#chew-bock-a

[pocketfullofsimshine]

new farm friend / meet doo / this little chick is apart of a duo / the other chick is named doodle / so now, we have doodle doo lol

[cecilysass]

Honest Man (1/3)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

Chapter One

He almost never goes out to bars in Alexandria, and when he does, he’s typically in some kind of despairing mood. But Mulder isn’t despairing tonight. He’s hopeful.

It’s hope tempered with some reservation, of course. He’s not stupid—the other shoe can always drop—but there’s definitely a feeling that there could be less troubled paths ahead. If all goes well.

The pub is crowded, so he stands in the entrance scanning the room for her, feeling strangely awkward, like an adolescent boy. He jogged a little to get here at the time they arranged, and Mulder’s uncomfortably sweating now in his work clothes. He loosens his collar and tie.

She’s sitting with stately posture at a side booth, a menu propped in front of her. She spots him and raises a single hand.

He eagerly makes his way across the room, ducking in between the people making their way to get a drink at the bar, and slips into the seat across from her. “Hi,” he says. “Sorry I’m late.”

“I’m used to it, Fox,” she says, coolly amused. Diana slides him a menu. “It’s given me plenty of time to look over the culinary options here at the Honest Man Pub.” She draws out the name of the bar in an affected way, a little mockingly.

He smirks at her. “Come on. Who doesn’t like an Honest Man, Diana?”

“Who indeed.” She smiles tightly. “As it happens, I remember your taste in restaurants, so I’m not surprised.”

“Mozzarella sticks,” he says, pointing a finger at the menu enthusiastically. “You want to share some? I’m starving.”

“No thanks. I ordered a negroni.”

“Look,” Mulder gestures towards a woodcut illustration of Abraham Lincoln on the cover of the menu. “It’s Honest Abe, Diana. Trustworthy. You sure you don’t want a burger or something?”

“I’m really not hungry,” she says. But she, too, flips the menu over to look at it. She traces Lincoln’s face with her fingertip. “You think it’s supposed to be a reference to that story about chopping down the cherry tree?”

“That was George Washington.” Mulder sets the menu down and gives her a mildly admonishing look.

“What? I’m no historian,” she says dismissively. “And what politician has the luxury of honesty anyway?”

Diana’s not wearing her work clothes, he notices in surprise. Unless she wears a form-fitting black dress to work, and he doesn’t think she does. He chews his lip, wondering why she bothered to go home to change, especially because he’s pretty sure she lives in DC.

After the server passes by, and Mulder orders his beer and mozzarella sticks, he turns his attention back to her. “Well? What’s up?” He folds his hands on the table. “You made it sound like good news.”

Her cocktail is placed directly in front of her, and she murmurs a polite thanks to the server. “Potentially it is,” she says. “I need your help on a case, and I think if you do well, it could be … a step in the right direction.”

He tries to play it cool, even though this is exactly what he hoped. “My help? Did Kersh have a personality transplant or something?”

“This would be outside of official channels,” she explains. “At first, anyway.”

There are several cardboard coasters on the table with quotes printed on them in homey, old-fashioned typeface. The one nearest Mulder reads: “An honest man is always a child. - Socrates.” He pushes the coaster around the table with his fingertip, nodding slowly. “I’m listening.”

“There have been a series of credible sightings of unusual crafts flying low outside of Groom Lake,” she says in a low voice. She sips her drink, meeting his eyes. “I know you’ve probably been following it. Kersh doesn’t want Jeffrey and I to spend too much time there. But you could go.”

“Under what auspices?”

“It would have to be extracurricular.” She shrugs, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly. “You’ve done this sort of thing before, Fox.”

“Shiner Bock,” the server says cheerfully, setting a bottle down in front of Mulder. “Your mozzarella sticks should be out soon.”

“Thanks,” says Mulder. As the server darts off, he takes a slow sip, mulling over Diana’s words. “How would this be a step in the right direction?”

Diana leans towards him, her glass resting against her cheek. “Jeffrey and I have received some information about experimental craft at Groom Lake,” she says softly. “If we could put that together with your field work—and what you already have in the files—then we could have a report they’d have to take seriously.”

Mulder can’t help but feel excited, but he takes pains to mask it, chuckling cynically. “I’ve been down this road before, Diana.” He shrugs. “It never amounts to much. Plus, Kersh is already looking for any reason to chuck me out of the Bureau. This could easily be it.”

She reaches across the table and clasps his hand tight. “Not if I have your back.”

He frowns a little, confused by her meaning. She’s much more open to this than he expected. Still, his whole soul cries out to get back to working on the X-files. It’s almost all he thinks about these days. If there is a way forward here, he needs to hear all of it.

“We’ve always made a good team,” Diana points out. “We could be again. And this is your life’s work. You’re wasted in the bullpen.”

“Yeah,” Mulder says uneasily, “but what would—”

“I knew it.” interrupts a booming voice startlingly close to their table.

Mulder looks up blankly, and it takes him a half second to place the tall, pink-faced man towering angrily over them.

He knows Bill Scully’s face very well—associates it with some of his most emotionally vulnerable moments, in fact—but seeing it here in this Virginia bar, out of context, gives him a moment’s pause.

“I just knew it,” repeats Bill, his eyes narrowing. He squints down at Mulder murderously. “You’re not even worth … one of her goddamn pinky toes, you no good son of a bitch.”

“Bill,” Mulder murmurs, staring back. The man seems to be swaying slightly from side to side as he spits words out, as though he’s insulting Mulder on rough seas. “I didn’t know you were in town.”

Bill leans over, placing a palm flat on the table, and Mulder can distinctly smell whiskey on his breath.

“You have some nerve,” Bill hisses. “This is how you treat her? After everything you’ve done? Now you’re just out … on some date?”

Diana gives him a significant, questioning look, and Mulder straightens in his seat, his eyes scanning behind Bill’s back for a sign of who might be accompanying him. “I think you‘ve had a few too many tonight,” Mulder attempts genially. “You’re not making much sense. Why don’t I—”

“Why don’t you shut your damn mouth for once in your life?” Bill bellows. The group of young people at the next table looks over, watching them now, their expressions half interested and half alarmed.

Bill turns his attention to Diana, pointing one of his large fingers at her like a scolding father, even though Mulder is pretty sure Diana is at least Bill’s age, if not older. “What do you know about this guy, miss?” His words are definitely slurring. “How much did he tell you? Did you know he’s a dangerous sonofabitch?”

Diana smiles stiffly. “I’m safe, thank you.”

“Well, when he asked you out,” Bill says to her, gesturing sloppily, “did he mention he’s been fucking my sister for years? Destroying her life? Breaking her heart?”

He knows Bill’s drunk, and he knows Bill doesn’t have his facts right, but Mulder can’t help feeling the sting of shame over what he’s being accused of. Part of it, anyway. He hears himself inhale sharply by reflex.

Diana’s eyebrows have arched in surprise. She looks pointedly at Mulder. “Oh? Is that right? Who’s your sister?”

“My sister Dana,” Bill spits out, slamming his hand on the table for emphasis. “My baby sister.”

“Ah,” Diana responds conversationally. “You’re Agent Scully’s brother.” She seems unfazed by this information. “We both work with her, actually. Why don’t you join us for a moment?”

She scoots over in her seat, gesturing calmly to the spot next to her. Mulder doesn’t move, paralyzed with horror at the way this is unfolding.

Bill looks at Diana a moment, his jaw clenched, and then, to Mulder’s shock, slides in next to her in the booth, turning to direct his glare at Mulder.

For a moment Mulder just stares, slack-jawed, back into the man’s furious face. Bill seems to be waiting for something—for Mulder to explain himself, probably.

“This … isn’t a date,” Mulder begins, pointing between Diana and himself. “It’s work. And you need to understand that your sister and I aren’t in a romantic relationship either. Or a, uh, sexual relationship.”

Bill chuckles, shaking his head slowly, then abruptly changes mood, pounding his fist loudly and suddenly on the table and causing both Diana and Mulder to startle.

“Then why?” he demands, meeting Mulder’s eyes intensely in a way that reminds him, unsettlingly, of Scully. “Why does she do it? Why does she put up with you?”

“I … really don’t know,” Mulder admits miserably. “You’d have to ask her.”

“I know my sister,” Bill says, his features softening a little. “There are only … a few reasons why she would do it.” His tone goes cold. “Does she know you’re on a date?”

“No,” Mulder answers quickly, “but it’s not a—”

“I hate you,” Bill leans forward to whisper to him. “I hate you for what you’ve put her through. Now you’re cheating. On a fucking date. Jesus.”

“Yo, Scully,” comes a masculine voice from the bar. “Where’d you go?” Mulder looks around nervously, half expecting to see his partner, but of course the voice is calling for Bill. A group of men in their 30s and 40s, all with square shoulders and military haircuts, seem to be looking in this direction. Bill doesn’t even look back at them.

“You don’t understand,” Mulder says. He feels panicky and anxious. “It’s not a date. And Scully’s my partner, not my—”

“Jesus, shut the fuck up,” Bill groans. He slides out of the booth. “Don’t you ever get tired of your annoying-ass voice?”

He does, actually, more often than one might think.

“Bill, wait, are you—” Mulder stops suddenly.

He realizes what he was about to ask—are you going to tell Scully that you saw us here?—sounds completely at odds with what he has been telling Bill, what he has been telling himself. That question doesn’t make him sound like a partner out talking about work with a colleague.

It makes him sound like he thinks he’s doing something wrong, something he needs to hide.

The truth is that he does think Scully would be angry to know he’d met Diana here. She would be angry for a whole snarl of tangled reasons—and yeah, hurt, like Bill says. He doesn’t especially want her to know.

“Am I what?” Bill sneers, turning back around jerkily.

“Are you … okay to get home?” Mulder mumbles. “You have a ride?”

Bill gives him a look of withering contempt. “That’s none of your fucking business.” He turns and staggers back towards the bar.

Mulder watches him go, trying to swallow back his self-loathing. He realizes after a second that his fists are clenched.

“Fox,” Diana says in concern. “Are you all right?”

He says nothing for a beat, making a game attempt to pull himself back together.

“Yeah,” he says to Diana. He takes a fast swig of beer. “That guy—he, uh, just really hates me.”

“I gathered,” Diana says. She looks at Mulder appraisingly. “You seem to be taking what he says awfully seriously.”

“Well,” Mulder says grimly into his beer, “it’s just he’s not entirely wrong.”

Diana leans back in the booth, lifts her glass to her beautiful lips, and takes a careful sip. “No,” she says coolly, “he’s not.”

Mulder exhales raggedly. “Gee, Diana,” he says, “don’t hold back how you feel on my account.”

“He’s wrong about plenty,” she breathes. “He underestimates you, like most people do. But he’s not wrong that your work has hurt Agent Scully.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” he snaps at her. He pauses to compose himself. “I don’t want Scully to be hurt,” he says in a more controlled voice. “I never have. Her choices are her own.”

“And your choices are your own,” Diana says. Her eyes are dark and shining. “You know, Fox, I hope that if all goes well with this initial foray at Groom Lake, we might all be a little more ambitious in our choices.”

Mulder shakes his head rapidly, still rattled by the encounter with Bill. “Ambitious in our choices how?”

“Well,” she says. “Thinking longer term, I don’t know if Jeffrey is working out on the X-files. I think he might prefer to be elsewhere at the Bureau. And if he does… then I’d be asked for my preference in a partner.”

Mulder looks up quickly. “And you’d … want to work with me?”

“Of course,” she says, giving him an inviting look. “Who else would I want?”

There’s an uncomfortable pause. Mulder toys with a coaster on the table idly.

“Do you think they’d even listen to you?” he wonders. “They’re really not my biggest fans right now. Kersh in particular.”

She fishes an ice cube out of her drink, sucks on it a little. Then she meets his eyes, and there is a dangerous spark. “I can be very persuasive, Fox.”

Mulder’s fingertip worries the corner of the cardboard coaster back and forth, back and forth. He hasn’t asked the biggest question. “And what about Scully?”

“What about her?”

“I couldn’t … leave Scully behind in the bullpen.”

“Without you,” Diana says, sipping her drink, “she wouldn’t be in the bullpen for very long. They would give her a better placement in no time. She’s only stuck there because of you.”

Mulder’s eyes remain on the scuffed tabletop as he considers the truth of this statement. Scully certainly is only being punished because of her links to the X-files. Were she cut free from him, she probably would be given a fresh start.

“I don’t know,” he says bleakly. “I don’t know if I could even do it without her.”

Diana makes an exasperated hiss. “Fox,” she says. “Of course you could. What is this codependency you’ve developed? You weren’t like this before.”

Mulder rubs the bridge of his nose. “Diana, I–”

“Mozzarella sticks,” announces their server, his voice surreally peppy as he places the basket on the table. Mulder nods and smiles miserably, his eyes down on the fried cheese.

As the server walks away, Diana reaches over and places her hand over his. It’s light and soft as silk. “I could be the partner you need, Fox,” she says softly. “If you give me a chance.”

Her fingers now are caressing his hand lightly. Mulder’s taken aback. “I remember … how to calm you down,” she adds, almost a whisper. “How to reduce your stress.” She runs her fingertip down the back of his hand, a subtle but effective gesture. “And I’m not someone who is easily hurt.”

As opposed to Scully? he wonders. Is that what Scully is? Easily hurt? Is that why I’ve hurt her so much?

Somewhere to Mulder’s left there is a loud discussion at the bar. Despite Diana’s surprising advances, Mulder finds his attention drifting over there. He recognizes Bill’s voice, speaking loudly to the bartender, and looks for him in the crowd.

“I’ll tell you what,” Diana adds, reaching out with her finger to gently direct his chin back towards her. “Come over tonight.” Under the table he feels her foot brush against his calf, ostensibly accidentally, and she’s successfully got his full attention back. “We can discuss your Groom Lake fieldwork more privately. I can … convince you of everything else.”

Mulder closely watches her face, every nuance of her expression. “Oh yeah?” he says guardedly.

“Hey folks, you doing all right here? Need ketchup or anything?” The energetic server is suddenly smiling broadly next to the table, hands on his hips, and Mulder can sense Diana’s annoyance from across the table.

“We’re fine,” Mulder says, still staring at Diana, “but I’m going to need to get these mozzarella sticks to go. And our checks, please.”

“Coming right up.” The server obligingly darts away.

Diana’s foot brushes up his calf again, this time with less pretense of accident. “Is that a yes, then?” she says, the barest hint of a smile.

In the background, Mulder is aware of a flurry of activity at the bar—the bartender’s voice firmly declaring something about someone not being served any more.

He looks back at Diana, who looks very beautiful, curvy and enticing in the dress he now realizes was strategically chosen to showcase her body for him.

Then his eyes fall down to one of the coasters on the table. He reads it, then reaches down and picks it up impulsively, sliding it in his pocket.

“Diana,” he says, suddenly sounding more certain than he expects, “I’m going to have to get back to you.”

***

[girldragongizzard]

Chapter 3: The question of lunch

By requesting the space from the wait staff, Säure has led us to the back of the deck.

It’s a pretty good spot for the both of us. It’s above the beer garden and it’s outside. People today are gathering mostly inside, but it’s lunchtime and there’s some grilling happening in the garden because it’s a nice enough day. The deck is mostly empty, despite the lunch rush.

The inside gets noisy because the sound baffling in there sucks. And the garden has sucked most of the deck crowd down there.

There’s still a bit of a roar from the open door near us, but we can hear each other talk just fine.

We’re both in psuedo-human guise. The businessdrak and the trans dragon princess. I think I currently might be heavier looking than he is, but whatever. That’s not indicative of anything when we’re like this.

By the time water is served to us, our devices are both on the table, face up. He’s using what I’m guessing is the latest iPhone. Mine is still the secondhand third party tablet that Kimberly gave me, that Chapman enchanted. 

I’m starting to think the enchantment gave it durability as well as an infinite seeming battery life. I suppose I could have asked at any point, but I’ve been distracted.

“I know what I want,” he expertly swypes into his phone. “Take your time with the menu.”

I might be scowling at his phone. I type with two thumbs, and if I use Swype it actually messes me up. Again, he can talk faster and more easily than I can.

I go ahead and pick up the menu and scowl at it instead. It’s going to be the cheese steak, without the vegetables in it, and a side of roasted red potatoes. And a Fisherman’s Bock. I know this before I pick it up because it’s what I have always ordered here. I am wondering, though, how it’s all going to taste with my fully draconic pallet, now. I’m sort of wondering, with my taste for whole seagull, whether I might enjoy the oysters.

No. I’m going to order what I can afford and attempt to pay for myself. And I really can’t afford this, but I do have the money for it and I can eat more seagulls instead of chuck later in the month to compensate.

Am I going to have to remember to chew? Or, is this going to be a really interesting sight to everyone who looks our way?

I’m still making a point of looking over the menu, to give my eyes something to do, when I wonder when this became lunch instead of just a beer.

I look at Säure, who is watching waitstaff, waiting for our server. He might just order a beer, because I think I decided on lunch when he said to take my time with the menu.

I am hungry, though, and it is lunch time.

Was that some kind of power move on his part? What happens if he pays for my meal? What does that mean? Would he be displaying his power? Or could I interpret it as him giving me a gift of submission?

If he withholds his payment for my half, should I be insulted?

Are we playing by local human rules, or draconic instincts?

Do I get to choose?

I make a decision based on my stomach and the observation that this is so little money when it comes to his wealth that it’s a very silly concern, and I start typing my order into my tablet for when our server arrives.

Which is right now.

“Hello, my name is Megan. I’ll be your server today,” she says. I can see her name tag has her pronouns on it.

I hold up a finger, eyes wide, then grab my tablet and hit home, then pull up my Tumblr and point at the title of it, “Meghan the Dragon.”

Megan the server leans forward, gawks at it and exclaims, “No, way! That’s you?” Then she looks me in the eyes and freezes.

I blink and turn away, nodding. And say, “Yes.”

She blinks and shakes her head and says, stepping back to her original position, “Ah, we share the same name. That’s so cool. So what would you like today?”

I’m starting to realize that transfixion doesn’t seem to have a huge psychological impact, which is very strange. It must be part magical. Not actually an instinctual fear response. Except, maybe it sometimes has a mild amnesiac effect?

Did she not really notice what my eyes look like? Or was that just part of the way a lot of humans take us for granted for some reason?

Säure nods in my direction, gesturing, so I switch back to my app and hit talk.

“I’d like the cheese steak, hold the onions, mushrooms, and peppers, with a side of roasted reds. And a Fisherman’s Bock. Twenty-two ounce,” the tablet rattles off in one go.

“Very good,” she says, nodding at me. Then she turns to Säure, “And you, sir?”

He smiles and holds up his phone to demonstrably swype into his own copy of the same app, “I would like the oyster platter with a pint of your pilsner, please.”

He’s so smooth and quick with his device that I feel like Patrick Bateman glaring at his business card in jealousy when I look his way. I really try my best not to show it.

It’s not like I’m actually making human expressions anyway. But we’re both dragons, and I know I’m starting to be able to read draconic expressions fairly well now. He can’t be all that inexperienced and unstudied in that field himself. He wouldn’t let himself be.

Megan the server finishes recording his order and thanks him, then she turns to me before she goes, “And it was so good to meet you, Your Highness.” With no hint of irony or awkwardness, nothing but a glint in her eye and a smile. And then she’s gone to inform the kitchen of our orders before I can react.

I am wearing my tiara.

I haven’t yet given thought into whether or not I can alter my outfit when I manifest it.

I really should look in a mirror and play with this, and maybe get a better idea of what I look like when I’m in this form.

I just keep forgetting that faces are important to other people, I think.

As I’m lost in thought about this, Säure has used his phone to compose an observation.

He watches me like a snake interested in something that looks like food, as I hear his phone say, “Your camouflage seems to have an interesting effect on humans who don’t know you personally, Meghan. I imagine that could be quite useful.”

Fuck it. I’m not going to play his game. I’m going to embrace expediency and tactlessness and grab the horns of this conversation and yank. I ask, “How long study dragons?” And then I look pointedly at him.

“You? Since you underwent metamorphosis. In general? About eighty years now, more or less,” he responds, looking up from his phone screen when he’s done.

He doesn’t look over sixty! But, then, my current guise doesn’t look much like my former body, either.

“How long know yourself?” I ask.

“About that long. Maybe a year or two longer.”

“What you think?”

He studies me. So I lean forward, elbow on table, very un-princess-like, and study him back. I’m sure my face is as impassive as his, but I tilt my head one way and then the other.

He then nods and works with his phone, “I don’t know what you’re asking about. What do I think about what?”

I huff, and hit my tablet a few times with my index finger, “Dragons.”

“Are you asking me what’s my theory?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say with my syrinx. I mouth it right afterward, like I’m badly dubbed, just to be irritating and distracting. It’s an easy word to mouth. I don't know that I have any strategy here. I might just be thrashing about. Which might be bad.

He adopts, probably very deliberately, a relaxed and amused expression I’ve often seen on twenty-something young men, and leans back to start typing on his phone. He does the same thing as me and hits talk after every sentence, “It might surprise you that I am less interested in the theories of anything and more focused on the practicalities of the now. I do study quite a lot of things in quite a lot of depth, but I don’t need to think about it much. I find that that saves me time and energy I can use on continuing my studies. So, I can tell you what scholars have thought about dragons. And I can tell you what I have observed. But I have no conclusions for you, Meghan, I am sorry.”

That’s an awful lot of words to say he doesn’t know. Especially with our mode of communication.

“What you do?” I ask. “About dragons.”

He tilts his head and then pushes forward a more engaged smile, saying, wobbling back and forth just a little as he works his phone, “That is a much more interesting question. I’m glad you asked it. It’s what I want to talk to you about.”

“Go on,” I say.

“We need to spread out,” he says. “We’re bunched too closely together, and it is stifling our growth and hurting humanity. But so far, each of us is so attached to our own little fiefdoms that no one wants to move. I am looking for a solution to that.”

I can’t actually argue with him about that. The evidence I’ve seen suggests that exact problem, and I can’t say I haven’t puzzled over it myself. But, also, I really don’t want to move. My people are here.

“I’m so sorry for how my people have treated you, Meghan,” he continues. “They acted of their own accord based on my initial mission statement, and coordinated with county reactionaries to do it. They did not wait for my orders, and I found the whole company to be rotten with bigots positioned against us, so I had no option but to dissolve Equisetum Wildlife. I’m sure you approve.”

“Yes. Thanks,” I say, cautiously and slowly. That’s pretty much what he wrote in his press release the day he did it, leaving out the part where he’s a dragon, too.

“What I’d like to do,” he says, “is use some of my resources to help incentivize the more mobile peers of ours to go ahead and make that move voluntarily. I’m thinking based on a kind of reward system. However, I need to work with the government to do this smoothly and legally, and I am having a little trouble with that. A good portion of both the local and state governments don’t want to work with me.”

That’s rough, man. It’s also press release material. I say, “Okay.”

“I could use your help,” he says.

He’s not going to tell me anything more than he’s told the public, and he’s just going to outright ask for my help? I want to consider that ridiculous and laugh in his face.

Instead, I ask, “How?”

I maybe should have asked why.

—

Sometimes, regardless of your boundaries and needs, there is work that just needs doing. And sometimes you're the only one can do it.

Rhoda closes her eyes, sends a little prayer to her greater self, and works to clear her mind of her sorrows and worries, to focus on the trouble at hand. She can afford another hour or so of dragon business, maybe even a day of it, if it means keeping her world intact.

Opening her eyes, she picks up her phone again and opens the mirrored group SMS chat she'd created from Meg's group, that doesn't have Meg in it. The one she uses to support Meghan without disturbing her.

And she types into it, “Artists. Keep us informed! Thank you.”

Then she starts sending off direct messages and emails to individual people to start activating the alert network she’s been cultivating since before the dracomorphosis began.

It's not for Meghan's sake that she uses it.

Inspired by the prayer circles her old church used to have, it’s for everyone's sake. It's a network of mutual support and emergency response to help keep people alive in case things get real bad. Which they just might.

It mostly consists of people she sees regularly in person, like her hairdresser and her favorite librarian. A grocery clerk her age who loves being catty with her. A few members of the Order of Bearded Men of all people, because they like to joke over coffee and also share some history in activism. It's thin, but it covers most of downtown and the northern half of the city.

But also, while the network is much smaller than the prayer circle, and much more fragile than Rhoda would like, it might provide up to date feedback on how the rest of the city is doing. Which she can then relay to Meg's team. Including those two damn Artists who now have a chance to prove themselves.

Rhoda realizes she has no clue just how troublesome Säure might be. He might be just a man that Meghan is angry with. But Rhoda can't really imagine Meghan confessing to wish violence on a human. The urgent and desperate tone of her message has her getting ready for a worse case scenario.

Back to Meg’s network, there's one other difference between Rhoda’s group SMS chat and Meg's. Rhoda added Caleb to it. Meg didn't think of him as one of her people. He's Astraia’s boyfriend, after all. But through Astraia, Caleb is Rhoda’s link to Meg’s Discord and the rest of the dragons of Fairport.

That network covers most of the southern half of the city.

One last thing she does before gathering her stuff to head down to the coffee shop is to message Caleb and let him know to be ready to relay messages.

Hopefully, none of this will be necessary. And then she'll be able to go back to mourning her child, and trying to figure out how to do right by him despite the fact that she's already long ago failed at that.

Maybe if she wrote a biography for him. Maybe it's time to do that.

Maybe if she did that. Or at least committed to it, she could face the other people in her life without heaping them with unconscious expectations. Without bringing her own hopes unsolicited into their lives, and then to be able to see them maybe for who they actually are.

Maybe it'd help her see Meghan for what she actually is more clearly.

But not quite yet.

Right now, there's a fire brigade to rally.

She lifts herself up with the help of her cane and grabs her raincoat and purse. It's a half sunny day, with no prediction of rain. But it seems that dragons are posturing for a fight.

The weather app could be wrong.

—

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Megan the server approaching our table with dishes in hand, but Säure speaks up, finger working his phone with speed.

“Please call off your Architects,” he says. “I'd like to enjoy the meal.”

I tilt my head. 

I've been feeling shifts from Chapman and a constant buzzing from Ptarmigan since we sat down. I can infer easily that Säure can feel them too, and calls them Architects. An interesting choice of term.

What I'm doing is wordlessly feigning confusion and ignorance to make him flustered during the arrival of our food. If I can make him look bad in front of human attention, it'll be a little victory.

But he relaxes and becomes animated with gracious anticipation in reaction to Megan the server's presence.

As she's delivering the food, Megan calls Säure “sir” and me “Your Highness”, but serves us both with equal cheer and bids that we let her know if we need anything more. Then she leaves us to our meal.

Before digging in, once she's gone, Säure uses his syrinx to say, “Please.”

I lift my head and narrow my eyes, and then pick up my tablet to message the group, saying, “Please stop scanning us. Säure can sense it.”

That last sentence will confirm a lot of things to everyone, I'm sure. And Säure will undoubtedly expect that I passed the knowledge on.

“Thank you,” he says.

“You call the Artists Architects?” I ask.

“Artists?” he asks back. “Meghan. They are the Architects. If you know anything about them, you know that they are the unseen force of order in the world, and they have shaped everything we see today, or will hope to see in the future.” He takes a moment to arrange his plate, drink, napkin, and utensils, then picks up his phone again to conclude, “If anyone is to blame for the unfortunate state that we dragons find ourselves in today, it is the Kabal of Architects that you call Artists. The true buck undeniably stops with them, and that is one of the things I would like your help with in changing.”

His use of the word “Kabal” really irks me. Kind of like his license plate. Maybe related to it.

“How?” I ask again.

He looks at his platter of oysters and his beer, then back up at me. With one thumb on his phone, he asks, “Shall we eat first?”

The buzzing and shifts haven't stopped just yet.

I can tell it annoys him, which I like.

But, “Okay,” I say.

And we dig in.

I find that my own teeth are no longer suited to cutting through bread and cooked meat. The flat, spade-like teeth of humans are very well suited to that. While my teeth, and Säure's, are fine for puncturing and gripping flesh, to be torn with raw force, if torn at all, and to hold it in our mouths until we can lift our jaws up and let it fall into our gullets.

Which means that after my first attempt at biting my sandwich, even soaked in aus jus as the tip of it is, I end up using my fork and knife. Like a princess.

I cut a mouthful off the sandwich. I make sure it is skewered firmly on the fork. Then I soak it in the aus jus, thinking about what bread does to duck stomachs and hoping mine is better than that. And then I pull the morsel off the fork with my teeth and let its juices bathe my tongue.

And swallow it whole just as Säure downs another oyster himself.

I'm thinking I should have brought a couple of smooth rocks with me. I might need them to settle my gizzard while I fight this monster later.

At least we'll both be lethargic from this meal.

Then I have a thought.

If he’s eating oysters, does that mean he's a sea monster? Is that why no one's seen him until now?

[cryptid-on-a-string]

WHY👏 DO👏 OWLS👏 CHEW👏 ON👏 ROCKS👏 🎵🎵🎵🎶🎶🎶💃🕺💃🕺🕺🕺🕺🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶

💃🎵✨🎶🎶💃🕺✨🎶🎵🎵 WONT THE ROCK ROCK BROKE THEIR BOCK BOCK 🎵💃🎶✨🕺💃🎵

[beerwanderer]

Who says you can't chew Bock and read at the same time.

[acefaun]

How is the little cutie? 🩵

Well 🥲 She was being mean and biting me while I was busy being anxiety. And I had to put a couple bandaids because her Shadow Gemini really showed up and tried to take me out and draw blood!

So I bought her a chewy bone. But I think I need something that tastes better because sometimes she still comes to take bite out of me. 😩 Any puppy advice for a poor goldfish like me?

Cause I heard these hide bones aren’t that safe for doggos and they can bock their digestive track with shards and stuff, but I just needed something for the meantime until I find something safer and more tastey for her to chew.

Alternatively… don’t her back legs look like chicken drumsticks? 🤣 This is why she bites me, I’m always making fun of her. She doesn’t understand my affection!!

[strawberry-gigglepup]

Gunna sleeb in bocks

WAIT!!!

*squeezes his tiny head outta a hole in the corner of the box it chewed as a way to stretch and reach cuz comfy instead of getting up to grab said blankie*

Must.....GET......BLANKIEEEEE *reaches with every fiber of their being to snag blankie on their teefs*

Dis his blankie

(via)

[i-am-just-a-girll]

TW:Starving

In my opinion I was just trying to be thin

Just trying to lose weight and look good

But I started obsessing over it so much that I started puking everything I ate and as if that wasn’t bad enough I started eating chewing gums and ice cubes and tricked my brain into thinking that it’s food

Food that I needed to survive,

Again not live just survive

I felt lightheaded when I stood up

And I could feel my bock bone when I used to sit

But then again it wasn’t very bad cos I was still able to feel normal after a while of standing up

And I did not get any internal injuries

My grades did drop but at least I was not failing

And yes I wasn’t feeling great in fact far from that but at least I looked great, or did I?

My hair started falling out so much that the drainage started getting blocked, my skin started getting pale, my eyes had purple rings around them but hey at least they looked better than dark circles

I had this app on my phone to keep track of my calories and let me tell you I have never been more loyal to anything

I felt cold all the time but hey I guess good for me cos I hate summers

Maybe you called me chubby in a good way but that word struck me like a brick cos I didn’t have any food for a week

And I hate how girls in school are like I haven’t eaten all day cos they think it’s cool but anorexia isn’t a joke it is a fucking battle which took me all the energy left in my body to fight, but it wasn’t enough cos clearly I lost my battle to the thoughts of my mind

The fear of gaining weight was so extreme that I felt like I was losing my mind

I thought I knew what I was doing I mean not really cos I lost control over my body but it was just easy to convince people that I did

I didn’t accept it but I was tired

Tired of starving the entire day, tired of this constant addiction of getting thinner

Oh you have no idea how exhausted I was

But at this point my body held more power over me than my brain did.

[chinaorthodonticlab]

Tips For Adjusting to The Clark Twin Block Appliance

It can be hard for patients when they have to adjust to a new lifestyle with orthodontic appliances. No matter how easy the design is, the transition phase should be well handled by dentists and the support staff to enhance the comfort and adaptability of appliances like the Twin Block Appliance. In this article, we are covering some practical tips and advice for patients to make this adjustment as comfortable as possible.

Understanding the Clark Twin Block Appliance

The first step in ensuring a good transition is understanding the device or application you are using. Developed by Dr. William Clark, the twin-bock appliance consists of separate upper and lower appliances with bit blocks designed to interlock at specific angles. The appliance positions the mandible in a protrusive position and corrects issues like overcrowding and deep bites over time.

Tip 1: Gradual wear and speech practice

One of the best ways to adjust to a new appliance, such as the twin block orthodontics, is to gradually increase the wear time and practice speech with it. Start wearing the appliance at first for short periods, such as an hour or two hours, and you can gradually up the time within a week. Use this time to practice speaking and pronouncing clearly. This will help clear your speech and improve your confidence.

Tip 2: Proper Oral Hygiene Practices

Good oral hygiene practices work wonders with any orthodontic appliance. You must practice proper cleaning to remove plaque and food debris with the twin-block appliance. If not done properly, bad hygiene can lead to infections and bad breath.

Tip 3: Addressing Discomfort

During the adjustment period, you may feel a little bit of discomfort, which is natural with any orthodontic appliance. During this time, your orthodontist will provide you with a relief wax or gel that can be used to rub over irritating areas.

Tip 4: Eating Soft Foods and Chewing Exercises

Patients should stick to soft foods during the initial stages of appliance adoption. To make eating more comfortable, you can practice chewing exercises to strengthen the jaw muscles and improve overall comfort.

About the China Orthodontic Laboratory:

China Orthodontic Laboratory deals in the designing and production of orthodontic devices like the best invisible aligners. The lab works with medical professionals throughout the world and provides personalized solutions for orthodontic needs. For high-quality, affordable, and quick solutions, dentists prefer China Orthodontic Laboratory.

For more information about digital study models and appliances, visit https://china-ortholab.com/

Original Source: https://bit.ly/4aVfAFy

[justthehiddleswrites]

Bleeding Heart | Adam x OFC  (Charlie Bock)

Pairing: Adam x OFC (Charlie Bock)

Summary: It is the first Farmer’s Market of the season and Charlie hit the motherlode. Including some beautiful flowers. What she forgot was Adam telling her that Bleeding Heart has a powerful effect on vampires. Can she survive the night?

Warnings: Smut, Sex pollen, oral sex, vaginal sex, rough sex

-

It was the first Farmer’s Market of the year and Charlie was up early to head out. She pulled the pillow off of Adam’s head to kiss his lips. There was a bit of dried blood in the corner of his mouth. Adam sighed into her lips and Charlie slipped her tongue into his mouth. Adam pulled her onto the bed, tugging at her top, one of his old black vee neck tees tucked into short denim shorts.

“I can’t. It’s the first Farmer’s Market of the season and I want the pick of produce. I have to go.”

“No.” He rolled onto his back and pulled her onto his chest, latching onto her lips.

“Adam. Don’t be like this. I will have my cell phone on me at all times. The pepper spray is in my tote. It will be a year in the fall.”

Adam stopped kissing her and pulled back to stare into her emerald green eyes. Charlie smiled down at him. He still didn’t like her going out alone, particularly at night. But Simone explained to him that sheltering Charlie could do more harm than good. That normalcy would help.

“How long will you be gone?” Adam released his grip on the shirt and let her black Chucks touch back onto the floor.

“Two hours tops. If I will be any later, I will call. Will you answer?”

“Probably not.” he groaned, replacing the pillow on his head.

“Fine, then I’m leaving the pepper spray.” She dug through the canvas tote from when she started at the hospital that she used to carry home all her purchases.

“Hand me the phone.” Adam extended his hand and Charlie slapped the iPhone they purchased for him four months ago, over his protest.

“I changed the ringtone.”

“Great. To what?”

“Baby Shark, your favorite.”

“Fuck.” Adam groaned, muffled by the pillow.

“Love you, darling.” Charlie called out, giggling on her way out.

“Love you too.” Adam responded, tossing the phone onto the nightstand.

-

The Farmer’s Market was even better than last year, with a few bakeries and flower vendors besides all the produce. When Charlie arrived ten minutes after opening, it was already bustling. She sampled juicy strawberries before purchasing a flat along with several pints of blueberries from the same vendor. She arranged to pick it up on her way out. At another, Charlie snagged several bundles of asparagus for a risotto recipe she wanted to try, along with some fresh herbs, including basil, chives, and marjoram. She wandered into each stall, sampling breads, candies and produce. She treated herself to some decadent triple chocolate cookies, Adam liked to taste the chocolate on her lips.

“Pretty flowers for a pretty girl.” One vendor called out.

Charlie spun to see colorful blooms spilling out of buckets. She smelled lilies and daisies, picking out beautiful pink, yellow and purple blooms for a bouquet. Her eyes landed on a dark pink bloom. She traced the heart-shaped drops.

“Lamprocapnos spectabilis,” The vendor offered. Charlie quirked an eyebrow. Adam rattled off Latin names more times than Charlie cared to count. Sometimes she would listen intently, while other times she smiled and nodded while thinking about the latest book she was reading or a rerun of The Vampire Diaries.

“Bleeding Heart.” Charlie responded. Adam talked about it one time, but she couldn’t remember the details of the conversations. She plucked several stalks and added them to bouquet while fishing out a few bills to pay for the flowers.

On her way out, she grabbed several bunches of beetroot for her morning juice on days Adam feeds on her or she collects blood to help replenish some nutrients. She glanced at her phone while heaving the strawberries under her arm. One hour and thirty minutes. Plenty of time to make it home before Adam panic called her. She didn’t want a repeat of the day the train broke down on her way back from lunch with Elise and Miriam in Boston proper.

-

Charlie hipped open the door after jimmying the key into the lock with her hands full.

“Adam!” she called out into the silence.

Charlie suspected he was still asleep, with several hours until sunset. She pushed aside the alarm clock Adam insisted he was “improving” to drop the flat of strawberries and her tote. She grabbed a pitcher from on top of the fridge, cursing for letting Adam putting it away the last time she made lemonade, rising on the tip of her tippy toes. Wiping off the dust, Charlie filled it up with water and dropped the flowers into it. She shifted some of them around before placing the pitcher on the table and set about prepping the vegetables.

Adam woke to smelling sauteed vegetables, basil, and garlic. When he rounded the corner, he smiled to see Charlie standing over the oven stirring something in a big pot of something delicious smelling. She bounced from foot to foot as she stirred and chewed on a cookie.

“What are you cooking?” Adam sidled up beside her.

“Risotto. Is the garlic too much? I can throw it out if it’s too much.”

Adam smiled and pecked her curls with his lips. “It’s fine. That’s an old vampire’s tale.” Adam turned her to kiss her lips. “Chocolate.”

“I got cookies at the market. Do you like it?” she smirked, knowing the answer.

“Yes.”

The spoon clattered to the floor as Adam pushed Charlie against the counter and lifted her to sit on it. Adam pushed her legs open with her hips and bit down on her lip hard enough to draw blood.

“Ow, Adam.” He ignored her cry and pawed at her shirt, lifting it over her head. “Adam, darling, I have to stir the risotto.” Charlie pulled him off of her.

Adam panted, something he never did. His eyes were black, with only the slightest hint of ice blue on the rim. He lunged for her throat, baring his fangs.

“ADAM!” Charlie yelled and shoved him back with all her might. He hit the kitchen table as he stumbled backwards. The pitcher knocked over, spilling water and flowers everywhere. Adam turned around and snatched up the flowers.

“Where did you get these?” he demanded, his tone sharp.

Charlie blinked several times and took a few breaths before answering, reminding herself she was not back in that apartment.

“At the market. Please don’t yell at me.” she answered before sliding off the counter and picking up the spoon. “Why?”

“Fuck!” Adam stormed off and slammed the door of the second bedroom.

“Shit!” Charlie switched off the stove and went to check on him.

He locked the door when Charlie jiggled the handle. She knocked.

“Adam?”

“Go away!” he yelled, pacing the floor. He wanted nothing more than to rip the door off its hinges and throw Charlie onto the bed.

“No.” Her voice clear, cutting through the haze in his mind. “Tell me what’s wrong.” She yelled through the door.

Adam stopped in front of the door and pressed his head against the wood.

“Bleeding Heart.”

“I picked it up at the market. Lamprocapnos—”

“—spectabilis.” Adam finished. “Do you remember what I said about it?”

“Uh….” Charlie racked her brain to pull the information from her subconscious.

Adam slammed his fist against the door. “Damn it, Charlie!” he hissed. His cock strained against his pants. “Think sexual catnip for a vampire.”

“Oh… Oh!” Charlie’s eyebrows raised. “And you are…”

“Fighting the urge to fuck your brains out.”

Charlie smirked. She swiped her hand on top of the door frame until she found the small metal rod. “And that differs from any other Saturday how?”

“Not funny, Charlie.”

Charlie fiddled with the knob until she heard a click and turned the knob.

“I think it is fucking hilarious, Adam.” She stepped into the room.

Adam blinked. “How did you?”

Charlie held up the key. “Remember when you insisted on updating all the doorknobs in case I locked myself in here during an attack?”

“Shit.” Adam pivoted to turn away from Charlie. “You need to leave Charlie.”

“Well you and I both know that it is not happening. So take off your pants.” Charlie pulled her shirt off and unbuttoned her shorts, slipping them off.

“Excuse me?” Adam turned to find Charlie unclasping her bra wearing only a pair of panties. “Were you not listening? I’m sick. I could hurt you.”

“No you won’t.” She dragged her panties down her legs, bending at the waist.

Adam marched over and pushed Charlie against the bed, ass in the air.

“You are going to regret this, love.” Adam tugged his pants down. “I won’t be gentle.”

Charlie wiggled her ass. “I know, I’ve read your porn collection.”

Adam buried himself inside of her in one smooth motion. Charlie gripped the bed for support.

“Yes!” Adam hissed as he snapped against her.

“Fuck me.” Charlie muttered, dropping her head to the mattress.

“Over and over.” Adam grunted. He rutted into Charlie’s pussy at a bruising pace. Soon she fluttered around him.

“I’m cumming, Adam!” she screamed as her orgasm washed over her. Adam came, but his cock throbbed for more.

“On your back.” Adam ordered. Charlie scrambled to lie on her back. Adam crawled behind her and position his shoulders between her thighs.

“I thought you needed to—”

“I’m pacing myself.” Adam grunted. “So I don’t hurt you.”

“I don’t think you could to do that—”

Adam licked along her sensitive folds, causing her to shudder. He gripped her thighs and ate her up. His tongue darted into her, wanting to drink up every drop. Charlie moaned and gripped Adam’s head, her nails clawing at his scalp.

“Ah!!” she screamed as she came again and collapsed against the pillow.

Adam’s cock ached and burned. He gazed down on Charlie, her eyes fluttering closed. Adam wanted her. He wanted to fuck her until the bed broke and she screamed for him to stop. He wanted to drink from the scar on her neck until she passed out. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

Adam crawled up to lie next to her. He fisted his cock with a fervor. His hand moved fast and with a purpose. He closed his eyes to focus on the pressure and friction. As Charlie’s tits pressed into his arm, he popped open an eye.

“Let me.” Her hand reached for his shaft. Adam’s eyes widened, and he stopped his stroking.

“I can’t ask you to do that. You need rest.”

“I’m fine and I’m not asking.” Charlie gripped his shaft and jerked up and down. Adam’s hand fell away.

“I…”

“Shh.” Charlie hushed. “Let me help you.” She swiped over his weeping tip and Adam bucked his hips.

“Fine.” Adam groaned.

Charlie smiled and shifted down Adam’s body. She took him into her mouth. Adam shifted to stand up, but Charlie reached up and pushed him back down. Her tongue swirled around and Adam gave up any idea of stopping her.

“Darling, yes!”

His fingers tangled in her curls, not pushing her head but gripping for support. Charlie’s one hand gripped the base of his cock firmly and the other cupped Adam’s balls. She hummed against him, sucking with an urgency. His ball tightened.

“Charlie, I’m—” Adam warned, but too late when Charlie’s tongue caught the underside of the head of his cock.

With a guttural moan, Adam came hard. His legs cramped tight while Charlie continued to lick, taking all of him in. Adam had to pull her off of him. His lips crashed against hers and they tasted each on their tongues. Salty and sweet. Charlie straddled Adam’s hips, and he sat up with her in his lap.

“I’m still hungry, my love.”

“I know.” Charlie’s voice hoarse. She wiggled, teasing her folds along him.

“Not just that. I am going to fuck you while I feed from your neck.” Adam wasn’t asking, but stating a fact.

Charlie nodded, curls bouncing. Adam wrapped his arms around her torso and lifted her onto his cock, easing her down. Charlie hissed as her walls stretched around Adam.

“You are perfection, my darling.” Adam purred as he kissed down her neck. His tongue laved along Charlie’s scar. “You were meant for me.” She arched her back while Adam rocked and bucked underneath her. Charlie’s arms reached around Adam’s torso and she pulled herself as tight against his chest as she could.

Adam bucked inside of her, feeling Charlie contract around him. When he couldn’t stand it any longer, he nipped at her neck and she let her head fall to the side. As his fangs sunk into her soft flesh, Charlie gasped and moaned at the overstimulation.

“Adam, please…” she begged, writhing in his grasp. Her release teetering on the edge and the sides of the world grew fuzzy as Adam fed.

“My love.” Adam released her neck and crushed his lips against hers. The taste of metal and sex on his tongue along his cock pulsing inside her tipped Charlie over the edge.

“ADAM!” she screamed as her nails scratched down his back. She clenched hard around him and as he came too, he sucked on the wound one more time.

The two of them collapsed onto the bed, a heap of sex, sweat, and flesh. Adam closed his eyes, sated at last while Charlie dozed off, her head on his chest.

-

When Adam woke, clear-headed and sore, Charlie was already gone from the bedroom. He found her in the kitchen, cleaning the giant pot which once held her garlicky risotto.

“That was a week’s worth of meals you ruined.” Charlie tsked, a smile teasing the corners of her lips.

Adam wrapped his arms around her, taking her sudsy hands in his. “I’m sorry.”

“An apology?!” Charlie feigned shock. “I need to write this down.” She wiped off her hands on the apron and reached for a small notebook on the counter.

“What do you even write in there?” Adam wondered out loud. He noticed the water and flowers from the table gone. Charlie would have been certain to throw them away outside.

“Notes.” she responded cryptically.

“What kind of notes? You aren’t writing more rules are you?”

Charlie clutched the notebook against her chest. “None of your business.”

In a flash, Adam snatched the notebook away and flipped through the pages.

“That’s cheating, Adam.” Charlie lunged for the notebook.

“I don’t fight fair, you know that.” Adam smirked. “Nibble behind left ear = rolls onto back.” Adam read out loud. “Are you taking notes on me?”

“No comment. Give it back.”

Adam flipped a page to see the latest note about Bleeding Hearts.

“How long have you been documenting?” Adam handed it back. Charlie tucked the notebook into a back pocket.

“Since the habanero incident.”

“I told you, I drank too much blood that day. The peppers had nothing to do with!”

“You writhed in pain all evening in bed, Adam. You’ve gorged yourself before. That was something else. You were unbearable.”

“So the notes?”

“Help me make sure nothing happens to you.” Charlie fidgeted with the edge of her apron.

Adam embraced Charlie, running his hands over her hair. “I thought that was my job.”

“Perhaps it can be both of our jobs.” she suggested.

“Now I like the sound of that.” He pecked her lips and pushed up the sleeves of his robe. “Let me help you clean up.”

Charlie smiled and shoved a towel into his hand. “I wash you dry.”

Adam reached for the now clean pot as Charlie turned her attention to the knives and cutting board.

“I saw your note, Charlie.”

“Hmmm?” She glanced over at him.

“We are not doing this again on Valentines.” His smile betraying his genuine feelings.

Charlie turned off the water and spun on her heels, ready to fight this out.

[heroexxs]

"well, they believe otherwise..."lena murmured and she rolled her eyes. "we can take it slow, but i want my parents to be happy, too. i can just tell them that to make them happy. it doesn't have to actually be a thing, you know?" she said and she chewed on her lower lip. when he turned to face her, she rested her head on her arm and she furrowed her brow for a moment. he asked if she really wanted the marriage and the family and she took a deep breath. he didn't want that...the family part. "i don't want it if you don't want it, brock..." she said softly. she sighed and brushed her fingers through his hair."i know it would hurt, but like you said...people balance it all of the time. we could travel to see you. we don't have to have like this massive family, baby. one kid would be enough for me." she chewed on the inside of her cheek and yawned against the back of her hand. "but like you said...slow. we'll talk about it more in the morning. for now, we can sleep for at least a few hours until you have to get up and get ready. i'll make breakfast and everything."

"i never said i didn't want it lena, i just... we have to figure some shit out." he muttered with a small smile. his arms wrapped around her waist as he pulled her close and leaned in to kiss her gently. there was apart of him that wanted to keep talking about it now, but he decided to listen and lay back down against his pillow. "you don't have to do that for me, but i appreciate it." he said with a little chuckle before leaning over and cupping her face. "get as much sleep as you can, we'll figure all this out." as bock laid down, he wrapped his arms around her tightly and got comfortable back in his bed.

he only got a couple hours of sleep since he had a very early practice, and when he finally woke up, he went to get changed before poking his head into his kitchen. "it's a long day, you sure you want to tag along?" he teased as he ran a hand through his hair. he was exhausted to say the least, but content. he was so glad that she showed back up at his place, and even though they had much to discuss, at least she was there. as he pushed his hair out of his face, he went to go start some coffee for the two of them. "we're practicing then might have to do a little press, and then i should be free for the rest of the day."

"i've missed you too, you know that." brock muttered as he gave her another smile. they were pressed up against one another, and as he pulled her a bit closer to his chest, he got comfortable under his covers. hearing that her parents weren't talking to her made him sigh, especially since he knew he was a part of that. they had been on and off and she knew how much they wanted her to settle down and them breaking things off all the time wasn't helping. "they shouldn't stop talking to you because of that.. i've said it once, i'll say it again." he said with a little shake of his head. a little chuckle slipped his lips as he tucked an arm behind his head. "what happened to slow? i know i said tomorrow so you can bring it up now, but we have to figure some shit out before all of that."

as he gave her another kiss, he settled against his pillow before pulling her close one again. "i love you, too." even though he had a long day ahead of him, he knew it would be tough to sleep, especially now that lena was back in bed with him. he gently rubbed her back as he rolled over a bit to look at her. "do you really want all that though? we never talked about it... i don't know how the guys who have families balance that and playing. i'd be gone half the year, i couldn't do that, it'd hurt too much."

cont. from here // @hclywars

[pocketfullofsimshine]

[mulderist]

ficlet

I was thinking about having a drink after work tonight and I wrote this on my phone. 

taging @today-in-fic

The bar was hosting the usual Friday evening Federal Triangle crowd. They had walked the two blocks up and over from Headquarters after Mulder suggested something strong to end the week. She was surprised she agreed so quickly but she wanted to forget about the embarrassing meeting they had with Skinner.

Mulder found a small empty table tucked in a corner and snatched up the bar menu that eagerly stood on the tabletop.

“What are you drinking tonight?” he asked as he skimmed the list of libations.

“I think I’ll have a vodka tonic.” Scully replied without hesitation as she took a seat. Mulder was intrigued and decided that was good for him too. He set the menu back down and she watched him weave his way over to the bar. After he spoke with the bartender he retraced his steps and started to loosen his tie as he approached their little sanctuary.

“Scully, you think we’ll ever be let back into Texas again?” He asked, leaning in nice and close.

“I can’t believe we were drugged.” She said, toying with the corner of a bar napkin. “I also can’t believe the report we had to give to Skinner.” 

“You mean the vampire angle? Come on, that’s not the strangest thing we’ve reported.” 

“I guess that’s true,” she replied, “I’m surprised I still have a job after the Flukeman case.” Mulder couldn’t help but laugh. A server came by and dropped off their drinks. Scully noticed two Shiner Bocks and knew that was the cue they were going to take the evening slow. The first long sip of her cocktail was smooth as silk. She slowly rolled her head from side to side feeling the muscles of her neck pull and stretch. Mulder took another swig of his drink then started to chew on the skinny black straw, twirling his tongue around the end.

“So this case didn’t change your opinion on vampires” he began.

“Hmm?”

“Still don’t think vampires exist?” He repeated, leaning close once again.

“Sorry Mulder.” She said, eyeing him while taking another sip. “I can’t accept it.” 

“Not even a whole town of them?”

“RV park,” Scully said with a raised finger. “It was an RV park. And no that doesn’t change my opinion.” She giggled. Mulder smiled and shifted the straw to the side of his mouth then finished off his cocktail. Scully decided to remove her jacket and rest it across her lap. She reached for the Shiner and he did the same. They clinked the tops of the bottles together and took a drink. Scully spent a moment to people-watch around the bar. Mulder however was only focused on her. 

The server did a drive-by and Mulder ordered another round.

[just-the-hiddles]

Fic Teasers | July 1, 2020

Holy shit, It’s July!  Another two stories!  On Thursday, it is the second Stephen Strange fluff request.  And then on Saturday, Chapter 3 of The Reluctants.  I struggled which part of The Reluctants to tease because there are some parts I love!  

AS ALWAYS TAGLISTS ARE OPEN, PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU WISH TO BE TAGGED ON ANY STORY OR ADDED TO A LIST!

Dancing With Myself | Dr. Stephen Strange x Reader

“Are you going to be okay while I step out?” Stephen asked standing at the doorway of the large reading room. You peeked your eyes over the large volume in your lap.

“Are you genuinely concerned about me or the Sanctum?” Stephen quirked an eyebrow. “One time… one time you light a room on fire…”

“A room!?” Stephen started in. “Try an entire floor. I told you not to try that incantation. I told you weren’t ready. Did you even read the warnings?”

“They should put the warnings at the beginning of the spell.”

“They really should.” Stephen agreed. His long strides carried him across the room. He sat on the back of the chaise where you were sprawled out. “But to answer your question, I am genuinely concerned about you.” The sharp angles of his face softened as he leaned down to press his lips to yours, folding his tall, lean form to reach you.

“Thank you, love. I think I can manage the few hours it takes you and Wong to go grocery shopping.”

The Reluctants | Adam x OFC (Charlie Bock) | Chapter 3 The Reluctant Agreement

“I’ll see myself out.”

“You could stay here tonight.” he blurted before he realized what he was saying. Charlie stay here? He wondered. Would his libido survive?

“No. I don’t want to disturb your…” she waved a hand over scribbled sheet music and other notes written in Adam’s unintelligible handwriting. “… work.”

Charlie chewed on her lip as she lingered in the room. She didn’t want to stay the night in her apartment alone. Not for fear of Jason. Just the fear of the all-consuming silence and loneliness. And anyone’s company, even a brooding vampire with a penchant for funeral music was better than the alternative.

“I insist. You can take the bedroom. I would feel better if you stayed.” Charlie’s cheeks flushed, her hands twisting at the ends of her curls, a wild halo around her head. He wanted to run his fingers through them, getting caught up in the twists. Adam cleared his throat. “I mean I would hate to come up at night should that reprobate return.” He covered.

“I can’t take your bed. The sofa is fine.” She patted the cushion.

Adam shook his head. “I’ll be up all night composing. I’ll find you something to wear.” He left the room.

“That really isn’t necessary. I have…” He returned with an oversized t-shirt. “… clothes upstairs.”

“Here. It’s clean.”

“Thank you.” She ducked into the bedroom. “For everything.” she whispered the last two words.

The shirt was soft and came down to the middle of Charlie’s thighs. She put her clothes in a neat pile in the corner. She inhaled Adam’s scent on the shirt. Sandalwood, and musk, and something that was like men’s cologne from another century. She pulled back the dark sheets. She was asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

-

“Fuccck meee.” Charlie moaned as her head felt as though Athena herself was attempting to escape. She blinked her eyes open to find a dark unfamiliar room. Surely, it can’t still be night. Her eyes adjusted to the dark, and she realized this was not her bedroom.

“What the—” She attempted to sit up but was weighed down.

Whoever was beside her groaned. She remembered the night in snatches. Lots of drinks, Jason. Oh fuck, Adam. She retched at the sight of Jason’s arm snapping. And then falling asleep. In Adam’s bed. In his shirt. Panicking, her hands smoothed over her body. Panties in place.

“Well, that is at least one awkward conversation we can avoid.” she muttered to herself.

[lokisgame]

A Generous Donation [4]

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3]

Scully took Mulder's blood sample to the lab and called Walter, asking him to get back to her with his opinion, as soon as he got the results. The past few weeks, worry was her default state of mind. Once Will went through all the children's ailments, he never really got sick. He laughed about it, running around in shorts when she burrowed in scarves and long sleeves. Now the thought of loosing his warmth made her blood run ice cold. The minute she saw Mulder walk through her door, she thought, not you, too. He was practically a stranger, someone she laughed with over chicken marsala and cheesecake desert. Yet in that moment, his face and kind eyes and warm hands, made her feel like he could, and would, put himself between her and the edge of darkness. Most guys would stop taking her calls and run, but he came looking for her and for the first time in weeks, she felt comforted. Scully's phone chirped and she sighed, seeing the caller ID. 

"Hi mom." "Hello honey, how's Will?" "He was alright this morning when I went to see him." "Good, that's good, and how's the other thing going?" "It's not like opening a phone book, we're looking, and I told you, it's a precaution, we're waiting to see, how he responds to treatment." "And if the treatment doesn't work and you won't have any time left?" "I am not sitting on my hands." Scully said, thinking, I just stuck a needle into someone I just met. "If you would let me find some private foundation, it would go…" "I know it would go faster," Scully said bitterly, "but let's wait with kicking someone out of the line, till we know there's no other way around it." "I see no reason to wait." "Well, I do, mom," I'm not giving up yet, "and I have to go." "Alright, we'll talk more about this later." I hope not, Scully thought and hung up.

She went to see Will around dinner time to keep him company, and as usual, he tried to send her away. "Go home mom," he said smiling faintly, "you'll need your strength to save me." "I've got plenty," she replied patting his hand, "I'm so strong, you can't even imagine." "I can imagine quite a bit." "Well, multiply that by one hundred and you'll know how strong I can be." "Wow, can I have some of it?" "You can have it all," she sighed, keeping her voice even as tears stung her eyes. "Good, I always wanted to leap over buildings and race speeding cars." "My hero," she smiled and picked up the book from his night table, found the bookmark and stared at the picture. "You did some reading today." "I had help." Will said, turning to his side, "professor Mulder stopped by. I hope Harvard won't charge us extra for home visits." Scully huffed out a laugh and closed the book, when Will added. "I like him." "He's a great teacher, from what I heard," she said. "No, I mean for you." "Will." "I'm almost twenty, mom, it's time for you to start dating, for real this time." "I'm too old," Scully sighed, but the memory of the kiss softened her smile.   "Maybe in dog years," Will chuckled, laying on the sarcasm, "you keep up that talk, and I'll make you a grandma." "What?" "As soon as I get out of here." "You will most certainly not." She laughed, swatting his arm. "Ouch!" Will faked a yelp, but didn't let go of the subject. "Mother, you're forty six, which is the new thirty five, you're hot, and you already have a guy lined up." "William," she warned. "I'm just saying." "How about we make a deal." She said and he crossed his arms, "you get better and I'll give the dating game one more shot." Will paused, his expression cleared and he grinned, sticking out his hand out, "You're on, shake on it?" "Deal," she said and smiled. "Now tell me, why won't you take grandmas' calls." He groaned and threw the sheet over his head, making her laugh.

An hour later she was sitting in the ringing silence of her car, no one to go home to, no one to talk to. Will was right, it was time.

"Coming!" Mulder yelled, trying to rub water out of his ear and zip up his jeans, all at the same time. Failing at both, he let the towel drop around his neck and with the button undone and his t-shirt untucked, he opened the door, and froze. "You're not my usual delivery guy." He said and smiled, leaning on the doorframe. Scully smiled back and held up a takeout bag. "29.99" "Got change for a hundred?" He stepped back and gestured her in. "Nope," she said and, climbing on tiptoes, kissed his cheek. "Keep the change." He grinned and took the bag, saying, "Hi, again." "Hi." She smiled and looked him up and down, from towel-dried hair and six-o-clock shadow on his cheeks, grey t-shirt and faded jeans, all the way to his bare feet. He looked warm and solid and completely at ease. "Can I have your coat?" Mulder said, then added, a little uncertain, "I assume you're staying." "You assume correctly," she said, then paused, "wait, you ordered already?" "Yup, Chinese, great minds think alike," he took her coat and hung it on the rack. "We'll have seconds," he said and headed for the kitchen, giving her a minute to look around. The room was warm, another pleasant surprise after the wide porch and warm light from the outside. There was fire in the fireplace, a rug under the couch and the coffee table, papers and knickknacks and books in bookcases. Actually, books seemed to cover every inch of free space, even stacked on steps leading to the second floor, which made her chuckle. Well, he was a professor of psychology at Harvard, she might have expect that. She followed Mulder and found a kitchen that was just right, with its' small dining area. Cutting boards and oven mitts looked used, knives had worn handles and banged-up mugs hung by their ears on a railing over the work table. There was even some dishes left in the sink, and she loved the place for what it was, not a flashy bachelors' pad, not an overgrown sleeping area, but a home, lived in and comfortable. "There's beer in the fridge," Mulder said, taking plates and napkins to the table. "You want some?" "Why not." She opened the fridge and to her surprise, there was more than just beer there too. She picked two bottles of Shiner Bock and opened them both, handing one to Mulder. "Cheers," he said, clinking his against hers and pulled out a chair for her, like a real gentleman. "Sorry about the mess, I didn't expect company." "What mess?" She said and started to unload the cartons of fried rice, spicy pork and sweet and sour chicken. "You should see our place when I work double shifts. Will does most of the cleaning anyway." "Wow, you raised one hell of a catch." Mulder chuckled, draped the towel over the back of his chair and sat down, accepting chopsticks she held out. "There was only the two of us, so we grew up fast." "Yeah, I know what that's like." "And what made you grow up?" "My little sister, she went missing when I was twelve." "I'm sorry." She dropped her gaze, and Mulder could almost see the light in her fade. He couldn't have that.   "Hey, it was long time ago," he said, and started forking out rice on her plate. "Here, eat, you need it." She picked up a chunk of sticky rice, put it in her mouth and tried to chew, but suddenly her throat closed. She looked at the food, at his hands, and the room turned into a warm-coloured blur. A sob broke free and huge, hot tears ran down her cheeks, and then warm darkness took her in. "Shhhh, it's okay, let it all out, don't hold back" Mulder crooned, his arms tight around her for the second time that day, and she sobbed even harder into his shoulder, feeling gentle hands cradle and soothe her. She fell in deeper, pulling him closer and did as he said. She thought about the injustice of it all, felt the pain and anger and helplessness, and let it all pour out of her, not in words but raw emotion. She fell apart, letting him hold her together as she bawled, while the food grew cold on the table. When she quieted and her breath came almost even, he asked softly. "Better?" "I'm sorry," she whispered, "it's so unlike me. I never break down like this." "Your kid is sick, I'd be worried if you wouldn't." He said, his own voice not quite steady. Scully looked up and there were tears in his eyes, wet trails on his cheeks. "Hey, and why are you crying?" "You should never cry alone," he said and his eyes fell shut when she wiped his cheeks, "it's bad luck." "Who makes up these rules?" "Fuck if I know, think you can eat now?" She glanced at the cold pork, it still looked fine. "Yes, sorry about that." "Stop apologising for everything, it's bad luck." "Mulder?" She said, letting go and missing his arms instantly. "Yeah?" "Kiss me." Mulder grinned and leaned in, brushing her tearstained cheek. "For luck," he whispered and pulled up a chair to sit beside her.

They ate the second delivery while it was hot, packing up the first as leftovers and took their third beers to the couch. "You wanna watch something?" Mulder asked, jumping because he almost sat on the remote. Scully leaned on his shoulder, pulled her feet up and sighed. "I'm so full, I can't think right now." "Good." Mulder said and flipping through channels found Julia Roberts on third try. Short hair, ugly dress, Sally Fields. He changed it, and fast. "Thanks," Scully murmured. "No problem, let's see it we can find something safe," he chuckled, "like WWE." "Hokey," she chuckled. "Tenis?" "Swimming," she said, teasing, "young, toned and practically naked." "Did I tell you I was on the swim team?" "You have now." She giggled and snuggled closer. Mulder stopped flipping through channels, when he saw Mel Gibson feeding biscuits to a Rottweiler. "Lethal Weapon." "That's a very guy movie." "You've seen that one too?" "I have a son." She said, but there was no pain in her voice anymore, only drowsy, full stomach contentment. "Okay, so you pick a movie and I'll make popcorn." "You still have room left?" "For popcorn? Always." She took the remote and turned to look after him. 6 feet tall, he couldn't weigh more than 180. "You have a gym in the basement I should know about? Where do you put it all." "I lied, I never quit the swim team," he chuckled rummaging through one of the cupboards, "and I run." "Where?" "Oh, here, there, depends on the day, why?" "I might join you sometime." "You see, we do have things in common." He said and slammed the microwave doors shut. It whooshed and soon enough, began to pop.

She fell asleep, with her head on his shoulder and her whole weight leaned under his arm, and when the credits rolled and Sting sang how he'd lay down his life for a friend, Mulder thought, "You and me both, man." God, she was a beautiful, with her features relaxed, lips parted in sleep, and a stand of hair falling over her cheek. Awake she was too distracting, he couldn't keep up with her smiles and tiny frowns, she was a sensory overload, and he didn't even dare to imagine, what she'd be like to touch. If he tried, he wouldn't be able to stop, and after the day she had, she needed rest to regain her strength. He knew how to be patient. Shifting, he stretched out on the couch, never easing the grip on her, making her shift with him, and Scully went down with him. Wedging herself between him and the couch, half draped over his side, not even half awake as he pulled the blanket over them both. "Shhh, it's okay," he whispered, when she shifted to fit his arms more comfortably. "Kiss," she mumbled, "bad luck." "Right," and stifling a laugh, he kissed her forehead. "Goodnight." "'Night." She sighed and was out. Mulder clicked the tv off, and last ambers in the fireplace were the only light that was left. "I don't want to love you," he thought, but as he did, he knew it was already too late.

[frangipanidownunder]

Falling: fic

A/N This was written for the @just-fic-already workshop on love and romance, using this rubric. I chose a motel, a dog and the line ‘the forest isn’t the only place where ancient flora and fauna reside’. I couldn’t decide on sickfic, friends to lovers or first time, so it’s a little bit of all three! Tagging @monikafilefan and @ofmulder at their request.

It also responds to prompt 10 of the @xfficchallenges ‘come here Mulder, let me look at that’.

The motel looks like it was built out of dirt and animal hide.  She takes a long hard look at the front of it and then back at Mulder, who at least has the grace to look as disgusted as she does. The Dog Basket Inn – you’re always welcome to rest your bones here.

              “Sorry,” he says quietly and opens the door. “I know it’s not exactly the Hilton…”

              “It’s okay, you didn’t know we were going to end up…it’s only one night.”

              “We’ve survived far worse,” he says, but his shoulders round and he kicks at a pebble on the footpath, sending it skittering into the car tyre. “We keep surviving, don’t we?”

              The room is even more pitiful than the outside suggested. Grimy, ripped carpet, tawdry furniture, drapes with mould growing on the lining. She drops it back and a flurry of dust motes burst into the fluorescent light. “The forest isn’t the only place where ancient flora and fauna reside,” she says and he cracks his face into a half-smile and she feels her heart squeeze a little.

He’s had a rough day. Insulted and humiliated by the law enforcement team. Laughed at by the locals. Roughed up by a stray dog as they chased, and caught the perp, who turned out to be a teenage boy in a Sasquatch costume.

“Let me look at those bites again, Mulder.”

“They’re not bites, they’re just grazes. It was only being friendly.”

“It was a giant hound and it dragged you down like a wolf with a sheep. I think you need to take a shower and I’ll find some antiseptic lotion in my kit.”

“There are all sorts of ways of showing friendliness, Scully.” He looks at the door to the bathroom. It’s almost hanging off its hinges.

“Dogs wag their tails, lick you…”

“Sniff your butt,” he adds. “I know, all I’m saying is that there are lots of ways to measure friendship. That dog was all bark and no bite. Sometimes it’s actions not words that are telling.”

“Okay,” she says, pressing her hand to his forehead. He shifts slightly, closer. She blinks away the sad look in his eyes. “No fever, but you should take it easy. Go shower.”

              The bathroom is as gross as the rest of the room, with questionable green-grey slime festering in the corners. When he comes out, wet-haired and softer at the edges, she can see the scrapes down his back and shoulders. “Come here, Mulder, let me look at that. Oh, they must sting.”

              “They will after you’re done with me, Doctor Scary.”

              She dabs at him and he hisses every time she touches his skin. “Let’s hope you don’t turn into a werewolf, Mulder.”

              He mock-howls and bares his teeth. “If I were to transform into an animal tonight, I think a cockroach would be the wiser choice.”

              Laughing, she sinks down on the bed next to him. “Is the shower worth the risk to my health?”

              He holds his breath. Her cure came at a price. A piece of his soul. He’ll never forget or forgive himself, she knows that much. They’ve navigated a long and twisted path to reconciliation, after Antarctica, after Diana, after Padgett. Their friendship is deeply-rooted but there are fronds unfurling inside her that point to more. The question of what to do about it remains between them with each lingering look, each unnecessary hand to the lower back, each night in a motel with nothing but walls between them. They are closer than most friends should ever be.

              “You’ll have to use this, because it’s the only one,” he says, looking down at the rumpled greying towel covering his modesty. “And you do realise we’ll be sharing the bed too? Are you okay with that, Scully?”

              “I’m a big girl.”

              “Then don’t hog the blankets. It’s going to get cold.” He stands up and grabs a pair of jogging bottoms and a fresh shirt from his bag.

              “Friends don’t hog blankets, Mulder.”

When she comes out, he’s rustled up some beer, corn chips, a packet of Oreos and a video. “Movie night,” he says, grinning and taking the top off the Shiner Bock. “Maybe this is a sign we can turn this day around.”

              “The Fox and the Hound? Really, Mulder?”

              “Seemed apropos.” He settles next to her, back against the headboard. Their legs brush and he glances at her quickly. She sips her beer and tucks the chips between their hips.

              It’s not long before she’s cold and slips herself under the covers. He looks a little disappointed. She pats the top. “Come on then.”

              He grins, lifts the covers, and stretches his long legs under. “What you said earlier, Scully, about being friends?”

              On the small television screen, Tod is practising his lines to approach Vixey and they both end up talking over each other.

              “Yeah?”

              “Is…is that really what we are?”

              There’s a splash from the set and Tod is up to his neck in water trying to catch fish.

              “We are, Mulder. We’re friends.” Inside her, the words and feelings she’s kept down for so long are pushing up. It’s so hard for her, this sharing of emotion, declarations. He told her in the hallway those years before what she meant to him, he saved her life in a selfless act of heroism; and then he…His foot taps hers, a kiss of toes. She twists her face towards him.

His brow is crinkled and his mouth is glistening with beer. “Is that all we are?”

Vixey is laughing at Tod and he’s sulking.

“Do you…are you asking me if…we could be more?”

His foot tugs at hers so that their calves are hooked together. Despite the less than savoury surroundings, she feels so suddenly at ease, like they’ve been intertwined forever, and in some ways they have. His hand slips over hers and he rubs the tip of her thumb, as though he’s looking for it to ignite something.

“Is it something you’ve thought about, Scully? Because I’ve been doing a lot of thinking over the past year and you’ve been on my mind a lot. A lot, lot.” He brings their joint hands to his mouth. The cooler air is a shock but the moment his lips press into her knuckles warmth flows through her. “I’ve done some stupid things, some selfish things, and yet you’re still here. By my side. Literally.”

In her periphery, the dog is shielding his fox friend and she thinks about how her and Mulder have always been ferocious in their protection of one another. How they’ve always reacted without hesitation when needed. In the face of adversity and acrimony, they’ve stood strong for each other. Bonded by something without name, without end; a loyalty that exists inside and out.

“I think about it too. I think about you.” She lets him kiss the thin skin on the back of her hand. His face is so close to hers she can smell the beer on his breath, sweet and yeasty. If she leans in just an inch she could taste it, lick it from his lips. “I think we have nowhere else to go from here but forward.”

His lips brush hers and she closes her eyes to truly feel the moment. This is such a small gesture, mouth against mouth for a second, but it is seismic in terms of their momentum. It’s a shift that opens up so much potential. She feels her heart pump and her soul spill open, ready to give, ready to receive. Mulder is her friend, her best friend. It could be a disaster, but right now, in this grotty room, she sees only hope.

“Are we really doing this?” There’s wonder in his voice, awe.

She sniffs out a small laugh. “It looks like it.”

“In the Dog Basket Inn, huh?”

“Could we really expect anything different?”

“I’d like to take you out when we get back. Somewhere more…salubrious than this joint.”

Now she’s smiling. Tracing the contours of his face. “A date, Mulder?”

“With proper food and clean furniture.”

“Sounds fake.”

“I could mark my territory, if that’s more your thing. Shake my fur all over the place. Chew on all the table legs.” His face relaxes into a grin and she kisses him again, this time with more ferocity, more intent. It’s hard to let go, to pull apart. His fingers knead her arms and hers brush his Adam’s apple. Their feet are entangled and the covers are twisting around them.

“Do we take this slow, Mulder? Or jump right in?”

“I feel like if we went any slower, we’d be dancing backwards.”

She lifts a knee up and over his midriff, revelling in the feel of his taut body beneath hers. “Jumping right in,” she whispers and lets herself fall.