#she contacted me cause the two gray fabrics were really similar and wanted to see if i wanted a different color

[initforthecache]

FIRST GLIMPSE OF ZANE PLUSH

he is very fluffy

[emybain]

Heroes In the End

me, posting unedited fanfics after reading supernova and Not Being Okay:  renegades fandom come get yall fics!

SPOILERS FOR SUPERNOVA 

SPOILERS FOR SUPERNOVA

SPOILERS FOR SUPERNOVA

   Hot water ran down from the faucet above Nova’s head, sending tingles down her scalp as she stood inside the shower. Adrian’s shower. Another tingle ran down her spine. She raised her head up, letting the near-scalding water hit her face. It was a feeling she couldn’t quite describe, but it made her never want to get out. 

    In all her almost-seventeen years of living, Nova couldn’t remember a time when she had a shower, much less a hot one. There were the ones she had during her time in Cragmoor, but she preferred not to think of that place. In the apartment from her early years, she had vague memories of her mother bathing her in a tiny bathroom in lukewarm water. Sometimes, when there were clean water shortages, as there were often, Nova would sit in a dry bathtub as her mother used a sponge and a bucket full of soapy water to wash her. In the subway tunnels and even in the row house on Wallowridge, Nova had taken to a similar method, washing herself using a bucket of cold water and a sponge and cheap soap. 

    Now, she stared at the rack in the shower that held two different brands of tubes that were a shampoo and conditioner combination, a bar of soap that looked unused, and a tube of body wash. Upon inspecting the tubes, she noticed how they all smelled of Adrian, sending her heart skipping. 

    After what seemed like an eternity, Nova turned off the water and stepped out into Adrian’s bathroom, her bare toes stretching on the squishy mat beneath her feet. She reached for a clean towel that sat folded on a shelf above the toilet, wrapping it around her body and almost melting at its softness. Sweet rot, Adrian was spoiled. 

    Drying her hair with the edge of the towel, Nova’s eyes wandered around the fairly sized space, landing on a pile of clothes resting on the counter next to the door that were not there before. Her breath came short as panic rose in her throat. She must’ve forgotten to lock the door. What if Adrian had seen her? She was instantly mortified, but forced herself to calm down. Adrian wasn’t like that, and besides, how much did Nova really care? She was exhausted and sore and drained; the boy she may be in love with seeing her butt naked should’ve been the least of her worries. The clothes were placed carefully right beside the door, so she bet he had just reached a hand in and set them down for her. Embarrassment was quickly replaced with endearment. Nova had just planned on throwing her old clothing, her Nightmare uniform, back on and dealing with it, but this wonderful, amazing boy brought her clean clothing. 

    It was nothing special, just a pair of gray sweatpants that were way too long for Nova, even though she could tell they were old from the small holes here and there and the fact that they were too short for Adrian’s long legs, and a plain navy blue hoodie that had a faded logo. Getting dressed, she rolled the pant legs up until they rested comfortably at her ankle and pushed up the sleeves of the hoodie, ignoring the way that it was loose around her neck. It was quite possibly the most comfortable Nova had ever felt. The hoodie was softer than it looked, the fabric brushing Nova’s back and providing a cozy warmth. 

    It had been....a long night. After the events at the cathedral, Captain Chromium forced Adrian, his team, Max, and Nova straight to the nearest healers who were already attending to wounded Renegades. It seemed that there had been a hiccup in their work due to Max and the supernova that had occurred, but when Adrian and the others showed up, they were hard at work. Hugh and Simon refused to stay with them, along with the other surviving Council members, insisting that they had their own duties to attend to, people to speak with, and media to answer questions for. The destruction caused by her uncle had been reversed by Max, yes, but Gatlon was still shaken and hurting from his attack, and Nova had a feeling it would take a while for the city to fully recover from the trauma of one night. 

    The healers got to work on their misfit group, fixing cuts and bruises and tending to the more serious injuries, such as Adrian’s mutilations, Max’s sprained ankle, and the stings that peppered Nova’s arms. She had asked about a concussion, head throbbing, and was surprised when their testing results came back negative. It must’ve been the vitality charm’s work. There was no other explanation for how she was fine, well, about as fine as she could be, after being thrown twenty feet by Ace. 

    It had seemed like forever before they were allowed to leave, Max receiving a piggy back ride from Adrian, his ankle thickly wrapped in bandages and barefoot. Nova remembered noticing the lines of exhaustion on Adrian’s face, remembered how his muscles moved slowly from soreness, but he seemed elated to be able to carry his brother. 

    They were sent away by the Council, told that everything was under control and they needed to go home and rest. After a bit of complaining and arguing, they finally caved to the Council’s request. Danna, Oscar, and Ruby parted ways, only Oscar and Ruby bidding Nova goodbye. Nova had eyed them suspiciously as the three had walked away, noting that Oscar and Ruby were holding hands. 

    It was when she was left alone with Adrian and Max, who had already passed out and had his head lolled on Adrian’s shoulder, that Nova had realized she had nowhere to go. The house on Wallowridge was gone, the subway tunnels were out of the question. There was the pawn shop, but the thought produced a sour taste in Nova’s mouth. Adrian must’ve understood, for he nodded his head, saying there was plenty of room at his house. Nova, grateful and undeserving and too tired to even argue, had followed him. 

    It was now in the early, early morning, but Nova could tell from the noises outside that Gatlon was not asleep. Every half hour or so, sirens went off. Car doors could be heard slamming from the neighbors. 

    She felt ten pounds lighter as she stepped out of the bathroom and into Adrian’s dark room, welcoming the soft carpet on her feet. She was clean, truly clean, having let more than just dirt and dried blood go down the drain during her long and needed shower.

    A sweep of the room showed her that Adrian was not there, probably upstairs with Max who had insisted on sleeping on the second floor, curiosity overcoming his tired body at what was up there despite Adrian warning him that it was haunted. As if summoned by her thoughts, Adrian padded down the stairs, a glass in water in his hand. He stopped when he saw Nova, lips quirked up as he eyed her attire up and down. Compared to just hours before, Nova was probably the least intimidating thing he had seen. 

    He had showered too, evident by his clean face and fresh clothing. Nova cleared her throat, breaking eye contact to gesture to her clothes. 

    “Thank you for these.”

    “Of course.” Adrian shrugged. “I figured you didn’t have something else to sleep in.” He paused, and even in the dark, Nova could tell his cheeks reddened. “If you, uh, want to sleep, that is.” 

    They both fell silent. It was the first time that night that they had been alone together, truly alone. No one was about to come running in, threatening to kill one of them, no one was within earshot of their conversation or could see what they were going to do. 

    “How’s Max doing?” Nova asked, remembering how the kid had tiredly protested when Adrian had tried to give him Adrian’s bed, refusing to close his eyes until Adrian took him back upstairs. 

    Adrian chuckled. “Asleep, finally. He was determined to talk, so I figured I’d let him until he had nothing left to say. Hopefully, he won’t wake up for a while.” Nova hummed in agreement; she doubted he would, not after the events that had taken place. Adrian cleared his throat, shifting his weight onto one leg. “So...do you plan on sleeping?” 

    Nova thought about it, thought about her aching muscles and the weight on her eyelids and how curling up under a warm blanket for hours was so, so welcoming. “Yes, but only with you.” When his eyes widened in surprise, Nova quickly added, “if that’s okay.” 

    Before she knew it, he was right in front of her, burying a hand in her wet hair and leaning down to kiss her. It was short, lasting only a few seconds, but the sensation still sent chills crawling down Nova’s neck. When they separated, Nova surprised herself by wrapping her arms around his neck, reaching up on her tiptoes and pulling him down to her height. Her head buried itself in the crook of his neck. She breathed a sigh of relief when his arms went around her, the one staying buried in her hair and the other wrapped tightly around her waist. 

    He was here, in her arms and safe and still wanting her, despite everything she had done. Still trusting her, despite her mountain of lies. She supposed when he was right when he had said back in the cathedral that they had nothing else to lie about. Nova wasn’t even mad about the Sentinel, not anymore, at least. This was Adrian, the boy who had fixed her bracelet at the parade, something that seemed so long ago. The boy who never gave up on Nova, even when she had held a gun to his forehead. 

    They were each other’s nightmare, each other’s archenemy. At least, they were supposed to be. It was what they were wired and designed to be by their opposite upbringings, despite them having similar desires for the future of their world. 

    “What would you think if...if a villain happened to fall in love with your son?”

    “To be honest, I’m not sure there are such things as villains anymore. Maybe there never really were.” 

    For once, Nova agreed with Adrian’s father.

[hellowkatey]

The Come Up (Bucky x Reader)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18701557/chapters/44353861

Friends to lovers trope cause I’m a sucker for a slow burn. All further chapters will be posted to AO3 (link at bottom), but the first chapter is posted in its entirety below the break.

Summary: Newly accepted as an official Avenger, you move into the infamous compound, anxious to be a part of a team for the first time. You quickly find acceptance among the group, but your loner habits are taking a bit longer to acclimate. Your first mission comes around, and you finally meet the infamous Bucky Barnes, immediately clicking and falling into a natural friendship. When ~feelings~ arise, you must figure out how to figure out if these new emotions need to be suppressed or let out in the open.

Warnings: none

Tags: friend to lover, pre IW/EG, reader x bucky

Rating: PG13 for language and suggestive content

When you look in the mirror, you don’t see “hero”.

It doesn’t matter that the suit Tony designed for you makes you look the part. No amount of lightweight bulletproof super fabric and Avengers emblems will change that you are still you underneath— hardened, scarred, and internally broken.

“It looks great.” You whirl around to see Natasha leaning against the door frame of your bedroom. She looks ready for bed with her hair tucked into a loose bun, a pair of flannel pajama pants and a gray tank top.

“Thanks,” you say shyly, glancing back at yourself in the mirror. For as wrong as it feels, it fits like a damn glove. He asked if you had a preference on design. You just said to keep it simple, and he really nailed it.

It looks like normal clothing. The pants are black, high waisted and fitted down your legs like skinny jeans but soft and stretchy and thicker than they seem. He explained it’s because they are meant to block bullets. A new material they got from Wakanda. The top is a dark gray v-neck and a similar material. It’s long sleeve and has the Avengers emblem on the breast and on the back of the neck in black.

Your favorite part is the jacket. It looks like black denim, feels like denim, and moves like denim. According to Tony it’s better. Adjusts to the weather to be cooling or heating. Tough and durable against sharp objects and bullets. Above all, it is practically the same outfit you have worn when you have gone out to do some ass kicking. Tony even let you keep your favorite combat boots.

“I want you to feel like you can be yourself here.” He said when he gave you a box containing this suit. The way he looked at you meant he read your file. They all have the same look when they learn the truth.

“Did you ever feel guilty being here?” You ask, turning to look at Natasha as you slide the jacket off and pull out your own bedtime clothes. She smiles softly, longing in her eyes.

“I still do sometimes. It’s hard moving past the things I’ve done. There will always be red in my ledger no matter how many times I kick bad guys in the face.”

You chuckle at the thought of Nat literally smashing some perp in the jaw. You’re sure she isn’t exaggerating either. “What helped?”

“The people. I let them in, and now they’re my family. I just keep reminding myself that they know about my past and still love me.”

“Easy as that?”

“Easy at that. Have a good night, [y/n].”

You say goodnight and close your bedroom door with her departure. Now alone you change out of the fancy suit and into an oversized t-shirt that hits halfway down your thighs and shorts just in case you run into someone in the hallway at 2am or there’s an attack in the middle of the night. Precautions you never had to deal with working alone.

You set an alarm for 7am for your morning workout and fall asleep almost immediately, the weight of another exhausting day pulling you into darkness.

The chains of the punching bag clatter and twist as you land multiple hard hits on the side. Sweat is dripping off your body as you land a final fatal blow and the punching bag strap gives away, falling to the ground with a loud thud that echos through the training room. You shake out your hands and kick it to the side with two others you have demolished this morning.

“Looks like the punching bag destroyer isn’t me for once.” Steve Rogers laughs, walking into the room with two other men that you recognize as San Wilson and Bucky Barnes. Sam smiles widely at you and then looks at your small pile of fatalities with wide eyes.

“Super soldier?”

“Sam—“

“Oh are we not allowed to ask?” He rolls his eyes at Steve but then looks at you a little concerned he crossed a line. You give him a reassuring smile.

“Not exactly a super solider by design, but I have some similarities. Strength, agility, enhanced senses, and faster healing would be the overlap.” Steve nods at your list, confirming your assumption.

“Anything else? Laser vision maybe? Man, I have been so disappointed in the lack of laser vision in this--”

“Sam,” Steve groans, and you let out a genuine laugh. You’re internally giddy at how well this conversation is going, even if it’s just a little banter between the naturally outgoing Falcon and Steve Rogers. You glance at Bucky who is standing by quietly, per usual. You know he’s paying attention because his eyes are going back and forth between you and Sam, but his expression is neutral. The resting stoicism of Bucky Barnes.

“Oh come on,” Sam whines. Steve gives him another look and this time he seems like he will cease.

“We’re not here to barrade [y/n]. We are here to deliver a mission.”

He holds out a file folder. It’s thick, and stamped with the SHIELD logo. Must be a few years old.

“How’s your Portuguese?”

“Fairly decent.” You reply in Portuguese, opening the folder to find a stack of case files with a black and white photograph paper clipped to the first page.

“Perfect. While we hate to just throw you into the field so quick, you’re the only other fluent Portuguese in house at the moment.”

“Other?”

“You will be joining Bucky in Brazil on this mission.”

You look up from the case to look at Bucky. Your eyes meet and the corner of his mouth turns up the smallest amount. A friendly smile. You guess it’s better than nothing.

Excitement courses through you. Your first mission! You didn’t expect to be so excited for something you’ve been doing for years, yet you can’t help but feel a little more confident after your talk with Natasha. You’re working towards a better future.

“When do we leave?”

“Saturday.” Steve says, indicating you have about two days to prepare. “Better start reading.” 

The three men then turn and leave you with a stack of classified files and three broken punching bags. 

November 18, 2004

Agent Log Transcript

“Shield agent Riley Gonzalez reporting in. It is November 18 in São Paulo, Brazil. Investigation of the numerous mystery attacks in the area has come up with no concrete evidence... locals have little insight, or do not seem affected by the disturbances. I have seen nothing down here that would indicate possible extraterrestrial activity. Next check in is November 24th unless new information is uncovered.” 

Transcript End. 

November 20th, 2004

Agent Log Transcript

“Shield Agent Riley Gonzalez, reporting in. Uhhh, so, I don’t know what to say. I, uh, I found something weird, don’t know if it connects, but--”

[yelling in background, incoherent voices]

“Shit!” 

Transcript End. 

You’re sitting in one of the large armchairs in the study, curled up in a blanket and sifting through the case files. You leave in the morning, and you just want to go over them once more to make sure you didn’t miss anything. 

When SHIELD was active, seven agents went missing in different parts of South America at different times. After SHIELD was disassembled, no more agents were sent down, but intelligence on so-called “extra-terrestrial attacks” continued to be gathered. After the attacks of 2012, the weird occurances suddenly didn’t seem so outlandish. Fury restarted the investigation and with the help of Tony’s advanced software, managed to find a pattern in the documented attacks. That is why Bucky and you are going to Brazil-- to try and witness and predict the next attack so they can figure out what they are and how to stop them. 

The overhead light flickers on in the study. You blink a few times, your eyes adjusting to the flood of brightness. You hadn’t noticed how dark it had become in there. 

Through your squinting you see Bucky stride into the room, his quiet confidence radiating off of him. “Reading in the dark?” he asks, a small smile appearing on his lips. You’re a little caught off guard to see him engaging you in conversation. The most you’ve ever spoken to him before this moment is when you were introduced, and that entire moment consisted of him him walking past the kitchen while Steve, Nat, Bruce, Sam, Tony, Wanda, Vision, and Rhodey were making their own acquaintances and Steve pointed to his fleeting figure saying “That’s Bucky.” and Tony adding “He doesn’t say much.” 

“It wasn’t dark when I started reading.” You push together the papers into a neat pile and tuck them back into the folder. Bucky sits down on the couch across from you, his eyebrows knit together despite his general friendly demeanor. “Something wrong?” 

“Nothing wrong, just thinking about this mission.” 

“Are you nervous?”

He scoffs, and you roll your eyes. 

“Are you one of those guys that chalks everything up to having seen worse?” 

He cocks his head, pressing his lips together into a curious expression. 

“I have lived through the second world war, being frozen, and an alien invasion or two. I’d say that’s seeing some shitty things and missions like these don’t really make me that nervous.” 

“You never know. Seven other agents were probably thinking the same thing, and they were never seen again.”

He picks at a thread on the sleeve of his green henley, glancing up at you to make eye contact every so often. 

“What, do you want me to be nervous?” 

“It would be comforting to not be the only one.” 

He chuckles softly. “[y/n], it’s gonna be fine. First mission jitters go away pretty quick.” 

"When do we take off?" you shift the subject, feeling a little embarrassed at your comment about him "seeing worse". The man was a brainwashed assassin, who do you think you are to make statements like that? Even your shitty past can't compare to the baggage he must carry around with him.

"7am. You a morning person?"

"Usually yes."

"Then you're in charge of waking me up if I oversleep. Steve is gettin' real tired of mothering me."

"He would never tire of that." Bucky grins at that, nostalgia a glint in his eye.

"True." he mutters, standing and giving you a polite nod. "I'll see you in the morning."

You tell him goodnight and starts to head to the door before stopping and turning around halfway. He reaches over and flicks on a lamp that is sitting on a side table near you and then heads to the door, flipping off the much too bright overhead light. The lamp is the perfect amount of dim light for you to see, but not hurting your eyes. You shoot an appreciative smile at his back as he shuts the door to the study behind him.

Your head is whirling. Casual conversation with Bucky beyond the little squad of him, Steve, and Sam, is not something that you have seen often. He's nice, you observe, and quite laid back. Maybe this mission won't be as awkward as you fear it to be.

The sun is not yet up when you rise. The sound of birds chirping outside eases you into consciousness before your alarm can go off. Flipping over you press the screen of your tablet to see you have another half an hour before you planned to be awake. You're wide awake now, though, so you sit up and pull your legs into a crossed position and begin your morning meditation a little early.

You've been meditating for years. It's the only way you have found that truly helps you stay relaxed and control your powers, which is a difficult feat on its own. Being here has taken a toll on you lately, so you've practically tucked away your powers completely. When you were on your own, you used them constantly, figuring to make the best of a bad situation. Now, living with so many others, it feels wrong, like you're constantly being watched.

There's a knock at the door, and your eyes snap open. You get up and open the door to find Steve Rogers standing there.

"Did I wake you?"

"No, I was up."

"Good. Can we talk?" He looks past you, indicating he must want you to invite him in. You step back, unblocking the doorway from him. He comes in and sits at an armchair you have in the corner of your room. You sit back on your bed cross-legged and watch as he twiddles his thumbs a little before finally looking at you.

"No one knows what you can do," he says, his voice careful. "I'm sure that was obvious after Sam's outburst the other day."

Did they inject Captain America with mind reading powers too?

"Why not?"

"[y/n], you're powerful. You may be one of the most powerful people we have ever had under this roof. I know and Tony knows, but since we did not know the true nature of your powers, we did not want to make assumptions and try to explain something we don't understand."

"So you're saying if I want people to know who I am, it's up to me to talk about that."

A part of you is relieved. The stories of you usually cause people to fear you, and that is not something you like. Another part of you is filled with anxiety that the bullet is still sitting in the chamber and you will be the one to bite it.

"Basically yes. I just wanted to talk to you about this since you are going on a mission and that might be a good topic to bring up... ya know, for partner trust."

"Understood, Cap."

"Uh, yeah. Good."

There's a moment of silence.

"I see what Bucky says about you being a mother now." you chuckle.

"He said what?" Steve raises an eyebrow, a mischievous smile on his lips. The strange tension in the room breaks and you are relieved.

"Just that you have to wake him up for school."

"It was his words not mine, then." Steve laughs and stands up. "Good luck, [y/n]. Watch out for my pal too."

"Definitely."

Steve leaves. Butterflies erupt in your stomach, a testament to the new conversation that has been added to your list of things to do on this mission. At least you have something to talk about on the plane now, you suppose.

Sometimes you wish you could fly. Or were just strong and skilled like Natasha. Or had something, anything other than the mess of powers that you have. It would be easier that way. Fewer people would leave out of fear or misunderstanding. Maybe you would have real friends.

Maybe that's why you accepted the Avenger's offer. You have been racking your brain endlessly for the past few weeks trying to figure out why you wanted to be here so bad. Being solo was so much simpler, so much fewer rules. Yet, when Tony Stark showed up at your crummy apartment door, you decided on the spot that you were in. For someone that tends to overthink everything, you sure made that decision fast.

There is a community of other people here that have rough backstories, misunderstood abilities, the weight of the world on their shoulders. A part of you just needed some sort of connection.

You place the last of your packed clothes into your duffel bag and zip it up. Wheels up in an hour and a half. You slip on a pair of black leggings and a green short sleeve roll sleeve top. Topping the outfit off with your usual combat boots and tying your hair up in a bun, you look in the mirror, satisfied, and throw the bag over your shoulder.

Bucky's room is nearly on the other side of the complex. He's next to Steve's room, unsurprisingly. You walk over and stand outside his door, your hand hovering in the air as you debate whether to knock or not.

Was he joking yesterday about needing to be woken up?

Fuck, you really should have confirmed that.

You drop your hand and press your ear to the door, listening for any sort of movement. Silence.

"Screw it," you mutter to yourself, and you knock.

It's quiet at first, but a few moments later you hear rustling and the sound of someone groaning.

The door opens suddenly and you jump back in surprise. There stands Bucky, hair disheveled and matted on the side, eyes droopy and sleep fresh on his breath. Shirtless... very shirtless and wearing only a pair of thin cotton pajama pants hanging low on his hips. Your eyes snap back up to his face, your face red that you totally just let your eyes wander down his entire body.

"'m up" he slurs, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

"Uh huh," you nod, noticing some parallel straight lines practically carved into his forehead... someone fell asleep with his metal arm on his head. You restrain yourself from making any jokes and step back again to put some distance between the two of you. "Wheels up in an hour."

further updates can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18701557/chapters/44353861

[hinezumi]

Inuyasha Secret Santa Gift: Strung along, an InuKag fic

It’s finally done! As always, thank you @keichanz for proofreading my work! I always feel so honored when sensei notices me c,: Also special thanks to @inusecretsanta for putting together this wonderful event! It’s my first time participating and it was so much fun!

To @explodo-kills whom tumblr isn’t letting me tag. I hope you enjoy! Happy Holidays!

Tagging my discord ladies: @morikothehalfangel @lenbarboza @cammysansstuff @britonell @superbartola @blackpearltotheright @eternalnight8806-3 @noviceotakus-blog @umacaking @theangryuniverse @amostsovereignlady

If you’d like to be tagged in the future please don’t hesitate to let me know!

Also shamelessly tagging @artistefish and @akitokihojo because I love their work and I WANT TO KNOW WHAT THEY THINK (if that’s okay. I’m sorry I just love you both).

Inuyasha’s amber eyes held a level of fondness as he looked at his wife’s sleeping form beside him. Black tresses framed Kagome’s face and cascaded in waves around her head and shoulders while her frame rose and fell in time with each deep and steady breath she took. Occasionally, the softest of sighs would escape from her slightly parted lips. She looked so at ease, so peaceful. Seeing her like this was Inuyasha’s favorite way to start the day.

Propping himself up on an elbow, Inuyasha turned his gaze from his sleeping wife to the home they’d made for themselves. Sunlight shone from behind the reed doormat and through the wooden-barred windows, giving the mahogany wood of the hut a soft, almost golden glow. In the small entrance area was a small kiln, an assortment of pots which held a variety of things, a place for people’s footwear, farm tools, and Kagome’s bow and arrows. The remainder of the hut, which was on a slightly elevated wooden floor to separate the entrance area and the living area, contained the hearth at its center, a bucket of water with a ladle to go with it, a chest for their clothes, and the futon that he and Kagome shared. It was quaint. It was normal. It was theirs.

Inuyasha sighed contentedly. He never thought he’d be able to enjoy these simple pleasures. After being marginalized for something he couldn’t control, judged by his appearance alone, and hated by humans and demons alike, Inuyasha was surprised he’d lasted this long. There was even a time where he thought he didn’t deserve any sort of happiness because of his being hanyou. But then he’d met Kikyo, who’d acknowledged his existence, given him company, and made him feel less alone, and then Kagome, who’d taught him to laugh, smile, trust, and more.

Inuyasha wasn’t sure if Kagome knew just how much she’s done for him, how much she still does for him. She gave up her life in the future, with all of its amenities and conveniences as well as her family, to be with him. With him! The reckless, rough around the edges, hard-headed hanyou who’d done more to deserve her fury than her compassion. The hanyou who’d made her cry more times than he could count. The hanyou who’d made her angry more than he would’ve liked. The hanyou who-

“Inuyasha?”

The hanyou who would make sure this woman, who had such a hold on his heart it was insane, would know just how much she meant to him. The hanyou who would do anything if it meant getting to see her smile or hearing her laugh. The hanyou who would protect her with his li-

“Hello? Earth to Inuyasha! Are you even listening to- AHHHH!” Kagome’s question was cut short as she burst into a myriad of laughter and giggles. Inuyasha had cut her off by blowing raspberries into the crook of her neck and gently tickling her sides, causing her to wiggle beside him. Kagome squirmed and gasped for breath as she tried to escape his grasp but to no avail. The only thing she’d managed to do was to accidentally kick the kakebuton off and make her legs cold.

“I-Inuya-HAHA! Sssssstop!” Kagome pleaded with tears in her eyes. Her stomach ached from how long she’d been wriggling and laughing. Inuyasha settled for the opposite and tickled her for a few more moments before finally stopping. Taking huge lungfuls of air, Kagome breathed in and out to let the burning feeling in her chest subside. Meanwhile, Inuyasha just smirked and took in the sight of the woman beside him.

“What did you do all that for?” Kagome whined once she’d gotten her breathing under control.

“To wake you up, of course. If I didn’t, you’d sleep the day away and leave me to do all the chores.”

“That’s not true and you know it! Besides, there’s no need for me to be up this early.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, Kagome.”

“What do you mean? You know I don’t have to get up this early, so why-”

“Just shut up and pack your things. We’re going on a trip,” Inuyasha interrupted. Cheeks burning slightly, he got up with a start and started gathering the things he thought they’d need for their trip, while Kagome just stared with her eyes wide and mouth agape. Since when had there been mention of a trip?

Inuyasha was starting to wonder just how well thought out his plan really was. Actually, calling what he had a “plan” was a bit generous; he’d need an actual idea of what he wanted to do or where he wanted to go to call it a plan. He definitely remembered Kagome mention wanting to explore the “natural wonders” (as she called it) of Japan multiple times… but that was all he had to go on. He couldn’t really call this trip a surprise if he asked Kagome where exactly she wanted to go or what exactly she wanted to do.  

So now here they were, waiting out a storm in a dark, damp cave instead of in the comfort of their home. They were at mercy to the elements instead of exploring and admiring any scenery. Angrily muttering to himself, Inuyasha stoked the measly fire he’d managed to start while Kagome sat towards the entrance of their temporary lodging. The steady thrum of rain hitting smooth rock and gentle rumbles of thunder caused a wash of calm to fall over her. Every breath she took was met with the smell of earthy tones and clean air. Even though the sky was gray and cloudy, Kagome didn’t feel glum or depressed. Instead, the elements of the storm were putting her mind at ease. It was the perfect fix for keeping her temper in check given the previous argument.

When it had first begun to rain, Inuyasha and Kagome hadn’t made it far past the village. Being the sensible person she was, she’d suggested they turn back and try to travel again later when the weather was better, rather than trekking through a potential storm. Inuyasha had scoffed at her and argued that the rain was really only a drizzle, meaning there was no reason to stop and turn back. While she’d wanted to instantly disagree, Kagome was also curious to see what exactly Inuyasha was up to. She’d never seen him so insistent to do something… at least, not since hunting down Naraku. But then the storm had grown steadily worse; the rain had started to fall harder, the sky slowly grew darker, and the wind’s blow had gradually grown stronger the longer they traveled. At that point, they had no choice but to stop and find shelter. Once they found the cave, Kagome had snarkily remarked something to the effect of “I told you so” without thinking. Inuyasha had instantly snapped, bickering ensued, and now they were at two opposite ends of the cave.

Kagome drew her legs closer to her form and rested her chin atop her knees. Maybe she felt more glum than she thought. With just how insistent Inuyasha had been earlier that morning she’d anticipated that whatever they were going to do was going to be fun.

‘And of course instead of having fun or enjoying time together I had to go and make that stupid comment,’ Kagome cursed internally with her lip jutting out for good measure.

“Scoot over, wench.”

That was all the warning Kagome got before her grumpy half demon plopped right beside her. His arms were crossed and his gaze firm, yet he never looked Kagome’s way. Watching him a moment longer, Kagome waited for him to do something, anything, before finally giving up with a sigh and returning her gaze to the ground beneath her feet.

‘Is he still mad at me? Or does he think I’m mad at him? Man, I really messed things up this time, huh?’

She was so engrossed in her brooding that she didn’t notice Inuyasha removing his suikan until the robe of the firerat came to rest gently against the crown of her head. Blinking in surprise, Kagome grabbed a fistful of the familiar fabric and turned to look back at her hanyou. Inuyasha’s gaze was still set straight ahead, but the color that had risen to his cheeks was not missed by Kagome. Tugging the suikan closer to her huddled form, she reveled in the warmth and comfort it provided.

“Thank you,” Kagome said softly, pointing a smile Inuyasha’s way.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. It’s the least I could do after all…” Inuyasha gulped, and after a few moments of tense silence finally willed himself to make eye contact with Kagome. Her soft brown eyes and smile gave him resolve to continue. “I’m sorry, Kagome. It’s my fault we’re stuck in a cold, wet cave instead of resting comfortably at home.” When Inuyasha’s ears pinned against his head Kagome felt her heart drop. Before she could blubber a slew of apologies though, Inuyasha grabbed her hand in his clawed one.

“I promise you though, this trip will be worth it. Just trust me.”

Flashbacks of a similar moment rushed through Kagome’s mind, causing the corners of her lips to turn up in a smile. Kagome leaned over to rest her suikan-covered head against Inuyasha’s shoulder. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and nodded while laying against him.

“I trust you, Inuyasha. I always have.”

Kagome grinned from ear to ear while riding on Inuyasha’s back, loving the feeling of the wind in her hair and from being so close to Inuyasha. While being carried on Inuyasha’s back was no new phenomenon, Kagome couldn’t deny that every time she rode with him felt like her first. There was just nothing quite like it; no other way of traveling made Kagome feel like she was simultaneously flying through the air and racing atop the earth like riding with Inuyasha did. Leaning forward, she brought her chin to rest on top of Inuyasha’s shoulder with a happy hum and moved her arms so that they were draped over his shoulders.

“What’s wrong, Kagome? Am I going too fast?” Inuyasha asked over the wind that rushed past both of their ears, half-joking and half-serious.

“Are you kidding? This is amazing; I love it!” Kagome exclaimed in reply. Inuyasha smirked as an evil idea came to mind. In that case…

Inuyasha picked up his speed before settling into a crouch and leaping into the air. Kagome tightened her grip and squealed with delight at the sudden ascent. Both Inuyasha and Kagome’s long hair whipped behind them as Inuyasha seemingly flew through the sky. Tightening his hold on Kagome’s thighs, Inuyasha jumped even higher the second his feet returned to the ground. The duo continued on like that until Inuyasha’s sensitive ears picked up on what sounded like a waterfall. His ears twitched as he focused and grew closer. Sure enough, after a few more leaps through the air he spotted just that: just beyond the forest’s foliage was water cascading off the edge of a tall mountain and pooling at its rocky bottom, forming a little lake.

“Hold on tight, Kagome. I think I found our first stop.”

That was the only warning Kagome received before Inuyasha managed to go even faster. Clinging for dear life, Kagome shut her eyes as the wind began to bite against her skin. While the speed they were travelling at was a bit frightening, Kagome knew she didn’t have anything to be afraid of. She knew Inuyasha would never put her in harm's way. After a few moments, Kagome felt Inuyasha land with a soft thud against the forest floor. The sound of rushing water was the first thing to reach Kagome’s ears. Getting excited now that she had a clue as to where their first stop actually was, Kagome finally opened her eyes and wasn’t disappointed at the sight that awaited her.

Pouring off the edge of the tall, foliage-covered mountainside was some of the clearest water Kagome had ever seen. The mountain-side had jagged edges and was comprised of gray, polished stone. The water that pooled at the bottom looked clear enough to drink and showed her reflection almost as well as a mirror.

“So, what’ya think?”

Kagome stepped forward to crouch before the fresh-water lake. Cupping the crisp liquid in her hand, she did her best to keep the water from slipping between her fingers as she brought it to her lips to drink. Sure enough, the water was as refreshing as it looked.

“I think it’s perfect!” Kagome replied quickly. “And I don’t know about you, but I think this lake is screaming to be swam in.” With that remark made, Kagome quickly went about removing her red hakama, white haori, and thin kosode, leaving her in a simple white linen fundoshi and basic white cloth tied against her chest to add support to her bust. Inuyasha watched avidly, golden eyes hungrily scanning every curve of his wife’s body, before following suit and removing his own clothes. He then placed his shed clothes atop his wife’s, creating a pile of red and white, before sending a smirk his wife’s way. It seemed he wasn’t the only one who was appreciating the view.

“Do ya need to cool off, Kagome?” Inuyasha asked, crossing his arms smugly and raising an eyebrow. “You look a little warm.”

“Oh shut it, Dog Boy. You were ogling me just as much if not more.”

“You’re gonna regret that, wench,” Inuyasha said before bounding forward with arms outstretched. Kagome erupted into a combination of shrieks and giggles as she ran away from him. Inuyasha growled playfully as he chased after Kagome. He waited until she was at the water’s edge before taking advantage of his heightened abilities and jumping in front of her. Kagome screeched as she tried to turn away, but by then it was too late. Strong arms wrapped around her torso and began to drag her towards the lake. Kagome wiggled and kicked, still giggling profusely, in an attempt to “escape” Inuyasha’s grasp, but all that did was make Inuyasha tighten his hold on her.

“Come on, Kagome. Weren’t you just saying that this lake was screaming to be swam in?” Inuyasha teased as he handled her with ease.  Before Kagome got a chance to reply she was tossed into the crisp lake water. A moment later a shivering Kagome rose back above the lake’s surface. Her sopping wet hair dripped behind her while the stark temperature difference between being in or out of the water made goosebumps begin to rise on her exposed flesh. Kagome sent a pointed glare Inuyasha’s way but couldn’t keep it for long. The bright expression he wore was too precious, too pure to ruin. With a defeated sigh, Kagome quickly dipped back in the water to acclimate to its temperature before poking her head above the surface. Once again, she was met with Inuyasha’s smile, a rare joy that only she got to see. A shame she was going to wipe that smile off his face.

Kagome rushed forward without warning, hand cutting through the water and creating a mini wave, and splashed her “unsuspecting” hanyou. Whether he’d anticipated her “attack” or not didn’t matter, because now he was soaked just like she was. The happy couple then continued playing together until the sun began to set.

Much to Inuyasha’s disbelief, the trip continued without a hitch. After visiting the waterfall they went to explore the mountains, hot springs, and even the ocean. Once they’d gotten their fill of each location, the duo would set up camp, make a small meal with whatever they could find, and curl up in the nearest tree branch. While nothing would beat the comfort of the futon they shared at home, Kagome couldn’t deny that resting against Inuyasha was a different pleasure all in its own. She always felt safe, secure, and…

“Kagome? Oi, don’t fall asleep on me. The stars haven’t even shown up yet!” Inuyasha gently poked a clawed finger at Kagome’s side and tickled her. Kagome instantly sat up from where she rested in Inuyasha’s lap while blinking away the sleepy haze that filled her eyes.

“Can’t you think of other ways to wake me up besides tickling me?” Kagome asked before leaning back against Inuyasha’s chest. Her forehead found the crook of his neck and she sighed happily at the contact.

“I mean, I could. But I don’t think any other way of waking you up would be as entertaining.”

“Maybe I should tickle you, Dog Boy. See how you like it.”

“I’d like to see you try it,” Inuyasha quipped before settling to rest his head against the top of Kagome’s head. The pair had reached the last stop of their trip: a flower field filled with vibrant baby blue eye flowers. While it wasn’t as exciting as their previous excursions, Kagome had insisted on it being their last spot. With no tall trees immediately around them, it left a beautiful, nonobstructed view of the sky that was perfect to watch the sunset and stargaze.  

The sun’s warm orange and yellow hues spilled across the field of flowers while it slowly descended below the horizon. Slowly taking its place was a dark blackish-bluish sky with an abundance of stars mottling the surface.

“Oh wow,” Kagome breathed, taking the sight in. Whenever she’d slept outside while searching for the shards of the Sacred Jewel, there’d always been trees blocking her view of the sky and a campfire with embers rising to join the stars. On top of that, the view she’d had of the sky in her era wasn’t nearly as clear as it was tonight. The sky from her era was too muddled as a result of the bright lights that kept Tokyo awake through the night.

Inuyasha watched Kagome with fond amusement. He wasn’t much for just sitting and lazing around, but when Kagome had practically begged to stargaze together he couldn’t have just said no. Where she thought the stars were going was beyond him, but if she wanted help keeping watch of them so badly he supposed he could do it just for her.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, Inuyasha spotted a tiny bright streak quickly appear and disappear against the sky. The sight gave cause for Inuyasha to blink in confusion. Maybe the stars were going somewhere.

“Kagome, do stars sometimes fall out of the sky?” Inuyasha asked, his curiosity piqued.

“Yes, actually! We call them shooting stars back in my era, and it’s said that whatever wish you make upon seeing one will make your wish come true.”

“Well, I think I just saw one,” Inuyasha said simply, not thinking much of it.

“What?! Oh, I’m so jealous! Well, Inuyasha quick! Make a wish!” Kagome exclaimed, turning to face him from where she remained perched in his lap.

“Don’t need to.” Kagome blinked in surprise. That wasn’t the answer she’d been expecting.

“Why not? It doesn’t hurt to ask for something more.”

“What more do I need though? I’ve got everything I need right here.”

Kagome’s cheeks instantly grew three shades darker. She’d never get used to how blunt Inuyasha could be. While it wasn’t clear if he’d intentionally been trying to be romantic or not, Kagome grew speechless nonetheless.

Inuyasha rose an eyebrow at the woman in his lap. Had he said something he shouldn’t have? Had she been expecting him to make a wish? While Inuyasha’s mind reeled, he didn’t notice Kagome shift her position until her soft lips came to rest against his own. Quickly coming back to Earth, Inuyasha cupped the back of Kagome’s head to press her gently against his lips and deepen the kiss. After a few blissful seconds, Kagome broke the kiss and turned around completely to hug her half-demon husband tightly.

“Thank you,” Kagome whispered, knowing Inuyasha’s ears would pick up what she said no problem. Inuyasha released himself gently from Kagome’s grip to rest his forehead against hers.

“No, Kagome. Thank you.”

[escritoraulquii]

Gray Traces

Voltron: Legendary Defender | Sheith | T | 1.5 K | En español | AO3

So, I did a little something, kinda, because I just translated it from a not-that-new work I had in spanish.

I hope you like it!

~

It started with a little gray line appearing in the curve of his right thumb, a slight and a not-really-there pain making him aware of it. He thought it wasn’t anything important, noticing that as time passed it disappeared until being almost invisible. He still could see it if he searched it attentively and in the right light.

Then it was a splash in his left knee and in the base of the palm of his hands, near the inside of his wrist. It was really similar to the scratch he did to himself against the pavement when he fell from his skateboard, the scorch mark burning every time the fabric grazed it or the water passed over it when he showered. However, these splashes didn’t hurt as that, although he could feel them as injuries, somehow.

The splashes didn’t disappear like the line in his thumb did. Those scratches in his hand and knee stayed dyeing his skin with a gray that looked very akin to storm clouds. And when he mentioned them to his father while they were talking and remembering those injuries that they had made to themselves through life and the scars that had stayed, he noticed that his dad couldn’t see them.

He did point out the whitish marks and the creases in his skin that he made himself in moments of carelessness or fearlessness, telling him, for example, when he fell from the kitchen table, trying to catch a moth that fluttered in the ceiling, his arm falling in the edge of the bar and breaking the skin in a vertical line, long but superficial. Or when he almost had caused him a heart attack at accelerating his neglected, turned on motorcycle and crashing it in the entrance deck, an injury opening up in his leg against the wood and not being that serious as his panic had screamed.

His father couldn’t see them, nor even through the reflection of the mirror, so he had to accept to live with the doubt. A sigh escaped from his mouth every time a new gray trace appeared in his skin.

It was sometime after he was left alone that the marks started to concern him more than it had ever before.

One day he woke up in the darkness of dawn, his breaths coming out shallow filling up the silent emptiness of his apartment and a horrible but inexistent pain in several parts of his body making him flinch out of his sheets and get tangled more than escaping from them. When he tripped out of his mattress, he noted that his right arm, from the fingertips to way over his elbow, was painted in that faded gray, paling sickly his skin.

And looking up to the mirror, he felt his blood go cold at the line crossing over his nose, from cheek to cheek, with all the intention to divide his face in two.

Even though he had lived asking himself, and seconds later ignoring, where those marks came from, it wasn’t until that moment where his loneliness had overwhelmed him and the only reason he found for his own existence was the mere fact to continue surviving, that he determined to get an answer of its origins.

For weeks, seeing himself in the mirror and finding that mark in his face, already dissipated and not that startling in his reflection, brought him more relief than concern. Each day he woke up with the fear that his gray arm and all the little, crisscrossed lines in his torso and extremities had disappeared, leaving him with nothing more than sadness and misery that left his father’s death.

One day, unfairly, his heart almost stopped when the color came back to his right hand and most of his forearm, the only thing still marked like a barbed wire was just after his elbow. And the pain, more than outsider, felt empty.

The rest of the marks were still there, and it became an habit to trace them with his fingertips when his mind maundered through his life problems and the existential question concerning the gray parts in his body, as if establishing a physic contact with them could bring him closer to the answer he wanted.

And so, the line over his nose became his symbol of courage, granting him that fixation and strength to achieve what he wished for.

It was after healing from an assault attempt that somehow the answer came to him.

“Ex-cuse me.”

He looked up from the reportage of the magazine he took from the cafeteria basket. He wasn’t even one of those people whom read magazines, being more interested in scientific documents and text books, but the word ‘soulmate’ in the cover had grabbed his attention.

The person beside his for-one table was glaring at him with a very deep frown behind circular glasses, her hands resting in her hips in an aggressive stance. He had seen her before, he recognized her from his physics classes, but he had never been good with names.

“Yeah?”

He jumped away when she took another step to him, using in her favor the difference in heights provided by him being seated down and she standing up. If they were both standing, he could easily surpass her by a head.

“Could you, if you’re so kind,” she started with harsh tone, her nose scrunched in disgust that he was very used to, “stop doing that? You’re being a jerk.”

He blinked a few times, opening his mouth and moving his head slowly from side to side; afraid that making it in normal speed could enrage her more.

“What?”

He flinched when she got another step too close, this time making his chair scratch the floor.

“Stop. Doing. That,” she demanded through clenched teeth before throwing a gesture over her shoulder, “You’re bothering him!”

He followed up the movement of her hand to a group of people in the center of the cafeteria, encountering expressions really similar to the one the girl in front of him was shooting him, and his heart stumbled at the only one having a nervous and ashamed air.

It wasn’t because his hair was of the same white that the stars casted, or because he had the most beautiful gray eyes he had ever seen; it was the scar that crossed his face, over his nose, an identical copy as the gray line that he had in his own face.

His fingers twitched with the need to trace it, with the desire to stroke his and bring out a blush beneath it. He then noticed that his fingers were already positioned mid-caress over his nose, ever since he had read in the magazine about connections through the soul and destined encounters, minutes before the girl had come to him to defend that man from the apparently rude stranger that couldn’t keep himself from emphasizing the startling scar someone had in their face.

His eyes inevitably fell to the prosthesis that had as his right arm, most of it hidden beneath the sleeve of his shirt, and he heard the papers in his hands crush in his fist, remembering the gray color and the sensation that he had for several months before returning to normal and almost causing him a heart attack.

He looked up to the stranger’s eyes, noting how realization washed down his expression while observing carefully the right side of his face, eternally marked by the scar crossing his cheek, and how something similar to a nervous tick made him reach over to his own jaw with his prosthetic hand, his knuckles tracing vaguely the width of the scar he had in his skin.

A few years ago, it had passed through his mind that the gray traces in his body existed because another person was the one that was suffering those injuries, and he had discard it immediately because it horrified him thinking that someone else was painting his body with scars of their own, that his skin was marked up by someone else’s pain, that someone was about to die and he couldn’t do anything more than just ask why those marks appeared.

He remembers, even, asking himself, in the confusion of the meds that the hospital gave him, if the scar that will be in the side of his face forever had arrived to the skin of someone else, painting it in a color he ignored and causing a feeling that he will never know of.

But now he knows.

And it was mostly surprise.

That man, too gorgeous to be true, wasn’t touching his cheek as other unpleasant people had with the left side of their faces when they have seen him face to face. He was touching it as if the scar was on his own skin and not on the skin of some stranger he saw in the cafeteria, as if he was more used to seeing it day to day in front of the mirror and not in another person face.

His expression full of wonder suddenly went to one with a saved-up constant concern, as if he was aware of all the scars he had made in himself in moments of danger, fearlessness and stupidity.

And then he knew: that person knew him better that any other person in that world.

He jumped up from his seat when his understanding reached the knowledge, and ran up to escape in an attempt to escape that overwhelming feeling that was filling his chest.

“Wait…!”

[muldertxf]

For Every Star, There Is A Supernova

Set in 2009. Scully returns to the unremarkable house to reconcile with Mulder. It's rated T because of language. 2,104 word count.

The house didn’t seem right. On the air, cinnamon mingled with the faintest breath of fruit. She squinted. Light fixtures painstakingly doused the surroundings in an overbearing lemony-light. Wait, was that apple pie? In the most pavlovian way, she found herself drawn to the kitchen by the alluring scent. A gasp escaped her lips.

 An uneven grey paneling of newspaper clippings tacked by tiny red pins checkered the kitchen walls. A picture frame graced the space above their--no--his oven. She clenched her fists, then sighed. The syrupy humidity had messed up her hair that she had spent all morning on, and now in its place, wet, salty clumps lay in swirls on the back of her neck. She attempted to finger a strand, but was met with pain, as it tugged away from her in a frizzy knot. She had even cut her hair short again.

 Was this really worth it? She thought. A limp strand of red fell into her face, and the woman tucked it once more behind her ear. It was 2009--the year of the ox. She felt as stubborn as an ox.

 Her antique house phone’s panicked ring still echoed through her mind. She should have called him back that January. But instead of hushing the incessant ring by listening for his baritone in the receiver, she fought prickly ice flakes and listened for the wind. She had spent more nights sitting on snow drifts than her own couch that winter. Not that she would ever admit that. And eventually, the ringing tapered off into a hot silence.

 The kitchen linoleum boiled her feet.

 Mulder had tried screaming for her the way that he remembered she liked, but all that left his mouth was pure star breath. Traces of Milky Way, Andromeda, and Messier 81 collapsed from him in large sums in sheer animalistic panic. We are eternal, Dana Scully. Of course, he never said that out loud--it sounded too cheesy. It also sounded too similar to that romance novel he had found smuggled inside her pillow case that one time. But that’s all he ever wanted to talk about with her. He longed to tell her that they were the stars that trace the sky at night for all eternity. Their relationship was not over. It could not be over. For every star, there is a supernova. She couldn’t walk away before the explosion. The darkness would abate if she would just be there for it.

 Scully knew they should talk. This was not something to hint at in vague gestures between the crackle of eggs, not slight suggestions to be made during intimacy, and not to be uttered in a harsh whisper in the produce aisle. She clenched her jaw again, paining her molars. A prickle of anxiety steeled itself between the ridges of her spine. Her eyelids clamped shut to trap a tear. She could feel his arms enveloping her in a warm embrace again if she thought hard enough.

 He was ushering her away from the alien brightness and appley scent of his home, and back into his old apartment. They were holding hands now. The leather of his beaten sofa creaked beneath her weight as she fell into it, her face bathed blue by glow of his fish tank. A weak table lamp shined in the corner. His place was dark, like him. A faint smell of dust and fresh paper would permeate the air, floating behind the consistent hum of the tank. In his apartment, he had wept with her when his mother died. In his apartment, she had initiated their first time. And in his apartment, she had been there when he had told his landlord that he would be moving out. Scully removed herself from the cushiony thought, and faded back into the kitchen. The need to talk to him had called her back here. She took a deep breath.

 “Mulder?”

 A languid silence shrunk the room. Scully fidgeted. Despite being only 5’3, she felt like a huge monster tramping on daisies. She tried to reassure herself: I’m not trespassing. This was my home at one point, too. A thin smile creeped up on her. Monster. She was an X-File to be investigated. To be interrogated. Mulder loved those cases. He loved her.

 Scully jumped.

 A sharp scrape against hardwood ripped through the apple and cinnamon. The screen door clattered shut followed by heavy footsteps. A figure lumbered itself behind her, wielding an old baseball bat. “HEY! I WON’T LET YOU STEAL ANY OF OUR-” The baritone ceased, as his eyes fell upon her. “Oh…” The bat slipped from his grasp, thwacking painfully against the wood a few times, before settling. It rolled silently and met her painted toes with a small tap. “Sorry, I thought you were another…”

 “Mulder,” Scully croaked, inching the bat away from her toes with a foot. Her eyes widened noticeably, and a pink tint dusted her cheeks. He shaved and cut his hair. She maintained eye contact.

 “Taking roll call, are we?” Mulder casually said, stroking a non-existent beard. He looked towards his thick boots to kick the bat beneath the black leather sofa. He couldn’t tell if it was the heat or Scully’s eyes on him that caused a trickle of sweat down his neck. Slowly, his green irises settled on her once more.

 She sighed and bit her lip. “What’s that smell?”

 “I was uh...making something for the neighbors,” He chuckled. Scully’s forehead furrowed into little creases. He blushed. “I mean, for um, the b-birds, y’know. I had some stuff left over from my baked oatmeal scramble. Figured they might like it.” As if on cue, a little group of birds tweeted happily on the porch. “Think they can smell it from here? You’re a doctor.” He smiled.

 She cocked her head slightly. “Yes, doctor. Not a vet, if you remember correctly,” She said, as if she were reciting a bible verse. Her voice reverberated coldly off the walls. She looked to the newspaper again, and felt that same betrayal that had washed over her earlier when she had first found it. “What’d you do to the kitchen?”

 A worried look crossed his face. Scully thought she saw his hands tremble a bit. But before she could further prod that idea, he stole them away behind his hulking back. His green eyes slowly drew back to the wall, and onto the old highlighted clippings and marker streaked pages. He grunted.

 Scully felt a flare of anger snared inside herself poke the lining of her stomach. She pursed her lips, and her jaw clenched even harder, as did his. Mulder sweated profusely. They held eye contact for a good minute or two, eye-fucking. Mulder used to do this with Scully when they were at work at the bureau, when a kiss or hug could not be risked. However, this was not the good type of eye-fucking that he used to willingly partake in. No, he was helplessly shackled to her now, through Scully’s bubbling, pent up rage. The monster trampled over more flowers. He crumbled.

 “No, no... Scully. Dana. This isn’t what it looks like...I’m not…” He trailed off. A hobo? A bizarre conspiracy-driven loner who makes home decor out of news clippings? “I’m redecorating the kitchen...it’s just,” He deflated. “I’m sorry. I figured if you ever came back, you wouldn’t want to see the same dark place. I’m painting the walls, hence the newspaper. I’ve gotta find a green outlet for all this old paper I’ve accumulated, right? It does not mean anything to me now. I don’t value it and paste it over a cork board. I don’t examine it for hours on end. It’s merely scribbled and highlighted scraps now,” He gestured to the kitchen again. “I’m painting it yellow. The brightest color there is. I’ve installed new, more eco-friendly lights, which just happened to be brighter, as well. An added bonus,” he said, taking her hand.

 She squeezed his damp hand back. It felt like a soggy, quivering leaf. A tear slid down her cheek. “Mulder, we need to talk.”

 They shared a long, lustful but teary glance, this time both of them not daring to break eye contact at all. The tweeting of the house sparrows that surrounded the house ceased. And beneath his worn boots and her tired feet, the beaten wood gave out. A mesh of icy ivy, frozen oak, and dead willow entwined around their forms like the weaving of a fragile fabric. They didn’t bother squinting against the glare of the white. The red-head’s feet no longer burned, and she looked into him deeply. She stood on her toes now, receding into him like climbing ivy, her small arms tightly wrapping around him. Cold tears dampened his gray t-shirt.

 “I’ve known that I’ve wanted to see you again, but I had no idea how to,” Scully whispered in a forceful hush into his shirt, white clouds dissolving from her cherry colored mouth. A teardrop fell from Mulder and plopped in the center of Scully’s scalp. He was performing an autopsy on her now, stabbing at her brain with a teary scalpel. Her head pulled away from his shirt, and she gently pet his forearm, up and down. His dark beard and disheveled longer hair glimmered in the brisk air like star dust. She laid the back of her right hand against it. Scratchy beard.

 “I’m sorry I couldn’t shield you from the darkness.” Mulder stifled a sniffle, and looked into the sea of orange that gracefully flowed down her tiny porcelain frame. “I know you hate that. I brought it back. We left the bureau, we were on the run. I was the darkness, Scully. I’m so sorry. And-and I made you give up our son.”

 Her head whipped up at him further than he thought was possible. “No you didn’t! It was what we had to do. This guilt you feel, it’s uncalled for. Unreasonable. I’m sorry that you feel it. I feel it sometimes, too. You think I don’t think about him sometimes? Well you’re bat-crap-crazy,” Scully said, letting a tinge of humor ease the thick tension. “I think we both think about him a lot. But he’s still out there. You know it, I know it. Mulder, listen to me. We both feel guilty, it’s normal. But we shouldn’t dwell on that too long. It’s not healthy.”

 Mulder swallowed past knives. She stroked his cheek again, a few beard whiskers fell out.

 “I’ve been taking my medication like you insisted.”

 “Good.”

 “But I still made you walk away from me. I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do. I felt lost. I had my work taken away from me, I was...abduc…” His frosted lips wouldn’t form the word.

 “It’s okay. I felt lost too. I buried myself in hospital work, I...that wasn’t the healthiest thing to do, either. I see that now. I just tend to work excessively instead of being emotional with you, I often found that hard. I still do.”

 “Why?”

 “That’s how you learn to act in a boy’s club. I grew up around a number of men, more than women. I worked in a place where women were few and far between. You can’t let weakness show. That means any tears. It’s a toxic notion that I have internalized, yes, but…I’m learning to be better. To break away from that ideology. I’m glad you are, too.”

 She relinquished her left hand’s grip on his upper arm, and rested it on his heart. A surge of warmth vibrated between them like the notes off a record player. Mulder cupped her cheeks, and squeezed them together, giving her red fish lips. A grin began to glow beneath strips of chestnut beard. She stroked his face, more whiskers falling off at the contact of her flesh.

 “I’m here,” Mulder whispered.

 “So am I,” Scully breathed back, a blue fire blazing in her eyes.

 Finally, they pulled apart, and accepted the overbearing white around them. Wind angrily whipped, batting chestnut and coppery strands every which way. Twigs snapped and branches shattered. She squinted up at him while spitting hair out of her mouth, the light bouncing off his bare face in the most attractive way. His hair was not long and messy. Her hair was short again. Just as it should be.

 Finally, the fruity scent crept back into frame. The ivy, oak, and willow withered away, retreating into old, unremarkable floorboard. A warm sunset filtered in between them through a window.

 Without saying anything, they had said everything.