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television-overload · 8 months

Text

chance encounter

an X-Files Fanfic

Read on AO3

Summary: "Six months after becoming fugitives from the US government, Mulder and Scully have a chance encounter with someone that is very important to them."

Word Count: 6,556

Tag List (let me know if you want taken off or added!): @today-in-fic @agent-troi @baronessblixen @captainsolocide @cutemothman @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @hippocampouts @invidiosa @mulderscully @perpetually-weirdening @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @slippinmickeys @teenie-xf @whovianderson

It was him.

There was no way to explain how he knew, but he did.

The little baby sitting in the puddle deep water at the end of the pool was William.

His hands, still chubby like they had been in his infancy, splashed excitedly, and Mulder could hear his squeals of delight over the sounds of the other children playing. An electric yellow swim shirt paired with a dinosaur-patterned bucket hat kept him shielded from the hot California sun, and he wore striped yellow and blue swimming trunks.

Mulder thought he'd never seen a swimsuit so small.

What were the odds that of all the places they could have traveled to, he was here?

They'd been on the road for 6 months, stopping at unremarkable motels and campgrounds all the way, never staying in one place for more than a few days at a time. It was a fluke they were even here at all.

Perhaps fate.

The hotel was certainly a step up from their usual accommodations, but Mulder had insisted. It was their anniversary, he said. Anniversary of what, Scully wasn't sure. The progression from coworkers to friends to lovers happened so gradually that it was hard to pin down a particularly important date for anything. But he wanted to celebrate, to find a brief reprieve from living in darkness, so they splurged a little on this modest, if slightly run-down, hotel by the ocean.

Where their son and his new family just happened to be vacationing.

He'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about this possibility. In those nights where Scully was extra quiet, eager to fall asleep at the end of a long day, of course he'd lay awake and think, what if.

What if we found him? What if we saw our son again? What would we do?

The idea was so far-fetched that he hardly gave it any real consideration. His thoughts ranged from “steal him back, take him with us” to “pretend you never saw him and flee town.”

The urge to do the latter was strong. It was not safe here. They'd given him up for this very reason, what would be the point if their being here got him injured or worse? Was it really worth the risk to William? To Scully?

His next thought was 'Should I tell her?' Should he tell Scully he'd seen him? Would she want to see him too, even if from a distance?

The loss of their son had broken her heart. Broken his too, but not in the same way. She had spent months with him, almost a year, only to be forced to give him away with little time to prepare.

He knew she felt the loss like a phantom limb. Even all these months later, she still awoke with his name on her lips, panic written on her face as she looked around for him. It drove a stake through his heart every time, yet part of him felt he deserved it after leaving her to deal with it herself.

He watched the boy.

He'd only come out here to enjoy the sun, sit on one of the loungers for an hour or so while Scully took a nap in their room. It was a much more comfortable bed than they've had in a long time, though that wasn't saying much.

He hadn't bargained on having his whole world tipped upside down in the short time they were apart.

As stressful as it was, life on the road lended itself to relatively simple decisions. Fast food or canned? Motel or campground? Will you drive, or should I?

This was different.

Should he tell Scully?

The thought of keeping this from her made him feel sick. He couldn't do that.

Then again, would it hurt more to know? Ignorance is bliss, they say.

Mulder had never believed that, though.

The Truth, with a capital T, was the one thing that connected him and Scully. Though their beliefs and methods differed, they valued the Truth above all else. That was what drew them together. That was what propelled them forward, even now.

She had to know. She had to know her son was here, even if knowing might hurt.

She could make the decision for herself, whether she wanted to see him or get as far away from here as possible. It might be the last decision she makes as a mother, who would he be to keep that from her?

She might never forgive him.

Swallowing back emotion, Mulder stood to his feet, trying not to draw attention to himself as he made his retreat. His sunglasses thankfully hid the redness of his eyes, a small mercy in this endlessly unfair life.

He stole one last glance back at William. There was a chance this was the last time he'd ever see his son, his baby boy. If this was it, he'd treasure this moment for the rest of his life.

A woman dropped down beside William, showing him how to cup the water in his hands and throw it.

'A quick learner,' Mulder thought, watching as he gleefully tossed small handfuls of water in the air, giggling as it rained back down on him.

Okay. He could do this.

Find Scully. Tell Scully. Find Scully.

He rushed into the moldy-smelling hallway of the hotel, not bothering to take the elevator up to their floor. Instead, he took the stairs two at a time, finding himself out of breath by the time he reached the 4th floor.

He nodded politely at a passing family decked out in beach gear, not wanting to draw suspicion. Once they were gone, he gave a quick rhythmic knock on the door to let Scully know it was him, then slipped his key card into the slot to unlock it.

The room was still dark, the curtains drawn tight to block out the midday sun, and he could hear soft breaths coming from the lump on the bed.

His heart twisted involuntarily as it so often did when he looked at her.

“Scully,” he whispered, approaching the bed. “Honey, wake up.” He settled on the side of the bed, placing a gentle hand atop her shoulder and jostling her just so.

“Mm,” she hummed, curling into her pillow. A good nap, then. That was nice, at least.

He shook her again, saying her name a little louder. “Scully, you need to get up.”

This time her eyes opened, sensing the serious undertone to his words. He could tell she was waiting for bad news, for him to tell her they needed to leave again. Wanting to put her worries at ease, he tried to smile.

“What is it?” she asked, blinking at him in confusion.

“Uh—” he hadn't gotten this far in planning what to say. But she was waiting for him now, so he needed to say something quick. “Scully, I saw some people outside...”

“Government people?” she asked, sitting up suddenly, ready to start packing.

“No, not the government,” he said, placing his hands on her shoulders soothingly. “Scully—it's William.”

He could see the moment his words hit her. She blinked, like she might think she was still dreaming, but she saw the truth in his eyes. Her expression shifted.

He wasn't sure what reaction he expected, but his first guess wouldn't have been anger.

“Did you know he would be here?” she asked, her voice laced with hurt and betrayal. “Mulder, I told you not to look into it! Why—Why would you...”

“I didn't know,” he promised, begging the tears in his eyes to keep from falling. He clasped her hands in his, pulling them from their grip on the fabric of his shirt. “Scully, I swear I didn't know. I was just out at the pool, and—”

“You're sure it's him?”

His heart broke looking at her. Equal parts hope and dread, she didn't deserve this.

“Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure.”

She let out a shuddering breath.

“What do you think about that coincidence, huh?” he said, hoping to lighten the mood.

She shook her head.

“Mulder, we can't see him. It's not safe, it's not—”

“I know.” He didn't like interrupting her, but he didn't want her worrying unnecessarily about things she shouldn't. They had enough of that already, these days. If she didn’t think it was a good idea, he’d be okay with that. “We can leave, if you want. I just thought you should know.”

Her blue eyes met his, brimming with unshed tears.

“Is—Is he…?”

“He's beautiful, Scully,” Mulder answered her unspoken question. “He looks happy.”

She choked out a sob, and he immediately enveloped her in his arms, holding onto her tightly. She clutched at him like a life raft, and he ran his hand over her back in comforting circles, murmuring soft words into her ear.

“What do you want to do?” Mulder asked, knowing that time was ticking, and the little family might not stay out there much longer.

Scully sniffed.

“We could—we could go see him,” she said uncertainly, looking at him to decipher his thoughts on the matter. “From a distance.”

Mulder nodded, then stood, helping her to her feet.

“I'm with you,” he reminded her, grasping her hands tightly in his. “It'll be okay.”

With an arm slung around her shoulders, he led her out the door, this time opting to take the elevator down to the ground floor. Scully seemed nervous, almost frightened, and he didn't blame her. He tried to picture how he would feel if their positions were switched, and he couldn't imagine that he'd take it very well. Eventually, they reached the glass doors leading out to the outdoor pool, pausing for a moment.

“They can't see us,” Scully warned, looking anxious and ready to bolt, but she was glued to his side and scarcely able to move without his guidance. He nodded and took her hand, leading her out to a couple chairs in the corner, hopefully obscured enough by the shadow of the fence that they wouldn’t be seen. That bright neon shirt was still there, easy to spot, and Mulder felt tears rising to his throat again. This was the first time they had all three been in the same vicinity since those first few days when he was born.

He squeezed her hand, checking one last time to make sure she was okay. She searched his eyes, trusting him wholeheartedly, and he was certain he had never loved her more.

“Over there,” he said in a low whisper. “With the little hat on.”

Scully followed his line of sight, gasping when her eyes settled on the playful baby in the water.

What followed next was a sob, and he quickly lost his battle with the tears that stubbornly refused to go away. He wrapped his arms around Scully, offering her what solace he could, while his own chin wobbled miserably.

She alternated between sneaking glances at her son and crying into his shirt collar, muttering “Mulder,” desperately as he rocked her back and forth, his hand smoothing out her hair for her comfort as much as his own.

He couldn’t watch anymore. Seeing her like that... it made it hard to stay strong, but he needed to be. For her. He closed his eyes, pleading with the universe never to give her this kind of pain ever again.

When he opened them again, his stomach dropped to the floor.

The woman he'd seen earlier was looking at them, her eyebrows pinched in concern.

He cursed under his breath, his arms tightening around Scully. She was in no state to leave. The best they could do was avoid eye contact and keep to themselves.

But it looked like that wouldn't be enough.

The woman, William's adoptive mother, whispered something to the man she was with, nodding in their direction. His concerned face matched hers, and he nodded. With a sickening lurch, Mulder realized she was getting out of the water, wrapping herself in a towel and heading toward them.

It was too late. They'd been made.

“Scully,” he said, alarm creeping into his voice. She only had a moment's warning before the woman was there, glancing down at them with a worried frown.

“Is she alright?” William's mother asked, empathy oozing from her.

Mulder hurried to compose himself, knowing Scully was a lost cause at this point. It would be on him to get them out of this.

“She's fine, sorry,” he managed to speak, wracking his brain for a believable excuse. Best to stick close to the truth. “We—We can't have children, so—” he nodded toward their son, hoping she could fill in the blanks.

Looking behind her at the boy in the water, her face eased into one of understanding.

“Oh, I know how that feels,” she said, smiling consolingly. “Our son over there is adopted. Every day we thank God for blessing us with him. He's our little miracle.”

Scully grips him tighter, barely restraining a mournful wail. His heart sinks, knowing this interaction isn't going well at all.

He presses a desperate kiss to her hair, wishing he'd never exposed her to this pain. Wishing they were alone in the confines of their hotel room or car so she could let it all out without arousing suspicion. Wishing this woman, as kind-hearted and friendly as she seemed to be, would leave them alone.

“Are you sure she's okay?” she asked Mulder, brows furrowing again.

His hand rubbed up and down Scully's shoulder, and he nodded. “She will be. This is—hard for her.”

“Okay,” the woman said, not sounding fully convinced. “Let me know if there's anything I can do. Like I said, I've been where she is.”

“Thank you,” Mulder choked out, eyes flitting about, looking for their escape.

Through the gate. Through the hotel. Down to the beach.

“Oh, sorry,” William's mother spoke, turning back instead of leaving. “I never introduced myself. My name is—”

“No!” Scully stopped her, looking suddenly panicked and alert.

The woman startled at the outburst, jumping back slightly.

“Mulder, we can't know,” Scully said, looking pleadingly at him. “We can't know anything, we can't!”

“It's okay,” he said softly, coaxing her back from the edges of a total breakdown. “It's okay.” He looked back up at William's mom, smiling an unconvincing smile. “I think we'd really better get going. It was nice talking to you,” he said as he helped Scully to her feet. “Come on, hon, back to our room.”

It was hard to move quickly with Scully desperately clinging to him, but it wasn't the first time they'd been in this position. Once they got back inside, he'd run her a nice warm bath and apologize over and over for everything he'd ever done to hurt her.

They just. Had to. Get. Through—

“Wait.”

He froze.

“You're—You're his parents, aren't you? The ones who gave him up?”

Ice water filled his veins. He could feel Scully shaking like a leaf under his arm.

“We really should be going—” he tried, refusing to turn back around.

Her voice was closer now. “You are. I—there's so many things I've wished I could ask you. At least let me thank you. Please.”

Against his better judgement, he risked a glance back.

“Mulder, we have to go,” Scully begged, now standing on her own and pulling him by the hand. His feet were rooted to the ground, unable to take a single step forward or back.

“Just wait a minute, Scully,” he said, his brain running a mile a minute to calculate the amount of danger each potential course of action held.

He met the woman's eyes, serious.

“Look, this is not easy for her. For us. Our situation right now is—” his eyes scanned around for anything out of place, “We—We really shouldn't be talking to you.”

The woman stepped closer still, a pleading expression on her face.

“It was a closed adoption, I know. But—”

“I'm sorry. We can't.”

Scully looked exhausted, frightened, and sick all at once. Every second they stood there chipped away at her, the anxiety sinking deeper and deeper into her skin.

“You're right about one thing,” Mulder conceded, glancing over at his son and drinking in his unconcerned, innocent features.

The next words nearly choked him with sorrow.

“He is a miracle.”

They were meant to be parting words, a reminder to this woman to never take what she has for granted, but before he could move, a hand landed on his forearm, effectively stopping him.

“We'll let you see him,” the woman offered desperately, near tears herself. “Please. Just a few moments.”

And with that on the table, Mulder was torn.

On the one hand, this woman had offered them something invaluable: a chance to say goodbye, something they hadn't been able to do properly the first time.

On the other hand, it would be selfish. To put their son and his new family in danger simply because they got caught in a moment of weakness... it was unfathomable. He couldn't be responsible for more suffering. He didn't think he could bear it.

“Please?” the woman said again, squeezing his arm.

He had a decision to make. Glancing once more at Scully's crumpled face, he caught sight of the slightest hint of hope. A barely-there gleam that he'd tear down earth and heaven for the chance to brighten.

His decision was made for him.

Cursing his lack of willpower, he turned suddenly to meet the woman's eyes.

“Not here,” he whispered sternly, pointing in her direction. “Give us half an hour, then come to room 409.”

“409,” the woman repeated, nodding. “We will.”

Mulder hardened his jaw, giving one final nod before collecting Scully and hurrying off into the building without another glance back.

“This is dangerous, Mulder,” Scully said worriedly as they passed through the hall, though he knew deep down she was relieved that she might get to see her son again. He only hoped that this risk would be worth it, that they'd be able to find some semblance of peace here and leave feeling less like a part of them was missing when all this was over.

As soon as they entered their room, Scully broke down.

“Oh my god, Mulder,” she gasped, crouching low to the ground and covering her face with her hands.

He immediately dropped to his knees to help her up, ushering her over to their bed.

“Did you see him? He's gotten so big.” Tears streamed down her cheeks, a mix of happy and sad, and though he'd known Scully and her nonverbal cues for so long, he still wasn't quite sure what she needed right now.

“Yeah, I saw him, Scully,” he answered, pulling her into his lap and rocking her gently.

“Do you think they'll really come?” she asked, hopeful, but hesitant.

“We need to be prepared in case they don't,” he answered realistically, thinking of an entire squad of police cars surrounding the hotel with their flashing lights and sirens. “I can pack up the toiletries, you got the suitcase?”

She nodded, grateful to have something physical to do.

Mulder checked his watch. Twenty-five minutes. If they didn't come in twenty-five minutes, it was time to get out of dodge.

“I love you,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead, and then her lips. “I love you, Scully.”

“I love you too,” she answered, breathing deeply to calm herself. Checking one last time to make sure she was okay, he nodded and released her, each to their own assignments to ensure they were ready to make a quick escape if need be.

As the minutes passed, they became restless. They watched the clock, counting down the seconds until they should have arrived.

Their cutoff time came and went. Mulder was about to call it and give the signal to run, already gathering bags and suitcases, but the subtle knock on their door stopped him in his tracks. He held up a finger to his lips, gesturing for Scully to stay quiet while he checked the peep hole.

The sight before him caused his shoulders to slump in relief.

“It's them?” Scully asked hopefully, reading his body language.

He gave a cautious smile back, then unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door.

There they were, William’s adoptive parents.

And William.

It nearly took his breath away.

This close. They were this close to him, after thinking they’d never see him again. He felt like a dehydrated man in a desert stumbling upon an oasis when he was sure he was going to die.

“Hi,” the woman said, looking more uncertain now that they weren’t out in the open. Her husband looked similarly guarded, but they were here, that was all that mattered.

“Uh, come in,” Mulder said, finding his voice.

He stepped aside to allow them entrance, and Scully immediately stood from her seat on the edge of the bed, wringing her hands in front of her.

“I promise we’re not here to take him,” he assured them, closing the door behind them. “As much as we wish we could.”

Once the door was secure, he went to stand by Scully, placing a hand on her back.

“We were just passing through, I couldn’t believe it when I saw him sitting there in the pool.”

The woman nodded, still a little tense, but wanting to believe him.

“Small world,” her husband said, standing protectively next to his wife and child.

Mulder nodded.

“Look, there’s not much information we can give you. For his safety and yours, this is the way it had to be.”

“I always wondered where he came from,” the woman said. “I thought maybe a teen mom, or someone who just couldn't take care of him, but, you—”

“He was always wanted,” Scully spoke, finally able to speak for herself. Her voice came out strained, gasping for air between words. “I prayed for him for so long.”

Mulder's hand found hers, giving it a squeeze to lend her some of his strength.

“He was our miracle.”

The woman looked down, saddened by this news.

“But you were right,” Scully continued, steadying her voice. “We couldn't take care of him. Our life—it isn't stable enough for a child right now. It might never be again. So, I gave him up.”

“Didn't you have a family member who could have taken him? A friend?” the man asked. “Why a closed adoption?”

Scully shook her head, looking down at her feet. How she had wished she could have sent William to live with Bill and Tara, maybe even Charlie. But it wouldn’t have been enough. It would have only endangered more people she cared about.

“That's something we can't disclose,” Mulder answered for her. “But someday, when he asks, I want him to know...” He breathed, summoning the strength to form the words. “I want him to know that we loved him... so much.” With each breath he took, tears filled his eyes, clogging his throat until he wasn't able to speak anymore.

They would always love him, for as long as they lived. Giving him up wasn't going to change that.

“Well,” William's new mom said through tear filled eyes. “I can't tell you how much it means to us to have him.” Scully bowed her head, nodding along with a steady stream of tears. “I promise to take good care of him. He'll be safe and happy with us.”

“Thank you,” Scully whispered, unable to look the man and woman in the eyes.

“We've been worried about him,” Mulder admitted, “hoping he was alright...” He checked in with Scully, reading her like he was so good at doing, before deciding it was safe to speak for them both. “I think, seeing that he is... is a huge weight lifted off our shoulders.”

Scully gave a nod in agreement, looking up at Mulder with something of a promise. A promise that they would be okay, eventually.

“I can't imagine what you must have gone through,” the woman said. “But we are so thankful. He—I don't suppose you want to know his name?”

“No,” Scully said quickly. “I—we can't. I couldn't handle the temptation.”

The temptation to track him down, just for the chance to see him again. That was a dream that could never be.

“What did you call him?” the woman asked, and Mulder squeezed Scully's hand again, letting her know it was okay. It was a common enough name, there couldn’t be any harm in telling her the truth.

“William,” she answered. “His name was William.”

To hear it spoken aloud after all this time was a relief. It had been almost taboo the past six months, too painful a word to be uttered. But now, there was something freeing about letting his name hang in the air.

Letting go, Mulder realized. They had to let him go.

“Well...” the woman began again, smiling at them reassuringly. “William is such a bright and curious child. He loves building towers out of blocks and throwing things at it to knock it down. He—He has this stuffed fox he takes everywhere. They're practically inseparable. His first word was 'mama'. He likes watching baseball and hockey with his dad. He—He's everything we could have hoped for, and more. So, thank you. Thank you for making such a beautiful child for us to love.” Her eyes shone with happiness, the kind which Scully wondered if she’d ever felt. “I knew you had to be remarkable people, because he's a remarkable child.”

“And now we know where he gets those lips and that hair from,” the father added, lightening the mood as much as possible, under the circumstances. “He's covered in sunscreen, must be your genes,” he said, nodding at Scully with a smile. And wonder of wonders, she laughed, a sudden, unexpected thing, and leaned into Mulder's side.

“We should let you go,” Mulder said after a moment, hating that it had to be done. “We'll need to be heading out soon.”

“To where?”

“We can't tell you that.”

Will's adoptive father's eyes met those of his biological one, and a look of understanding passed between them.

Adjusting her hold on William, the woman spoke, glancing between them as she did.

“I wouldn't feel right if I didn't give you a moment with him.”

Scully's head snapped to attention.

“You've already sacrificed so much,” she continued, “And I trust you. You're doing what's best for—for William. I know you have his best interests at heart.”

Mulder wished, wished, wished he could honestly say it was in William's best interests to be with him and Scully... but it wasn't. The truth of their reality was such that it could never be. Not through any fault of their own as parents—but because of external forces working against them, desperate to tear them apart and leave them with nothing.

But they had failed.

Because what they had was more than nothing. They had each other. And though they would have to live with the knowledge that a part of them was missing, maybe after today they would be able to make peace with what they do have. To live life to the fullest given the circumstances they've been forced to survive in.

In truth, he hadn't felt this hopeful about the future since the moment Scully first placed his son in his arms. There was still a mountain of hardships to surmount, but it didn't seem quite as impossible as before. And it was all thanks to a chance encounter with their son, at the precise moment they needed him most.

“We'll leave you be,” Will's mother spoke, checking with her husband to make sure he agreed. “If you need us, we'll be downstairs having some coffee.”

Scully's brows slanted in worry. “You don't have to go, it's okay,” she said, wanting to stop them.

“You deserve some time alone,” the woman said kindly, shaking her head. “I can see how much you need it, dear.”

Scully's chin wobbled, dangerously close to another round of tears.

And then she was coming toward them, William perched on her hip. She deposited him right into Scully's disbelieving arms, and Mulder immediately felt his throat close, the sight one he'd seen almost every night in the most heart wrenching of his dreams.

This was what he'd hoped to come home to after his time in the desert. This was what kept him sane between bouts of torture in a prison cell. To see it now was equal parts fulfilling and painful.

“I can give you something, a guarantee we won't run off with him,” he choked out, working to free his wrist from his moderately expensive watch. William's dad reached a hand out and stopped him.

“We trust you,” he said with a sad smile. “We'll be back in an hour. Please, take all the time you need.”

And with that, they left the room.

As soon as they were gone, Scully's head dropped to rest against the strawberry blond locks of their son, and she let out a sob.

“William,” she breathed, pressing her lips to his head. He seemed unfazed, and part of Mulder wondered if he still remembered her. If deep down, he knew this was the woman who had once fed him from her own body, sung him to sleep in an off-tune melody, soothed him when he had nightmares...

It wasn't outside the realm of possibility.

The same couldn't be said for him, however.

“I can't believe this, Mulder,” Scully cried, her tears falling into his downy-soft hair. Mulder led her back to the bed, sitting beside her with their son on her lap. “Did you hear what they said? He's so much like you, watching sports on TV, knocking his blocks down... He'll be throwing pencils at the ceiling in no time.”

That brought a small smile to his face, and he leaned to his right to press a kiss to Scully's forehead, his hand falling into place on their son's back.

William leaned away, taking in the new faces with a curious tilt to his head.

“Hey, bud,” Mulder said, offering him a finger to hold. For all the time he'd spent thinking of what he'd say to his kid if given the chance, he was coming up short now that he was face-to-face with the reality. “I missed you so much,” he managed to say, “And look how much you've grown!”

William reached out, holding his hands up in front of him, and Mulder's heart leapt. Glancing at Scully for permission, he slid his hands under his arms, lifting him to his chest and nuzzling him close.

“Oh, Scully,” he said, beginning to cry again, feeling the weight of William on his chest, real and tangible. “Sometimes I thought it was all a dream. But we have a son.”

It was hard to think of him out in the world, when he was hardly more than an idea. But now—he had face to put to the name, a personality to remember. He had a son.

She nodded, watching them with a watery smile. He pulled back just to look at him again, to memorize those chubby cheeks and the way he smelled. The precise shape of his eyes, their color, still the same as his mother's.

“I'm so glad we stayed here, Mulder,” Scully whispered. “To think I tried to talk you out of it...”

“Fate was working its magic, Scully,” he said, cutting her off. “This was meant to be.”

For the next hour, they played on the floor together, using Mulder's keys as a toy to hold William's attention. He was walking now, and took turns toddling between them, excitedly holding the TV remote in one hand and squealing when they praised him for successfully making it without tripping or falling.

For a while, they could almost forget this wasn't real. That they weren’t on borrowed time, already risking things they shouldn't be for this blissful moment of being a family.

Mulder got to see Scully as a mother. She saw him as a father. Finally, they had the chance to step into those roles, feeling fulfilled in ways they never could have imagined. It went far beyond any truth that once lay hidden in the X-Files. Nothing in that office of theirs could have given them purpose like this. Only each other, and the life that was formed out of the love that was sparked right there in the basement of the Hoover building so many years ago.

Mulder had always wondered how it would sound to hear the words “da da da” come from a child's mouth, and to know they meant him. Though his babbling wasn't intentional, merely a repetition of the same syllables “da” and “ma” over and over again, he was soaking it in. Committing it to memory. Praying—because only something like this could drive a man like him to prayer—that his son would think about him. Would think about his mother. That he'd grow to know and understand and appreciate the heartache they suffered at giving him away.

That maybe he'd love them too, despite never knowing them.

And maybe.

Maybe.

One day, they'd see each other again.

It was getting late. Scully could tell it was past William's bedtime. She laid him on their bed, and laid down beside him on her stomach, content just to look at him and be near him for however much time they had left.

Mulder joined her on the other side, resting a hand on top of William's gently rising and falling belly.

“I love him more than I ever knew was possible,” he whispered, and noticed as Scully wiped away a tear.

“It hurts, knowing we have to say goodbye.”

Mulder nodded, reaching a hand over William to rub circles on Scully's back.

“But not as much as it hurt before.”

Mulder remembered how Scully screamed, when he first found her in that dirty, abandoned house in Georgia.

“Don't take my baby. Please don't take my baby.”

It was different now.

This time, it was on their own terms. Their curiosities were satisfied, the things they always would have wondered about.

Who he resembled more. What his voice sounded like. His smile and his laugh when he was happy. The way he scrunched his face when he wasn't.

But above all else: would he be okay?

And now that they knew without a doubt that he was? They could let him go.

As much as any parent could let go of a piece of their soul, their own flesh and blood.

He would always be a part of them. They would always wish things could have gone differently. But at least now, Mulder had had a chance to say goodbye. At least Scully wasn't being forced to leave him with little warning, worrying that she was abandoning him to an unknown fate.

A blanket of peace fell over this humble, outdated hotel room. And for the last few minutes they would spend as parents together, Mulder and Scully counted themselves lucky. For this time was a gift, far more than they could have ever hoped to receive.

The same knock from earlier sounded, and a heavy feeling settled in Mulder's chest. He dragged himself away from the bed, while Scully lifted the sleeping William into her arms and held him close.

“How did he do?” their son's mother asked, looking perfectly at ease in a way that calmed and reassured him.

“Great,” Mulder answered. “He—He's perfect.”

The time had come. Scully knew it too. They'd already stayed longer than they should have. He knew there was a long night of driving through pitch darkness ahead of them, and he really, really didn't want to go.

But he had to do what was right for his son. That was all he ever wanted to do, as a father. He just didn't want to be the one to break Scully's heart all over again.

“I guess this is it,” Scully said, sounding calmer than he would have expected. He knew her, though, and he could see the emotions brewing beneath the surface.

It would be a tearful night for both of them.

“Thank you for taking care of him,” she said to William's new mom, stepping fatefully toward her. But before she could pass him over, she paused, looking down at him for the last time in her own arms. “William?” she spoke, her voice strained. “Mommy loves you.”

“Daddy loves you too, baby boy,” Mulder said, never having referred to himself as such before, but wanting to know how it felt.

He cupped the sleeping child's head, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and then another, not able to convince himself that each would be the last.

“I'm so sorry, William. Be good for your mom and dad, okay?”

Scully leaned against him, her strength beginning to wane.

“Goodbye,” she said, kissing him desperately all over, playing with his socked foot and each of his tiny fingers. “I want to believe I will see you again someday.”

As they passed him over, together this time, William's new parents smiled tearfully.

“If—If he suddenly gains an interest in Bigfoot or the Loch Ness Monster,” Mulder began in a worried, cautionary tone, “just buy him some picture books. He'll be okay.”

Though it easily could have been a joke, no one laughed. In fact, the man and woman nodded, taking his advice to heart. He felt better knowing their son would be accepted, no matter who he grew up to be. The child of the FBI's most unwanted was sure to be a bit of a loner.

“And tell him he'll grow into his nose. Sort of,” he added, this time eliciting a small smile from Scully.

“I promise, we'll tell him every day how loved he is,” the woman vowed. “I'm glad we met you.”

“I'd call it a God-given miracle,” the man said, and he reached out a hand to Mulder to shake. “Stay safe,” he said, then catching sight of Scully's necklace. “We'll be praying for you.”

She nodded, unable to speak.

Mulder's arms suddenly felt empty. He could see Scully felt the same, wrapping hers around her own torso just for something to hold. He enveloped her in an embrace, holding tight to keep both her and himself from chasing after them.

“Bye,” the woman said over her shoulder, her worried eyes unwilling to turn away from the sad couple they'd met. She gave a small, consoling smile, and lifted William's pudgy hand to wave goodbye.

Mulder and Scully waved half-heartedly in return, smiling as genuinely as they could, and watched as they disappeared through the door.

Once they were gone, Scully turned into Mulder's chest and held tight. His cheek rested on top of her head, and they swayed, silent but for the sound of the ocean nearby.

“We're gonna be okay,” Scully said at last. “Mulder—”

She looked up at him, meeting his eyes with sincerity and love.

“We're gonna be okay.”

#x files #txf #xf fanfic #my fanfiction #fox mulder #dana scully #msr #msr fanfic #post-series #the truth #william mulder #jackson van de kamp #chance encounter

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whispersosoftly · 1 year

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In Defense of Hot Dog Fingers

There is something about EEAAO that makes it fundamentally impossible for me to condense into a manner I feel is concise-yet-informative enough to adequately state my opinion. The movie itself is addressing so many different-yet-important facets of the main character (Evelyn)’s life that to describe one requires the description of them all. This movie is a narrative about parenting, queerness, undiagnosed ADHD, broken families, generational trauma, marriage, failed marriage, and deep depression. It talks, in a very genuine manner, the sensation of being an immigrant, of being out of place both at home and afar. It talks of having to deal with the elder generation in a way that is respectful to the old and the new. Like all things in life, it is messy. It is sharp and brilliant and disorganized. And it is queer.

The Hot Dog Fingers section of EEAAO is one of the most viscerally unnerving portions of fiction I’ve had the pleasure to experience in quite some time. We follow Evelyn’s romance with her IRS agent, Diedre, as they navigate their life together as a lesbian romance in a universe where human beings have hot dogs for fingers. We see a “sex” scene of Evelyn and Diedre ejaculating mustard and ketchup into one another’s mouths. Jamie Lee Curtis (or a body double) play the piano with their toes. It’s a distinct and intentional diversion from the other universes we see Evelyn inhabit, where she is a chef, a singer, a scientist. Here, Evelyn falls in love with a woman. Here, Evelyn has a normal life. Here, Evelyn learns what love means in a way that is alien to both her and the audience.

The Hot Dog Fingers world is, in many ways, representative of Evelyn’s internalized homophobia and her lack of understanding of her daughter’s romance with her girlfriend, Becky. The concept of lesbianism– of lesbian sex, of lesbian romance, can only exist in Evelyn’s world in the same way that humans could evolve to have hot dogs for fingers. It’s a specific, marked moment in the narrative where Evelyn is forced to learn to recognize that love can be unrecognizable.

It can often be easy for parents or adults to assume that a particular perspective or lived experience is the way that things are done. Many times has ‘my parents did it to me, and I turned out fine’ been cited as an excuse for corporal punishment, for the restriction of privileges, or for the deliberate choice to not acknowledge a minor or younger person’s identity. In this narrative, Evelyn is allowed to experience love from outside her wheelhouse, in a manner that would never have been expected or made available to her. Hot Dog Fingers is the reason why Evelyn is able to approach Joy’s relationships with the confidence and knowledge that her daughter is pursuing her happiness, whatever that happiness may mean for her.

The second portion of this essay will concern itself with the sections devoted to being a rock. I feel it has an importance to the narrative as a whole as well as to the cohesion of the film itself. I will approach the cohesion of the film first, as I think it will lend itself toward explaining the narrative.

Some films, most notably to my mind Mad Max: Fury Road, rely on endless, thumping, writhing action. The entire film is set in a broad, open desert. The entire film is a chase sequence. There are no breaks. The rig cannot stop, or the heroes will be caught and likely die. They must reach the place where the mothers sleep. They must reach the end point. They must meet their goal.

Halfway through the film, the illusion of a green sanctuary is shattered, and for about ten to fifteen minutes, there is stillness. The baking sun sets. The rig moves, but the story can breathe. People talk. There is a moment or five to resolve oneself toward the eventual rising action and climax.

This stillness in narrative allows the viewer a moment of rest. One hundred and twenty minutes of constant action is enough to numb a viewer to the spectacle of it all. Movies like the Fast & Furious franchise or Mission Impossible rely on these spectacles to draw in viewership, but without built in narrative pit stops, it’s just a fireworks display of meaningless lights and fire.

The rock segments of EEAAO fulfill that narrative pitstop for the viewer. Almost all sound cease. Almost all movement ceases as well. There is no spoken dialogue, only subtitles that display in clear, large block lettering. EEAAO is relentless in the way that it introduces and supplements new visuals, and the two sections of rock are literal anchoring points that allow the viewer and the characters to breathe and to coalesce into their respective identities.

As a person with ADHD, I often find myself in a life that feels loud. Sounds, sights, sensations all clump and pile onto one another in ways that can be at times frustrating or obstructive. The actual, palpable relief I felt at the first rock sequence allowed me to think through all I’d seen and actually process the narrative. The silence was comforting to me. It literally felt like being put under a blanket and allowed to think during a busy day.

In terms of narrative, this is as close to suicidal ideation as the story toes. Joy wants to stop. Life and everything hurts her! She receives no support from her parents despite being told that they love her. She wants to cease. To be inorganic matter, unable to be hurt. She wants to have a literal, immovable, inviolable distance between herself and her mother. It’s a visual representation of the shattered relationship she has with Evelyn, and of her own measure of despair at ever crossing that gap.

The second use of the rocks is different, because by this point in the narrative, Evelyn can see Joy. Evelyn can see Joy’s pain. Evelyn can see that Joy’s feelings of isolation and of abandonment, while real, are surmountable. Evelyn takes that step and rewrites the world for her daughter. Evelyn looks at all the misunderstanding and trauma heaped onto her by Gong Gong and she says no. I will not do this to my Joy. I will not allow my pain and disappointment to carry on through her.

It feels as though every portion of EEAAO is a bit like a cotton boll, where I can tease and tug and pull at each individual fluff until my little narrative becomes a pile of interconnected thoughts, sensations, and experiences. Evelyn’s life and the multitudinous ways in which that life can be expressed cannot be covered in just these two scenes, but I feel the importance of those scenes vastly outweigh the jarring nature they may have to the viewer.

Thank you for reading. :)

#everything everywhere all at once #EEAAO #Evelyn #Joy #Analysis #hot dog fingers #hey qara look pls

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blurredcolour · 10 months

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You Arms Pull Me In Like The Tide Pulls Me Under | Part Three

Your Arms Pull Me In Like The Tide Pulls Me Under Masterlist

Dick Winters x Female SOE Agent!Reader

For the first time since you met, fate seems to be conspiring to keep you and Dick apart, forcing you to find new ways to remain connected to one another.

Warnings: Military Violence, Discussion of Injuries and Death, Separation, Fear, Discussion of Nazi Atrocities, PTSD, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Language, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Note: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal of Dick Winters by Damian Lewis. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within. Non-English is denoted in italics.

Word Count: 4568

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Bastogne – December 21, 1944

Grasping the handle of your F-S knife, Dick chopped at the thick layer of ice in the ammunition box braced between his knees, revealing the frigid water beneath. He planted the blade into the dirt at the edge of his foxhole, starting to spread shaving cream onto his cheeks as his friend Nixon threw back the tarp covering the next hole over.

He emerged into the milky light, the fog still thickly besetting the Bois Jacques, as he stumbled over holding out your scarf. Dick motioned with his head for him to set it on the ground beside him and Nixon simply sat down there himself. “Thanks for lending it to me.”

“You were shivering so much after your recon I could hear your bones rattling.” He muttered as he dragged his razor over his stubble, flinching at the chill of the blade each time it met his skin.

Nixon gave him a lopsided smirk. “Sure your girl won’t mind me borrowing it? It still smells real nice.”

Dick glared at him out of the corner of his eye. “I have half a mind to stab you with her knife.”

Nixon’s grin only widened. “The poetry of it would not be lost on me, I assure you.”

With an affectionate roll of his eyes, Dick quickly finished shaving before retrieving the scarf from his friend’s hand and wrapping it tightly around his neck, tucking it beneath the collar of his ODs. Nixon was right, there was still a hint of your scent woven into the fibres and he could only hope to hold onto it. Merely nine days ago he had left you on the platform in Paris, and not three days ago he had stood at the crossroads outside Bastogne, staring back to where he knew you slept safely in your bed, making a vow to keep it that way. Your body bore enough scars from this war, he would not permit the accumulation of any more.

His hands found their way into his pockets, lips twitching as his fingers brushed against the edge of your cap badge stowed inside the right one. Pressing it between his thumb and forefinger, his heart warmed somewhat against the chill of the morning. The eerie silence was broken by Lipton’s shouted warning of ‘incoming!’ and he and Nixon quickly threw themselves into the bottom of the foxhole to take cover as yet another barrage of artillery rained down on their position. Working the pad of his thumb along the grooves of the maple leaves, he took slow, steady breaths, focusing on each ridge, on the raised lettering, using it as a tool to ground him amidst the maelstrom that filled the woods.

As the chaos eased off, the men slowly began to emerge from their cover, and Dick took stock of the dead and wounded. It was a tedious and heart-rending routine they had fallen into since taking up this position. Reports given and calm restored for the time-being, Dick took advantage of the rare moment with no demands on him to delve his hand into the breast pocket of his jacket and retrieve your letter. The creases were becoming well worn, the words nearly memorized, but the solace it brought him was no less profound.

When, at last, supplies reached them after Patton broke through the German lines, Dick was both taken aback and yet somehow unsurprised when his correspondence from regiment included a bound packet of letters bearing your handwriting. You were a determined woman, and true to your word it seemed you had been writing almost daily. With your posting in Paris, and connections at Allied HQ, your letters had been delivered through military channels rather than civilian ones.

Ordering the runner to wait, he quickly dashed off a reply to you. He kept the message free of sentiment, knowing that it would be read by numerous people along the way, but was desperate to send something to you all the same. Folding it carefully, he addressed it to you care of Major Wilkes at Allied HQ, aware that he might receive a reprimand, but after everything he’d just endured the idea of that really held no fear for him.

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Paris – January 7, 1945

It had been an agonizing three-and-a-half weeks. More accurately, the last two-and-a-half had been pure torture while the first had simply been filled with longing. As promised, you had written letters almost every day and sent them through the Allied post office. Letters about the weather, the book you were reading, the cat that lived in the courtyard of your building. Mundane topics that would pass by the censors and were in no way what you had actually wished to talk about, but you had done your best to keep the contents light as all the magazine articles recommended a lady ought to do.

And sometimes it felt like you needed advice on the subject. On how to field strip a Sten gun? Absolutely not – you could and had done that in the dark with your eyes closed. But supporting a man in the fight while you remained in the relative comfort and safety of Paris had been an entirely new experience for you.

The news of the German assault through the Ardennes, however, had put an abrupt halt on the festive feeling that had been unfurling across a city ready to celebrate its first liberated Christmas. It had not been necessary for Major Wilkes to ask you to stay late that first night, rifling through any and all decoded intelligence awaiting your translation from German into English, desperate to find out just how they had blindsided everyone. Late nights had run into early mornings, with copious amounts of artificially sweetened coffee consumed to keep you alert, thinking back wistfully to the Benzedrine tablets you would have carried if you were still a fully functional SOE operative.

The news had been dire – 2nd Battalion of the 101st surrounded in the Bois Jacques above Foy in the brutal cold, woefully undersupplied, under near-constant artillery fire. It had been all you could do to keep Dick’s face out of your mind as your eyes had raked over page after page of German, writing your preliminary translations in pencil before sending them to be typed up in order of importance. There had not been enough of importance in front of you to make a difference, it seemed.

A knock on the door to your small, windowless office had sent you scrambling to cover up the avalanche of paper covering your desk, but Major Wilkes had stepped into the room with a reassuring smile.

“At ease, Sergeant, it’s only me.” He had set a new cup of coffee on your desk, making you blink up at him owlishly before you had murmured your thanks. “I wanted to bring you word that the 101st continues to hold the line. Your Captain and his men are doing an excellent job.”

You had pressed your lips together shyly to hear the Major refer to Dick as ‘your Captain’ but had managed a nod of thanks. Your commanding officer had been slipping you bits and pieces of information as they came in, continuing to impress you with the fact that he never seemed to miss a thing. He had barely run into you and Dick at that restaurant over a week ago and yet he had retained that information and since taken the time to keep you updated on Dick’s situation.

“I understand you visit the post office almost daily on your lunch?” He asked.

Looking to him sharply, it had become even clearer to you just how astute Major Wilkes truly was. You had known him to be an acquaintance of Colonel Buckmaster, head of SOE’s F Section, for that was the reason why you had been placed under his command when you insisted on continuing to make yourself useful following the explosives incident in Normandy. But it had become increasingly apparent that Buckmaster and Wilkes may have spent a great deal of time together in similar fields to your own.

“I do sir, yes.” You had replied, taking a sip of the fresh coffee he had delivered even though your stomach had rolled in protest; you had needed the caffeine to keep working.

“Might I suggest you bring the letters to me, and I will send them internally. God knows when the actual post will reach them.”

“Sir I…” You had stuttered, taken aback by the generosity of his offer.

“I see you in here sixteen hours a day, Sergeant. Don’t you think your letters will help him just as much?” He had raised an eyebrow and you had nodded slowly.

“Good, I expect to see the first one on my desk tomorrow at 0900 for mail call. And don’t stay past midnight tonight, you’ve done that for the last three days.” He had looked to you firmly and you had nodded rapidly.

“Yes, sir.”

The news of Patton’s break through had brought with it some sense of relief but it paled in comparison to that brought by the tattered scrap of paper which found its way onto your desk that day in early January.

Two sentences scrawled in pencil upon paper bearing all manner of stains and splotches that reduced you to tears of the sweetest relief. Dick was alive. Yes, the reports all said so but to see something addressed to you in his handwriting made it real.

The pace of the war seemed to change after that – time and troop movements speeding up immeasurably. The promised arrival of six fresh-faced CWACs taking up residence in your apartment, needing constant supervision on the worldly Parisian streets only served to blur your perception of time even further. Certainly, they had arrived with a captain and sergeant of their own, but not one of them had set foot outside Canada before, save a brief stint in England, and relied heavily on you to ensure they were able to make their way to and from their posting – mercifully in the same building as yours.

Feeling not unlike a mother goose with a trail of goslings behind her, you did your best to keep them out of trouble with locals, and soldiers alike, leaving you little time to enjoy your now regular correspondence with Dick. Nor the privacy, for their Sergeant shared your bed with another girl on a single cot crammed in the corner of the room, the other four girls sharing the second bedroom. Their feminine influence did prove useful in finally eradicating your habit of cursing, however, which you had been trying to accomplish for Dick’s sake anyway.

One evening in late February, the sound of Glenn Miller and his orchestra echoed from the kitchen, accompanied by their bright laughter as they cleaned up from dinner. The girls were more than a little distracted by practicing their dance steps with each other to prepare for a dance hall outing the following night. Shaking your head fondly you signed off on your latest letter to Dick, sealing the envelope with a few dabs of glue before walking to the front hall to slip it into your shoulder bag to post tomorrow. The sound of heavy boots on the stairs set the hairs on the back of your neck on end, even in liberated Paris, while the subsequent knock on the apartment door had your heart skittering against your ribs.

Several of the girls appeared in the doorway to the kitchen but you stopped them with the firm gesture of your palm, raising up on your toes to take near-silent steps before glancing through the peep hole of the door. The sight of the Officer’s Airborne patch on the garrison cap of the man outside had you clutching at the letter still in your hand tightly, but as he swivelled his head you were startled to see dark brown hair rather than the ruddy red you had been hoping for.

Pulling at the chain before unlocking the deadbolt, you tried to deny the feeling of your heart sinking through the floor. If something had happened, the reports would have told you. Major Wilkes would have told you. You exhaled shakily as you opened the door to see Lieutenant – No, Captain Nixon – standing on your doorstep with the distinct shape of a paper wrapped bouquet tucked into the crook of his arm and an envelope pinched between his fingers.

“Good evening, Captain Nixon.” You assembled what you hoped was a calm smile on your face.

“Ma’am.” He smiled in return, and you couldn’t help but note that the youthful softness he’d had about him in Normandy seemed to have been etched from his features. “With Major Richard Davis Winter’s compliments and regrets.”

At the sound of his voice, the girls flooded into the foyer behind you with all the subtlety of a herd of cattle, making you bite the inside of your cheek as you accepted the offered flowers and envelope.

“Thank you very much, Captain. Please convey my gratitude and understanding.” You swallowed, realizing now that though his battalion had been pulled back to Mourmelon-le-Grand for well-earned rest, it seemed you were not going to have the chance to lay eyes on Dick for quite some time.

“Of course.” He grinned, eyes dropping to the letter still clutched in your other hand. “Is there anything I might deliver to him in return?” He prompted with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh…oh!” You swallowed and quickly held it out to him. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

“My pleasure.” He nodded. “Have a good night. Ladies.” He nodded to the cluster of women behind you, earning a chorus of giggles and farewells before disappearing down the stairs.

Tucking the letter into the pocket of your skirt, away from prying eyes, you lay the bouquet on the dining table to gingerly unwrap the paper, revealing a dozen red roses. A collective gasp sounded from all seven of your mouths at the surely astronomical cost. The amount of personal funds that Captain Nixon added to the sum Dick had sent with him on his leave to Paris would be a secret he kept well beyond the end of war. The worn enamel pitcher from the kitchen suddenly appeared on the table in front of you along with a paring knife, the girls settling into the chairs and begging for you to tell them all about your Major and the handsome Captain he had sent with flowers in his stead.

Carefully trimming the end of each rose stem before placing it into the makeshift vase, you spun a tale of an accidental collision with then-Captain Winters at the train station. His friend Captain Nixon had been there too, and you had shown them around Paris to make up for causing such a ruckus on their arrival. Partially based in truth, by the time you got to the dinner and dancing, dreamy sighs reached your ears. Nestling the last rose in amongst the rest of the bouquet you smiled softly at how lovely the dining room suddenly looked, but the letter was fairly burning a hole in your pocket.

You were unspeakably grateful when their sergeant interrupted their barrage of questions with a firm reminder that the kitchen was still in a state of disarray, and though they let out a collective moan, they trudged back in to finish cleaning up. Mouthing a silent ‘thank you’ in her direction, you quickly slipped off to your room, shutting the door and tearing into the envelope somewhat savagely.

The personal tone of his letter, a clear indication of the level of trust he held in Captain Nixon to carry around such honest words, made your heart ache fondly. You wished that the letter you had placed in his friend’s hand was comparatively tender, but you had written it, as always, with the expectation that several others would be privy to its contents before it reached him. Re-reading it several times before tucking it away safely in the false bottom of your suitcase, you knew it was a piece of him you would hold onto for the rest of your life.

More surprises lay in store for you that month when the girls took it upon themselves to write to their superiors in London, recommending you for a promotion. A King’s crown was soon in place of your sergeant’s stripes to denote your position of Company 47’s Sergeant Major. It was a promotion which amused Major Wilkes greatly, seeing as you’d gained it through honest means, while your place as a CWAC most certainly was not.

As the Allies advanced into Germany in the early spring, however, it proved to be one of the few sources of amusement in your office. Certainly, the promise of an ever-closer victory in Europe was a spot of radiance on the horizon, but the flood of paper being returned for translation was unveiling a darker and darker truth of just what had happened under Nazi rule. You had heard the rumors, and seen their violence firsthand, but the liberations of the camps, the cold and calculated way in which these things were discussed in the documents before you – it was taking a toll.

The news of the German surrender had brought with it riotous celebration throughout the streets of Paris, but you had only felt a moment a quiet relief that Dick would no longer be subjected to enemy fire – for now. The battle of the Pacific still raged for the American army, and you could not help but dread the possibility of his redeployment there. Major Wilkes startled you on your way back into the office with just two days later with some news.

“I’m sorry to say, Sergeant Major, you won’t be remaining with your company much longer.” His eyes held their usual spark of mischief as they did whenever he spoke of your ‘company’ but you tilted your head curiously at his words.

“Sir?”

“Plans have been in place for the eventuality to see justice done in the face of the heinous acts I know you have been busy translating.”

You swallowed dryly and nodded in reply.

“We are to move into Germany as soon as possible, please return to your lodgings and pack your things and report back to me immediately.”

“Yes sir.”

It was easier said than done, navigating the streets still in the throes of celebration, but you managed nonetheless to gather your belongings and leave a note of farewell to the girls. By the time you returned to the office with your suitcase, the clerks had nearly finished packing everything into boxes and the twenty of you working directly under Major Wilkes made your way down to a transport truck to begin the long drive. Settling in for an uncomfortable ride, you did not concern yourself with the precise destination like many of the other staff who were whispering amongst themselves. ‘Germany’ would suffice for now.

It wasn’t until mid afternoon the next day when you arrived in Nuremberg, with pockets of the city relatively untouched by the air raids and invasion, that your curiosity was piqued.

“Nuremberg, sir?” You asked him as you worked together to unpack into a new set of offices.

“A hunch.” He said with a knowing grin, and you had a feeling there was an awful lot more to it than that.

Spring wore on into summer, the documents you worked on grew more disturbing, and the London Conference convened proposing an International Military Tribunal to take place in Nuremberg, confirming your suspicions about Major Wilke’s ‘hunch.’ Dick, it seemed, was enjoying his time as an occupation commander in the Alps – not four hours away and yet duty still managed to keep you apart. The office was growing busier, more cramped as men no longer required for the fight were able to return behind desks and take up the work of translation alongside you and your colleagues.

Despite the increasing volume of personnel under his command, Major Wilkes still managed to keep an eye on you, not missing the way you had developed a tendency to stare vacantly off into the corner of the room from time to time. Physically present yet taken back to some moment in time you’d been forced to bury for the sake of carrying on with the tasks before you – the face of the German soldier as he drove his bayonet into your side, the ten second plunge into the inky blackness from the belly of a silent plane, the wailing of that boy’s mother when you’d returned with her dead son draped across your shoulders.

“Sergeant Major?” He interrupted one such moment in mid-July, making you sit up straighter as you were caught red-handed.

“Yes sir?”

“My office.”

You stood quickly, feet briefly snagging on the legs of your chair making you struggle awkwardly before you were able to follow him into his office.

“Close the door.” He said firmly and you were quick to do so. “This is long overdue.” He muttered and held out a piece of a paper. “Seventy-two-hour pass to Austria. My apologies for the length of time it took to arrange it, as well as the short notice.”

You stared at it openly before he thrust it a little closer in your direction and you stepped forward to take it from him. “Th…thank you very much Major Wilkes.” You gulped roughly, holding it between both hands as though to protect it.

“Now I have it on good authority there is a supply truck departing for Zell Am See at 1030 whose driver would not be opposed to a passenger. You’ll find the address tucked inside of your pass. It will most likely not be so easy to make your way back, which is why you have seventy-two hours. You’d best be on your way, Sergeant Major.” He smirked, leaning back against the edge of his desk.

You could not help the smile that stretched from ear to ear, nodding rapidly. “Sir, yes sir, absolutely I will be back on time I swear it. Thank you very much, sir.” Turning quickly, you nearly raced out of the door before reminding yourself to walk at a calm pace in front of your colleagues. You grabbed your shoulder bag from the bottom drawer of your desk, locking up the documents you had been working on, and snagged your uniform jacket from the back of your chair before making out way out through the main door of the office.

It was only once you were out in the hall that you began a mad dash for the entrance, not even having the time to return to your billet for a bag. You checked the address on the slip of paper inside your pass before running almost all the way there, drawing far too much attention to yourself – and not caring in the least. You arrived with ten minutes to spare, a sticky mess beneath your woollen uniform, finding the driver who helped you into the cab of the supply truck. He was a gruff, middle-aged man, but after you caught your breath, a few well placed questions easily drew him into telling his life story, filling the time as you wound your way higher into the mountains that Dick had described in his letters.

It was mid-afternoon by the time you arrived at the supply depot in Zell Am See, but you still had yet to reach Dick’s lodgings. Truth be told, you hadn’t even told him you were coming; there was a chance he might not even be there. Walking down the side of the road toward the hotel you knew they had requisitioned, you swallowed as you heard a jeep pull up beside you, rather missing the reassuring weight of your knife at your hip.

“If that man doesn’t sing you ‘Kiss Me Goodnight, Sergeant Major’, he’s just not living his life to the fullest.” Your eyes widened as Captain Nixon grinned up at you from the driver’s seat.

You let out a bark of laughter, though the accompanying smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I’m impressed you recognize my rank badge…” You couldn’t help but admit.

“Used to be my job to know things.” He muttered, a touch of sadness in his voice.

“Not all it’s cracked up to be, knowing things.” You trailed off in a similar tone.

“I apologize I don’t have any flowers on me this time.” He tilted his head with a smirk, breaking through your melancholy silence. “But climb in, I’ll drive you the rest of the way.”

You quickly slid into the front seat beside him, thanking him profusely as he took you up the winding road to the hotel and through the checkpoint with ease. You followed him inside the building, removing your cap with its replacement badge, and up the stairs before he gestured at the door to room 308. Feeling suddenly nervous, you glanced over to Captain Nixon only to see him walking away down the hall.

“Captain Nixon where are you going?” You whispered after him anxiously.

“Trust me, he’s seen enough of my face.” He winked and disappeared into another room a few doors down.

Taking a fortifying breath, you raised your hand to knock.

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

Read Part Four

Your Arms Pull Me In Like The Tide Pulls Me Under Masterlist

Tag list: @allthingsimagines, @bcon24

#dick winters x reader #dick winters #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers

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fizzigigsimmer · 2 months

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New Ask Game for Writers 🪷

Very low-pressure rules: Tell me which fic of yours was the most fun to write (if you want to). Like, which one did you have a blast writing? Feel free to share, to rec, to tell us WHY they were fun, etc.

tagged by the amazing @bigdumbbambieyes!

It was a lot harder to come up with an answer for this question than I expected. I have a lot of fun with everything I write, but some fics are more challenging than others. Doesn't make them less fun for me, though and the challenge can be it's own type of fun.

lol so I had to tell myself to stop overthinking it, and surprising even myself I am going with my Harringrove Hannibal AU: He Who Holds The Devil. I love NBC's Hannibal and little plot bunnies for a Harringrove exploration of that narrative had been hopping around in my head for awhile. It's dark subject matter, a serial killer falling in love with an FBI agent and seducing them into the dark...but man is it DELICIOUS! The show lends itself really well to the Stranger Things Universe due to the way it uses magical realism to explore its characters psyche but I'm not gonna lie, writing was tough.

It was challenging because I had to find the right tone so that it felt like the show (Hannibal) which is steeped in prose and is very cerebral, but also make sure it still felt like Stranger Things. I also discovered for myself how difficult it is to give the devil a love story. Violence and death at every turn, but somehow you're still invested in whether they will or they won't find their way to each other.

I loved writing Steve as the wolf in sheep's clothing. A deeply flawed anti-hero who desperately hates himself and is just as desperately trying not to be a total piece of shit. He's an unhealed victim. Broken bad. He's games the system. He toes a line and pretends at a moral code he abandoned years ago. A manipulator, but not yet a predator. He hates that he wants to be.

And I will tell you right now, Billy begs for a chance to be written as THE WORST and still somehow the one character you want to win. The fun I had with this. Hehe I literally stop what I am doing once a day to jot down some little thought I had for the sequel because Billy this way is just SO GOOD. The things he does, and the lengths he's willing to go to purely for the pleasure of doing it had to be horrifying, while also maintaining his humanity. What's more, I had to figure out ways to make the reader question everyone else's humanity - whether or not he's right and we all might just be a little bit monstrous. I live for philosophical debates on morality so this was like a huge playground for me.

So yeah, I got to write Billy and Steve at their worst and most unhinged, while still being absolutely INSANE for each other, and it was a great time.

This was also my first big bang project and I got partnered with two great artists, and @robthegoodfellow came in clutch as a beta reader. And honestly, getting to chat with them, and also everyone on the discord was so enriching on top of being fun. Being able to share the experience with others as I tackled my fear of big bangs was amazing.

my no-pressure tags: @adelacreations @medusapelagia @dragonflylady77 @spaceofentropy

#tag games #Harringrove #He Who Holds The Devil #Harringrove Hanibal Au #Serial Killers In love

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dysthanasia-series · 6 months

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Character Intro: Kinslayer

Age: Younger than dirt but older than most calendar systems

Birthday: N/A (see above)

Pronouns: In no particular order, she/he/they

Affiliation: The Dark Dreamers

Strengths: Experienced, insightful, dogged

Weaknesses: Wrathful, infamous, burdened by a terrible fate

There's a name that all Coven agents dread to hear. A monster that other monsters check under their beds for: Kinslayer. The world's only class one psychic vampire is mentioned in fearful whispers, if anyone dares to speak of them at all. Few beings have the nerve, power, and experience to stand alone against them.

Yet this terror of the supernatural world is on the contact list of one Renato Faria Dimas, bloodborn. When his mission at the Broken Coast goes awry, Kinslayer shows up, at his request, to lend a hand--for a price, but who even knew they had services for sale? Perhaps it's less a price and more a bond over whatever happened the night one of the Unseen Hand's members was murdered.

Or, more likely, Kinslayer has their own agenda at the coast, just like everyone else these days. Whether Renato (or the human researcher he's dragged into the whole mess, for that matter) are cogs in their plans remains to be seen.

Story Intro

Patreon | Ao3

Dysthanasia Supplementals Taglist (Sign up or ask to be +/-): @thecyrulik @thatndginger @space-writes @scoundrelwithboba @extrabitterbrain

Other Character Intros:

Isaac

Renato

Elfy

Dorian

#dysthanasia #urban fantasy #writeblr #character intro #character moodboard #character profile

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wildissylupus · 1 year

Note

I don't know if you have already answered this, but what do you think Sombra is doing with Jack in Heroes Ascendant?

I have talked about this with a mutual but I do have some updated theories on what is going to happen.

Now the description of this story is "Mohale Mashigo lends fresh perspective to Ana and Jack's relationship as they weave through a broken Istanbul to meet with an informant, one who claims to have knowledge of what brought down Overwatch all those years ago."

Which... explains what Sombra is doing with Jack in the short story, but here's the thing. I don't think this is the story this description is talking about. I think it's the one on the cover that shows Ana fighting a Null Sector Drone and the Sombra story happens after.

Now lets get into motivation, we already know Jack but what about Sombra. What does she benefit from telling Jack about what really happened with Overwatch. I have two theories that feed into each other, one, having a super soilder in your corner is a really good asset, not only that but Sombra could also want information on SEP, information that she might not be able to get from just hacking into files. Two, she wants Jack's help in getting Sigma out of Talon, we already see through interactions that Jack want Sigma to leave Talon, Sombra is aware of the manipulation and abuse he is going through, and Sigma seems to know a few Overwatch agents from before the accident.

Sombra might want, in exchange for the information she has, Jack to help her rescue Sigma and get him to Overwatch. Not only would getting Sigma to overwatch get him to people who would genuinely help him, but also put in the vicinity of a support network.

#overwatch #overwatch 2 #overwatch lore #overwatch headcanons #analysis #sombra overwatch #sombra #olivia colomar #overwatch soldier 76 #soldier 76 #jack morrison

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neutralskeptic · 4 months

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My Mild Disillusionment with #fixtf2: A Rant

So, I'll be frank. I've already been skeptical of this movement's efficacy for a while. Sure, it has a lot more backing than savetf2 and it seems like it'll follow up on its initial demands unlike the first movement, but I doubt Valve is going to handle it immediately, if at all, especially when they already have Deadlock and CS2's bot problems to deal with. Nevertheless, I've always sort of kept an eye on it, lending a signature to their petition and keeping an eye on their movements. What's really broken the camel's back for me, however, and has sapped away at my faith that fixtf2 will do anything constructive, is the way a recent point of controversy was handled. So, context for those of you out of the loop. To further spread awareness of the FixTF2 movement, Megascatterbomb (who I'm pretty sure you all know as the guy behind TF2's largest cheater database and who's been spearheading efforts against the bots) sent an open letter to Valve in their Source 1 game bug tracker. Pretty expected stuff, with Megascatterbomb (who I'm hereby gonna abbreviate as MSB for brevity's sake) asking his Discord followers to upvote that open letter.

Well, it was all going well until this happened.

For a former Linux user like me, who's dug through many GitHub issue trackers, this is expected. When the maintainer of a GitHub repo redirects you to an existing issue, in the majority of these cases the maintainer is simply trying to prevent the amount of duplicate issues from becoming bloated, not ostracize the person reporting the issue. To loosely reference Big Smoke: all they had to do was follow the link to that existing issue, and they'd be fine. Sure, it would mean that it would be harder for Valve to see, but I'm pretty sure that the resulting activity on that issue was enough to get their attention. But no! Instead, this is what they initially did.

It doesn't help that from what I've heard, bot hoster groups have sleeper agents inside MSB's Discord, allowing them to easily screw things up even further and muddle the issue up. The final result? Hell sorta broke loose in the thread, Valve closed that issue in the end, MSB changed the message in the above screenshot to remind them not to bloat the issue—most likely to save face, and finally, issue #3477 on the Source 1 bug tracker has recently seen a bunch of hapless fools trying to scream at a brick wall as they fail to grasp the larger nature of the bot problem. Is this the impression we want to give as a community? Do we want to repeat the poor relations and miscommunication between Valve and us that caused End of the Line and Invasion to flop? Ugh. Team Fortress 2 will still be one of my favorite games of all time, but I doubt that the community is going to accomplish any meaningful change at all, especially now that they've really soured their relationship with Valve. I just hope that the damage this does isn't that prevalent, as it's a real shame that a lot of the people involved are thinking so one-dimensionally that they can't grasp simple things like getting redirected to another open issue on GitHub does not mean that the repo owner hates you or that bot hosters can do more than just make disruptive, blatantly obvious aimbots. I'm very sorry for saying this, but I can somewhat confidently say that #FixTF2 might be doing something to TF2 that starts with an F, yes. Fucking it over.

Hopefully the community can at least push back and make up for a mistake as simple as this.

Alright. Rant over. Synchronize your death watches, and let's hope that Valve doesn't take too much offense at this. Farewell, and may luck always follow in your endeavors. :)

#rant #rant post #sorry for the rant #fixtf2 #team fortress 2

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piedpiperslists · 2 years

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Taehyung One Shots (XXVIII)

* s - contains smut

It's Sweet by @here2bbtstrash wc~4.3k / FWB Summary: You forgot to call out sick from your dick appointment, but he stays anyway.

Feedback by @yminie s wc~11.1k / ft JHS, friends au, PWP Summary: You’re feeling a little insecure about something your friend had said, and your besties Tae and Hobi are there to help you out.

Heat Index by @boymeetsweevil s wc~2.7k / established relationship, PWP Summary: The town being in a heat wave puts Tae’s in a bit of a love drought. But even still, he makes do and (kind of) does you.

Acquainted by @dewykth s wc~2.3k / angst, motorcyclist!Taehyung, married!reader, unrequited feelings Summary: There he goes again. Wishing for too much. Silly boy, doesn’t he already know he will never have you the way he wants?

Crazy for You by @oddinary4bts s wc~46.8k / best friend's brother, idol au Summary: You’ve known Kim Taehyung your whole life. When you meet again at a party hosted by your best friend, alcohol looses your lips and you spill your secrets to your childhood crush. Will Taehyung give in to your desire, or will you be struck by remorse?

Dickless by @moni-logues s wc~11.1k / enemies to lovers, infidelity au, PWP Summary: Your boyfriend won't go down on you and it is a Problem. Fortunately, your friendly neighbourhood fuckboy (or is he??) Taehyung is there to lend a mouth hand.

The Red Bullet by @hobipost s wc~3k / rogue!Taehyung, NIS agent!reader, PWP Summary: His fingers shouldn't do what they do, nor should his words. You shouldn't be on the receiving end of his desire, too, but it seems like forbidden fruit is the sweetest.

Illicit Affairs by @indgio s wc~15.6k / brother's best friend, FWB Summary: Entering a friends-with-benefits relationship with your brother’s best friend is not at the top of your list of smart decisions. But you’ve never been able to say no to Kim Taehyung, even when you definitely, definitely should.

Wounds by @honeyyvee wc~4k / angst, childhood friends au Summary: You go back to your hometown for the holidays and reunite by chance with an old friend, only to part from him again.

Where It Hurts by @honeyyvee s wc~6.2k / roommates au Summary: You come home late night to your shared apartment with a broken heart. The hurt, and touch-starvation, spark in you a terrible idea.

#kth list #taehyung oneshot

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shadows-of-a-memory · 7 months

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gary "eggsy" unwin

back to kingsman masterlist

romantic

one-shots

the tragedy of lady dindraine

the depressing thing about kingsman is, almost every agent lives up to their codename in that they pretty much all die in arthurian legend. but enough exceptions have lived to retirement that, like every other naive kingsman recruit before you, you hope to be an exception yourself. so why are you so surprised when you aren't?

only a bruise (to keep the cycle going)

(tw mentioned physical abuse, not on-screen) eggsy cares for his childhood best friend a normal amount. which is why he's happy she's with someone she cares deeply about. except when he sees her with foundation with the same dark undertone his mom wore like chains, he refuses to allow her to fall into the same cycle as michelle. that's the only reason... right?

i don't need a roof

(song fic) you remind eggsy that it's not the roof that matters, it's the home.

series

maybe it's perfect, maybe it's incredibly flawed

(mcu crossover / stark!reader) the problem with being a kingsman... well, kingswoman... is that spyhood doesn't lend itself well to romantic relationships. or, really, relationships in general, if your broken familial ones splintered by your lies counts for anything. but the minute you finally settle down, begin to rebuild a life, your past comes a-callin' in more ways than one.

the life of lady grisandole

(mcu crossover / stark!reader) just a collection of one-shots in which you are eggsy's wife, not a kingsman agent, but with more than enough lies to bury you alive.

the grandmaster's queen

you've been trying to find a way out for a while now. a way out of the arranged marriage you're trapped in, a way out of the criminal underworld in which your abusive husband seems to thrive... but you've yet to find a way. after so many years, you've almost given up hope. enter a secret organization called kingsman, and a sweet agent code name galahad, and maybe that hope starts to return... that hope, and even a little bit of a crush. hope, that is, as long as he doesn't discover the rest of the secrets you're hiding.

platonic

one-shots

it's not your fault

as eggsy's unofficial sister, it's your job to be there for him... especially after his mentor and father-figure dies.

series

none yet

#navigation

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pjstafford · 1 year

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A New Appreciation of Folie à deux (An X Files 30th Anniversary Blog)

Folie à deux is the 19th episode of the fifth season of The X Files.

The X-Files is simultaneously credited for influencing the development of long-form television through its story arcs and criticized for lacking continuity through the 12 seasons and two movies. Both things are valid. As an original viewer of the nineties, I did not always notice the lack of continuity because at least a week, sometimes years, passed between the airing of episodes that brought up continuity episodes. For instance, in season two Mrs. Scully tells Mulder the story of giving Scully her cross for her birthday, and in the fifth season Scully remembers receiving it for Christmas. In my original 90s watch as it aired, I understood the significance of Scully's cross by the fifth season but did not remember the exact story details told in the second season. In today's binge culture, the lack of continuity becomes more apparent. Yet one of the reasons I keep rewatching The X-Files is because it lends itself so well to binge-watching. This is because of details we might have missed in previous watches.

By watching Folie à deux just a day after watching The Pine Bluff Variant I noticed that Mulder's fingers were still bandaged as they had been in The Pine Bluff Variant when his fingers were broken while being tortured in an interrogation. Throughout The X Files series, the agents are routinely shot, scratched, bruised, suffer broken bones, and, unless the episode is a two-parter, appear the next episode apparently completely recover. The injuries or events that are referred to in later stand-alone episodes are notable. Why, then, does Mulder have his fingers bandaged in this episode?

@colcrosbie on Twitter suggested that the actor, David Duchovny, had injured his fingers and that's why they were bandaged in both episodes. From an interview with John Shiban who wrote The Pine Bluff Variant, there was specific discussion over which fingers should be broken in that episode which discounts that suggestion. However, @CatherineGlins2 shared the Vince Gilligan-written script for Folie à deux with me and, in fact, it mentions nothing about Mulder's fingers being broken. So, it is possible that David Duchovny injured the same fingers in between the shooting of the episodes. If so, it is a fortunate coincidence. One other note on the version of the script I read and the episode as it aired is that the reason Mulder is distressed by the assignment to do a risk assessment is that he is currently investigating crop circles. He will later investigate crop circles in a seventh-season episode written by Gillian Anderson, but it is not mentioned in this episode.

The Pine Bluff Variant and Folie à deux are stand-alone episodes that do not seem to be related. However, seeing the episodes so closely together and noting that Mulder's fingers are bandaged changed and enhanced my appreciation of the episodes. In The Pine Bluff Variant, Mulder is under-covered infiltrating a terrorist organization. This means he is in considerable danger and keeping the secret at the beginning of the episode from his partner, Scully. He has to pretend to sympathize and cooperate with the group including participating in a bank robbery and, in addition to his fingers being broken in interrogation, is asked to kneel with his hands behind his head in anticipation of an execution-style death. He hears the gun sounds, but he is not the one killed. He sees the person that has been killed beside him. These are traumatic events.

In Folie à deux, Mulder is upset at being assigned a risk assessment at a call center where an employee has threatened violence due to "monsters". He feels his time is being wasted and is distressed at being seen as the "monster" investigating agent. This has always struck me as a very odd response from an agent that has easily deflected any insults at being called "spooky" in previous episodes. In his rant to Scully about why he is upset, he rubs his forehead for several minutes and the injury from the previous episode to his fingers becomes visible. I was instantly reminded of everything he had experienced in the previous episode and realized that it was probably too soon to have him working in the field. The fact that he tells Scully she does not need to come with him might be further evidence that he is experiencing some Post Traumatic Stress and trying to distance himself from a support structure (not an uncommon response to PTS). Then, once again, Mulder is put into the position of being taken hostage, his life is put in danger, and he sees someone shot in front of him. While he handles this experience admirably, afterward Scully tells him he looks exhausted and, instead of Mulder resting from this trauma, he doesn't sleep, and believes that monsters and zombies have taken over the call center. He makes a map of the call center supervisor's movements throughout the years and when he enters the gunman's apartment we see the same map. Even though we see the monsters, at the point where Mulder is hospitalized and restrained, we might believe we are seeing Mulder's delusions and that he has, in fact, finally snapped.

Remembering the events of The Pine Bluff Variant even helps us understand why Scully is reluctant to fully examine the body of the victim shot by the gunman during the hostage situation. Scully is the skeptic in episode after episode but is generally willing to examine the evidence. In The Pine Bluff Variant, she is removed from the work that Mulder is doing undercover and not working beside him in the same way and, then, is told by Mulder initially in this episode that she does not need to go with him. While in both episodes her need to protect Mulder is prominent, her trust in him wavers. Even at the end of this episode, after Scully has seen a zombie and a monster and has saved Mulder's life and there is reason to believe that Mulder was correct based on the missing supervisor and several employees of the call center, she still tells Skinner that it is a case of Folie à deux. She no longer trusts herself or Mulder at this point.

For me, whatever the logistical reason behind Mulder's fingers being bandaged, watching these two episodes close together and seeing this small continuity between the episodes gave me a new appreciation of both episodes.

This is the thirtieth anniversary of The X-Files Series. There are two fan events planned. While I, unfortunately, will not be attending those events, I will post occasional blogs about the series during my watch to commemorate the anniversary of this series.

#xfiles #the x files #david duchovny

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stardustandash · 1 year

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Get By With a Little Help - Jedi Survivor

Summary: The many times the folk of Rambler’s Reach lend a helping hand to their resident Jedi, and a few times he helps them in return.Or, a series of short vignettes of Cal interacting with the folk found around Koboh.

Chapter 1 below the cut, if you prefer ao3 reading, this is the link! (Please drop in and leave a comment if you like it!)

Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort

Koboh isn’t the kind of place they write about in the Core to lure rich travellers somewhere to empty their pockets. It’s the kind of place that you end up in when you’re either running from something or too naïve to understand why the planet is so deserted. Unless you’re Turgle, who came here specifically to swindle fools, but Doma wasn’t Turgle. She’d once been a prospector, full of foolish dreams of striking it rich on an untapped planet. Then her partner had died and she had found herself alone on a backwater planet without a ship or hope of anything.

Then Doma had happened across the barest bones of what was once an outpost, and she has never been a quitter. She rallied a few prospectors and rescued a few others, and over the years a little town grew in the shade of the mountain and nestled against the slow, wide river. Others began showing up too. She didn’t care much about who was coming in back then, she still doesn’t now, as long as they aren’t raiders or agents of the so called Empire that’s burning their way through the rest of the galaxy.

So when a Jedi of all things lands at her doorstep Doma hardly blinks an eye, just gives him the lay of the land and sends him on his way. The kid seems halfway between polished and rough, but he helped out Turgle and that is enough to endear him to her somewhat. That and the priorite he has lining his pockets. Doma may be kind, but she isn’t a fool. There’s nothing that makes the galaxy go round more than getting what’s owed from credits to justice. She might have a few things a kid like him would be interested in, and she makes sure they’re on full display when he comes into Dendra’s Antiquities.

When he enters it’s a bit more energy than she’s used to from the folks around here. Not from the kid, exactly, but his little droid. The thing bounces off his shoulder and starts scanning any and everything around the shop. She watches the duo curiously from behind the counter as they inspect some old tools that Mosey’d found on an unlucky prospector over in the gulch then move on to a broken toy tooka. Not that there were any kids around to play with the thing, but you never know. Maybe the kid needs something softer than the droid to sleep with. He passes right over all the things Doma had laid out to tempt him to trade and eventually lands on the other side of the counter.

“Is there anything I can help you find?” asks Doma, slow and inviting.

“Yeah, actually. I was wondering if you have any clothes in here? I don’t mind used if that’s all you have,” says the kid. The look on his face says that he would actually mind very much but is either too desperate or too polite to say otherwise.

Doma gives him a once-over, taking in his appearance in the close proximity. While his face is clean and his hair has seen a wash sometime in the last few days, the state of his clothes say that they’re the only ones he’s got. Her eyes can pick out the lines of mending stitches beneath dirt that’s been ground into the weave of his shirt. The vest he’s wearing has seen better days too. So have his pants and boots. Probably the only set he owns then, Doma concludes. He must be one of the on the run types. Not that the Jedi part didn’t give that away.

“Sorry kid, not at the moment. At least I ain’t got anything that’ll fit you.”

“That’s okay. Does anyone else around here sell clothes?”

Doma chuckles. “I’m the only shop in business in Rambler’s Reach, though if you find an abandoned campsite out there with something in your size, chances are no one’s going to come complaining if you take it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” says the kid.

“If you’re really desperate I’m sure Mosey has something that might fit a scrawny little thing like you,” she adds.

The kid flushes nearly as red as his hair. Doma forgot that humans did that. It’s sweet. He trades for a few songs and backs out of the store before the red fully fades. Doma watches him go. The new blood’ll be good around here, breathe some life into an old, dusty town. She does make a note to procure some clothes in the right sizes for the kid. If he’s willing to trade all that priorite she may as well give him something to trade for.

It takes a while, but eventually Doma gets a healthy selection of clothes for humanoid males into the shop. Some of it’s been scrounged from abandoned camps, others from the raider’s supply. Either way, no one’s come looking for them yet, and the kid, Cal, is the only one buying. He hasn’t asked her about stocking anything else yet, and so Doma settles in to seeing him at least once every few weeks for a new shirt or pants, the last ones looking like he’d dragged them by nekko around the planet then given them to a mogu. But it works for her and it seems to work for him.

Cal doesn’t have to ask her to stock anything else, but Doma learns. She learns the hard way, as she always does. She learned she wasn’t cut out to be a prospector with the death of her partner. She learns what Cal needs when the raiders come knocking.

The sound of the scuffle is what gets her attention. Doma is in her shop when the echoes of blaster fire ring through the outpost. Screams follow, and the sound of people running. This isn’t the first time the raiders have come to Rambler’s reach however, and Doma knows from experience that having a strong figure to rally behind gives the residents here the spine to stand and fight for their home. So she grabs her rifle and steps out into the sunlight with her shoulders squared. No raider will be taking their home nor goods today.

Yet the sounds coming from the entrance to town aren’t the usual gleeful hoots and hollers from the raiders. No, there’s concern in those shouts. Fear too. And the high pitched sound of something buzzing. Doma rounds the corner and sees the gang of raiders she was expecting, both humanoid and droid together. But what she wasn’t expecting to see was the local Jedi waving his lightsaber around and handling the group by himself. For a moment she feels like she’s small again, back when tales of the mysterious Jedi coming to save a planet were still common bedtime stories. But she has never been one to revel in the past, and Cal has never really cut an imposing fairy tale figure. He does not fight like she imagined a Jedi would. He does not possess elegance and grace but rather a lethal calculation to his strikes.

Doma arms her rifle and steps towards the fray. While she appreciates the help, this is her outpost, and she can protect it. No need to get complacent and rely on a kid, no matter his background. The few raiders still standing looked between Cal and Doma and made the smart decision by turning around and heading back into the dusty hills.

“Get gone!” shouts Doma after them. “And don’t try it again!”

As she tracks the raider’s retreating backs Cal approaches her. He walks stiffly, she notes, and has a bruising ring around one eye. He grins at her as if to share a victory. As if the raiders won’t come back soon, in a week or two when he’s off planet and cannot help.

“Thanks for the assist,” says Cal.

“Usually it’s me or Mosey scarin’ em off like that. You did good,” says Doma.

Cal keeps on grinning at her. He looks half a fool, but she lets it slide. The young often fall prey to foolishness, and he doesn’t seem like one to not know his limits. Unlike a certain green idiot hanging around the outpost.

“Hey, do you have any bacta available in your shop?” asks Cal.

Doma doesn’t. A few of the residents have some stocked away for emergencies, including herself, but nothing for sale. Her eyes wander to where Cal’s hand is pressed against his ribcage, and thinks of the heavy electrostaffs she’s seen some of the raiders using.

“No bacta in the shop, I’m afraid,” she says.

A look of acceptance passes over Cal’s face. He sets his jaw against the pain as he nods and takes a few shuffling steps towards the saloon.

“I said no bacta in the shop, I didn’t say I had no bacta at all.”

Cal turns to her so fast she can’t believe he doesn’t have whiplash from it. There’s a hopeful gleam in his eyes.

“I got some stashed away just in case. I’d be willing to part with a few patches for a handful of priorite,” says Doma.

An amused grin appears on Cal’s face and he digs in his many pouches until he comes up with the required handful. Doma takes it, her large hand dwarfing Cal’s, and leads him over to the shop. He waits patiently as she slips into her living quarters and retrieves the promised bacta patches.

“Thank you,” says Cal gratefully. “Greez can’t complain too much if I already have bacta in hand.”

The last part he adds on quieter, like a thought escaping confinement. His little droid beeps in what sounds like agreement. That’s when Doma learns that she must also keep her shop stocked in bacta and probably other medical supplies. The little Jedi was going to need it if he kept throwing himself at the Bedlam Raiders. Greez would probably buy some too, now that he was shipping out with the kid across the galaxy. Yes, there was likely going to be some profit to be had from keeping bacta in supply.

Doma watches as he leaves, no doubt headed back to his and Greez’ little hideout underneath the saloon. It’s good the kid has someone looking out for him. She turns to survey her store. The shelf over on the left could use some rearranging anyways. Now all she had to do was find a good supply of bacta and she’d be rolling in priorite. She could claim it was to get more priority shards from the kid, or that it would be helping the outpost in the long run, but that wouldn’t be the whole truth. Maybe it was just her going soft as she got older, but she likes him, and if keeping clothes and bacta in stock will help him in the long run, then she is going to do it.

“Is there anything I can help you find?” asks Doma, slow and inviting.

“Sorry kid, not at the moment. At least I ain’t got anything that’ll fit you.”

“That’s okay. Does anyone else around here sell clothes?”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” says the kid.

“If you’re really desperate I’m sure Mosey has something that might fit a scrawny little thing like you,” she adds.

“Get gone!” shouts Doma after them. “And don’t try it again!”

“Thanks for the assist,” says Cal.

“Usually it’s me or Mosey scarin’ em off like that. You did good,” says Doma.

“Hey, do you have any bacta available in your shop?” asks Cal.

“No bacta in the shop, I’m afraid,” she says.

A look of acceptance passes over Cal’s face. He sets his jaw against the pain as he nods and takes a few shuffling steps towards the saloon.

“I said no bacta in the shop, I didn’t say I had no bacta at all.”

Cal turns to her so fast she can’t believe he doesn’t have whiplash from it. There’s a hopeful gleam in his eyes.

“I got some stashed away just in case. I’d be willing to part with a few patches for a handful of priorite,” says Doma.

“Thank you,” says Cal gratefully. “Greez can’t complain too much if I already have bacta in hand.”

#jedi survivor #jedi survivor fic #jedi survivor fanfic #cal kestis #doma dendra #I hope this works I’m using mobile since I’m not even in the same country as my laptop rn lol #I just happened to write so much on the plane and hit post on ao3 #fan fiction #Star Wars

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axdently · 1 year

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𝑱𝑼𝑺𝑻𝑰𝑪𝑬 𝑺𝑴𝑰𝑻𝑯, 𝑯𝑬/𝑯𝑰𝑴 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑵𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑺, 𝑫𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑴𝑺𝑯𝑨𝑫𝑬

To KYLE TODD, the whole world looks like an open page. With a leap of faith, their ability of EQUID ( HORSE ) SUMMONING grows a little stronger. They are a HORSE shade aligned to NO ONE. For TWENTY TWO years, they have survived a world of magic with both their CRAFTINESS and OVER-CONFIDENCE. They work as an INSURANCE AGENT, but if they could change their fate, they’d want to BE A GOOD ROLE MODEL FOR HIS CLONES.

─── 𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐒.

As the winds of change sweep through the landscape, the cadence of "Welcome to the Party" by Diplo, French Montana, Zhavia Ward, and Lil Pump seems to accompany you and your little army of Toddlings, but this is nothing compared to the times when Old Town Road by Lil Nax X pumps through the stereo speakers. The echoes of your presence multiply with the presence of your Toddlings – clones born of a serendipitous encounter with a cloning mushroom. A product of eating the wrong thing at the wrong time is what allows the miracle that is replication. Their presence lends an illusion of fatherhood, disguising the temporal intricacies of their origin. You grace State Farm as an insurance luminary, ever-willing to bestow a deal upon those in need, and your diligence fuels your work to support your toddlings. You have help–– your adopted mother, Jessie, who embarked on a flight from Sombertown alongside you when you were just 16 loans her efforts as an adopted mother to all three of the extra Toddlings ( Aged 5, 7, and 12 ) Your lexicon dances in memes, your speech a modern linguistic web of internet culture. Uninhibited in your pursuit of the extraordinary, you've etched a reputation as a maestro of audacious exploits, a quality inherently you. Yet, within the bold facade simmers a traitorous overconfidence and capriciousness, a yin to your yang. Beyond the humdrum, you revel in clubbing and treasure hunts within thrift stores, savoring the simple joys.

─── 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒.

NAME: Kyle Todd NICKNAME: Kyle, or Todd DATE OF BIRTH: November 2nd GENDER: genderqueer– doesn’t follow binary gender norms and uses any pronouns. HEIGHT: 5’10” MARKINGS: a scar on his forehead from liquid stitches, and a couple of marks to suggest he’s once had a broken arm. TATTOOS: none PIERCINGS: he’s got a couple he takes out for work, he once had an eyebrow piercing for a couple of years, but it’s currently healed up. DECORUM: when he’s not at work it’s T-shirts from Goodwill which he un-ironically likes, socks and sandals, he also likes his denim jacket, also whatever Gabs and Ren dress him in. SCENT: stolen samples of Kenneth Cole’s Black, Gain dryer sheets, & faint lingerings of ketchup on his fingers GOALS: To become a role model for his Toddlings, to pay Jessie back for all her kindness and generosity, and to find his twin, Annabelle FEARS: Losing his Toddlings & Imprisonment. POSITIVE TRAITS: loyal, confident, daring NEUTRAL TRAITS: deceptive, mellow, unaggressive NEGATIVE TRAITS: finicky, hubristic, over confident ZODIAC: Scorpio Sun, Leo Moon, Taurus Rising ALIGNMENT: Lawful Evil TEMPERAMENT: sanguine ELEMENT: Fire PRIMARY VICE: Greed PRIMARY VIRTUE: Humility TROPE: Big Eater, The Trickster,, The Sleight of Hand, Desperately Craves Affection, Hurricane of Puns, Hidden Depths, Adult Child, Brilliant But Lazy, Daddy AND Mommy Issues INSPIRATION: This guy & this guy. OCCUPATION: Insurance Agent at State Farm RESIDENCE: With Jessie & Ren, depending on if Jessie needs help with the Toddlings HOBBIES: Tennis, card tricks, chess, beatboxing, dinosaur enthusiast, video games, electronics– he used to be a part of the robotics club in High School & DnD. HABITS: chewing with his mouth open, falling asleep during any kind of lecture, pretending not to speak english to get out of speaking to people he doesn’t want to talk to, saying yo un-ironically, and calling dibs or not it for the smallest of things.

─── 𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒.

EQUID SUMMONING

The power to call forth Equids from anywhere no matter where they are to help them with a task. The user can create or summon large forces of horses to overtake an entire area and to overwhelm an enemy with vast numbers. The large force is connected through a Hive Mind. The strength of the resulting horde is associated with the very large quantity and is not necessarily reflective of any coordinated actions or tactics. Individual members of the hoard/swarm are usually treated as expendable.

VARIATION 1. EQUID COMPANIONSHIP

The users can form a powerful connection and bond with an equid companion or multiple Equids. The bond between the user and their Equid companion is so strong that nothing can drive them apart. The user either has a natural connection to Equids or is proficient in training and forming a bond with them. This ability doesn't just apply to the Horse (Equus caballus); this ability also extends to any and all other members of the Equine Family. E.G., the Donkey (Equus asinus), Mule (Equus caballus), Pony (Equus ferus caballus), and the Zebra (Equus zebra), etc. in addition to mythical members of the Equine Family such as Abadas, Alicorns, Bicorns, Carnivorous Horses, Fire Horses, Hippalectryons, Hippocampuses, Hippogriffs, Kelpies and their eviler and advanced version Each-uisge, Longmas, Pegasi, Sleipnir, Qilin, Uchchaihshravas, Unicorns, White Horses, etc. in addition to Horse-like creatures.

VARIATION 2. EQUID EMPATHY

The user can sense and/or understand the emotions of equine beings (Horses, Donkeys, Zebras, Mules, Unicorns, Pegasi and Hippocampi and others) and vice versa. This also works as Hive Mind where the herd "share" the same mind. In some cases, one person could take control of another separate body to add to the hive. Each can work autonomously, though they think the same thing at the same time. The members have little individuality, more or less they are only marionettes controlled by a puppeteer.

─── 𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘.

LIAR'S LOCKET: This locket holds a small illusionary gem that Todd can use to create minor illusions. He can project images, sounds, or even mimic voices to deceive enemies or manipulate situations.

CHAMELEON CAP: This ball cap can change its appearance to match its surroundings, effectively granting Todd invisibility when he wears it. Perfect for slipping past enemies or hiding in plain sight.

INFINITE SNACK BAG: This bag always contains Todd's favorite snacks, magically replenishing itself. It serves as a source of comfort and nourishment during his adventures.

MIMIC'S COIN: A coin that can transform into an exact replica of any object it touches. It allows Todd to create decoys, forge documents, or even mimic magical items temporarily.

KETCHUP SLINGER GAUNTLETS: These gauntlets shoot streams of magical ketchup, allowing Todd to create distractions, blind opponents, or leave slippery surfaces in his wake.

DABBING CAPE OF EVASION: When Todd flips the cape dramatically while dabbing, he gains increased agility and evasion capabilities for a short duration. It helps him dodge attacks and escape tricky situations.

LUCKY RABBIT'S PAW KEYCHAIN: A keychain adorned with a rabbit's paw that brings luck to Todd when touched. It grants him advantages on skill checks and saving throws, emulating his reliance on luck and chance.

DICE OF DECEPTION: These dice allow Todd to manipulate outcomes by shaking them and willing the desired result. However, the dice have a mischievous nature and might sometimes backfire with unpredictable results.

─── 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

CHARMED CONVERSATIONS: This spell allows Todd to enhance his natural charisma, making him irresistibly charming in conversation. People are more likely to open up to him, share information, or be swayed by his words.

GUILT TRIP: With this spell, Todd can amplify feelings of guilt and remorse in others. It helps him manipulate opponents or extract information by making them feel morally responsible for their actions.

POCKET PORTAL: Todd can create a small temporary portal that leads to his favorite food place. This allows him to grab a quick meal or snack, no matter where he is, which can provide comfort and sustenance during his journeys.

POCKET DIMENSION STASH: Todd can open a small pocket dimension where he can store items, allowing him to carry a vast array of supplies without the burden of weight. He can retrieve items by reaching into thin air.

EGG CONJURATION: This spell creates a delectable hard boiled egg in Todd's hand that he can use to distract enemies or offer as a gesture of peace. The egg’s smooth exterior and aroma have a calming effect on those nearby.

LUCK'S GAMBIT: With this spell, Todd can manipulate luck in his favor for a brief period. He gains advantage on rolls and can reroll any failed checks, representing his reliance on fortunate outcomes.

SIBLINGS' LINk: By casting this spell on his Toddlings, Todd establishes a mental connection with them, enabling them to communicate telepathically over short distances. It ensures they're always in sync during missions.

SPECTRAL SIBLING: Todd can summon a ghostly image of a horse to temporarily fight by his side. The spectral sibling mimics his attacks and can provide support in combat, reflecting his protective nature.

#cag: intro #cagintro #⸻ 𝒏𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒉-𝒊𝒔𝒎𝒔 ; INTRO

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