’s okay.”

He disappears behind a chipped wooden door, reappearing a few minutes later with an older woman whose hair is pinned up in rollers, a pink quilted housecoat pulled tightly around her.

“We don’t normally take cash,” the woman says, her face pinched and dour. “The credit card is for incidentals, in case there’s any damage to the room.”

Scully hikes Peter up higher, her arms aching under the weight of him. 

“I understand, but we don’t have one,” she explains, wishing Mulder had selected a seedier motel. “I can assure you there won’t be any damage. We just need a good night’s sleep and we’ll be back on the road early tomorrow morning.”

“What’s your name?” the old man asks Abby, oblivious to the conversation Scully is having with his wife. Abby presses her face into Scully’s lower back, her fingernails digging into Scully’s hips. 

The bell above the door chimes, and they all turn to look as Mulder enters the lobby, sans Frenchie. Abby ducks away from Scully and gloms onto Mulder instead, standing on the tops of his feet as he makes his way over to the counter. 

“They don’t take cash,” Scully says with an edge of frustration, an unspoken request that he take up the task of negotiation. 

The old woman is studying Mulder’s face, her eyes narrowed disapprovingly. 

“What if we put money down for damages?” he suggests. 

Before she can answer, Peter lifts his head off Scully’s shoulder and looks around the lobby, blinking at the fluorescent lights. The woman stares at him with wonder as though he materialized before her very eyes. 

“I have to go potty,” Abby reminds Mulder, tugging on the hem of his T-shirt. 

“You’re gonna have to wait a few minutes,” he tells her as he runs his hand over the top of her head. 

“I have to go potty, too,” Peter whines, and Scully heaves a sigh. 

“They can use our bathroom,” the woman says, her tone terse though her offer is kind. “We’ll make an exception and let you pay cash.”

“Thank you,” Scully says, setting Peter on the floor. 

The children each take a turn using the bathroom behind the counter, and the old woman sits on a stool with her arms crossed over her chest while the man finishes booking the room. The way she watches them, following the children with her eyes as they explore a rack of pamphlets, makes Scully uneasy, and she wishes she would have left them in the car. 

“Please don’t touch anything, guys,” she says over her shoulder. 

“How old are they?” the woman asks gruffly. The dissonance between her demeanor and her apparent interest is confusing at best.

“Four and six,” Scully says, offering a placating smile. 

“Hm,” the woman says ambiguously, her eyes roving back over to the children. 

“Is there a river here?” Abby asks, holding up a pamphlet that says The Red River across the top. 

“Yes there is, just a few hundred feet away!” the old man says brightly. 

“Can we go swimming?” Abby asks hopefully.

“We won’t have time for that, kiddo,” Mulder says, and Abby’s shoulders sink. 

“You wouldn’t want to go swimming in Old Red anyway,” the old man says, pushing a receipt across the counter towards Scully. “She looks calm, but the current is strong, and there’s all kinds of junk hiding under the surface. It can be dangerous, even for strong swimmers.”

Scully scrawls Lisa Davenport across the bottom of the receipt, feeling the old woman’s eyes on her the entire time. 

“Stop it, Peter!” Abby screeches, and all the adults whip around to see her shove Peter forcefully. He stumbles and then falls hard on his backside. 

“Hey!” Mulder says firmly, and Abby startles, then regards him with wide eyes. He walks over to Peter and helps him up off the floor before turning back to Abby. “What was that about?”

“He pinched me!” Abby says indignantly, holding her arm. 

“No I didn’t!” Peter says, his bottom lip trembling. “It was a accident!”

“Come on, let’s go,” Mulder says, ushering them both to the lobby doors. He throws Scully a significant look, and she nods. 

The bell jangles, and the lobby falls silent as the overtired and under stimulated children exit into the night. 

“Do you need two keys?” the old man asks, that same oblivious smile on his face. 

“One should be fine, thank you,” Scully says. 

She feels the old woman’s eyes on her again, and she slowly turns her head to meet them. 

“Beautiful family,” the woman says flatly.

“Thank you,” Scully says, uneasy. 

She takes the key from the old man and bids them both a good night. As she passes through the doors, she takes one last look at the woman, still perched on the stool with her arms crossed. The woman nods once, and Scully nods back, and though the evening is warm she feels a shiver run up her spine.

-

Mulder is steadily learning that the amount of energy a child exhibits can have an inverse relationship to their level of exhaustion. Not ten minutes after running giggling laps around the motel room—replete with a trampoline by way of the second bed—both Abby and Peter are out cold, a now-requisite row of pillows between them to prevent the younger from kicking the elder in the ribs all night. 

Mulder looks at Scully, only now realizing that he’s spent the entire day waiting for this moment with bated breath. She pushes her mouth into a weak smile and sighs, then walks toward him. He’s anticipating some kind of connection, some shred of affection at the end of such a harrowing day, but she walks past him to her duffle bag and begins to rummage around. 

“I’m going to take a shower,” she says, and his heart sinks. 

He lies in bed and listens to the rush of the water, the plasticky tick of her toiletries and the scuff of her toothbrush. He waits, as he’s been waiting all day, to learn whether they are okay—both their relationship and their safety after whatever happened at the hospital. 

The room is dark when Scully emerges from the bathroom, feeling her way to the other side of the bed and slipping under the covers. He doesn’t reach for her, subconsciously afraid of being rejected, so when she wriggles up beside him and lays her palm on his chest he’s hit with a wave of emotion. He lifts his arm and she replaces her hand with her head, then drapes one leg over his. When he kisses her wet hair she tilts her chin up and he feels her hand on his cheek, guiding him to her lips. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, speaking the words directly into her mouth. 

“What for?” she asks, her fingernails audibly scratching at the hair on his cheek. 

“What happened at the hospital?” he asks instead of answering. 

Scully settles her head back on his chest. 

“In terms of the anaphylaxis, nothing out of the ordinary,” she begins. “He was given epinephrine and it had the intended effect. But there were some questions about the sutures on his neck, and they called the social worker.”

“They thought he was being abused?”

“I don’t know what they thought. But Peter being Peter, he told them all about his adventures in the VW bus with Hickey, Dryers, and French Toast, among other things. In explanation of the sutures, he said that I cut a bug bite off his neck.”

“And they believed him?”

“God no, thankfully. I told them that his father just passed away unexpectedly and he’s having a hard time processing it, hence the fantastical stories. I think the stories were just wild enough that my explanation sounded more plausible than the truth.”

“So they discharged you?”

“It took a while, but yes,” Scully says, her words stretching out into a yawn. 

Mulder sinks deeper into the mattress, tension draining from his muscles. 

“Thank god,” he says, running one hand over his face. “I’m sorry, Scully. I should have remembered. I could have killed him.”

Scully lifts her head, and he feels her eyes on him in the dark. 

“But you didn’t,” she says gently. “He’s okay. It could have just as easily been me.”

“No,” Mulder says sternly. “You wouldn’t fuck up like that; you’re a great mom.”

She’s quiet for a moment. Mulder can hear Peter’s noisy breathing in the next bed, and a train whistle blasting nearby. 

“I couldn’t do this without you,” she finally says, her voice achingly vulnerable. “And I think you’re doing remarkably well, considering that you’ve only been a father for about four days.” Mulder grunts noncommittally. “Did I tell you that I slammed Abby’s hand in the car door once?” she asks. 

“Don’t make things up to placate me, Scully,” he grumbles.

“I’m not making it up,” she insists. “It was maybe a month after I came home from the hospital and she was just starting to warm up to me. Thankfully there were no broken bones, but I felt like the worst mother on earth.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” 

“Does it?”

“A little.”

“You know what?” she says, rolling on top of him and tucking her face into his neck. “I actually think this officially makes you a parent.”

“Nearly killing my kid?” he scoffs derisively. 

“No,” she says, her breath hot on his neck. “Feeling guilty about messing up. Welcome to parenthood.”

He smiles and runs his hands up and down over her back. 

“At least I’m in good company,” he says, and she chuffs a sleepy laugh against his chest. 

He doesn’t speak again, and neither does she. Abby wakes twice that night, and though Scully tries to comfort her, she won’t stop screaming until she hears Mulder’s voice beside her.   

-

It’s a pleasant, lemony morning. The rising sun drenches the awakening world in warm yellows that reflect brilliantly off the dew-soaked grass, and though there’s a chill in the air Mulder feels cozy and buoyant as he watches Abby practice tricks with Frenchie on a paved path that runs alongside the river. 

As described, the river appears placid, and its waters are ruddy and brackish. A few hundred feet in width, its depth is indiscernible due to the opaqueness of the water, and the banks are tree-bound and mostly inaccessible. Even if not for the fact that they need to keep moving towards their final destination, it’s not a body of water that inspires the urge to swim. 

“Sit!” Abby says sternly, and Frenchie obediently plops her rump onto the pavement. “Good dog,” the child says, holding out her hand so Frenchie can lick a single Froot Loop off her palm. Not the healthiest of treats, but they’re making do. Mulder checks his watch. 

“We’ve got about five more minutes, Bunny, then we gotta hit the road,” he tells her. 

Scully and Peter will be waiting with the van packed up and the room checked out. If they avoid traffic and don’t take too many breaks, they might be able to make it to Bozeman before they stop for the night—especially after they cross into Montana, where the speed limit is more of a suggestion. 

“Shake!” Abby says to Frenchie, holding out her hand, but the dog turns away from her, ears pricked up. “Shake!” Abby says again, but Frenchie is focused on something in the distance. 

A deep rumble vibrates in Mulder’s feet, and he follows Frenchie’s sightline to a slowly approaching freight train. 

“Grab her leash,” Mulder instructs the child, who dutifully picks the end of the leash up off the ground and watches the train engine roll by before it passes over the river on a small wooden trestle. 

The sound of the cars rattling on the track makes Mulder feel a little queasy as the imminent fear and danger of his last train ride are called to the forefront of his mind. He looks down at Abby, who is somberly watching the train pass, and wonders how much she remembers about the man who was her father for just a few short months. He’d ask her, but he doesn’t want to risk calling forth her own painful memories. 

A smile stretches across Abby’s mouth. “There’s the caboose!” she says with delight, pointing to the red car that brings up the rear of the train. 

Her innocent delight at something so simple makes him smile as well, and he wraps one arm around her shoulder, giving her a squeeze. They watch together as the caboose approaches and then passes by, trailing over the river and out of sight. 

Frenchie stands up and growls. 

“Easy,” Mulder says, looping his fingers through her collar. 

“There’s a lady over there,” Abby observes, pointing to the grassy area on the other side of the tracks. 

When Mulder looks to where Abby is pointing, his blood runs cold and his heart skips two beats. She’s dressed casually in jeans and a sweater, her hair pulled back into an uncharacteristically messy ponytail, but it’s unmistakably her. She lifts one hand and waves a small, unobtrusive wave before she begins to walk toward them. Mulder scans the surrounding area in a panic, expecting to see snipers camped out in the bushes, but she appears to be alone. Frenchie lowers her head and the fur along her spine stands on end. 

Mulder instinctively pats the waistband of his jeans, though he knows he’s unarmed. It was just supposed to be a quick walk to get Frenchie’s energy out before they hit the road. He hadn’t given it a second thought. 

“Take Frenchie and go back to the room,” Mulder says to Abby, and she looks up at him with a mix of confusion and fear. 

“I don’t wanna go by myself,” she says, shaking her head vigorously. 

“Abby, go,” he says severely through clenched teeth.

“No,” she says despondently, grabbing his forearm tightly. 

“Hi,” Diana says brightly as she steps over the tracks. “You must be Abigail.”

Abby steps behind Mulder, Frenchie’s leash still wound around her wrist. Frenchie herself is low to the ground, ears pinned back and a deep warning growl sounding continuously from her throat. 

“Stop right there,” Mulder says, holding his palm out. Diana stops, though by her expression he can tell that she’s mildly offended. 

“Nice to see you, too,” she says facetiously before addressing Frenchie. “Hi, Frenchie girl,” she coos, and the dog snarls, baring her teeth. 

“What do you want, Diana?” Mulder asks bitingly, and she pulls in a deep breath. 

“I just want to talk,” she says with a shrug. 

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” he tells her. 

Diana crosses her arms over her chest, her posture deflating a little. 

“I understand why you’re upset with me, Fox,” she says contritely, digging the toe of her shoe into the soft earth beneath her. “But there are things you don’t know that might change how you feel about what I did. Just give me five minutes, and if you still feel the same way I promise I’ll leave you alone.”

His curiosity is piqued, but so is his anger. He bites his lip painfully hard, aware that whatever Abby bears witness to will only deepen the trauma of this entire experience. He crouches down beside her, pivoting his body so that Diana never leaves his sight, and speaks to her in hushed tones. 

“I’m going to walk over by the train bridge and talk to this lady for a few minutes,” he whispers, and Abby nods. “Stay where I can see you, and if anything happens I want you to run back to the motel and find Mommy, okay?”

“Okay,” she warbles. 

“Hold tight to Frenchie, okay?”

Abby nods, and he slowly moves toward Diana. 

“Don’t come too close,” he says when she starts closing the distance between them, and they walk two arms lengths apart until they are just shy of the trestle before they stop and face each other. Now that she’s closer, he can see the deep purple bags under her eyes and the dry, cracked skin on her lips. She looks like hell. 

“I can’t believe I actually found you,” Diana says with a secretive smile, like he ought to be proud of her. “We got so many tips from all across the country. A daycare center in Decatur, a baseball game in Oakland. But something about the way this woman described you…I just knew it was really you.”

“Well,” Mulder says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Let’s hear it. Please tell me the totally justifiable reason that you destroyed my life.”

Diana scoffs, mirroring his posture. 

“I hardly destroyed your life, Fox. Don’t be dramatic.”

Anger so acute it makes his ears ring floods through him, and he clenches his fists.

“You have five minutes,” he reminds her, and she softens. 

“You don’t understand,” she implores, her eyebrows knit. “I didn’t have a choice. They were going to kill you.” Her typically measured, stoic demeanor is entirely absent, replaced by a desperate, harried version of her that he can’t recall having met in the past. 

“That would have been a preferable option,” Mulder says, and her mouth falls open. 

“I love you,” she says emphatically, and Mulder shakes his head. He should have known that she had nothing new to share. Just lies on lies on lies. 

“I was happy, Diana,” he says levelly.

“I know,” she says, taking one step forward before he holds out his hand to stop her. “I was happy, too. We can be happy again, you just have to trust me. I can fix this.”

“I was happy, and you stole that from me,” he spits at her. “You took my memories, my work. You took Scully from me.” Diana’s demeanor shifts, her contrite facade falling away as her jaw sets and her eyes narrow. “You don’t love me, Diana. You never did.”

“You have no idea what I’ve gone through for you,” she says tightly. “You have no idea what I’ve had to do. You should be thanking me.” 

Mulder barks a derisive laugh. 

“Thanking you?!” He throws a glance to Abby and lowers his voice before continuing. “Which part should I be thanking you for? For making me think I cheated on you so you could use my guilt as a weapon? For forcing me to stay in a job that made me fucking miserable? For making me forget about the most important person to me in the world? Thank you so much, Diana, for turning me into your Stepford husband. It was a blast. But if you’ll excuse me, I have a family to get back to. I hope the rest of your life is just as unbearable as you made mine.”

He turns on his heel and stalks back toward Abby, who has been watching the exchange nervously while Frenchie holds an uncomfortable-looking position beside her, hackles still raised. He just wants to get back to Scully and Peter and get the hell out of here. Maybe they’ll need to change course, or contact the Gunmen for a new set of identities, but right now his only goal is to get as far away from Diana as humanly possible. 

“I’m not going to let you do this to me, Fox,” Diana says loudly from behind them.

Mulder keeps walking with his arm around Abby’s shoulder as she drags a perturbed Frenchie by her leash. Abby, prone to curiosity more than cautiousness at the tender age of six, looks back at Diana and shrieks. 

When Mulder turns to see what she’s reacting to, the bright morning sun glints blindingly off polished gunmetal, disorienting him for just a split second. In that split second, a terrified Abby drops Frenchie’s leash, and the snarling dog charges Diana. Abby screams again, this time worried for the welfare of a dog that she’s only just begun to like. 

Diana doesn’t have time to react, much less shoot. Frenchie is on her in an instant, jaws snapping and sharp white teeth bared, and whether by chance or strategy, her first bite is to the forearm of the hand in which Diana holds her weapon. 

“Frenchie!” Abby sobs, abject terror in her eyes, and Mulder forcefully turns her away from the scene and into his torso, burying her face in his belly. 

Diana is clambering backwards towards the river as Frenchie tears at the flesh of her ankles, painting the bottom of her jeans bright red. Diana lifts her foot and delivers a sharp kick to Frenchie’s skull, and the dog lets out a piercing yelp. Having temporarily stunned her attacker, Diana unsteadily gets to her feet and runs onto the trestle, though her gait is slowed by multiple injuries to her legs and feet. Frenchie follows after her, and Mulder’s initial surprise fades enough that he has the wherewithal to take action.

He grabs Abby by the shoulders and looks at her face, which is bright red and wet with tears. 

“I need you to go get Mommy. I know you’re scared, but I need you to be brave.” Abby chokes out a sob, but she nods, and he points her toward the motel a hundred yards or so away. “Run as fast as you can. Our room is the one next to the ice machine, remember? Go!”

Abby takes off at a terrified sprint, her arms pumping furiously. Mulder turns back to the trestle where Diana and Frenchie are an indecipherable blur of blonde fur and blood-stained cotton, wrestling their way further and further out over the river. As he races toward them, he passes by Diana’s abandoned pistol in the grass, and he kicks it into the edge of the treeline along the river. 

When he reaches the trestle, he steps carefully and quickly over the ties, his eyes on the looped end of Frenchie’s leash dragging along the tracks. Diana is on her back, her arms held defensively in front of her face and her heels braced against the wooden ties as she tries to evade Frenchie’s snapping jaws. Her initial loud cries of pain have subsided into muted wails and grunts, and she is no longer trying to fight back.

Frenchie herself is unrecognizable to Mulder. His typically gentle, mildly protective dog looks crazed and vicious, her muzzle wet with blood and her eyes wide and wild. Her continuous guttural bark echoes off the banks of the river, and she pursues Diana with something akin to blind rage, snatching a mouthful of flesh before she backs off and goes in again at another location. 

Mulder gets close enough to smell the hot, metallic stink of Diana’s blood, and he loops his hand through Frenchie’s leash before sitting down and bracing his feet against the track for leverage. He’s not even sure if his goal is to protect Frenchie from Diana or protect Diana from Frenchie, he just needs to put an end to the violent, bloody scene before him.

Diana scoots away quickly when she realizes that her attacker has been restrained, and Mulder pulls with all his might as Frenchie continues to snarl and lunge at her. For a moment they just sit there like that, Mulder struggling to hold Frenchie back and Diana panting with a shell-shocked expression on her blood-smeared face. She looks at Mulder and he meets her eyes, and Diana’s face crumples as she lets out a devastated sob. She starts pawing at her ankle then stands abruptly, swaying under the effects of blood loss and adrenaline.

She looks past him, anger, grief, and frustration contorting her mouth into a grimace. When she raises her arms and he sees the weapon in her hand, he looks sharply over his shoulder and sees Scully standing a few yards behind him, gun drawn. 

“Scully!” he shouts, but there isn’t time to say anything more. 

He lets go of Frenchie’s leash and she lurches forward, teeth bared. There’s the crack of a bullet, and Diana’s body twists from the impact to her shoulder just as Frenchie pushes up onto her hind legs and slams them into Diana’s belly. Amidst a spray of blood, Diana tumbles over the side of the trestle and Frenchie follows, down and down as though in slow motion, until one strikes the smooth surface of the river, and then the other. 

Mulder watches, gobsmacked, as Diana’s inky head surfaces and then disappears under the ruddy water. He spots her again a short distance further down the river, hair plastered to her face as she gasps for air before slipping back under. He continues to watch, holding his eyes open, for long enough that Scully makes her way to him, but he doesn’t see Diana come up again. 

“Are you okay?” Scully asks breathlessly, crouching down beside him and taking in the blood-stained trestle. 

“Yeah,” he says flatly, still watching. 

“I just clipped her shoulder,” she says, visually scanning the river. “She could have made it to shore.”

Mulder shakes his head slowly. 

“She can’t swim.”

Scully is quiet, and when he’s absolutely sure that Diana has not emerged from the swath of the river that he can see, he turns to look at her. Her expression is curious, and a bit concerned. She’s unsure whether Diana’s death is cause for celebration or mourning. 

“She can’t hurt us anymore,” he says, caught off guard when his throat tightens and cuts off the end of his words. 

Scully closes her eyes briefly and then loops her arm around his neck, pulling his head to her chest. He breathes her in deep, allowing the steady beat of her heart under his ear to calm his nervous system. 

“I’m sorry about Frenchie,” she says softly, and Mulder heaves a sigh before pulling away. 

“Where are the kids?” he asks, getting to his feet. 

“In the van. We should get out of here before the cops show up,” Scully says, already headed back down the trestle towards the motel. 

As they cross the grassy field that separates the riverfront park from the motel, Scully stops abruptly and lays her hand on his forearm. 

“What?” he asks, his stomach dropping out. 

“Did you hear that?” she asks, flashing her eyes up to him. 

He holds his breath and strains his ears. There’s a thin, watery bark far off in the distance. 

“It’s probably not her,” he says, tempering his own hope. 

“Probably not,” Scully agrees. 

They start to walk and he hears it again, a little bit louder than before. Mulder stops and turns in the direction of the bark, his hands cupped around his mouth. 

“Frenchie!”

Another woof, this one of a more optimistic pitch. Scully calls her name as well, and they wait. 

“Mulder,” she says, pointing into the brambled tree line beside the river. 

He sees her there, a sopping wet muddy yellow blob, hobbling through a tangle of blackberry bushes and twigs. His heart swells with relief and joy, and he takes off running as his faithful companion limps into the grass, tail wagging and a smile on her panting mouth. When he reaches her, he drops to his knees and scoops her up, and she licks his face as her fur soaks his jeans and t-shirt. 

“Good girl,” he says, scratching her ears. “You did a good job, French Fry.”

He’s overcome with emotion, and Frenchie licks away the tears that wet his cheeks. He can’t bring himself to feel any sadness for the loss of Diana; whatever he thought they once had, he now knows that it was never real. He was a possession to her, a thing she felt entitled to. She’d rather have seen him dead than happy without her. What she felt toward him was the furthest thing from love imaginable. 

Now that she’s gone, maybe he can finally find some peace. 

Tagging @today-in-fic

[senditcolton]

Nobody

a/n: something soft for you all now! i have said it in fics before and it is one of my favorite tropes but i will repeat for this: fate! bringing people together! that’s my jam! word count: 1.3k warnings: none! pure fluff! gender neutral reader!

And I want you to know that I’ve had no love like your love.

“Tyson?”

This had to be a dream. There was no way this was real.

You never thought you’d say his name again, except in occasional reminiscing of something now passed. You certainly never expected to see his face again. Especially his face staring back at you from over the counter at your small Buffalo coffeeshop.

Your name falls out of his mouth in similar disbelief, those warm familiar brown eyes staring back at you.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, still unsure if you had slept through your morning alarm and were still in your dreamland.

“Um, well right now, I’m trying to order a coffee?”

The explanation is teasing and a little sheepish, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to joke with you. You assuage his fears with a gentle laugh and a shake of your head, reorienting yourself to your current location.

“Right,” you chuckle, turning to the register in front of you. “What can I get started for you?”

“I’ll just have a small black coffee.”

“So simple,” you chirp. “What happened to the guy who ran on hot chocolate back in North Dakota?”

“Is this your way of trying to persuade me into buying a hot chocolate?”

“Maybe it’s my way of persuading you to buy one for me,” you say, eyes shooting back up to meet his. “You’re my last customer of the day. And I haven’t seen you in years so… it’d be nice to catch up.”

You watch Tyson carefully, gauging his reaction, which at first seems surprised. Although, you wouldn’t blame him for thinking that way. This was beyond anything that you are sure either of you could’ve ever predicted.  But, after a pause, you see that boyish smile pull at his lips.

“Alright, get yourself a hot chocolate. My treat.”

“Ugh, such a gentleman,” you tease, adding it onto his order. He hands you a card and you finish the transaction, telling Tyson to grab a seat and that you’ll bring out both drinks once you clock out.

It only takes a few minutes for you to end your shift and punch out, grabbing your things from the lockers in the back. And by the time you come back out, your and Tyson’s drinks are waiting on the counter. You grab both of them, letting the heat seep from the cups into your palms as you wander over to the small café table Tyson chose.

“Thank you,” he says, gently taking the cup from your hands. You sit across from him, taking a small sip of your drink before focusing your attention back onto the man that you hadn’t seen in ages.

“So, what are you doing in Buffalo?”

“Sabres claimed me off of waivers,” he explains, immediately taking another sip of his coffee, as if he wanted to remove the taste of those words from his mouth.

“Oh,” you say, your voice gentle. “I’m sorry Tyson.”

“It’s okay. I’m glad they wanted me. I’d be in the minors if they didn’t.”

“There’s something I suppose,” you reply, trying to keep your voice light. “When did you come to Buffalo?”

“Just a few weeks ago.”

“So you were here in time for the snowstorm?”

“Yeah,” Tyson laughs, a hand reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “Not quite the warmest welcome.”

“The city was just making sure you knew what you were getting into,” you joke.

It is that easy pull-and-pull teasing that helps your conversation with Tyson fall into a comfortable familiar territory. You catch each other up on your respective lives; every experience that you could think of, every moment you wanted to share. Tyson tells you about his career, that had both high points but more recently low points.

He doesn’t go into detail about the last eight months of his life – the trade, the playoff elimination, his former team winning the Cup, and his eventual waiver claim – but when he breezes through those events in rapid succession, you can see his eyes get distant.

You are surprised to feel your heart pang and even more surprised to hear the quiet voice in the back of your mind that wished you were there for him.

But you shouldn’t be that surprised. While the two of you were in college together, you dated for a brief time, before he left to pursue his career in the NHL. And the ending of your relationship wasn’t dramatic either. It was a mutual agreement.

Looking back on it after Tyson left for Colorado, you really thought the breakup was more damage control then anything. You both were too young to commit to each other; Tyson didn’t expect you to pack up your life and follow him around the country and you didn’t want him to give up his dream of playing professionally to stay with you. It was better to end things before it got too serious, before it turned into something that you would resent each other for.

Although, there were definitely late nights where you wondered what could’ve been.

And now something pulled him back to the city that you currently called home.

“I hope that Buffalo treats you well, Tyson,” you say, smiling up at him, trying to pump some enthusiasm and hope into the conversation.

“It’s already treating me pretty good,” Tyson replies, mirroring your soft smile.

“Really? A snowstorm the day you move is a good start?”

“Okay, maybe the very beginning was a little rough. But it brought me back to you.”

It takes a moment for the words to hit but when they do, there is no hiding your shock. Not that the words he said were bad but that they were… exactly what you were thinking. Tyson easily reads your expression and unfortunately, he couldn’t fully understand the reason. All he sees is your surprise.

You can see him register the look on your face and you watch as he hesitates, before taking a deep breath and continuing.

“Okay, I know this is going to sound crazy and I fully accept that,” Tyson says, his words slightly blending in the rush that he spits them out of his mouth. “But I want to tell you that this summer, I thought about you. I thought about reaching out but I decided not to. Just because I thought it would be a little too weird, connecting after all this time.”

He pauses again, looking at your face, trying to decipher every miniscule movement in your expression. You are sitting in shocked silence and he just takes your reaction – or lack thereof – as an opportunity to continue.

“But I really missed you. And – again this is absolutely wild but – I still think about us, back in college. We just worked so well together and I’ve never experienced anything like what we had since then. And I never thought I would see you again. But… here you are!” he laughs in disbelief which causes you to let out a small giggle, your own smile causing his to brighten.

“And I just wanted to ask,” he sighs, “if you want to try again? You and me?”

The question lingers for a moment as you try to take in everything he has just told you. This was beyond anything that you expected from just a normal day work day. Tyson walked back into your life and now, here he was asking you if you wanted to date him again. After all this time.

Your head is drowning in your thoughts and feelings and while you try to make sense of everything. But as you mull it over, Tyson’s hand slowly creeps across the wood of the table towards your own. And as soon as his skin makes contact with your fingers, the whirlwind in your mind ceases. His hand continues to move closer, intertwining your fingers in his.

“Why now?” you ask, the shred of lingering doubt forcing itself to be heard. Tyson just smiles that award-winning smile that always made you weak in the knees.

“Why not now?”

[vicvinegarandhughhoney]

for bingo -

Intubation or eating disorder for Dennis

Please please with a cherry on top 🙏

running home, running home, running home- prompt: eating disorder

Post S12. Dennis comes back from North Dakota perfectly fine.

TW ED!!!!

Read here or below the cut

North Dakota was supposed to be a fresh start. It was supposed to give him a chance to make things right, to do things differently this time. To free himself of the baggage of the past and live for a future in which he is a father- one worthy of the title. 

It was supposed to be a fresh start, so why the fuck did he stop eating there?

Things started slowly, of course, the way they always do. He aeroplane-d the spoon into Brian Jr’s mouth and simply forgot that a flight was supposed to touch down in his at some point as well. At restaurants, he ordered sides. Claimed he’d already eaten to keep the concerned looks from Mandy at bay. 

“Are you sure you're not hungry?” she’d ask him, brow furrowed with concern. He ought to have spoken to her about it- she would have understood. 

Instead, he forced a smile and nodded. Lied through his goddamn teeth. 

“I’m full. Don’t worry about me.”

The most pathetic part was that it made him look as though he was selfless, prioritising the nourishment of his child and co-parent while neglecting his own needs, when the truth of the matter was far more ego-centric. He didn't want to eat because he had to be perfect, and to be perfect? To be perfect, he had to be thin. Perhaps he could trick himself into believing that he wanted to be perfect so he could better raise Brian Jr. Hell, maybe there's even some truth in that. 

But only a little. 

By the time he gets on the plane back to Philly, having been gone for a year, everything about him feels wrong. There's a gnawing dread in the pit of his stomach that he initially attributes to missing his kid, but doesn't fade even as he talks to the gang, an interaction that’s genuinely relieving. Nor does it fade when he heads back with Mac to their apartment, settling into his own bed while Mac sprawls out on the couch, snoring like a foghorn. 

He stares up at the ceiling, blinking past the colours flitting into his field of view. The dread widens. Turns into a total uneasiness. 

“Here, take some snacks with you for the flight! You need the energy. I haven't seen you eat in days!”

“Alright… thanks. I’ll call you when I land, yeah?”

He’d thrown the granola bars she gave him into a trash can in the airport. Food was unnecessary. Food was the enemy to perfection. To worthiness. 

The next morning he wakes up with his head swimming, barely even aware he fell asleep in the first place. His lips are chapped and his eyelids feel heavy, like he could drift back off and stay there for weeks. 

As he shuffles out into the kitchen, Mac greets him. There's no way Dennis can ignore the way his roommate has changed in the time he's been gone. Mac’s buff now. 

He looks good- great, even- but that little voice in Dennis’ head sneers every time he looks at him. 

God, he's so big, it's gross. He may as well have stuffed himself full of chimichangas again. 

“Hey, Dennis! You want eggs? I made a bunch of ‘em and there's no way I'm eating them all.” Mac asks between shovelling forkfuls of scrambled eggs into his mouth. 

Dennis swallows queasily. “Uh, no. I’m good.”

“Suit yourself.”

A few years ago, Mac would have volunteered to peel an apple for him. Dennis would have eaten it. It’s the only reason he would have eaten anything at all that day. 

The thought makes him feel even more nauseous, so he pushes it aside immediately. 

“I’m… I’m gonna head to the bar early.”

“Oh, okay. See you there, man.”

Dennis slips into the back office, locks the door, and collapses into the chair there. Even the short walk from the bus stop (stupid assholes blew up his goddamn car) to Paddy’s has left him exhausted. His heart flutters worryingly in his chest. 

With nobody else to keep him awake, and no further reserves of energy to sustain him, he curls up as tightly as he can (God, he’s fucking cold) and falls into an uneasy slumber. 

**

3 weeks post-return, and the ground beneath Dennis’ feet feels unsteady. Literally. He keeps tripping over nothing, arms lurching out for purchase on the nearest object- usually Mac, sometimes Dee or Charlie. They laugh it off, and so does he, but he sees the way Dee’s eyes meet his knowingly. She’s been there before too. 

Mac’s mentioned a few times that Dennis looks thin, and each time it makes him puff out his chest with pride (even if Mac’s concerned look doesn't exactly scream compliment). At least now he doesn't seem bothered with attempting to solve that particular ‘issue’. He’s been a little more aloof since Dennis got back, and almost frightened of the man that he shares an apartment with. When Dennis walks into the living room while Mac is on the couch, the latter jumps like he's seen a ghost. It's probably because he's not used to the company now, and Dennis doesn't even try to make himself more of a presence. 

Instead, he’ll keep shrinking, getting smaller and smaller and thinner and thinner until he's barely visible at all. 

It’ll be like he never even came back from North Dakota in the first place. 

**

A month passes by, and for the rest of the gang, things seem to be getting back to normal. They start cooking up schemes again, schemes which Dennis only half listens to because they're hardly audible over the rush of blood in his head. He stood up too quickly. He's been doing that a lot recently. 

At one point, they end up at a Dave and Buster’s, something which pulls up uncomfortable memories of a time where he was younger and lobster meals weren't purged immediately afterwards. Charlie, Mac, and Frank gorge themselves on steaks while they talk about some plot or other. Dee gets a salad. 

Frank orders Dennis a steak too, but he only manages a few bites before pushing it away. His stomach feels unsettled. 

Dee catches him walking out of the bathroom afterwards, shaky and pale and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Her brows furrow in that way they've grown accustomed to doing lately, and that penetrative look almost makes him regret what he's just done. 

“You don't look well, Den.” She tells him softly. 

He pushes past the lump in his throat and the urge to sink into her waiting arms, instead curling his lip with distaste. 

“You’re one to talk. Leave me the fuck alone.”

She steps back, hurt, then stands a little taller. 

“Get some help. You clearly need it.”

Before he can force his sluggish brain to think of a retort, she’s walking back to the group and leaving him alone outside the bathroom, leaning against the wall for support. 

**

Rome wasn't built in a day, but it sure did burn in one. 

The shooting pains that begin in his back feel like the knives that brought Caesar’s death. His hands start to shake when he's trying to pour shots. He frequently trails off mid-conversation because everything in his brain is focused on survival, only the most basic life-preserving faculties retained. 

On his way back from the bar one day, he knows the fall of his own empire is imminent. Deep breaths no longer keep the spots in his vision at bay, and the gnawing feeling- that dread, yawning in the pit of his stomach- has turned into a constant screaming within. The urge to eat long since departed, but the nausea that replaced it grows to a fever pitch. 

“Hey, you okay?” Mac asks as they traverse the stairs to the apartment. Dennis realises belatedly that he's wheezing, the exact same god awful sound that issued from Mac’s lips when he was fat as shit. 

Is this his fate? To work himself to the bone for perfection and still be doomed to the same existence as a greed-ridden slob?

“M’ fine.” He answers through gritted teeth. Hauls himself up the final few stairs and through the door. 

“Are you sure? Because you kind of sound like you're dying, dude.”

For a moment, a sob threatens to bubble up from the depths of Dennis’ being. 

YES! Something deep inside screams. God, please help me, Mac, please for the love of God you have to fucking help me, I’m- something’s wrong, Mac, something's desperately wrong with me and I need you to-

“L-leave me alone.” He growls, breath whistling. His feet still carry him blindly towards the kitchen counter, somewhere he can lean against and regain some strength. 

Mac sighs. “Yeah… yeah, alright, fine.”

No. No. This isn't how it's supposed to go, Mac, you’re supposed to help me, why aren't you helping me, Mac?

Dennis takes another few steps forward, heart fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings. 

Hummingbirds. He used to do those a lot, keeping himself in motion constantly. Perhaps now he's fully transcended past the need for hummingbirds- he’s becoming one himself. Everything within him is fluttering. 

His heart. 

His nerve. 

His… his eyelids…

He’s…. ohhhh, shiiittt…

“Dennis? Den?!”

His vision fades completely, and his knees buckle, but in the fuzzy darkness that consumes him, he still hears the muffled sounds of quick footsteps on wood, feels the comforting warmth of arms wrapping around his torso before he hits the ground. 

“Shit, shit, you’re okay, Den. I got you, man. You’re alright.”

For the first time in months, he hears himself sob, breathless and exhausted and guttural. Almost animalistic in its desperation to be heard, and yet so weak it probably comes out as no more than a choked whine. 

“Shhh, you’re alright… you’re alright… God, Den, you’re so fucking tiny.” Mac's words are wobbly, spoken through tears as his hand smoothes the hair back from Dennis’ forehead, stroking with all the gentleness that used to exist between them before the rot set in and everything changed. Decayed. I’m here now, though. I’m here now, I promise. I’ll peel you an apple, okay?”

His voice is nigh-on hysterical. 

“I’ll- I’ll peel you an apple, and everything will be okay, right, Den? Everything- everything will be okay.”

Dennis feels himself being lifted upwards, pulled limply into Mac’s arms. His eyes flutter open and the darkness dissipates for just a moment. The sun peeks out from behind the clouds. 

“I’ll peel you an apple, Den. I’ll peel you an apple and it’ll all be okay.”

[slothgiirl]

a rose by any other name epilogue

reader x druig.

New York. North Dakota. 2024.

You had never been to New York before. Not in this life, or any other. You weren’t sure this counted either.

Seeing a city from the airport cab ride to Doctor Strange’s place in the city seemed like cheating. You’d seen the famous skyline, but hadn’t step foor anywhere.

“Is there some superhero directory I’m not aware of,” you ask Druig, craning your neck. You were pretty sure that was central park, gone in a flash.

“Sanctums are quite stationary,” he shrugs, licking ketchup off his fingers. You thought airport hotdogs were a bag idea. “This one’d been around since the 1700s. When it was New Amsterdam.” 

“Wasn’t Hong Kong closer?”

Druig shakes his head, “we need someone. . .flexible about all those rules they made about the mystic arts.”

“Two thousand years and it never occured to you until now,” you ask him, slouching into the seat. The world was still intact. The news hasn’t stopped reporting on the new chain of islands in the indian ocean that look like fingers. 

Tiamut was neither alive or dead in some weird cosmic energy thing you didn’t understand. 

Druig looks over at you sheepishly, “I had other things on my mind.” His gaze flickers down to your chest.

It’s probably the whole averted apocalypse that has you in such an indulgent mood; you lean you head against his shoulder and smack his chest lightly.

“Careful my lady,” he says sounding terribly smug, “Ikaris did attempt to murder me.”

“I guess I’ll have to finish the job,” you rest your hand against his chest, feeling his ribcage move as he breathes. He wasn’t fine. 

Druig was careful to keep weight off his left foot. 

Phastos had given him the all clear which didn’t make you feel much better. Not when two of them had died in the span of days. 

Phastos had left quickly, unable to be away from his family for any longer. 

“Oh, is that how it’s gonna be,” he laughs.

“I guess I could let it slide,” you meet his gaze, feeling immense relief all over again, “you did just save the world.”

Druig tips his chin up, looking full of himself. 

There was a lightness to him that you’d missed, a playfulness that was so characteristic of your Eternal lover. Your eyes rover over his features that you knew so well. The scar on his cheekbone, near the outer corner of his eyes, had not faded at all. The way his brilliant blue eyes crinkled with easy smiles and how his laugh filled a room. 

He was there. Alive. You were both alive. 

So many lives and you continued to be enamoured of him. It never got old, being in love, making a home with him. Anyplace, anytime. 

There were tears in your eyes.

Again.

All you’d done this week was cry.

“I did,” he nods, pressing his lips against your hair. “Though if you hear Phastos tell it-”

“Yeah,” you clutch the fabric of his shirt. 

Sensing your somber mood, Druig wraps his arms around you. “I’m right here, love.” He tucks your head under his chin, “‘S alright.”

“When the plane started to shake,” you say quietly, “I thought that was it-” It was over. The world ending with you in a private plane. 

There had been so many close calls.

“The world’s always ending,” you mutter, breathing in his scent. You understood Lizzy, finally. 

It was never over. Earth was still in trouble after Thanos.

Captain Marvel had her hands full with the rest of the universe.

“Is this what being part of the universe is like?” Always being scared some empire would come in and take over, being invaded, some asshole destroying your planet for no reason. You didn’t want to sit by and hope for the best. You couldn’t.

It would drive you mad.

“I-,” he frowns. “Well, I wouldn’t really know. Don’t remember anything but Earth.”

“All those planets-” you shift your gaze out the window as the cab pulls to a stop. What about the planets where Arishem got their way? 

“I know.” 

Druig’s expression grows weary. It was the same way he’d looked when Ajak had forbidden them from aiding the Mexica from smallpox and the genocide on the horizon. He wasn’t going to let this go.

You pay for the cab. 

The sanctum is an unassuming building. The plaque is the only way you know you’re in the right place. 

You're surprised there's no awards for saving half the universe. No Avengers insignia for Doctor Strange. 

Druig holds your hand.

“This isn’t some. . .” you pause, “He can help right?” You didn’t understand much of anything when it came to magic. 

“If not,” his eyes glow. “I can always. . .”

It’s comforting. 

“Okay.” You nod.

The world was still spinning. There was nothing else you could do but go for it. 

Dr. Strange seemed the type to break whatever rules suited him, very Iron Man-esque who thought he was above the Sokovia Accords. Right? You try not to think to hard about Ultron. About ashes and world heritage sites getting destroyed by the latest threat. The London Eye was still closed. 

You breathe.

And knock against the door.

It swings open.

You aren’t sure what to expect as you step through: cauldrons and black witches hats covered in dust and cobwebs. The last sanctum had been ordinary for it’s time, filled with students and ancient sayings in calligraphy hanging on the walls. That isn’t New York either. It lacks the faux orientalism prevalent in Europe circa the 1800s. 

No, the New York sanctum feels like a rundown hotel that’s decades past its prime but no less grand for it. There’s tasteful tables with relics you imagine are just as magical as Phastos inventions. 

You peer around the grand staircase, expecting to see someone. “Hello?” You don’t have to check to know Druig’s a step behind you. His presence is an anchor as you venture further into the sanctum. 

There were no students. 

It feels abandoned compared with Hong Kong. 

Your chest tightens at the thought of the sleepy fishing village. Hong Kong was nothing like that now. There was a certain pain that came with knowing the world was transformed each time you lived. You thought of street food vendors whose names only you knew. 

All that history you carried with you. The faces of people you’d loved. The memories of books that had not survived. 

You press your tongue to the roof of your mouth. 

In your mind’s eye, the ashes of the Snap were the same as the smoke of Tenochtitlan burning. 

Druig sets his hands on your shoulders, “do you think they have an Instagram we can message?”

“Ha, very funny,” Dr. Strange walks in from a corridor, looking over his shoulder like a teenager sneaking out of the house, “do you mind if we move this into the laundry room. Don’t want Wong to interrupt us,” he says even as he leads the way.

“You were expecting us. . .Dr. Strange,” you state aloud looking for confirmation. It was a parlour trick for these sorcerers. 

“Yes and no.” He whips his head, turning to you as he opens a door, “and please call me Stephan. Dr. Strange is grandiose even by my standards.”

“And the discount Jedi robes aren’t,” Druig says cocking his brows. 

You elbow him, “look who’s talking.”

“My lady,” he holds his hand against his chest in mock offence.

You roll your eyes at him. 

Stephan looks on, amused. “I foresaw the high possibility that you’d stop here. . .it the world wasn’t destroyed, if you both survived, if you chose to leave. There’s so many factors. A background in statistics is useful in the mystic arts.”

“Well that’s no fun.” You’d been hoping for less maths and more wand waving. In the news, it seemed so easy, just a wave of his hands and-TA DA. 

“And neither is reincarnating,” Stephan snarks back, taking a seat on a laundry basket full of either robes or linens. 

You purse your lips. “It’s not ideal. But not awful.” You never really remembered dying unless it was awful. That hadn’t happened in a while. No, it was more like being homesick for a time and place that didn’t exist but people struggled with that all the time. People moved so often in this century: never knowing when they’d go back home. 

And that wasn’t even touching on displaced people. Millions of Sokovian refugees. . .

“So you're not here to get that fixed?” Stephan asks pointedly. 

He must’ve decided to become a doctor by watching House M.D. Copied the whole schtick off there. 

“I thought it couldn’t be. . .changed.” You frown, crossing your arms over your chest. You wish you could google this magic stuff. You didn’t like being so badly informed. 

“No. The spell you cast can’t be modified,” Stephan agrees, “I’d have to break it and create a new one. Though granting any type of immortality is a big no-no in the mystic arts.”

“Which is why we’re hiding,” Druig infers.

Stephan Strange frowns ruefully, “I’m not Sorcerer Supreme anymore or it’d be my call. I still-I’m still going to help.”

“Right?” 

“Earth needs all the allies it can get.”

“So not out of the kindness of your heart,” you surmise, feeling like a pawn. You’d never liked how Ikaris and Ajak had made you feel like a tag along. Like Druig’s human pet. It left a bad taste in your mouth. 

“You don’t think you’ve lived long enough?”

And wasn’t that also true. You’d been lucky to witness so much. History and people and spend it with the man you loved, your soulmate, not just once but over and over. It was far longer than most people got. You’d told Druig something similar once. 

What made you so special you deserved an exception?

“Oi,” Druig stiffens. 

But this wasn’t his call. This wasn’t about him. Not really. 

This was about you. You who was just another human having an unusual conversation with a peer. Often, you’d be the token human in the Eternals conversation and no matter how long you’d lived there was still something unique about the human experience that you could relate to Stephan Strange in a way that Druig and Sersi would never understand. 

(You’d talk about this with Sprite one day.)

“I think I’ve been very lucky,” you acknowledge. “But all I want is this life. For however long that is. I think I’ve done enough reincarnating, y’know.” It had all been a cosmic accident you didn’t even remember creating. Had you been trying to save yourself and the magic came out like this? Had you meant to create another spell? 

These memories were lost to you now. And they didn’t matter. 

You were done with living again and again. You didn’t want to forget and remember and forget again. You wanted to hold onto all of you, your memories and thoughts and your muchness as it was right now in this moment and die knowing that was the end. Just like everyone else. (You were curious about what came after, if anything.)

“Okay,” Stephan smiles kindly. “I’ll help you. But- this’ll be it. No second chances. No next time. No do overs. You’ll be frozen in time. You’ll still have your magic, but you won’t age. You couldn’t ever have children. You’ll still be just as breakable as me and every other sucker in New York.”

“Alright.” You nod.

“You sure? I can always just break the spell.”

“I’m sure.” 

He nods. “Well then, try and stand still. I need to concentrate.” Dr. Strange waves his hands in cyclical movements. 

It’s like a buzz under you skin. Something’s happening, but it’s too foreign for you to understand what. The small cramped room fills with light. 

You shut your eyes and count, steadying your breath. This was it. 

By this time tomorrow you’d be in space. 

It was crazy when you thought about it. No less crazy than Thanos and New York and falling in love with an alien. 

1. 2. 3. 

Deep breath. 

***

Makkari waves her pointer finger in a circular motion, the most universal hand gesture for spin around. 

You indulge her, “you’re acting like I grew another head or something.”

The speedster smiles, I am glad you are coming with us. 

You grin, “you’re only saying that so I help you with your eReader. Or did you splurge on an Ipad? Wait, you probably stole it.”

Looking awfully mischievous, Makkari holds her finger to her lips, hush now. Didn’t happen if there’s no witnesses.

You laugh, figuring there were worse crimes than stealing from the Apple Store. 

The Domo floated above head. Thena was all packed up and ready to go. You’d said your goodbyes to Sersi, Kingo, and Sprite days ago. 

Now it was just about leaving. Leaving this green and blue rock you called home. 

You bite your bottom lip. It had been hard packing up, mostly because you didn’t know when you’d be back. Clothes, essentials, a magic book from Dr. Strange. Saying your goodbyes hurt the most. 

What would Sprite look like at twenty? You were so used to her as an adolescent. Your siblings. . .

“We don’t have to go.” Druig reaches for your hand. “We can stay if you wish, my lady.”

North Dakota was gloomy today. 

“I want to.” That was true. You also felt bittersweet at leaving this planet. “I want to see the stars. Find the other Eternals.” You meet his startling blue eyes, cupping his cheek. “I want to do all of it with you.” 

He rests his forehead against yours. “I love you.”

“I know,” you nod, “just, give me a moment.” You squeeze his hand, before slowly heading towards Thena. You take your time, gazing over the landscape. The grass was brown and dead for the season. You're pretty sure it’s going to rain tonight. 

It was frightening to say goodbye to everything you knew. It was frightening to begin a new chapter after so long. There’s security in the known, in the constant, and now that is gone. But you were ready for it. You were ready to begin a new chapter. You weren’t in this alone. You had Thena and Makkari, and the man you loved and that was all you really needed. The people you loved. 

You look over your shoulder, watching as Druig hugs Phastos, ready to explore the stars.

notes: bookendings with makkari and druig at the end just like how the first chapter was makkari and druig mainly. im making up that dr strange timelooped reader’s physical body so shes frozen in time. idk. idk. he’s also like yeah mb this is important to the cosmos the way he connected the dots that tony start needed to live to defeat thanos. either way druig and reader get to have lots of sex on the domo after saving the world and thena forces makkari to organize her piles of stolen things. mb reader learns to use magic and starts being able to hold her own in a fight.

[ojcobsessed]

The British actor, who broke out in Netflix’s spooky anthology series from Mike Flanagan, speaks to Tom Murray about his thrilling new movie ‘Jackdaw’, his pride at appearing in ‘Hollyoaks’, and why he thinks he’s ‘too emotional’ to play 007.

Ihave this thing in my head,” Oliver Jackson-Cohen is telling me. “I don’t know where it comes from, but I am always convinced that everything I do is going to be s***. So I’m always pleasantly surprised that it’s not as s***ty as I think.”

The London-born actor really doesn’t need to be so anxious. Since landing his breakout role of heroin addict Luke Crain in Mike Flanagan’s Netflix anthology series The Haunting of Hill House in 2018, Jackson-Cohen has proven time and again his skill at playing damaged goods. Whether it’s his sociopathic turn as businessman Peter Quint in Flanagan’s sequel series The Haunting of Bly Manor (2020), or as Dakota Johnson’s terrifying boyfriend in The Lost Daughter (2021), or as Elisabeth Moss’s see-through ex in The Invisible Man (2020), Jackson-Cohen has cemented himself as one of Hollywood’s go-to baddies.

But in his latest film, the 37-year-old is taking a stab at being the hero... sort of. Jackdaw is set against a bleak, wintry North East of England, with Jackson-Cohen playing an ex-motocross champion and army veteran who commits a crime in the hopes of starting a new life for his family.

The actor is the first to admit that the Jackdaw script was “fairly straightforward” for the action-thriller genre: a criminal job goes awry, family member gets kidnapped, man must save kidnapped family member. But he says that the film’s director, first-timer Jamie Childs, wanted to prove that genre films like these don’t have to be the preserve of the US. “He wanted to make movies that would be made in America in the Nineties, but set in the North East,” Jackson-Cohen explains. “He wanted to really showcase that and show that we can make these sorts of high-concept movies on small budgets in the UK.”

There are blatant American influences on the film – it’s all synths, rain and neon, like it’s been put under an Instagram filter named “Blade Runner”. I tell Jackson-Cohen that his character in the film, Jack Dawson, feels like a mash-up of Ryan Gosling’s criminal characters in Drive (2011) and The Place Beyond the Pines (2012) – brooding, morally questionable types with good hearts at their core. “Yeah, like a Northern, poor man’s Ryan Gosling,” he jokes. “Listen, I’ll happily be a poor man’s Ryan Gosling for the rest of my life.”

Jackson-Cohen has a face that looks like it’s been carved by Bernini, so it’s no surprise to learn he originally found success as a model. On the day of our conversation, he’s wearing a frame-fitting black jumper; his stubble is grown out but perfectly manicured, as is his thick brown hair, which is styled into a messy quiff. A 2012 Harper’s Bazaar interview conducted at a London hotel noted a “perceptible thrill” that “rippled through the female staff” upon his arrival. His looks, accent and 6ft 3in height have also made him a perennial fixture in predictions for the next James Bond. But Jackson-Cohen is worried he’d be “too emotional” to play the part. “It’s such an iconic character, isn’t it?” he says. So if 007 producer Barbara Broccoli were to call, he’d send her to voicemail? “Of course not! No one’s gonna say no to Babs are they?”

If he does end up firing guns and sipping martinis for a few years, Jackson-Cohen would be the first Bond to have appeared in Hollyoaks, the teen soap infamous for its annual Hunks and Babes cast calendars. He booked a single-episode role on the show when he was 15 – his first acting gig. “I remember getting the phone call and being like: ‘This. Is. It,’” he says, grinning. “Walking into school the next day I was so full of myself.”

After training at London’s Youngblood Theatre Company and then the famed Lee Strasberg Institute in New York, he began booking supporting roles in a number of American films you probably don’t remember: the Dwayne Johnson clanger Faster (2010), Anna Faris’s What’s Your Number? (2011), or Going the Distance (2010), one of Drew Barrymore’s lesser romcoms. He’s spoken previously about the grand expectations he placed on his early film work, assuming they’d propel him into the big leagues. He was shattered when they didn’t, leading him to take a nine-month break from acting.

The Haunting of Hill House, in 2018, proved to be a turning point. It was a smash hit, earned him a rabid fanbase, and helped launch him into a particular kind of recognition – something he describes as “Netflix famous”. “It’s quite an interesting thing,” he says. “You’re the most famous person in the world for a while and then the next show comes along and that completely takes over.”

Regardless, the role was not without catharsis for him. He has spoken about how his own experience with childhood sexual abuse and PTSD influenced his take on the character. He first discussed it in 2017, during the #MeToo movement, writing on Instagram: “[I] have spent most of my life living with PTSD, pretending it didn’t happen, and now, trying to rebuild what was shattered. The thing about sexual abuse is that the moment it is done, however brief or however long, it changes the course of your life permanently.”

I ask him how the part impacted him, and for the first time in our conversation, the actor’s geniality falters and his face takes on a visible strain. “I think, if you speak to any of us from that cast, those characters meant so much to us because we put so much of ourselves into them,” he says. Flanagan, he says, was “incredibly collaborative” and “allowed me to just take the reins with it and left me alone to do that.” He also knows the part struck a chord with audiences. He remembers being approached by strangers in public who’d share their stories of addiction. “I think ultimately all of us feel incredibly proud that it hit a note with people and it allowed people to open up a discussion, to feel like they could talk about this stuff.”

As soon as Hill House was released, Jackson-Cohen says he was sent “a slew of horror scripts” that were “all the same thing, just a watered-down, less good versions [of the show]”. He names Ira Sachs’s raunchy gay drama Passages, Jonathan Glazer’s new Holocaust film Zone of Interest and Justine Triet’s awards season darling Anatomy of a Fall as films he’s admired from afar this past year. “I don’t think there’s a formula of: you work with this director and this writer and then, success. But I do think you reach a point where you’re like, ‘Oh I do actually want more out of this.’”

He knows, for instance, that he’s seen a certain way by casting directors. “I’ve played quite a lot of toxic men. But I’ve become fascinated with the question of, ‘how do we humanise these morally corrupt characters?’ There’s a challenge in that, which I think is quite fun. But, like anything, you go through periods where you like to play a certain thing and then it’s time to move on.”

So no more baddies? He weighs it up.

“I think I’ve played my fair share now.”

‘Jackdaw’ is in cinemas now.

[maewrites792]

A Match Brewed in Heaven

Chapter 1

The air was growing colder as autumn drew on the northern town of Ashbourne, North Dakota, nipping at the cheeks of those who walked the streets. Despite only being August, the first flecks of snow would drift from the skies. On particularly cold days, the dirt roads could be painted white with a thin powdering. Life in the small town didn’t speak to everyone, but those who did found their strength in the serenity of nature, the peace of the homestead, and the community which bound the residents together. It wasn’t uncommon for the residents of Ashbourne to gather up and down Fernwood road, eager for the company of their neighbors and a warm meal from the best spot in town: Swift Mist Café.

Aria Swiftpaw stood behind the counter, busy at work as the regular crowd shuffles in. The shop was always busy, as friends and family came in to enjoy a hot beverage and warm hospitality. She had run the shop alone since setting up years ago, but that never bothered her. She loved her work, and she loved the community it brought just as much as the community loved her and the drinks she provided. The café was one of the central hubs for the community, always being full of patrons chatting away.

On one particularly cold August morning, the chatter in the shop grew particularly hushed. It wasn’t often travelers would pass through, but the gossip going around shared a group of strange people having set up several tents by the woods. Nobody quite knew who they were or why they were there, but Aria could feel the tension in the crowd. Just as she had finished preparing the last order, one of the strangers stepped into the door. Covered in a heavy coat and face mask, all eyes in the shop moved towards the individual. They walked in, taking a seat as one of the counter stools before finally removing their goggles and mitts.

Aria never faltered in her hospitality, greeting the new character warmly. “What can I get for you today, hun?” she asked, pulling out her pad of paper and a pen. The stranger spoke, the fluttering of her voice showing her enthusiasm. “Can I get a mocha with a shot of hypervigilance, and…do you have sandwiches?” The request threw Aria off, having never heard of hypervigilance as an ingredient before. She chuckled, her lips curving into a smile. “Well, we don’t have hypervigilance as an option, but I promise a good, strong shot should do the job.” She scribbled the order on her notepad before continuing. “We sure do have sandwiches. I can get you a turkey and cheese, clubs, blts, you name it. On a day like this, I’d recommend the hot ham and cheese. Keeps the cold at bay, it does.” Area turned to the coffee machine, preparing the espresso.

The stranger looks down, her cheeks flush with embarrassment through her deep gray fur. “Sorry, back home we’ve got a shop that slips a bit of potion to spice up the drinks. If you don’t mind, I’ll take one of those hot ham sandwiches.” She pulls out a small notebook, jotting down some scribbles. Curiosity got the better of Aria, so as she worked on the meal she decided to pick up a conversation with her anonymous customer. “If you don’t mind me asking, what brings you into town? Don’t get many travelers through here.”

“Oh, nothing much. Just a bit of business.” The response felt unsatisfying, and from the murmurs of the other patrons seemed to share her sentiment. “A bit of business, huh?” Aria attempted to dig deeper, her hands busy with the sandwich over the stove. “Sounds intriguing. I’m always curious about what brings newcomers to our little stretch of road.”

The stranger looks around, seemingly nervous at all the eyes focused on her. Finally, she clears her throat and explains, “I’m leading a research team on an expedition through some of the towns up here. Been hearing reports of some magic anomalies in the area. Nothing concerning, but very intriguing.” The murmuring of the crowd intensifies. Of course a small town would have harmless ghost stories, but a group of researchers coming all this way to investigate sent a new wave of apprehension among the community.

Arias lips pursed in amusement. Jokingly, she spoke out, “Fascinating. Magic anomalies are always worth looking into, no doubt about that.” She never believed in magic, a life of hard work proved that. Still, the thought ate at the back of her thoughts as she completed the order. “You’ll be in town for a while, then?” she asked, setting the plate and mug down in front of the stranger. “Only a few weeks,” the stranger answered, reaching into her wallet to reveal several coins as payment “My research will take me around, but I’m sure I’ll be in and out.”

“Well, I hope you enjoy your time.” Aria turned her attention towards the pile of dishes yet to be cleaned. The stranger takes their meal and moves towards a secluded booth, taking some time to eat. The chatter among the crowd remains muffled and tense, until eventually one of the other patrons finds the courage to approach the newcomer. She happily chats for a while, all the while taking notes. Soon, several others take an opportunity to talk with the stranger.

Aria continues with her work, keeping an eye on the stranger if only out of curiosity. Eventually, the stranger finishes her meal and conversation. She stands, grabs her dishes, and approaches the counter. Aria grabs the dishes, thanking the stranger for being so kind. “It’s not all travelers that are so considerate.” Aria expressed. The stranger chuckles, “Well, it’s the least I could do for such a nice place.” The stranger collects her things and puts on her mitts before turning back to the barista, “By the way, the name’s Lapis.” She puts out a hand. “Aria” she replies, grabbing it in a friendly handshake, “I’m sure we’ll be hearing from you again?”

Lapis smiles, and turns towards the door, “Of course!” She pushes the door out into the raging cold.

[rogueportraits]

The idea of running away to join the carnival is something quaintly historical with a dash of romanticism. Midway Touring Entertainment gets a few kids every stop that slip away from their parents and beg some ride attendant or performer to join up and tour the country. They’ve got childhood ideas about riding the attractions after dark or petting tamed lions – this particular carnival’s an animal-free establishment, excepting personal pets – and cry buckets when refused.

Ed’s of the personal belief that they should just take the kids along for a day or two, show them the real behind-the-scenes, and scare little middle-class Jimmy or Susie right back into a fine life of some white-collar office job two decades down the line. Unfortunately, that’s generally considered kidnapping, and MTE would highly prefer the law stay as far away as possible. He picks at a particularly stalwart hangnail and kicks his foot up on the dashboard. They’re about three hours out of Minot, having gotten the state fair contract another year in a row, and the only thing he likes about North Dakota is that the summer’s cool enough that he won’t be swimming in sweat. To the left of him, Jack starts grumbling and lifts his hand off the wheel.

“Can’t see with your shoes in the way, kid,” Jack makes a shooing motion. “You want an airbag through your knee?”

Ed’s eighteen years old, thank you very much, and his ID says he’s the ripe old age of twenty-one, so in either respect he’s not a kid. Unfortunate facial acne notwithstanding. He bites at his hangnail, rolls the window down, and spits it out into empty interstate air as he swings his leg back down. There’s the rustling of discarded fast-food wrappers against his shoes. “You threatening me?”

“Not anymore.”

Jack fiddles with the busted radio, tuning it to some local FM station playing this summer’s insipid pop hit. The highway stretches out in front of them, heat miraging strange shapes on the horizon. Ed can see the fractured reflections of their convoy in the right rear-view mirror, other cars and trailers and hauling trucks snaking away into the clear sky. He’ll be expected to help with set-up tonight, obviously, and tomorrow too. Probably some painting as well, considering the state of a few attractions. Then a week of his own particular schtick on the midway, a few days of teardowns, and back on the road to do it all over again. He digs in the car door for a lukewarm pop and twists off the cap, proffering it as driver’s tribute.

“You’re alright, kid,” Jack says, like they haven’t been working together since Ed was sixteen and gangly. He sips at it and blanches. “This isn’t.”

“I’ll go stick my neck into the gas station fridge next time,” Ed replies with a shrug. “Nothing but the best for my dear old driver.”

Jack tips the bottle up in a pastiche of enjoyment, snorting, and returns his eyes to the road.

The moon’s centered in the sky by the time Ed’s gotten through his set-up checklist. He’d scrambled up and over various half-assembled rides, checking bolts and greasing mechanisms – can’t have a lawsuit on their hands – and put off some of the detail work for when there’s sunlight. Playing passenger has its drawbacks, but the less cops that get a look at “Edward Neilsen’s” ID card the better. Not that he’s a bad driver, of course.

Ed belongs to the other class of wannabe carnival runaways. He opens the trailer door without the hinges squeaking. It’s not his trailer, because his paydays would have to have at least one more zero on their totals for anything like that, but Jack and his wife have a secondhand couch that suits him just fine. He sprawls across it in a show of exhausted decadence. Pale moonlight lances through a smoke-clouded window, cutting across his torso.

He’s not enough of an idiot to call this a charmed life, like some of the last generation of carnies. It’s work, and it’s a type of work that means he doesn’t stick in one place long enough to make an impression – all the better, logically. There’s more than a few people who’d like to find him for various reasons. Carnie work pays, it doesn’t ask questions about his age or point of origin, and the rest of this traveling group of vagabonds generally doesn’t try to deck him for a smart comment or three. That’s good enough for him. Ed rolls off the couch and pads over to the minifridge, acquiring a can of Pabst. Drinking after work and underage are two time-honored American traditions, after all. He pops the top of the can with a gas-leak hiss and heads back outside.

The night air is cold against his clammy skin. He sips at his beer and stares out towards the flickering lights of town.

Ed can do carnival patter in his sleep. He leans on his prop cane, discreetly stretching out his numb leg, and surveys the midway tourists.

“Step right up! Tired of testing your skill – test mine! Age, weight, height, profession, I’ll get 'em all… and if I don’t, you score!”

The main difficulty with being a carnival guesser is attracting marks. Ed’s stationed himself at the far end of the midway, after all the various citizenry of North Dakota have exhausted their efforts at games-of-skill. He offers them a chance to watch someone else fail. In theory, at least – he’s very good at this gig. He makes eye contact with a tired father-of-two and grins, stepping to the front of his booth.

“How about you? Care to see if you can stump me?”

And there’s the flicker of light in the other man’s eyes. Easy.

“Sure. Do you, ah, do all of them?”

Sensitive about his weight, then. Maybe the guy could afford to cut back on the funnel cake in that case, but heavens (and his paycheck) forbid Ed offer that advice. “Not at all. Your pick, and if I could take a ticket…?”

The man bites at the edge of his lip, tearing off a ticket from what probably used to be a much larger roll. “Age and job, then?”

“Of course.” Ed makes a grand show of scrutinizing, leaning forward and worrying his hands on the question-mark crook of his cane. Two kids, one about eight and the other being carried, no wife and – hah! – no wedding ring. Shirt with an atrocious tropical print, but a pager in his back pocket. Easy. “About thirty-three and in office work, right? Management?”

The man gapes, then rallies. “Thirty-five. But, uh, yeah.”

Really, Ed would have guessed thirty-six, but he’s had to duck one too many swings from daydrunk locals mad about his accuracy. He shoots the man a hundred-watt smile.

“I can’t believe it! I can’t take a peek at your ID, can I?”

Flush on winning, the man obliges by handing over his wallet. Jason Phillips, resident of Velva, ND. Thirty-five. Ed considers some legerdemain and decides against it – Jason’s clearly not been availing himself of the concession-center beer.

“Well, my loss is your gain,” reach back, grab some cheap prize in the form of a plush owl-thing, present it with a theatrical bow, he’s done it a thousand times this season, “and thank you for playing!”

The man meanders off. Ed debates the merits of putting his head in the gears of the carnival’s tilt-a-whirl. Minot is as boring as every other state fair. He gets the next player’s – some giggling college co-ed that looks at him like used gum – weight right. Hard not to with a leeway of five pounds on either side, and a scale that runs two pounds lighter. She’d probably laugh less if she knew her wallet were about ten bucks lighter as well.

He doesn’t consider his side hustle stealing, necessarily. If someone’s dumb enough to hand over their wallet to a carnie and look away, they don’t deserve spare cash.

Anyways, if it were up to him, he wouldn’t be stuck at the ass-end of the midway playing guessing games. He’d have a bigger booth with a better locale, and he’d do riddles. Maybe some lighting, too – he’s always been partial to green. He swigs from his water bottle and watches the ebb and flow of the crowd. He’d do riddles. There’s an art to them that there isn’t to his current gig. A good riddle has one clear answer, but with enough creativity one or two more can crop up. A good riddle has nice, defined boundaries, but doesn’t care about what you do inside of them. It’d take more tickets, too, because if there’s one thing the past two years and change have taught him it’s that people are brainless idiots who can’t see the truth even if it’s spelled out in flashing lights. Which suits him just fine.

Ed coughs slightly, testing to see if his voice holds, and steps forward to start up his patter once again.

[dozenssporks]

wolfwood, on the phone: you found broom-head where?!

meryl: Like I said, the luggage compartment of a bus heading to North Dakota

vash, shoving his face next to meryl’s so he can shout into the phone: I was gonna see the world’s largest buffalo!

meryl: get off me, dimwit!

*meryl pushes vash away he trips backwards and hits a shelf, several books falling and hitting his head as he slides to the floor*

vash: am I hitting the books or are the books hitting me??

meryl, turning around and ignoring him: he’s jet-lagged out of his mind but he’s hopped up on caffeine or something and won’t take a nap

wolfwood: well, if you’re making him sleep in the motel tub again . . .

millie, who had been passing by with a cup of tea and paused to listen: oh no! we don’t do that anymore, his snores echo in there! Hi, mr. priest!

wolfwood: hey, big girl. What’s he been drinking to get himself so hyper? You know his weird system only gets sleepy when you give him coffee

meryl: there were a lot of cans in that luggage compartment and I did not and do not want to know what they were. Do you have any idea how to get him to sleep that isn’t hitting him on the back of the head with a laptop?

wolfwood: y’see spiky doesn’t like to nap when he’s jet lagged, it--

vash: IT GIVES ME THE HEEBIE-JEEBIES

meryl: stop using your freakishly sharp hearing to listen to our conversation!

millie: mr. vash, be careful! if you jump around like that you’ll spill your tea!

wolfwood: yeah like he said, gives him the heebie-jeebies.

meryl, pinching the bridge of her nose and letting out a long frustrated sigh: what, pray tell, are the ‘heebie-jeebies’?

wolfwood: he has like these weird dreams about spiders an’ stuff crawling on ‘im and he can’t move. Or lizards. I can’t remember.

vash: they take turns! sometimes it’s rats! once it was butterflies drinking my blood!

millie: aw, no wonder you don’t wanna sleep

vash: thank you millie you are the only valid person

meryl: i have very kindly been restraining myself from wringing your neck so shut up!

wolfwood: er. there is a thing that might work.

meryl: please tell me. I’m beginning to remember you get the reward money even if you bring him in dead.

wolfwood: okay, but if you laugh at what I’m about to say you’re a bad person

meryl: I will take that risk. hit me.

wolfwood, sighing: hold his hand while he falls asleep

meryl:

wolfwood: you’re a bad person.

meryl: I didn’t say anything!

wolfwood: I can hear you thinking! Look, hold his hand and after he’s asleep stay in the room. if he starts making noises in his sleep just kinda quietly say his name until he stops.

vash: I refuse to hold hands! I’m saving myself for marriage! that was non-consensual hand-holding!

meryl: okay, two questions. One, how do you know this? Two, does it really work?

wolfwood: it works on the kids back home, I was on the verge of beating his spiky head in, I gave it a shot. Not a hundred percent success rate but fairly high.

meryl: Urgh. I guess it’s easier than getting rid of a body.

wolfwood: that’s the spirit. welp, since this isn’t my problem I’ll sign off. have fun and God bless!

meryl: drop dead!

*meryl hangs up and whips around. vash in the act of trying to climb a shelf freezes in place*

meryl: millie

vash: no. don’t.

meryl: grab him

millie: yes, ma’am!

vash, kicking and flailing in millie’s grip: noooo! you’re so mean! you’re still the only valid person but you’re so mean!