#mmm now i want sunflower seeds

[theysangastheyslew]

@dont-f-with-moogles @youre-ackermine Eeee thank you both sm!!

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ *✲ﾟ*｡⋆

[aloysiavirgata]

Dancing that ISNT the PMP scene. Fucking love you gorgeous. ❤️❤️❤️

3 AM finds him waking up stiff and disoriented in the vinyl chair of her hospital room, his feet propped on an upside-down plastic wastebasket. His tie is hanging from the IV pole.

Mulder tests his joints, grimaces at the left shoulder. He’d overstretched it at the pool, shredding 2000 meters in under 30 minutes. He’s been lifting more, been running until he vomits. He doesn’t know if he’s punishing his body for being fit or trying to radiate so much health she’ll absorb it.

Perhaps if it’s the second he’ll need to feed it something other than coffee, Diet Coke, and sunflower seeds. Must be the first.

He examines her narrow form in the bruised light. Scully’s breath snuffles a bit at the cannula and he scans for blood at it but sees none. Her cheekbones curve resolutely past her patrician nose, down to her full, dry lips. There is a small tin of Smith’s Rosebud Salve on the fake wood nightstand. He resists the urge to rub a layer over them. He resists the urge to kiss her beautiful, cracked mouth.

Mulder sighs a bit, runs a finger around the back of his collar. She looks warm to him, looks safe and cared for and utterly beyond his ability to be of use. But he stays anyway, like one of those dogs that sleeps at the grave of its master.

He roams past the nurse’s station, where Jane and Esther give him sympathetic looks. They aren’t supposed to let him sleep in Scully’s room, but Esther is from Yorkshire and calls him lamb and duck and love, and he’s pretty sure he could get the lithe Jane in bed if he wanted to.

He’s drowned his sorrows in lanky brunettes before though, and it never quite took. Turns out he’s a man for dainty gingers.

The radio at the nurse’s station plays “Carolina In My Mind” and he hums along softly, making a styrofoam cup of tea. His father was happy in Raleigh. He was too, as much as he was happy anywhere. He thinks he might move down when Scully goes into the ground, a truth he can only admit at 3 AM. At all other times he will save her.

“Nah then, duck,” Esther says. “Tea from the machine, yer daft ‘apeth, when I’ve a proper kettle ‘ere? ‘Ow’s thy lass?”

He shrugs, smiles vaguely. Jane smiles back. Vaguely.

Mulder presses his head to the faded green wall as his tea steeps. It’ll be terrible, but strong. That’s good enough for him.

He hears a soft shuffling and looks up.

Scully in her spotless white robe and soft slippers, Scully like a Willow Ptarmigan approaching winter. The skin around her eyes is the delicate color of sublimated iodine.

“Scully,” he says, at a loss. She is beautiful in the way of alabaster vases, of all things that can shatter.

She yawns, lips shiny with the salve. Her hands are very thin when she covers her mouth. “Wonderful Tonight” begins on the radio now.

Esther smiles, looks away. Jane checks her watch and walks down the opposite corridor.

“Tea?” Scully says. “That’s more my brand. Why are you still here?”

He gulps the bitter brew. Winces. “I fell asleep,” he says, which is an answer but no answer at all.

“Mmm,” Scully says. She prepares herself some tea as well. Her white hands on the cup, her lower lip snagged between her teeth.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” Mulder says.

“You didn’t. I just woke up. I do that a lot. My circadian rhythm…”

They don’t talk about her suprachiasmatic nucleus of the hypothalamus deep within her brain. Of what it might mean if it’s off kilter.

“I was noisy,” Mulder lies, looking at her nose again. He moves like a cat in her room. Like a thief in the night. “Banged into the bed.”

Scully smiles serenely. “It’s all right.”

Jane stalking the perimeter, Jane frowning at her clipboard.

The moon out the window like a scythe in the dark.

He loves her, does she know? Does he know what he would do to save her and how he’d do it and that he’d swim through blood and blood and blood for her, 2000 meters and back again in a heartbeat?

Scully puts her tea down, Scully looks at him with her late summer eyes in this month of her birth. Scully is dying.

On the radio, The Beatles begin “Let It Be,” and what the fuck, he draws her in, her tousled hair and fluffy robe and her rattan ribs.

“Mulder,” she says, peering up. She clutches his left hand with the pale garden spider of her right.

He twirls her beneath the fluorescent lights. He kisses her her forehead because if he kisses her mouth like he wants to she will die.

Jane does another lap and Esther pretends to read a chart and Scully murmurs along with Paul McCartney.

Mulder watches the flat light bounce off her hair, watches her sway, watches her smile for a moment. She tucks her head against his chest as the song ends, doesn’t withdraw.

“Angel Is A Centerfold” begins, which is hardly the mood he wanted, but they both laugh and the scythe of a moon fades away as they sing Na-na, na-na-na-na, Na-na-na, na-na-na-na in something like harmony.

He doesn’t know what song is next, but he holds her through it and the next one and a few more and Esther and Jane are replaced and the sun begins to burn the blackness away and Scully is warm and awake and alive in his arms for at least another day.

[quinloki]

Birthday Request Event

"It's my birthday and I'll write what I want to \o/"

Gift Details ♥ Reader: afab!Reader Character: Kyros Kink: #8 Breeding Prompt: #13 "Don't worry, I'll take care of you." Gift Giver: @swampstew

Summary: It's okay if you're exhausted - Kyros has stamina enough for both of you.

Content Notes: sweaty sex, breeding, lil' fluffy

This birthday party is 18+, consensual unless explicitly stated otherwise, and BYOB

Kyros sat on the bed, his back against the headboard, hands on your hips, helping you to ride him. Your fingers are on his shoulders, trembling as you steady yourself. Soft mumbling whines of pleasure were slipping past your lips, halted only by a few sweet kisses from him.

The big gladiator was a little difficult to straddle, and your legs had given up the game some time ago, but he was hardly done with you. Sweat slicked both your bodies, yours more than his, hair matted to your face, panting in pleasure and exertion.

The messy mix of earlier orgasms makes wet sounds with every shift of your hips. Your arousal and his seed had long since foamed and frothed from you riding him, but it hadn’t stopped him from filling you twice already.

“You’re doing so well.” He murmurs softly, brushing your hair back from your face and kissing your forehead.

“Haa, mmm, Ky-Kyros I’m c-close again, but I’m… so tired.” You admit, giving him a sweet smile before he kisses your lips. The smile was because you knew he would see you through whatever he desired. He was as tenacious as he was gentle, and those qualities had led you into his arms many times before now.

“Lean against me, sweet little sunflower.” He urges, leaning you against him with firm urging. “All the way. Lay right on me, don’t worry.”

“I won’t be able to hold myself up.” You can’t help the concern in your voice as you’re urged forward. Your body pressing against his, hot and hard and slick with sweat. Just as you’re worried you’ll shift too much you feel his hands grip your ass, and his legs come up a little.

The actions are enough to lean you against him fully. You turn your head enough to rest your cheek on his chest, listening to his heart pound despite his calm exterior.

“There we go.” He says reassuringly. “Just relax, I’ll take care of you.”

Kyros moves your hips easily, grinding you against his body as he pushes his cock into you deeply. You moan against him for a moment before you decided to lift yourself up just enough to look up at him. Pleasure painted on your face, eyes wet as tired, needy panting moans continue to escape your lips.

Your legs are open wide by the sheer size of his thighs and waist, at 9’9” he’s not a small man by any definition. His grip on your ass, and your size, has most of your body rubbing against him as he moves you. Your body’s on pins and needles from the earlier orgasms, and you can feel every twitch run through your skin like lightning.

He pulls you a little closer, picking up the pace. The slight shift has your clit rubbing into his pubes, teasing you inside and out. You gasp and squirm, but there’s no escape, his grip is iron against your plush skin and the pleasure builds up inside you yet again.

“See? Just like that. Lean into me, my sweet.” His voice rumbles in his chest and sinks into your body. “I’ll fill you up at least two more times.”

You whimper, fingers flexing into his body as he brings you closer to the edge. No matter how much he chases his pleasure in order to fill you full as you desire, he always attends to yours as well. All you can do is cry his name as he rides you on his cock, praising you for taking him so well in so many ways.

Your arms are shaking from your own exhaustion as the third orgasm threatens to over take you. He holds you close, grinding into you deeply until you start to tense and spasm against him. The start of your orgasm is light a switch for him and he begins to thrust into you hard and fast. The pleasure rushes like a new orgasm on the heels of the first and with a broken cry of pleasure you collapse against him.

The action is almost brutal as he slams your hips down onto his girth so fast all you can do is lose your mind to haze of pleasure. As he fills you again, hot cum flooding into you, every twitch of his body seems to urge you toward more need and more desire. From his fingers flexing into the meat of your ass, his cock twitching inside your shivering pussy, and the shaky, nearly growled, grunt of pleasure – all of it delights you.

As he calms his breath finally falls from his lips heavy. The first barely noticeable signs of the beginning of the end of his stamina.

The night would be long, and he will see you through it all.

[justiisms]

*bunnytaka has been spending the last few minutes keeping a certain birthday girl occupied, of course not at all minding the attention he's been receiving as well. however, his ears perk up when he hears the signal, it being the sound of his treat bag being shaken! the excited bunny gives phan some gentle headbutts before hopping to the doorway, looking back to make sure she's following before hopping all the way to the dining room where a certain uncle and nephew duo are already waiting!*

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AUNT PHAN!!" *bellows taka, the boy having waited beside the door so he could hug her the moment she stepped inside!*

"Uncle P and I have worked hard to make sure today would be a wonderful day for you! We have four dozen cupcakes ready and fresh out of the oven, each one unique because their icing is based off of different birds! It was a fun and educational experience for the both of us, haha!! And now that you're here, we can get the festivities underway! We even made two special cupcakes made entirely out of millet, sunflower seeds, and apricots so Popcorn and Marinee can eat, too! It would be quite a disservice if they could not celebrate alongside their favorite human, especially since they love you just as much as we do!"

"Hehe, Bunnytaka~ you're so fluffy and cute..." She hums, currently nuzzling Bunnytaka in his arms while softly stroking his back. She didn't even realize he was intentionally trying to keep her occupied, as she's always more then happy to spend time with him and shower him with affection. She also heard the sound of his treat bag, and giggles at the headbutts before she nods and makes her way over to him! "Coming~!"

She continues to follow the bunny out of the room and into the dining room, where she spotted P and Kiyotaka there. “Ah! Taka, P! Oh-!!” Being pulled into a hug by her nephew, makes her beam happily as she instantly returns it. “Hahaha, thank you, sweetie~!” As she listens to him tell her about him and P did for her, her smile only widens as she practically bounces in excitement. “Hehe, so many cupcakes!! And they all look like different birdies, too?! That’s amazing!! I can’t wait to see what they look like!! And aww, you guys even made one for Popcorn and Marinee? That’s so sweet~!” 

“That’s right.” P says, walking over to the two and rests a hand on Kiyotaka’s back. “We wanted to work very hard on these cupcakes for you, Phan. Make them feel extra special... because you deserve that. And it’s true, it was a very fun and educational experience, researching many different species of birds for each cupcake. May you enjoy each one that you try.”

“Aww, P....” With on of her arms, she wraps it around him to pull him into the hug as well. “I love you guys, too... the fact that you both worked so hard on these cupcakes for me, means the world! And I’m happy to hear you guys had so much fun with it and learned about a lot of deferent bird species! Oh I’m sure I will enjoy them, and I’m so excited to begin celebrating with you guys, yes!! Let’s start our little birthday dessert time~! Ah, let me call over Popcorn and Marinee, too!” 

Calling them over, Popcorn and Marinee fly over and perch onto her shoulders. Then, when she goes over to the table and sees the plentiful of cupcakes, along with the birdies seeing the ones just for them- 

“!!!”

“!!!”

“!!!” All of their eyes practically sparkle, Popcorn and Marinee tweeting very happily as they hop on her shoulders, while Phan gasps at how delicious and well made the cupcakes look! “Eeeee, these look nice!!! And so tasty! Hahaha and they’re so excited for their cupcakes, too!! Oh my god, I’ve got to try one right now!!” Grabbing one, she takes bite out of it, while Popcorn and Marinee begin to eagerly snack on theirs. “Mmm, this is super tasty! And so fluffy, too... I love them! Thanks again, Taka and P! You guys are the best, ever!! Come, come! Have some with me, too!! Then we totally gotta have everyone else try these, too!!"

[scullydubois]

What about a time when mulder meets up with scully to go for a walk with queequeg?

i may have gone overboard here, but how could i not? this prompt is so precious, thank you.

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

Friday Night with Queequeg, 2.4k--set in season three

“I can’t, Mulder,” his partner insists, her voice dialed up a few intervals for dramatic effect. “I’ve got Queequeg to worry about.”

Mulder drops his Washington Nationals tickets on the desk in disappointment. How lame to be overshadowed by a dog. “That fluffy little guy?” he whines. “Or girl, I'm not sure.”

“He’s a boy.”

“Okay well, he reminds me of one of those Tamagotchi things, have you seen the commercial?” Mulder rambles while shuffling various stray papers from his desk into a single incoherent stack. He’s careful not to sweep the tickets into it. “It’s a pocket pet--”

“I know what it is, Mulder. I have a godson.”

“And is Queequeg not just a glorified version of one of those?”

“Yes, I suppose you could say that. He needs food and attention and care. But, in case you didn’t know, he is also real and capable of giving much of that back to you.”

“Eh, reciprocated affection is overrated,” Mulder jokes, though life would be a lot damn easier if he believed that. “And it’s one of the few Fridays where we’re not traveling or jet-lagged or wholly tired of each other.”

Scully purses her lips. “I see significantly less of Queequeg per week than I do you,” she mutters, and Mulder wonders whether some of her feigned contempt might be genuine. He’s used to being subtly disliked, but the thought sure makes him sad.

Seeing the passion in his face dissolve, Scully realizes that he’s backing down. It’s not like him to back down, no matter how frivolous the issue is. She knows this about him if she knows anything. It’s as if he’s giving up, and that strikes her more than anything.

“Haven’t you ever had a dog, Mulder?” she asks, ignoring the chair in front of her to perch on the edge of his desk.

“Once. After Samantha.” He laughs out of pure scorn. “I think it was my parents’ way of trying to replace her.”

Scully frowns. She should know by now that any journey into his past will turn into a probe of his eternal wound, and that’s no fault of his own.

“What was its name? And were you fond of it?” Scully feels like a therapist--hopefully a kind and supportive one.

“Sparky. I’ve got no clue where the name came from, or the dog for that matter. He was just kinda there one day when I got home from school. And then in a few months, he was gone in the same way. Taken to my uncle’s cause my parents couldn’t stand all the upkeep.”

A thought pops into Scully’s head that is evidently shared by her partner. “No, he didn’t “go live on a farm’ or whatever, I was old enough not to fall for that,” Mulder insists. “He really did go live with my uncle. Lived like seven more years.”

Scully raises an eyebrow. “But did you like him? Were you sad when he was gone?”

“I was sad about a lot of things at the time, Scully.” He opens his desk drawer and pops a piece of gum in his mouth. He’s out of sunflower seeds. “But about the dog? Eh, he was fine to have around but it wasn’t a quintessential boy and his dog moment. He was already a couple years old and well into his grumpy old man phase, if I remember correctly. And he was a mutt, so I think my parents hated him because he didn’t match the furniture.”

“Mmm.” Scully rolls her tongue over the roof of her mouth. It would be a shame to put Mulder through this whole conversation only to insist that she can’t attend the game. But she wasn’t just making excuses. Queeqeug has been home alone all day. and she always takes him for a walk when she gets home from work. He’s used to their routine now, sitting there at the door when she unlocks it like he’s got an alarm set. He gets his dinner when they get back home and falls soundly asleep. Scully’s convinced this is the only thing keeping him from rebelling for being on his own for ten hours a day, and she doesn’t want to test that theory.

Mulder glances at the office clock. 5:46. First pitch is at 7:05.

“How about this...” He props his feet up on the desk to give himself the air of confidence that he’s lacking. “I’ll run over to your place, walk him, make sure he does his business...the whole shebang. You can finish up here then take a taxi to the park, and I’ll meet you there. Sound good?”

The edges of Scully’s lips turn downward. Mulder notes that today, they are brushed over with a very nice coral. Must be a new shade.

“Do you really care that much about me attending this game?”

Mulder shrugs. Yes he does, but he’ll be nonchalant about it. “I bought the tickets cheap through a newspaper ad. I just thought it would be nice for the two of us to do something that’s not chasing phantoms.”

“Phantoms?” Scully’s left eyebrow arches. “Have I finally broken your spirit?”

Mulder smirks. “Sorry, I thought flattery might get me somewhere here.”

Scully taps a heel against the ugly linoleum floor. He’s so adamant about this...boyhood loves stick, she supposes.

“If it means that much to you, go ahead. But don’t come crying to me when you’re late for the start of the game. Queequeg takes his time.”

Mulder claps his hands together. “That’s fine, that’s fine!” Surely he can hurry the canine up. “You take one ticket and head to the seats, and I’ll find you.”

Scully pulls her lips into a thin line, a hint of humor gleaming in her eyes. “Okay, Mulder. Do you have your key?”

He nods, pulls on his jacket, and edges toward the door. “See you there, Scully!”

“Bye.” Scully smiles at the empty office. Her partner’s enthusiasm is endlessly endearing.

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

Mulder has no time to register that he has no clue where Queequeg’s leash is, or if he’s supposed to bring some sort of bag to pick up any...ehm, droppings, or if there’s some special trick to walking a dog that makes it look easy when it’s secretly hard. In fact, he can’t recall ever walking Sparky. Thirty years old and never walked a dog before...surely that qualifies him for the Guinness World Record books.

Queequeg is alert at the door when Mulder opens it, and he’s glad the thing is more teddy bear than canine--he doesn’t have to deal with any barking or biting. He checks the coat rack for a leash, then begins rummaging around in the front table when he comes up short. It’s all old issues of girly magazines he never would have expected Scully to subscribe to.

Begrudgingly, he looks into Queequeg’s beady eyes. “Where’s your leash, boy? You wanna go for a walk? Show me where your leash is.” He uses a baby voice he didn’t even know he had.

Queequeg does nothing but paw the ground in annoyance.

“I know the feeling,” Mulder quips. He pulls out his phone and chooses Scully’s name from the speed dial list.

It rings and rings, then goes to voicemail. Mulder ends the call, grumbles, then tries the office number instead. She picks up after one ring.

“Hello?” her dainty voice projects through the line.

“Scully, you haven’t left yet?”

“I was just locking up the desk. Is there a problem?” she asks like she knew there would be.

“I can’t find Queequeg’s leash.”

“It’s by the pantry, next to his treats.”

Mulder sighs, heads into the kitchen. “And I suppose I have to take his treats too?”

“Uh-huh. And there’s plastic grocery bags in there that you can use to clean up after him.”

Mulder opens the pantry, sees the hoard. “I feared so.”

“We always go left down the block,” Scully tells her partner. “There’s a patch of grass that way he likes to chew on.”

“And how much does he pay you for such indelible service?” Scully doesn’t listen to a word he says, but she’s at the dog’s beck and call apparently.

There’s a bit of silence as Scully decides not to reply with a smartass remark. Then--”I’m leaving the office now,” she murmurs into the phone. “Better hurry up or I’ll beat you there.”

During this teasing, Mulder attached Queequeg’s leash to his collar. Now, as he tries to lead him into the living room, the dog refuses to move.

“Uh, Scully?”

“Yes?”

“I put his leash on, but Queequeg won’t budge.”

“Do you have the treats?”

Mulder shakes the treat bag and makes kissy noises to encourage the canine. (How humiliating.) Still, nothing.

“He doesn’t want to come with me,” Mulder says. “Even the treats won’t lure him over.”

“Are you sure it’s the right treats?” Scully asks.

“Since when are dogs picky about their treats? Treats are treats. And these are the only ones in the pantry.”

“Huh.”

“If you’re rolling your eyes, I can’t see it,” Mulder mutters.

“I’m not rolling my eyes, I just--we’ve never had this problem.”

“Has anyone else walked him?” Mulder wiggles the leash, which does nothing.

“My mom.”

“Well, maybe he doesn’t like men,” Mulder remarks.

“He lived with Clyde Bruckman…”

“Exactly.”

Scully takes a quick exhale. He has a point. “I’ll head over, okay? But I doubt we’ll make the game.”

“We’ll see.” Mulder sighs. He’s being...well, cockblocked isn’t the right word for it--but something like that--by a dog.

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

Scully arrives half an hour later to find Mulder crouched on the kitchen floor rubbing Queequeg’s belly.

“Am I interrupting something?” she teases. The dog rolls over and leaps into excitement at the sound of her voice, abandoning Mulder altogether.

“Hi buddy.” She scratches his ears and dodges his attempts to lick her face. “You ready to go for a walk?”

Queequeg whimpers and sits as if she commanded him to.

Scully looks to Mulder with a brilliant, taunting smile. “I think he’s ready.”

Mulder stands up, every disk in his back rebelling against him. “That thing--” Mulder jabs a finger in Queequeg’s direction--”has a Jekyll and Hyde situation going on.”

“Really, cause you seemed to be having a great time until I came in.”

“No, no, no, don’t spin this. I had to get down on the kitchen floor because he wouldn’t move! What was I supposed to do while we were waiting for you, ignore him?”

Scully shrugs, tries to hide her smirk. “Well, if you were so bothered by him…”

“Whatever, whatever. Let’s just go for the walk, okay? I don’t want to miss this game, it’s against the Red Sox. It should be good.”

Scully takes Queequeg’s leash from her partner, gestures for him to go ahead. “After you.”

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

It’s a beautiful spring night--the perfect occasion for a baseball game, Scully will give Mulder that. The sun is drifting down the cloudless horizon, and the chill that has hung in the air for months is finally admitting defeat. The sidewalk is crowded with other dogs and their humans, eager to end the week on such a lovely note.

Queequeg trots blissfully in the usual direction. Scully lengthens her stride to keep up with him--for once she and Mulder are walking at the same pace.

“So this is DC on a Friday night, huh?” Mulder says, glancing around at their fellow pedestrians and bicyclists.

Scully nods. “If you got out of the office before seven, you’d know.”

“Doubtful. My usual impression of DC on a Friday night is the traffic on the 14th Street bridge, and I’m pretty sure I can witness that at all hours.”

Scully allows herself a sidelong glance at her partner. She had never realized someone could be too dedicated until she met Mulder.

“Have you ever considered getting a pet?” she asks tentatively.

His gaze snaps to her. He chuckles and sticks his hands in his pockets. “My complex has a hefty monthly pet fee. Rent is already bad enough.”

“Well it’s not like you go out often…” Scully starts, knowing this is short of a compliment. “You’re not a big spender, surely you have the extra cash on hand.”

“Ha, thanks,” Mulder responds. “Should I put that on my resume?”

“I just mean that…” Queequeg finds his beloved patch of grass, and they pause to let him chomp at it. “...you could use the companionship of a dog. Or cat, if that strikes your fancy.”

“I have enough companionship, Scully. More than I know what to do with. Have you heard my answering machine?”

“A woman from an 800 line is not companionship, Mulder. And you never actually answer any of your messages. Friends don’t count if you never see them.”

“Ouch.” Queequeg finishes up, and they resume the walk. “And what are your plans this weekend, Scully?” he asks, hoping to catch her in her own hypocrisy.

“As a matter of fact, I’m going to visit my mother tomorrow afternoon.”

Mulder busts out laughing. “You’re a real party girl!”

She ignores him, focusing on Queequeg. “But you get my point, don’t you? It’s not good to be alone all the time.”

“I seem to recall being told that we spend more time together than you and your dog,” Mulder wisecracks.

“That’s different,” Scully swears. “That’s work.”

“That’s the bulk of modern life, my dear.” He delivers this statement in an old-timey mid-Atlantic accent like some leading man of the 40s. It makes Scully smile.

“I have an idea,” she says, her eyes sparkling.

“Oh boy.” Mulder glances at his watch. 6:51. Damn it. “We’re gonna miss the game.”

Scully nods. “Let’s go to the animal shelter instead.”

Mulder stops. It makes Queequeg, and therefore Scully, stop too. “What?”

“You could make some dog very happy, you know. And Queequeg would have a playmate...I think it would be really good for you, Mulder.”

“Come on, I can’t just adopt a dog on a whim.”

“I did.”

“Shit.”

Scully laughs. “You’re realizing there’s no way out of this, aren’t you?”

Mulder grins. “Yeah, I--” He looks down and sees Queequeg taking a dump in the middle of the sidewalk. Scully readies the plastic bag she brought, then bends down and scoops the pile up like it’s nothing.

Mulder screws up his face. “On second thought…”

“Nuh-uh.” Scully ties the bag and taps it against Mulder’s arm. “You’re empty-handed, take this. It’ll be good practice.”

Mulder frowns but takes the bag. His partner’s huge smile is not lost on him, and it makes him smile despite himself. She knows how to get what she wants, and he has a feeling this one will benefit him too.

[hallowed-wings]

for this one - 9, 15, 19, 21

[ AAAAAAA I'm sorry this took so long HELLO-- Riser here with my set of the questions <3 Hello!!! ]

(stealing this first one from Ashes' ask :)) )

1. Tell us about your current project(s)  – what’s it about, how’s progress, what do you love most about it?

Well!! I'm dabbling in and out of stuff at the moment BUT- when it comes to mcyt, it's a lil fic I've dubbed Lilac! Well, technically it's "of sunflowers, moon lilies, and poppy seed stars"- but Lilac is far easier to say than os,ml,&pss--

It's a flower husbands fic, (I've been away a while but gods i hope that's still a thing people read about--) in which Scott could live forever- but time is a flat circle, and he keeps bumping into familiar faces every now and again along the trail.

[ One in particular far more than the rest ]

it's not necessarily??? set in a particular fandom?? but I have taken bits and bobs from different series Scott's been in! (Empires & 3rd Life mainly [of course <3] but w/ some Origins n Last Life references sprinkled in there too :D!)

Currently!! I'm in ""planning"" stages and by that I mean I need to write shit down-- I have it pretty much all up in my noggin (All 7 chapters of it <3! 5+1[+epilogue].) but I need to get it down onto a page and detailed out before I can really sink my teeth into writing it. Lord knows it'll still take a while bc I'm gonna try write it all first before I upload it so I don't burn out halfway through a chapter write up and just,, leave it hanging

Probably my favourite thing about it is just,,, ngl,, I just think it's really pretty,,, The story makes me very soft and,,, mmm <3. It's not just fluff by any means but it has so much love at its core and what little I have written of it so far just,, <3 <3 <3 I am v pleased with it,,, I'm looking forward to it! which is nice ^-^

(I also,, have some Cleo & Mumbo [separately, as a note---] fics planned,, i still need to flesh those out fully but!! probably leaning more towards missing moments/stuff i want to expand on in a ✨fun character dive ✨ sense. Sort of in the style of the Martyn / Cleo one-shots I've written [on ao3 pspsspspsps- /lh] but yeah!!! I have some fun ideas for those :D!)

9. Are you more of a drabble or a longfic kind of writer? Pantser or plotter? Do you wish you were the other?

Longfic, probably! While sometimes I like the thought of drabbling the last time I tried to drabble (see ao3--- /lh) they ended up being chunkier than planned so yeah no I'm not very good at making lil drabbles-

I AM ALSO very much a plotter though. Sometimes w/ something very small I can take an idea and just pad it out (after a lot of time thinking about it though-) but if I don't go into something w/ a detailed plan I am quite likely to get stuck in a moment of ". well i know what goes after this but how do I get to it". Knowing what goes where exactly is a pretty big help for me and probably why stuff takes so long-- I do wish I could pants stuff ngl, at least enough to take me from point a to b with a little more ease <3

15. Which is harder: titles or summaries (or tags)?

TAGS. I've gotten a bit better in recent years w/ those but while titles and summaries can sometimes just come to you, tags need to be specific?? y'know?? the fic is sorted through tags and I want it to be accessible even if I tend to ramble at times in them.

Long story short- titles and summaries can usually click after a few tries- tags are tricky as hell-

19. Is there something you always find yourself repeating in your writing? (favourite verb, something you describe ‘too often’, trope you can’t get enough of?)

See,,,, as someone who's writing exists scattered about sporadically over the past three and a half years, with most of it coming from the START of that time frame... I have been thinking this question over for awh i l e,,, (it is,, currently 1am,, so apologies for grammer errors and other assorted nonsense in this bit in particular <3)

b U T while I might not have a favourite verb for you in my writing (I do, however, in general, like weird ways of describing walking: scuttle, doddle, skitter, take your pick✨), with many thanks to Ashes I have wrangled (another good verb) some things together that I do like to shove into most things I do--

- I really like trying to do characterisation well,,, ashes says i do but tbh i just,, try to worm my way into their heads and see what's going on inside. I feel a Lot Of Things and so do the characters in my works <3 whether they want to feel said things or not :) Though,, overall I just like trying to nail now what makes them tick??

(in hindsight: I feel like saying "I like trying to write characters with strong voices that feel in character and can be told apart from other characters would have been more coherent, but that is something I do not tend to be------)

- Also!! If I work a certain theme into a piece, it is /getting woven in there throughout/. Vengeance in 'with my eyes (with my body, with me)', immortality, the celestial bodies and a few others in Lilac,,, Listen if I am doing a bit I am sticking to it- (/lh). I think it helps to tie pieces together ^-^ Keeps everything running on the same track throughout, no matter what else is going on, it all ties back to a central core. (I should probably go see if I can find some trends in terms of words or phrases scattered throughout my writing,,, might be interesting ngl 👀)

21. What other medium do you think your story would work well as? (film, webcomic, animated series?)

gods this is the most niche of thoughts but,, first thing that came to me was like,, animated but specifically with like,, characters and stuff coming up from pop up storybook pages,,, like the page opens and stuff just unfurls and comes to life,, Each chapter is a different book <3

But!! I do think some form of animation would fit it well <3 2D 100%- something whimsical and flowy and maybe a little fuzzy around the edges,, though, I do think it works best as literature <3

[moos-cow]

'Tis the Season for SMUT

Day 3 Prompt: "Who needs Santa when you have me?" 

Pairing: Jonah Clemence/Reader

Fandom: Ikemen Revolution 

Genre: SMUT

Word count: 1,630

Warning: Explicit

It was past lights out when Jonah returned from his evening patrol. Tired and cold, the Queen sauntered back to your shared room only to find it empty-- you were missing, and so was Pine. With a faint huff, he marched back down the quiet hall. There was only one place you could've gone to at this late of an hour, and it was the kitchen.

Just like he thought, you were there-- humming to a jolly Christmas tune while placing the freshly baked cookies onto the cooling rack; Pine was there too, nibbling on some sunflower seeds on the adjacent counter.

But as adorable as the scene may be, it was late and you all needed to go to bed. "Ahem,"

You turn in surprise to see Jonah standing by the threshold of the kitchen, a frown that creased his delicate features was topped off with a faint blush along his cheeks.

"Why are you up so late? I was expecting to see you in bed. And what are all these for?" the Queen scolded, rapid firing questions as his eyes were drawn to the large amount of cookies in one of the jars beside the cooling rack.

"They're for Santa, but I made more for everyone." You simply answer, still placing the cookies on the cooling rack. Jonah's brief silence prompted you to turn to face him again, finding a very bewildered look on his face.

"I assume you'd want to ask why?" you chuckle at the man's expression.

"Obviously. It's rather odd that you'd want to feed something that doesn't even exist, Y/N." Jonah steps closer and takes a seat on one of the counter stools.

"Oh don't be like that, Jonah." You pout and grab a warm cookie from the tray and bring it up to his lips. "Here, have a cookie."

With his mouth now occupied, you take the moment to explain. "See, some believed that if they leave out snacks for Santa, he'll leave a gift behind or answer your wish in return; and others just leave out snacks as thanks for his hard work--"

"You'll be bribing Santa Claus either way." he scoffs, half a cookie nestled between his index and thumb.

"buuut, there are others, like me, who just want to know if he exists here." You banter back, waving another cookie to Jonah's direction with a wide grin on your face.

"Of course he doesn't exist here!" the Queen nearly screeches, but he quickly turns to Pine with a grumpy pout, murmuring to himself, but still loud enough that you could hear every word spoken, "Why would you need Santa anyway when you have me?"

You walk around the counter to stand beside Jonah, hands cupping his flushed cheeks, you guide him close to peck kisses on his pouting lips. "Aww. I wouldn't trade you for the world or two, Jonah. How can I trade you for Santa?"

Jonah's pout and blush deepened at your kisses and words, deep golden amber eyes stare into yours as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him. "How do you always get away with teasing me, Y/N?"

You shrug and pull him once again into a kiss, deep and starved this time around. His hands slips down behind your thighs, and as he stands, he easily lifts you up on the empty space of the counter. You yelp into the kiss, and he breaks off with a little tug on your lip.

Lips travelling down your neck and teeth lightly grazing over your heating skin, Jonah's hands sweep over your sides and back, tugging the ties to your apron off and tossing it out of sight. His deft fingers quickly undo your ribbon and buttons, exposing your heaving chest to him.

As his mouth goes down, nipping and grazing your supple flesh, your hands go up and around his neck, tousling through his minty hair. You let out a shuddering sigh as one of his hands slide underneath your bra to cup your breast, massaging it and sending shivers down to your core; and the other, down your thigh, bringing your skirt up for his hand to skim over your bare leg.

You can feel his grin as your back arches the moment he tugs and twists on a taut nipple, calling out his name in a stifled moan.

He lets go of you for a moment to tug you further to the edge of the counter and spreads your legs wider; he eyes you like an expensive piece of art, lust-filled gaze burns the current image of you into memory-- flushed and messed up on the kitchen counter, just for him.

Desire burns deep in your belly as he brings a finger to your clothed core, skimming over your opening and the little bundle of nerves approvingly. Teasingly slow and gentle yet sending shocks of pleasure that further drowns you in your arousal.

"Jonah," you call again through ragged breathing, tugging on his jacket to be removed. You needed to touch him, to feel his warmth on your skin.

He doesn't comply, rather, he bends down and tugs your underwear off from under you. You press your knees together, suddenly remembering that you're in the kitchen, half-naked for every passing soldier and staff to see. But Jonah caresses your legs, assuring you that no one will walk on you two, and you open it again in earnest.

Jonah scoots in between your legs, drawing his tongue from the base of your slit to the top of your clit, lapping and sucking-- eating you out on the counter top.

You try to stifle your moans, bringing a fist up to cover your mouth in fear of being heard, but Jonah pulls your hand down, "Don't. I want to hear you"

Mouth on your clit, he slides a digit in, pumping and curling at a teasingly slow pace until your lewd begs fill the kitchen-- heading straight to the growing tent in the Queen's pants. "Jonah, please-"

He concedes in earnest and adds a second digit in, pumping, curling, and lapping until you're left trembling under his ministrations. Your hands found their way to his hair, gripping on it as if it were the only thing that can ground you from the upcoming high.

Your body tenses up violently with pleasure, and your walls contract around his fingers. Jonah continues his ministrations as you tip over to ride out your orgasm.

He pulls out from you and comes back up from your quivering cunt, your arousal now glistening across his mouth and chin. He brings his fingers to his mouth, licking it clean, before swiping a thumb over the wetness on his face.

You pull his hand to your mouth and suck his thumb with a pop, tasting your own arousal. You grin as you lightly bite onto his finger and run your tongue over its tip suggestively.

"You are insatiable, Y/N."

"Am I?" You chuckle and pull him close, legs languidly wrapping around his as your hand trails down to brush over the tent of his pants, palming him through his uniform. He groans in pleasure and his hips twitch instinctively.

"Take it off." You tug on his jacket once again, and this time, he removes it-- quickly undoing the buttons as you work through the belt and his pants. You pull his clothing down just enough for his length to spring free-- hard and erect, with precum beading from the tip.

You take his length in your hands, working him slowly in all the right places you knew, eliciting guttural moans from each of your touches. Jonah calls your name with a shuddering sigh, silently begging for more.

You shift forward on the counter, poising Jonah's cock to your entrance, sliding the head to spread your wetness from your pussy onto his length. As you pause in movement, Jonah pushes in-- your walls instantly tightening around him as he fully sheaths himself in you. "God, you feel so good, Y/N."

Unable to help yourself, you roll your hips forward, dragging a bated moan from your lips at the phenomenal sensation of your Queen. You wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face into Jonah's collarbone as he holds you by the hips and grinds up deep into you-- eliciting a drawn out gasp from you with every thrust.

With your second orgasm building up, Jonah lifts up your leg to spread you out wider for him as he speeds up his thrusts until he's banging mindlessly into you. With the new angle he's brought you into, you're forced to groan out into his shoulder to muffle your sound. He just loves to hear how good he makes you feel.

"Ah, Jonah I'm close-"

"Not until I say so." Jonah grunts as he brings his dexterous fingers back to rub against your sensitive clit. He slows down his pace for you to feel the full drag of his cock and the impact of his deep thrusts, again and again until your legs quiver from the overstimulation.

"Mmm, Jonah please-" you choke out, but immediately gets cut off by a sharp gasp as Jonah speeds up his ministrations to an almost brutal pace, quickly bringing you to the edge once more.

With a twitch, your body seizes up once more as your orgasm crashes over you. Your cries were muffled just in time by Jonah's lips crashing onto yours as he dutifully fucks you through your high, stuttering in his pace as he cums just a few moments after.

The air is hot between you two. Cookies, now long forgotten to a passionate love making session on the kitchen counter.

Someone has to clean this up.

[johannstutt413]

(requested by calligomiles)

“Good morning, Scavenger!” Provence and Grape sat down across from the Zalak at the end of the table, the large wolf on guard even as they crunched several bones in their mouth. “Got a minute?”

“Sure.” She didn’t sound terribly happy about it.

The Lupo smiled. “Great! What about tomorrow night?”

“...Yeah?” Another one of Provence’s outings, perhaps? “Going somewhere?”

“Actually, I’m asking for a friend. I was hoping to introduce you two.”

Oh. Well, that made sense - they’d already had their DTR, and the Sniper was dating the Doctor. What was she planning, though? “You know how I feel about chitchat.”

“That’s why I want you two to hang out! You’re both so quiet and broody.” Provence dodged a sunflower seed flicked at her. “Sorry, but seriously. I think you two will understand each other.”

“...Fine. Where?” She unwrapped a granola bar as she popped a few more sunflower seeds in her mouth.

The Sniper cheered, pumping her fist as Grape yipped. “Hey, don’t talk with your mouth full~ We’ll meet at that dive bar you told me about.”

“Just the four of us?” Scavenger replied to the questioning look with a shrug. “You, your friend, me, and the Doctor?”

“Oh, gotcha. He’s busy tonight, but I’ll probably have Grape with me still. Today’s their walking day. Isn’t that right?” Another yip, but this time followed by a bark.

The mercenary followed the wolf’s gaze, spotting another Lupo fast approaching. “Red.”

“Eeeek! Where?!” As she spun around to look, the counter-Lupo sprinted for the table- only to get her coat pinned to the table by a crossbow bolt. “Eh?”

“Wow. Good shot.”

Provence looked at the Zalak who’d complimented her. “That wasn’t me!”

“I know.” She grabbed her trash, pocketing the rest of her snacks. “See you for dinner.”

“Oh. Well, bye! See you tonight!” With that, the Sniper hopped onto her wolf’s back, and the two rode out of the cafeteria.

From across the cafeteria, in her hunters’ blind of a corner, another Sniper was disassembling her crossbow. A close call; if Red had reached her target, tonight’s casual meeting might’ve accidentally turned into a full-blown date…

A few hours later, Scavenger showed up to her favorite hole-in-the-wall and found the corner circle-bench with the conspicuous pair of purple fluff balls at it; there, she found Provence and Grape, as expected...and an Elafia whom she’d never seen before. “Evening.”

“Evening.” Firewatch’s reply barely reached the Zalak’s ears as she sat next to her - after all, she couldn’t sit in Grape’s spot.

“I got here early, so there’s appetizers coming any time now. Anyway!” Provence rubbed her hands together. “Scavenger, this is Firewatch. She’s one of the sharpest sharpshooters in Rhodes Island.”

A light bulb clicked in the Zalak’s mind. “That was you earlier.”

“It was.” Her eyes were swiveling around the restaurant, seemingly on the lookout for someone or something.

“Really? Thanks for helping me out there - if she’d gotten into my tail, I wouldn’t have been able to make it-” Mid-sentence, her phone began to chirp. “Oh, that’s the Doctor! I’ll be right back!” Grape followed the Lupo as she dashed outside.

The remaining pair didn’t say a word for a few pin-drop quiet moments, glancing at each other occasionally and locking eyes more than once. Eventually, a waitress arrived with a plate of appetizers and a notepad. “While I’m here, can I get you any drinks this evening?”

“Water,” Firewatch replied, giving their server a once-over before resuming her visual patrol.

“Still on the job?” Scavenger shrugged. “Bottle of crystal oat, warm.”

The server wrote “one water, one Scavenger Special” before flashing them a smile. “I’ll be right back with those.”

“That makes two of you,” the Zalak muttered, helping herself to some fried pickles.

“...She recognized you.” The Elafia noted as she took some appetizers for herself. “Provence said you come here often.”

She frowned. “She did, huh? Yeah, I do.”

“Does it help?”

“Help with that?” The frown turned into a glare, not at Firewatch but the seat across from them. “Did she tell you that, too?”

The Sniper shook her head. “She didn’t need to.”

“Hmmph. She said we’d understand each other. Know what she meant by that?” Scavenger had to wonder just how much this girl could actually see.

“Loss.” The word hung in the air, suspending time for a moment. “How many?”

The Zalak sighed. She should’ve ordered something stronger. “One. You?”

“Thirty-seven.” Each and every face passed across her mind’s eye, as they always did.

“A lot more, then.” The mercenary slid the tray away from her, further into the center of the table. “You win the contest.”

Firewatch was no longer looking around the restaurant; she’d found her target. “What was her name?”

“...Lyla.”

“Mmm.” The waitress from before chose that moment to bring them their drinks. “Thank you. One crystal oat, please.”

She blinked. “Sure thing. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” both replied, having resumed looking at each other.

“Alright, then.” Another few notes. “I’ll be back.”

Scavenger popped the top on her bottle with the steak knife they’d provided for anything but that. “Change your mind? No one else drinks this stuff.”

“I used to.” This time, the waitress came back almost immediately, and with a bottle opener.

“Gotcha.” She knew she wasn’t lying, but it was a weird coincidence. “Well, to living for the dead.”

The Elafia clinked her bottle with the Zalak’s. “To living for the dead.”

“Sorry about that!” A few minutes later, a flustered Provence returned with her wolf. “Oh, Firewatch, I didn’t know you drink.”

“Rarely,” she replied with a hiccup.

The mercenary smirked. “That’d be why, I’m guessing.”

“The bubbles *hic* always do this.” Firewatch shook her head. “Soda *hic* does the same thing.”

“That’s kinda cute, honestly,” the Lupo observed, glancing at the Zalak as she did.

Scavenger raised an eyebrow at her in return. “What?”

“Oh, nothing.” She turned to the Elafia, who was also giving her a look. “What?”

“Your *hic* shirt’s backwards.”

Provence looked down, eyes widening. “It is? The lights were on, how di- no it isn’t.”

“...Heh.” The avenger’s all-too brief chuckle was interrupted by another hiccup. “I knew it.”

“I-it was an emergency.” The Lupo looked over to Scavenger for backup.

All she got was another, longer chuckle. “He’s busy, huh?”

“L-look, it’s not like that, really!” The Zalak started laughing louder. “What’s so funny?”

“You’re so easy to tease *hic*,” Firewatch replied before finishing her bottle.

The mercenary shook her head, steadily calming down. “She really is. Happy with your matchmaking mission?”

“I should’ve stayed at his office.” That set the Elafia off, which caused Scavenger to start laughing again. “Was I right, at least?”

“Maybe,” she managed through her snickering as the avenger quietly dissolved in her corner.

The other Sniper leaned against Grape. “Good. Have you guys eaten yet? I’m starving.”

“Now that you mention it.” The Zalak glanced around, looking for their waitress. “Where is she, anyway?”

“Gossiping with the *hic* cook. Oh, it’s been a- *hic* -while.” Firewatch took a long drink of water to reset herself.

Scavenger waved her empty bottle around. “Yeah, same here. What was that about us being ‘mopey’ earlier, Prov?”

“I probably just missed it.” She shook her head. “This is a lot nicer, though. Oh, I hope she gets here soon.”

“She’s on her way. *yawn*” The Elafia blinked slowly; she’d had plenty to eat already.

The Lupo cocked her head. “Early shift today?”

“Just full.” The avenger looked at the Zalak’ carefully for a moment. “Scavenger?”

“Sure.” She slid closer so Firewatch could set her head on her shoulder.

Provence beamed. “Aww~”

“Well, if there were any doubts before.” The mercenary yawned, too. “Ah, damnit...I should probably call it a night. Long shift tomorrow.”

“Me, too,” the Sniper on her shoulder agreed, sliding an arm around hers.

Scavenger blushed. “I can take you home, I guess.”

“Thanks.” She opened her steadily-closing eyes to look at the Lupo across from her. “You, too.”

“Happy to help! I’ll cover the bill, you two go on ahead.”

The Zalak nodded, carefully helping Firewatch to her feet. “Thanks. See you around.”

“Yep, sure thing!” As the pair left the bar, Provence sighed. “Good - I didn’t want to order something here before my real date.”

The mercenary knew her way around the Island well enough to not need to ask where her date’s room was, and fortunately for them, it wasn’t far enough away to need a cart. Approaching the door, Scavenger nudged the dozing doe who’d been leaning against her the entire time. “We’re here.”

“Mmhmm...” She slipped her keycard over the lock but didn’t push the door open herself.

“You really are tired, aren’t you?” The Zalak sighed, leading her across the threshold. “Huh. Nice place - plenty of corners. Where’s your room?”

Firewatch waved in a direction. “Over there.”

“Cool. You um...you mind if I stay the night? Your place is closer to where I need to be in the morning.”

“Go ahead.” The Elafia pulled her into her bedroom with her but let go to fall into bed. “Goodnight.”

Scavenger took a moment to evaluate her situation before asking, “You want me on the couch or-”

“Mmm.” She slapped the bed.

“Good.” The Zalak slipped off her shoes before collapsing onto the mattress as well. “Night.”

The avenger said nothing as she found the mercenary’s hand before falling asleep.

[atths--twice]

Picture Perfect Moments

Mulder and Scully attend a small party at Mrs. Scully’s house. (An idea born from an old photo of DD and GA.)

They were not working out of town, or even working on an active case, but in the office catching up on paperwork. Scully mentioned in passing that her mother was having a party and had asked if she would be able to stop by.

“You could head over now. I can finish this up.” She gave him a look and he smiled. “I am capable of filing paperwork on my own, you know.”

“Mmm-hmm,” she answered with a smile of her own, finishing the page she was writing on, and signing the bottom.

“Seriously, I can do this, Scully. You go ahead.” He stared at her and she nodded as she set the pen down and stood up.

“Why don’t you come with me?” she asked, a look of surprise on her face that he was sure mirrored his own.

“Oh no, that’s okay. You go on.”

“Mulder,” she said, putting on her coat. “That paperwork can wait, and my mother has asked after you.” She rolled her eyes as she adjusted her collar, and then stood with her eyebrows raised. “Many times, in fact.”

“Scully…”

“Mulder, finish that one I handed you, and let’s go.” She crossed her arms and he sighed.

“Fine. Far be it from me to say no, to not just one, but two Scully women.”

“Smart man,” she smirked and he smiled. Adding his signature to the paper, he set it down and stood up, reaching for his coat.

“What kind of party is it? Will there be cake?” he asked, sliding on his coat, and she snorted.

“Knowing my mother and her friends, there will be many different kinds of desserts.”

“And you didn’t think to lead with that? Come on, let’s go.” He put his hand on the small of her back as he led her out the door, her laughter ringing in his ears.

His plate laden with many delicious treats, he sat on the garden wall, away from the large group of women who were gathered in the backyard. It was cool out, but they did not seem to mind, their cheeks pink from the weather and the many bottles of wine on the table.

He heard Scully laughing and he watched her speaking to her mother and a few of the other women. He smiled as he picked up a frosted brownie and took a large bite, his eyes closing at the rich chocolate flavor.

“They’re all quite taken with you.” He heard Scully say and he opened his eyes, finding her standing in front of him with a smile on her face. “Of course, once I told them you have a nasty habit of ditching me, you leave sunflower seeds everywhere, and you believe in little green men from outer space, well…” She took a small piece of his brownie and chewed it as she smiled.

“Gr…” he tried to say, his mouth full. She laughed and rolled her eyes.

“Grey. I know, I know. But Mulder, these are Catholic, church going women, do you want to explain that to them? Really?” She looked over at the women and he followed her gaze.

They were all laughing and drinking their wine. Memories of country club parties from his youth suddenly resurfaced, of rich women and their killer cheek pinching fingers. He shuddered and shook his head, swallowing down the bite of brownie.

“That’s what I thought,” she chuckled as she sat next to him and took another little piece of brownie. “I think I’ve bought us a few minutes at least, except I saw my mother carrying around her new camera, which she never has quite gotten the hang of, so… be on the lookout. Oh… also.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small bottle of whiskey. Taking off the cap, she took a drink, and handed it to him. He stared at her and she smiled.

“Why do I get the feeling this isn’t the first time you’ve snuck a bottle of booze from your parents stash?” he asked, as he took a drink and coughed, the liquid burning the back of his throat, and causing his eyes to water.

“Because it’s not,” she said with a laugh and took the bottle back, taking another drink. “Missy and I got very drunk once when I was about sixteen and we were on the roof up there.” She pointed to a flat part of the roof and took another drink. “That’s my old room. We used to sneak out at night and drink and smoke-”

“Smoke?!” he asked incredulously, and she looked at him with a smile, nodding her head. “Does your mother know about this?”

“What are you gonna do? Tell on me?” Another drink and she stared at him, challenging him with her eyes, though the smile on her lips betrayed her tough expression.

“Maybe. What else did you do?” He took the bottle from her and took a drink, coughing again and she giggled, actually giggled.

“I can’t tell you all my secrets, Mulder. Not in one day,” she said softly, and he knew they had crossed into somewhat dangerous territory. He cleared his throat and was about to say something when he saw her mother coming toward them.

“Fox, I hope you’re enjoying the food,” she said, with a twinkle in her eyes, and he nodded. Setting the large plate of food down, he stood up and brushed his hands off, before reaching to clasp her hand.

“Thank you. It’s all delicious,” he said and she smiled.

“Of course. Oh, since you’re both here, let me get a picture of you two,” she said, and went to get her camera. Scully sighed as she stood up and slipped the whiskey bottle into her pocket.

“Here we are,” Mrs. Scully said with a smile. “I don’t get a chance to take pictures often, so… Okay, closer together. Yeah, like that. I’m going to take a couple just in case. I haven’t gotten the hang of all the bells and whistles yet. Okay, I think that’s good. Have fun you two.” With that, she walked away and they sat back down, Scully taking the whiskey from her pocket and opening the cap.

“And she never suspected a thing,” Scully said with a wink as she took another drink. He laughed and offered her half of the remaining brownie. She took it and smiled at him, but he waved off the whiskey she offered in return. One of them needed to be able to drive back and judging by the pinking of her cheeks, he knew it wouldn’t be her.

“So tell me more about this sneaking out,” he said, taking a bite of a lemon bar. “Pretty ballsy with your father.” She laughed and pretended to zip her lips, her eyes dancing. He smiled, as she took one more drink and put the bottle back in her pocket and sighed. She looked at him and smiled.

“Thanks for coming with me,” she said softly as just then, the wind blew her hair across her face. Without thinking, he tucked it behind her ear, his thumb stroking her cheek. Her eyes searched his and then dropped to his lips, before coming back to his eyes.

Moving his hand, he sat back and cleared his throat. “Well, someone needs to make sure you get home safely.” She looked down and smiled, then looked at him again. He nodded with a smile of his own, the moment between them pulled away with the wind.

_________

A month later, he was at her apartment going over a case. She asked him to grab a blanket from the closet in her room, the evening becoming chilly. He generally stayed out of her bedroom, it feeling like her private domain, but he did as she asked.

As he was walking out, something caught his eye. In a small frame, he saw a picture of them he had never seen before. They did not have many, if any really, and he was drawn to it like a moth to a flame. Picking it up, he grinned as he realized it was the one Mrs. Scully had taken.

It was a great picture. He was wearing his suit from that day, and had his arm around her shoulders. She had an almost secretive smile on her face, no doubt thinking of the whiskey in her pocket, sneaking out with Missy, or laughing at her mother’s lack of technological knowledge. Whatever the reason, it amplified her already beautiful smile. He stared at it, then set it down, grabbing the blanket and leaving the room.

No doubt her mother gave it to her framed, and yet, she kept it so, and left it out where she could see it. He smiled at the thought and handed her the blanket, saying nothing about it as they continued to discuss the case.

__________

Scully shut the door with a sigh and locked it. They wrapped up the case and Mulder took the files with him. Intent on taking a bath and going to bed, she shut off the lights and made her way to the bathroom. The temperature just right, she let the tub fill and went to her room to undress.

As she did, her eyes landed on the picture her mother had brought over, her sly smile saying more than words could. It was not until her mother left though, that Scully found the other two pictures wrapped in tissue. She understood why her mother would not have framed them, but wanted her to have them nonetheless.

They were from the same day, but when neither of them were looking or knew she was taking pictures. In one, they were simply looking at one another, but Scully felt her pulse race as she looked at it. It was innocent, but she felt it to her toes.

The other… she had taken a picture at the exact moment he pushed her hair behind her ear. If the first one made her pulse race, this one made it stop. It was such a Mulder thing to do and yet it was completely unexpected. He was a very touchy person and she had become accustomed to it, but seeing it was another thing in itself.

Her mother could not have captured a better moment, and yet she did not see everything. She did not see how the whiskey made Scully feel bolder, the desire to taste his lips so strong, she nearly fell in, not caring who saw them or where they were. But Mulder saw and he had pulled back, as he had cleared his throat and changed the feel of the moment.

Scully opened a dresser drawer and moved aside her sweaters, taking out the pictures, needing to see them again. She smiled as she held them, seeing the care they had for one another, frozen in two perfect pictures. She sighed as she put them back and closed the drawer.

Maybe one day she would put them out, but for now they would stay hidden. Like many other things, it was safer that way.

For now.

[temporalwaveofmischief]

Brian/Alex library cafè AU fic:

An elbow jabbed painfully in Alex's stomach. This caused Alex to fall from the bed that him and his boyfriend, Brian, share. Alex landed with a loud 'thump!' on the floor of their dorm room.

Brian was still sound asleep.

Once Alex got his bearings, he sat up with a huff. He got up and shook Brian.

"Brian. Brian." Then, Alex whispered in Brian's ear, "I guess we're not going to that 'suprise' you wanted us to go to."

Immediately, Brian shot up from the bed.

"Huh?! W-wuh-" Brian started. Alex kissed his cheek.

"Good morning, my star."

Brian puffed up his chest and furrowed his eyebrows. Alex only rolled his eyes and let out a quiet laugh.

Alex leaned forward and kissed Brian.

Unfortunately though, they had to start their day and they couldn't cuddle in bed for all of it. They cleaned up their dorm room, since it was looking more like a frat house than an actual room.

And they took their morning shower together. They stared admiringly at each others' bodies. Alex felt like covering up, but the way Brian was staring at his body made him feel like... a greek statue? God, when did he become sappy and dramatic? After some kisses and hugs were exchanged, they finally got dressed.

Before they went to the car, Alex grabbed his cat plush. (He named it Ash since Pokèmon was one of his favorite shows)

Eventually, they got to their car.

Alex got in the passenger's seat and opened the glove box. Inside, there were a multitude of CDs. He flipped through them until he saw what he was looking for. Alex inserted the CD into the slot. It was their special CD. It had Brian's rock and jazz music, and it had Alex's game OSTs and classical songs.

"Okay," Brian began. The jazz music was blaring through their speakers.

"Wear this blindfold."

Alex groaned. Internally, however, he didn't mind. But, he loved being a pain in the ass.

"Come ooooonnnnn, Alexxxxxxxx." Brian whined.

"How about," Alex paused. " a 'no' from me."

Brian pouted and used the cursed puppy dog eyes. Dammit. Too. Weak. Must-

"Fine."

Brian pumped his fist in the air and clapped his hands. He retrieved a cloth from his pocket.

"Ok. I'm gonna wrap this around you. DO. NOT. PULL. IT. DOWN."

"Oh. Like I did when-"

Brian put his hand over Alex's mouth.

Alex let out a snort, then a loud, unforgiving laugh.

Brian blushed. "Put on the blindfold, please."

Alex stopped and put the blind fold on.

Brian perked up, and slowly drove out of the university's parking lot.

The music blaring from the speakers was now playing one of his favorite tracks. Alex leaned back in his seat, and let his brain play white static.

However, Alex did not realize he had fallen asleep. After what seemed like forever, Alex's dream was interrupted when Brian shook his shoulder.

"Mmm. Five more minutes."

"Come onnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn."

"Sunflower, wake up."

Alex instanly opened his eyes at the name.

It was then Alex remembered he still had the blindfold on.

"Hey, uh, can I take this off?"

"Yup! We're here!"

Alex slowly took the blindfold off.

He could not believe his eyes.

It was a bookstore. Holy moly.

Alex quickly grabbed Brian's face and kissed all over it. Hell-to-the-fricking-yes. Brian giggled and screeched in pleasure.

"Glad you like it, sunflower."

They both got out of the car.

The building was of average size. It was made out of brick with enormous windows. On the door, there was a sign that said, 'Welcome to the Bluebird Cafè!' Underneath the message, there was a drawing of a detailed bluejay.

When they stepped inside, Alex was brimming with excitement. Hmm- no. Excitement was an understatement. He was in heaven.

All that surrounded the two were rows upon rows of books. It was endless.

Then, someone familiar approached them.

The man was wearing a plad shirt, khaki pants, and a green apron with a bluejay ironed on it. His nametag read 'Jay'.

"Hello!" Jay greeted.

Oh. It was that Jay. The one he met in elementary.

"Hey! I haven't seen ya' in awhile! How've you been?" Brian began.

"Oh, well, Tim's been good. He's manning the cafè if you want to see him."

"Sure. Alex, do you want to join us?"

Alex looked between them both.

"You don't have to. We can see Tim later."

Alex considered his options. Alex grabbed Brian's hand, "Sure."

Jay led the two to the cafè.

Tim was taking someone's order. After the person was done speaking, Tim paced to the coffee maker and started a fresh batch.

Tim had the same apron with the bluejay ironed on the front.

When Tim fufilled the costumer's order, Tim looked up and saw them. The stoniness that was in Tim's face immediately evaporated and was replaced with incredible warmth. It was as though stepping into a cabin and lying down near a fireplace.

"Hey, bluejay." Tim said.

"Hey sweetie." Jay replied.

Tim glanced at Brian and Alex.

"What can I get for ya' two?" Tim asked, with a pencil and notepad at the ready.

"Oh, uh," Alex stuttered.

"What are our options?" Brian replied.

"Well, lemme see," Tim looked up at the ceiling. "We have coffee, smoothies, juice, and water. That's it for the beverages. For the food, we have: donuts, muffins, eclairs, cake, and..." Tim trailed off.

"Pie and cupcakes." Jay finished for him.

"Thanks bluejay." Tim winked at him. Jay's face turned a bright shade of red.

"So, what would you two like?"

Brian looked at Alex.

After considering his options, Alex whispered his order in Brian's ear.

"Ok," Brian clapped his hands.

"I would like one orange juice and one pineapple-mango smoothie. For food, I would like a slice of pumpkin pie, and a lemon poppy seed muffin please."

"Comin' right up!"

Tim immediately went to work.

While Tim busied himself, Jay took Alex and Brian to a more secluded area of the cafe. Jay sat them down on a comfy couch with lots of pillows and blankets. In front of them, there was an old mahogany table with incense candles lit on it. Surrounding them, there were motivational posters and large windows that were partially covered with curtains.

While Alex and Brian waited, they explored the book section. While Brian wasn't really interested in books, Alex would read one within three days and pick up another one afterward. And as they explored the section, Alex began to have a stack of books in his arms that almost obscured his face.

After they were done, they sat down on the couch again and waited for their orders. Alex was already immersed in a book, while Brian just glanced around them and watched Alex's expressions. Even the tiny little things about Alex made him love him even more. The way he furrowed his eyebrows whenever the book gets interesting, or when he let's out tiny gasps when a character did a shocking thing or a plot twist happened that he didn't expect. It's just so.... Alex. And he loved it.

Brian re-adjusted his position, so that Alex laid on top of his chest.

"Watchya readin'?"

"Mmm. The Outsiders by S.E Hinton."

"Ah."

After a few minutes of waiting, Jay arrived at their table with their orders. They were pretty gosh darned good. Especially the smoothie. Eventually they cleaned themselves up, and Alex resumed his reading while clutching his stuffed cat.

They remained like this. Their hearts beating in rhythm, while rain pattered against the glass. The combination of the incense and the rain slowly lulled Brian to sleep.

They were at bliss.

And both Alex and Brian considered this the best date they ever had.

[daemongal]

A B C, easy as one two V! (Part 9)

Hey again! We’re almost done with these now and today we’ll cover U and V (only two but I wanted to get some content out for ya’ll). NSFW ahead!

You can find previous entries to this series from my [masterlist]!

______

U = Unfair 

V’s fingers retreated from your heat once more as you groaned in disappointment once more, your body aching to be touched but not getting enough stimulation to take you over the edge like you so desperately needed.

“Come ooooooon V!” You whined, throwing your head back against the pillows and rattling your arm restraints against the headboard. “How wasn’t that good enough? It was pretty much word for word.”  

In hindsight, you very much regretted your decision of asking V to be your private tutor. You thought given his extensive knowledge and interest in poetry that he’d help you study and memorise the poems needed for your test in a few days. When he said he would tutor you on a reward-based system before crashing his lips into yours, you could do nothing but accept his offer. Once your wrists were restrained however, that was a different story.

“’Pretty much word for word’ will not get you the grade you so rightly deserve my sweet. Until you have recited it precisely as written, there’ll be no reward for you; it is as we agreed.” You sighed, face contorting into a pout.

“Well, if you didn’t have your tongue half way down my throat when you asked maybe I would have tweaked the terms of our agreement slightly.” V chuckled in response, fingers grazing your core once more as your whole body shuddered.

“Now, once again from the top.” You cleared your throat, breath hitching as his fingers started to slowly press against your entrance.

“Ah, sunflower weary of time, who countest the steps of the sun; seeking after that sweet golden cli-ahh-me,”  

Your voice stuttered as a single finger pushed into you slowly, your body shivering in anticipation.  

“where the t-traveller’s journey is done; w-where the youth pined away with desire-ahh.”

His finger curled, pressing against your walls exactly where you needed it. Your back arched and your voice broke at his finger kneading intently against your insides.

“You’re doing exquisitely so far, love. Now, please continue.” You fought to keep your eyes open and your thoughts coherent as your legs spasmed reflexively against the sheets. You gulped and took a deep breath.

“a-and the pale virgin shrouded in s-snow, arise from th-their graves and ahh!”  

A second finger joined the first, the pace quickening as you gripped the headboard to ground yourself. Sweat began to trickle from your brow as your eyes fluttered shut, only to reopen in shock a moment later as teeth grazed your ear.

V had moved himself up over you in the moment when your concentration lapsed, his head how resting in the crook of your shoulder, breath against your neck.

“Almost there love; you’re so close.” His deep voice in your ear sent your world spiralling as his expert fingers toyed with your insides perfectly. You were close in more ways than one but you knew you needed to finish the recital; you couldn’t take any more denial.

“a-arise from their g-graves and aspire, where my S-sunflower wishes to go-oooooh!”  

His thumb pressed against your clit, circling it in time with the thrusts of his hand. Your back arched as a question remained on the tip of your tongue.

“Th-there, I did it r-right. C-can I...please?” Your voice was raspy as you gasped for breaths, his pace slowing momentarily, holding you on the brink torturously.

“Hmmm...” V hummed against your ear, before running his tongue up the outer shell. “it sounded divine, love. I couldn’t have recited it better myself.” His quickened his pace again, pushing you back towards your high, his curled fingers pumping in and out of you, his thumb brushing against you’re engorged clit before eventually, he threw you over the edge.

“Ahhhhh, V!” You moaned his name as you reached your peak, the pleasure washing over you as you pushed your head back against the pillow. Your thighs squeezed his hand as his fingers guided you gradually through the waves before your body collapsed, legs dropping to the side.  

V reached up and unclasped your wrists, holding them lightly and pressing his lips gently against the red marks left behind, before lowering them to the bed at your side.  

“Let me... let me tell you one thing.” You started breathlessly. “I-I won’t be forgetting that poem anytime soon.” You giggled, your body feeling giddy from the afterglow. “You’re an excellent tutor V.” He leaned on one elbow on his side, fingers tracing light patterns against your skin, eyes glancing over your body adoringly.  

“Oh the work was all yours my love. You have too much self-doubt.” You looked over to meet his gaze, a puzzled look on your face. He chuckled once more at your expression. “You already knew the poem, love. I merely helped you master it.”  

“W-wait... what?!” You stared at him as a lopsided smirk spread up his cheek.  

“You already knew the words love. You only believed that you didn’t. By the fifth time, you knew that you had recited it correctly, I only wished to instil that confidence in you.” Your mouth dropped open as the realisation hit you.

“You mean every time you told me it was wrong you were... lying?”

“Teasing is the word, love. If you wish for me to be honest...” Without warning V flipped you onto your stomach, pinning your hands once more above your head as he kneeled over your legs. He leaned his face down to yours, pressing his hips and hardened arousal against your rear, lips touching against your ear once more.

“... I was enjoying your impassioned recital so much, I wished for it to never end.”

V = Volume 

“Ahh, V. Mmmff.” V’s hand covered your mouth, muffling the sounds that you couldn’t hold back.  

Nero grumbled in his sleep from the futon at the other side of the room as V stopped moving his hips momentarily. The 3 of you had decided it would be best to rest at an abandoned hotel not far from where your most recent job was and wait until morning to rendezvous with Nico.  

You and V had been seeing each other secretly for a while now, but thought it would be best to keep it to yourselves for the time being until the current shitstorm has passed.

“Hush love. We don’t want to be getting caught now do we?” His words were whispered against your ear as he held your body still against his. You took a few deep breaths as you shook your head sheepishly.  

“It’s your fault.” You muttered quietly into his hand. He began to move his hips again suddenly, his pace slow to avoid causing too much movement, but the angle hitting into you perfectly. You could feel every inch of him as he slid in and out of you with smooth, deep thrusts.  

He was spooning you from behind, both of you on your sides as his hips hit against your ass with each thrust. His lips were against your ear, breathing heavily and whispering sweet nothings to you in between breaths.

“Oh you always take me so well, my sweet. It’s a shame you cannot let out your voice, it is not my desire to muffle your wonderful song.” You let out a gasp as he pushed his cock into you more harshly, the movement of his hips becoming stronger as your body moved slightly with each thrust.

His fingers slipped in between your lips as they opened causing a spark of arousal to shoot through you. V couldn’t hold back a groan a he held you tight, moving your body into his own to meet each thrust as you closed your lips around the digits in an attempt to hold the moans building in your throat as you approached your peak.  

He pulled out of you suddenly, removing his hand from your mouth and using it to pull on your hip.

“Turn over please love.” You were happy to oblige, flipping onto your other side. He lifted one of your legs, placing himself in between them as you wrapped your arms around his torso and your legs around his hips. Quickly, he seated himself back in you, shuffling to move closer before beginning his movements again.

From the new position, you were able to pull yourself to meet each of his thrusts, allowing for more movement as you quickly closed in on your peak again. With how much the sheets were shuffling over your bodies, if Nero woke up there’d be no mistaking what you were both getting up to, which just made it all the more thrilling to you.  

“V... I-I'm close.” Your breathing was ragged as you pressed your forehead against his.

“A-as am I love. P-please, your lips; or I fear I will w-wake him.” You grabbed the back of his head and pulled him into a heated kiss, mouths open and tongues pressed together. You moaned against his lips as his thrusts became quicker and more erratic, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

With a few more deep thrusts, V moaned into your mouth and tensed as he spilled his seed inside of you, the action being the last thing to push you over the edge as you clung to him, his arms around your shoulders tightening as you rode out your highs together, muffled moans being caught in each other's mouths.

You slowly pulled your lips away, grabbing a few heavy breaths, pressing your forehead to V’s as he did the same. Your bodies both stiffened as you heard shuffling from the futon, freezing in place as you waited for any sign he was awake.  

“Mmm not deadweight Dante, fuck you...” He muttered under his breath followed by light snores as you both sighed in relief before chuckling, running your hands through V’s hair, upset at the thought of having to de-tangle your bodies.  

He pulled out of you, leaving an empty sensation behind before pulling you closer and cradling you in his arms, lulling you to sleep with soft motions of his fingers against your skin and his quiet rhythmic breaths.

_______

Poem was “Ah, Sunflower” by William Blake :) Next part should be the last. 

Just FYI, I may be skipping the letter X because I am stumped for what to do with the prompt X-ray and I don;t know what else starts with X that I could write around.... =/

Thanks for reading!!

[scullydubois]

Only the Light: Ch. 15

15/? | AU where Melissa moves in with Scully after Scully’s abduction | angst, msr slow-burn, occasional fluff | currently: Anasazi/The Blessing Way | T | 5k | previous chapters | read on ao3 | tagging: @today-in-fic <3

After shooting Mulder to prevent him from implicating himself in his father's murder, Scully takes Mulder & Melissa on a road trip to Albert Hosteen's Navajo reservation in New Mexico.

TW for mentions of guns/shooting, death, funerals

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

His eyes flutter open to some place like Heaven, which pisses him off cause that’s not supposed to exist, and if it does, then how in the hell did he make it here? A fiery-haired angel lays a gilded hand upon his chest, her touch made out of air. Tendrils of hair fall against her face, and Mulder wonders where one gets haircuts in Heaven. 

He must be floating on a cloud, so close to the sun that it is stained an earthly golden-yellow. His sky accommodation is not as comfortable as all those Renaissance painters made it look, and for that he feels deceived. Is the soul so solid that it is weighed down, even in Heaven? And if it is, well, doesn’t that defeat the purpose of a soul?

He is fatigued, and it’s bullshit, in his opinion, that he could be dead and still feel anything but blissful numbness. He’s about to voice this particular grievance when he realizes where he is, and sure English is turning into a lingua franca of sorts, but something tells him that God isn’t spending his spare time teaching the angels the difference between too and to. So he keeps his mouth shut, unnerved by not knowing whether he’ll ever be able to speak his mind again. 

“Hey,” a soft voice breathes, and he’s surprised to understand it, but not altogether upset. He tries to respond, but his tongue has tethered itself to the base of his mouth.

“Mulder…” the voice says, and it registers in his mind that it’s not an angel--not technically--but Dana Katherine Scully, and my god, what atrocity has dared to send her to Heaven so damn soon? 

He coughs, then grumbles from deep in his throat. He’s got to be the most undignified person in this joint, and he can only hope his welcome dinner with God isn’t anytime soon. The angel’s hand that is actually his partner’s drifts over his forelock, her fingers guiding his hair back into its part. 

“Mulder, can you hear me?”

He nods, hungry for some sense of things.

“You were shot, Mulder. By me. Because you were acting very stupid.”

She killed him?!? Maybe he shouldn’t be so shocked by this, but he can’t help himself. And she’s here too, so how did that happen? Murder-suicide?

Her hand sweeps his shoulder, and he looks down to see the space where her bullet must have pierced him. Patched up right above his heart. He didn’t expect to carry wounds into the afterlife.

Her eyes meet his, blue as ever. “I’ve been taking care of you, and you’ll be just fine.”

His lips form an O, but no sound follows. 

“Let me get you some water.” Scully disappears from his line of sight, and he realizes that his cloud has a roof and an open door. You can’t see those from the ground.

Scully returns with a plastic water bottle. Deer Park, to be exact--another thing he didn’t expect to find in Heaven. She holds it to his lips, tilting the liquid gently into his mouth. He revels in it, vitality slowly being returned to him.

At last, his tongue functions as it should. “Where are we, Scully?” he asks, his voice creaky. He’s beginning to think it’s not Heaven after all, but the back of his partner’s Chevy. Which feels about as equally likely, if he’s honest.

“At a gas station In Texas, about two miles off I-40,” she answers, twisting the cap back on the bottle. “We’re headed to a Navajo reservation in New Mexico.”

Met with the realization that his life is not, in fact, over, Mulder tries to piece together the last moments he can remember. He squints, the sun outside the vehicle colliding with the darkness in his brain. He remembers a fever and a bed that was not his. 

“Did I sleep in your bed?” he asks, fairly confident that more important things before and after have slipped his mind.

“You did indeed,” Scully replies. And before he can get to it--”Melissa and I shared.”

“Ah.” He pushes himself up, every muscle in his arms rebelling. 

Scully pats his shoulder. “You should stay reclined.”

“I’m like a whale in a fish bowl back here,” he protests. And he’s not wrong, Scully knows this. To fit him in, she leaned his head against the driver’s side windowsill and let his bare feet push against the passenger side door, then said a silent prayer that there would be no potholes. 

“Why can’t I come up front?” he whines. “I’ll lean the seat back.”

“Because Missy’s sitting there.”

Mulder glances into the front, his expectations of privacy shattered. Still, an empty passenger’s seat meets his gaze. “Well, where is she then?” he pesters, more pointed than intended.

Scully chuckles. You can put a hole in the man’s chest, but you can’t take the restlessness out of him. “She’s inside getting snacks.” Scully smiles at her partner, fondness flowing out in a way she rarely lets it. He’s been out for a couple days now--and while she was closely monitoring him and knew he was okay--she’s so glad that he has come back to her. “Do you want sunflower seeds?” she asks with a sparkle in her eyes.

He nods. “Sp--”

“Spitz.” The moments that have gotten them there, that have indebted her with that knowledge, flash through her mind. “I know.”

And it feels almost prophetic, to Mulder, that she does.

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

The plains of North Texas roll past them, headlights and moonlight meeting in a demure embrace. The two-lane road bears a great resemblance to many they’ve gone down in days past. There’s no one else in sight. 

Mulder has been relieved of his back seat duties, taking Melissa’s place at the passenger side so she could get some sleep. He’s slipped on the shirt Scully swiped from his apartment, a Knicks 1990 tee that she must have found in the corner of the living room where he throws his dirty clothes. He wonders if she even packed anything for herself before she hightailed it out of the city.

He couldn’t have imagined that punching Skinner would lead to his father dead, him shot by his partner, and them on the run across the country. And yet, there’s no place he’d rather be. The desert gifting them with a stunningly clear night, he’s opened the car’s sunroof and kicked back to stare up at the stars. The radio having long turned to static, quiet permeates the car.

“I’d gladly live in the middle of nowhere if I got this view every night,” Mulder remarks, drinking in the night sky.

Scully glances at him. There’s a rogue part of her brain that hoped he’d be looking back at her. Alas, the sky is his mistress. 

They continue barreling down the highway, about seven hours out from their destination.  The speedometer reads 87 mph...Scully is prone to speeding when she can get away with it.

“Keep it up and we’ll beat the sunrise,” Mulder jests. 

“That’s the plan.”

Mulder pulls his seat back into place, popping suddenly into Scully’s peripheral vision. “Hey Scully, can I ask you a question?”

“If I said no, would that stop you?”

“Negative.”

“Go on, then.”

“Setting aside the why--though I’d be interested in that, too--how exactly did you decide that shooting me near the heart would be the safest bet?...Unless you wanted to kill me.”

“Well, I was pretty certain I’d be able to remove the bullet with what you had in your apartment, since the wound isn’t near a bone. That also makes it easier to prevent infection.”

“So you either have an insane amount of confidence in your shot, or you don’t value me very much,” he quips.

Scully smirks. “Lucky for you, I consider target practice a great stress reliever.”

“Does the Bureau psychologist know that?”

She bats his arm playfully, the car swerving as she does.

“Hey, that’s no way to treat a patient. Now I know why you’re not practicing.”

“Oh, did I forget to mention…? I’ve decided that I prefer Dr. Scully to Special Agent Scully, so this is the last you’ll be hearing from me.”

Mulder chuckles, though the very idea that there could be any truth to that gives him a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. “There are millions of doctors out there,” he says, “and some of them aren’t even the cool type. Special Agent? That’s way sexier.”

“Oh, is that the metric we’re measuring at now?”

“That’s the metric I’m always measuring at,” he deadpans. 

“Mmm.” Scully looks at the rearview mirror, her sister’s steady-breathed sleep reflecting back at her. Good. She’d never hear the end of it if Missy overheard this conversation.

Mulder rubs his eyes, the events prior to his blackout having flowed back to him through the waking hours. “I’m sure I’ll regret asking this,” he begins, “but am I a fugitive?”

Scully glances out the driver’s window, as if she were going to change lanes though there is nowhere to go and no one else around. “I took your weapon to ballistics and proved it wasn’t the one used in the murder.” She says it so casually, Mulder notices, distancing them from the fact that the victim was his father. “But you’re still the only one placed at the scene, and it doesn’t look good that you called the police then ran. Still, the evidence implies that it wasn’t you. Of course, there’ll be suspicion…”

“Especially since we’ve both disappeared…”

“Hey, we’re on FBI business,” Scully declares. “We didn’t go through the official channels, but this is related to the X-Files.”

“Maybe Skinner will believe that if he hears it from you.”

“That’s what I’m banking on.”

Mulder smiles. She’s using her reputation to pull off a ruse. And damn, does that turn him on. 

He breathes in the scents of the car--the McDonalds fries they bought with Melissa’s credit card (just to be safe), his own eau de cologne from three days without a shower, but, above all, Scully’s sweetness. Her, just...her. A hint of strawberry, a swipe of gardenia perfume, and her honey-suckle skin. Smoke was never a fitting scent for her, and he is glad she has given it up.

“I’m guessing it’s safe to say you never caught up to Krycek,” Mulder mutters, balling up the fast-food straw paper and tossing it in the air. “Unless you’ve got him in the trunk.”

Scully shakes her head. “No stowaways besides you. He ran off after I shot and catching him wasn’t exactly my top priority.”

“So you do value my life…”

Scully flashes a brilliant but bashful smile. “You caught me.”

What a relationship they have. They are each other’s slayer and savior;  a cut of the knife stitched by a meticulous hand. Hurt then healed on the other’s command.

“Fox…” 

Mulder glances at the backseat. He finds Melissa sound asleep, snoring softly, and his gaze snaps back to the other Scully in the car. What glitch in the universe has led her to address him by his dreaded name?

He has never been so sure as in this moment---his partner is an otherworldly being, something supernatural. Not an alien, nothing so sinister...but perhaps the angel he imagined, or a fairy who has guided mankind for millennia, or a genie granting his wishes in freeze-frames. She looks through him...not in a way which makes him invisible, but one that takes the physical aspect out of it entirely. She sees his soul. He knows this.

“Fox,” she continues, layering on the vulnerability, “I’m sorry about your father. I know you loved him, above it all.”

Mulder pinches the bridge of his nose. “Something like that...I don’t know, honestly, that he ever loved me.” He looks at his lap. “He spent his last breath asking for forgiveness. You have to wonder what he’s done with his life to end up there.”

“It all becomes clear at the end,” Scully responds, not so much a hypothesis as a statement of fact, drawn from experience. “His regrets caught up to him, and he loathed some things he did while cursing himself for the things he left undone...And in that moment, an apology was all he could do to right some wrongs.”

Mulder looks at her through the corner of his eye, somewhat disturbed by the oracle she has become. “He asked me to forgive him,” Mulder replies. “That’s not the same as an apology.”

“Isn’t it, though?’

Mulder crosses his arms over his chest, the lumpy gauze of his wound rubbing him through his shirt. “Well, first of all, he didn’t even specify what I was supposed to forgive him for, so I don’t see how that can yield any sort of apology. And the very fact that was saying it at the end of his life means that it wasn’t actually about soothing my feelings, but lessening his guilt. Really, it didn’t have a damn thing to do with me.”

“So you’re saying it was a selfish apology, and that doesn’t count.”

“Exactly.”

“So do apologies only work if the recipient accepts them?” Scully interjects. “Is there no value in the attempt?” 

Mulder bites his lip.

“I’m not trying to play devil’s advocate,” she clarifies. “I’m genuinely curious about what you think.”

He sighs. “I think...what matters is not necessarily if the apology is accepted, but the intent of it. Like in this case, it was ill-timed, and so I don’t accept it. Maybe if he had said it to me ten years ago, it would have mattered, even if I were too stubborn to accept it at the time.”

“So if your father had apologized to you ten years ago, you would accept it now that he’s dead…?”

Mulder shrugs. “I think I’d realize that he actually meant it, and so I should cut him some slack.”

“Interesting.” Scully says nothing else, keeping her attention straight ahead.

Mulder smirks. “You don’t agree with me, do you?”

She pulls her lips into a tightly-knitted line. “No, no, that makes sense. I just think there are instances when a poorly-timed apology is accepted, and what then? Is the inevitable misunderstanding that will result the recipient’s fault for being so naive? Or do they get to place all the blame on the dishonest person?”

“How about a little bit of both, ey? Spread the blame out nice and evenly. A sprinkle there, a pinch here...”

Scully cracks a smile. Of course he’d make this conversation dirty. “You know, you scare me sometimes, Mulder.”

And just like that, they’re back to his preferred name. He lets out a sideways smile. “Yeah? Why?”

“Because I think that maybe you’re truly crazy, you’re not just faking it.”

He laughs, deep and sudden. Pulled from the trenches of his being. “Glad to hear it,” he snickers. “Glad to hear it.”

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

As the motorcycle rumbles over the desert dust, Scully wonders how she could be so stupid. Barely out of psychosis and she sends Mulder to a burial ground. She didn’t intend for it to be his final resting place. 

Eric had tried to warn him before the helicopter men, as he called them when describing the scene to Scully and Melissa, burned the place. But Mulder couldn’t hear him over the whirl of the blades--that’s what Eric suspected. As he recounted to the girls, the smoking man had threatened him, had laid a grotesque hand on him and forced him to show the way back to his house. They interrogated his father Albert and bruised and bloodied him. The conclusion, all around, was that nobody knew where Mulder was. Regardless of whether he had burned in that boxcar or somehow disappeared into the desert beforehand, he was gone.

Scully has a pretty clear idea of who’s responsible, and she wishes she had a helicopter she could ram into their dumb black helicopter to wipe them off the face of the Earth... and prevent them from wiping anyone else off the face of the Earth. Thwarting their ambitions will have to be enough.

But how? Desert heat mixes with smoldering ash as she stands over what’s left of the boxcar, making the moment unbearable. It is obvious to her that if Mulder was still in the boxcar when the ignitor went off, he is now dead. No human can survive that magnitude of burning--he would, in fact, be incinerated. Not a piece of him left behind, identifiable even to Scully’s trained eye. 

And if he wasn’t in the boxcar, if he heard the helicopter and gave himself over to the desert? What then? Surely he would have found his way back to where she was standing by now. Surely she’d be able to see him, hear him, touch him. There’d be proof he was something more than ashes. Maybe even, he might have made it back to the motel. But Melissa is keeping watch, and she hasn’t said a word. Missy would not play games about this. 

Logic prevailing, as it often does with her, Scully lets Eric drive her back to the motel. If he’s not here, then he’s there. And if he’s not there then--well, she knows. And isn’t it just like Mulder to leave her enough evidence to point one way without giving her the proof she needs to conclude? She imagines a funeral sans a body and shutters. 

When they get back to the motel and Missy opens the door and she is alone in the room, Scully is not surprised. She is shattered. It’s like learning the day you’ll die, then waking up on that day and recoiling at the calendar. What will be cannot be stopped. Not by any power of persuasion. Any.

She wants to scream, cry, file a personal complaint with God. Instead, she walks through the door, thanks Eric for his help, then asks her sister what she wants for dinner. Scully’s not hungry--she rarely is these days, and how could she be at a time like this?--but Melissa, she’s human, and she’s been waiting around all day, and all they have in the room is a quarter-full bag of gummy worms, so yeah, Scully decides, Missy probably is hungry. And that’s something she can take care of. 

Missy looks at her sister like--well, like she said she just saw an alien. “Dana, you’re not well.” Then, after getting no reaction--”It’s okay to be upset.”

Scully throws her blazer over a chair. ”I didn’t say I wasn’t upset.”

Missy sits down on the bed and pats the space next to her. “Come on, let’s talk about it.”

Scully throws her hands in the air. “He’s gone, Melissa, what else can I say?” She paces through the room. “If he was in the box car, he burned to death. And if he wasn’t, then shouldn’t we have found him by now?”

“Not necessarily,” Missy counters. “Albert told me about the Anasazi, a tribe that lived here hundreds of years ago.”

“I know, I know. They disappeared, historians have no explanation for it.”

‘“That’s what they say. But, honestly, Dana--nothing disappears without a trace. Mulder included.”

Scully shoots her a look. “So what is your explanation? That he was abducted, despite there being multiple witnesses who didn’t see a thing?”

“He called you, he said he saw something in the boxcar.”

Scully nods. “Bodies...lots of them. He said they didn’t look human. And they all had smallpox vaccination scars.”

“What do you make of that?”

Scully shrugs. “I don’t know, but I don’t think it has anything to do with the Anasazi.”

“So why did the men burn the boxcar?”

“It could have been because Mulder was in there, and they wanted to kill him. Or because what’s in there was damning to them.”

Missy bites her lip. “Did the boxcar blow up?”

“No, but it’s still smoldering.”

“Could you go in tomorrow and take a look? See what you can find?”

“Missy, I doubt there’s anything left. And besides, I’ve already ignored about thirty calls from Director Skinner. I need to get back to DC...I’m lucky if I’ll still have a job.”

“Fuck the job. Think of Mulder.”

“I need to consider both if I’m actually to uncover any of the conspiracies that Mulder--and his father and so many others--died as a result of.”

Melissa frowns. Dana’s already counting her partner out...that’s hard to come back from, being christened as a corpse. She sighs. ”Alright, I’m going to preface this by saying that I truly don’t believe that Mulder’s dead, and I know you will find him.”

Scully’s eyes narrow, intrigued by her sister’s shift in tone. “Okay…”

“There’s a technique that I learned from my therapist friend,” Missy begins, already setting off alarm bells in Scully’s head, “that is meant to help process complicated feelings about a person.” 

Scully purses her lips as Missy continues--”It’s used to find clarity and--if it’s someone you’ve lost, literally or metaphorically--to give closure. I think it would help you establish a clear motivation to keep up your work on the X-Files.”

Scully’s forehead creases right between the eyebrows. “I just told you, I have one.”

“Yes, but if you go back to Washington, bureaucracy’s gonna get in the way of all of that. That’s why you drove out here in the first place, isn’t it? To avoid bureaucracy and push forward with the case?”

“I suppose,” Scully mumbles.

“And that’s exactly what Mulder would have done, and that’s what he would want you to do now.”

“This is beginning to sound like one of those ‘if x jumped off a bridge, would you?’ scenarios,” Scully retorts. 

“But with the opposite sentiment,” Melissa clarifies. “You and Mulder have never been closer to finding the truth. Now do you want to hear my suggestion or not?”

Hands on her hips, Scully’s silence commands Missy to continue. 

“Let me remind you that Mulder is not dead, and this is just an exercise.”

Scully nods, more to keep her moving than in agreement. 

“I want you to write a eulogy for him.”

Scully’s mouth drops open in protest. “And this is going to advance the investigation how?”

“By giving you emotional clarity. Essentially, you’ll realize how much he means to you, and it will push you to do whatever you can to complete the investigation.”

Scully scoffs. “You act like I don’t even like him or something.”

“You like him, but you’re afraid of imitating him. There’s a lack of...respect for his methods. And they’re the only way this case is gonna get solved.”

Scully crosses her arms. “Gee, apparently you should have gone to Quantico in my place.” It’s not that she’s afraid, per say, but that she doesn’t think Mulder’s unconventional approach will work. Two plus years in and she still believes herself more than him. She wishes she didn’t.

“You don’t have to read the eulogy out loud,” Missy coos, knowing full well that she’ll be sneaking around during the night to get her hands on it when her sister refuses to share. 

“Wow, thanks. That makes me feel a lot better,” Scully groans. 

Melissa squeezes her sister’s shoulders. “It’s gonna be okay. You’ll find him, and this will help you know what to say when you do.”

Scully leans into the hug. “For the record, I think this is insane, alright? I’m only doing it because it’s getting too late to search the desert.”

“Understood.” Missy stands up. “Oh, and to answer your question, Albert invited us over for a traditional tribal feast at his house.”

“What?”

“You asked what I wanted for dinner. Those are our plans.”

“Oh.” Scully looks at her lap. It seems unfair to have to face the world at a time like this. Especially when her head is plagued with thoughts about what she would--will?--say at her partner’s funeral. And still, she continues.

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

Crowding around Albert’s dining table, the party finishes the last bites left on their plates. It has been a long day--or days, more accurately--and the desolate black sky outside makes Scully feel like it’s 4am, though the clock only reads 7. She blinks toward her company, trying to remain present.

“I am thankful we could share this meal,” Albert says, nodding to Scully and her sister. “It is not often we get outsiders here, and even less often that we’re able to indulge in the foods of our ancestors.”

Missy reaches for the final piece of fry bread, biting into it daintily. 

“There’s not a lot here,” Albert tells them, eyes downcast. “Nowadays, we take what we can get, and that means eating to survive...your processed foods and non-perishables have become the staples of our diets.”

Scully tries not to frown. “Well, we’re very glad that you prepared this for us. It was delicious,” she says, trying to inject enthusiasm into her downtrodden heart. 

“Yes, thank you very much,” Missy affirms. 

Albert casts his eyes in Scully’s direction. A shadow falls over her. From where, she is not certain. 

“You are hurting, but you do not need to be. What is yours will find you. There is no such thing as disappearance.”

Scully pulls her lips into a solemn smile. “That’s kind of you to say.”

“It is the truth. The desert acts in its own way, and it is never wrong.”

Scully nods, trying to believe him. Trying to have faith. “Thank you, Albert.”

From across the table, he extends his palms toward her. “Pray with me.”

She clasps his hands and closes her eyes. Prayer is not normally something she engages in with others around, but neither is grief. 

Albert begins speaking in the language written on the Defense Department files. She doesn’t understand the words, but his sincerity transcends semantics. The spirit of faith--the spirit of God--is there.

She has been thinking lately of faith. The faith she has been feeling is not that of Sunday mornings and ‘forgive me Father for I have sinned.’ It’s something else entirely, something that has compelled her to do things she would never do... until she looked down at her hands and she was doing them. 

So many transgressions to count, and yet she hesitates to even call them that. Injured her partner--a suspected fugitive--to keep him from implicating himself, tapped her sister as her sidekick to take him halfway across the country, and deserted her duties at the FBI, all in favor of the truth. 

Maybe truth is faith that good will prevail. 

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

When Scully sits down that night with the motel notepad and a pen, she becomes a conduit for everything she couldn’t say out loud. She copies the entire Mulder file from her brain, and it still doesn’t feel like enough. It doesn’t capture any of his essence, the unique flavor of humanity that he bravely faced the world with which made him so...him. 

It is then that Scully realizes you can know all the details of someone’s life without ever really knowing them, and that scares her because she gets the inkling that she has never truly let Mulder in--though he has opened up to her--and what if he dies feeling like he never got further than the young woman whose physics thesis he read? That’s not fair, not when she knows him so well.

She takes a breath and puts the pen down. She can’t compose Mulder to life. Resurrection doesn’t work that way. What she can do--and what she realizes is what every person does in this situation, and there must be something wrong with her because it wasn’t her first instinct--is write about how the man she knows (knew?) made her feel. About the impact his life had on her life. 

Her vision blurs as she works to consolidate her unauthorized biography of Fox William Mulder into a passage that suggests the joy their partnership brought into her life. Though Missy said she wouldn’t have to share, Scully can’t shake the feeling that she will need this at some point in time, that having a eulogy on call might not be such a bad idea. It’s a terrible thought, but a truth every agent knows. After all, she and Mulder witnessed each other writing their wills, and that was considered a customary work duty. Nothing is out of reach.

And so she wrote as if she’ll have to read it one day, letting her emotions flow within the confines of her finely tuned self-awareness. The end product turns out somewhat more sentimental than she envisioned, but she caps her pen and walks away, giving herself permission to take up space. 

--Fox William Mulder--

As he despised being called by his first name, I must take the liberty of referring to my partner as Mulder one last time. I was lucky to know him. Not as Spooky or the alien-obsessed man in the basement, but for who he truly was. Nothing was more important to Mulder than the truth. And the truest truth I know about him is that he loved his sister, and he wanted justice for her. It’s what he spent his life on, and ultimately, what he sacrificed it for. I am honored to have played any role in his mission, and I hope to continue it in his memory. 

If there’s one piece of Mulder that I hope to carry with me for the rest of my life, it’s his tenacity. Mulder never, never let any obstacle get in his way. I can’t tell you how many times I wasn’t sure where he was, only to learn that he had flown to the ends of the Earth to investigate whatever lead he found promising that day. I doubt that I’ll ever encounter anyone who lives up to the passion and determination he contained within him. And it’s a shame because the world needs that...The world needed him. 

I needed him too. He challenged me in ways I never dreamed of. Sometimes I wanted to pull my hair out, but mostly, I just kept thinking about how boring my life would be if I never met him. And now...I don’t know what’s next. There were so many possible futures ahead for us and the X-Files. This isn’t just a eulogy for Mulder, it’s a eulogy for all that could have been. He was my best friend. There’s nothing more I can say. 

When she reads it back the next morning, she falls to her knees in conversation with God, pleading for a miracle to bring the man she has finally realized she loves back into her life.

[storms-wants-time-travel]

ShanexFarmer Stardew Fanfic

She knew from the moment she married Shane she was never truly in love with him. Not properly. Not in the way she should have been. It had a few years, since she decided to propose to him, but everyday she wondered what if. What would have happened if they had stayed just friends, if she married someone else. Well now she had the oppurtunity to break things off. She knew Shane wasn't a bad man or a bad husband. She couldn't even deny that he was a bad father to their two children. She just couldn't keep lying to him. She just didnt love him in the way he needed. So on the 19th of summer she filed for divorce.

That night after returning from Mayor Lewis' house, her heart ached. She knew this would hurt Shane, and she hated the idea of it. He wouldn't know until the morning that they're marriage was over. The farmer stood in the kitchen preparing dinner. When Shane walked in she could not help but feel the tears escape her eyes. "Hi honey, how was the saloon tonight" she said wiping a stray tear away. She hoped he couldn't tell how much her heart ached.

"It was fine. Everyone was asking where you were tonight. Well, except for Lewis, he was wierdly quiet. He kept looking at me wierd. Maybe him and Marnie are finally going public with their secret affair." Shane said walking over to the farmer. His hands found her waist and smiled as he rested his head on her shoulder. He stared at her hands as she chopped onions. "How was your day?"

She offered a weak smile as she felt his warm embrace. She knew he couldn't see her face but she tried to pull her strength as she answered," It was good, I did some foraging, and picked up some more sunflower seeds. The kids were quiet."

"Sounds like a wonderful day." He said still leaning on his wife. He loved her. He never thought he would have such a wonderful life, let alone a house full of kids and a loving wife. He was truly happy at that moment.

The farmer nodded as a tear hit the counter. She tried to blink the tears out of her eyes.

"Sweetheart, are you okay. You're crying," He stated simply.

The farmer nodded. "I'm fine..it's just the blasted onions for the soup." She tried to laugh it off.

"Oh, well why dont you put the onions away. I ate the bar, and the kids are in bed. Why don't you come to bed with me?" He asked her. His voice enticing as he shifted her hair from her neck.

"Mmm.. alright. But no funny business," She teased gently as she felt his lips on her neck. She wanted him to be happy. At least for tonight.

Hours later they laid in bed, the farmer staring at shane's sleeping face. "Yoba, you deserve so much better than me. Than this." She said thinking about tomorrow morning. Knowing that he would walk up to Lewis at the door explaining what had happened. She knew she would eventually see him again. She sighed as she knew that no matter what this would be painful. So she instead of dwelling on it she cried herself quietly to sleep.

In the morning the farmer woke up with a start. Her bed was empty. The house was dark, and any sign that Shane had ever lived there was gone. When she walked up stairs however she saw the two familiar faces and offered a small smile to the two toddlers. The little girl had her father's eyes while the little boy had the same dark hair. The older of the two looked up at her and asked,"Mama, where's papa?"

The farmer fell speechless and made up an excuse that he had gone to help Marnie. She didnt specify how long he'd be gone for, but the more questions they asked the more her heart ached. Eventually when the two had settled down the farmer was able to start on her daily tasks. Luckily those tasks kept her preoccupied from thinking too much about Shane.

Hours later the farmer set off into town. She had to deliver some coconuts to Gus. However due to not checking the time when she walked in there sat Shane. His hands clasping a full thing of beer. His eyes glazed over but face puffy from the tears he had cried earlier. The farmer couldn't bare to look at him, every time she did she felt like she was choking on her own guilt. However she wanted to explain to him. Make it hurt less, make him understand why she had to divorce him. So she approached him, slowly, cautiously, much like a frightened animal. "Shane...can we talk for a moment?" She asked gently.

Shane started at her like she had three heads as he processed her question. "Don't you think you've done enough? Just leave me alone..." He finally said looking down at his beer again. His words stung her, but his silence burned. She just nodded and with her head lowered walked away from the bar. He didnt deserve a bullshitted excuse, but she wished things could return to the they used to be, before they dated. When things were good.

All of that night she thought about how nothing could be the same, but her dreams reminded her of that small witches shack. She had heard the wizard talk about her dark magic, turning children into doves and erasing memories. Maybe just maybe she could make Shane forget about her, and the pain she had caused him.She slept restlessly as her mind considered her option of erasing the memories. By daybreak the farmer had made her decision.

She set off before the children awoke and grabbed two prismatoc shards from a forgotten chest, and headed off to the witches shack in the far away swamp. The farmer considered not doing any of it as she stood before the shrines. However, she knew she couldn't live with herself knowing that Shane hated her. She knew this had all started, because she was selfish, and she supposed it would end that way. She sat the shard in the alter and watched as it burnt away the memories of her ex husband. However before she stood she turned to the other shrine and began to cry as she set the other shard down. And before her eyes a flash of smoke appeared and two doves flew away.

That night when the farmer returned to the farm, she noticed the coldness within its walls, how lonely it was. She walked into the nursery half way expecting to find her two children but only finding cold and empty beds. Before she knew it she was on her knees. Sobbing. Praying to Yoba that all of this pain was worth a happier end.