#there was something so profoundly unsettling talking to someone who speaks in my own first person

[whereisthedamndaddymanual]

What did I learn in University?

Nothing, but I taught a few girls the art.

[having-a-hyperfixate]

The Final Day’‘

This is absolutely going to be long and rambley af so I’mma just put a cut here. This is just one massive post for the entire rest of the game.

Rindo is back in the RG somehow. Which makes less than no sense. What was that crazy beam. Shibuya is GONE there isn’t an RG to send him back to, even if someone did want to send him back?

That beam reminded me of the Jesus beams not gonna lie.

But… Fret. Presumably Nagi and Beat too. They’re. Gone. Poor Rindo… That’s the worst kind of gaslighting. Reality itself is gaslighting this poor kid. ‘Your best friend in the world is gone, so gone that no one remembers him. You don’t even get to mourn properly because there is no one TO mourn.’  I am also not okay.

I assume this random talking to us at Hachiko is the dude I saw a brief glimpse of in a screenshot from the final trailer. Hazuki Mikagi, okay. Everything about this is supremely weird. 

Leading this weirdo around and he asked how we feel about emotions? Um, what?

Was he responsible for that beam of light?

This whole thing is extremely unsettling, I don’t think I like it. The music is all… serene, this guy keeps asking existential questions, who even comes up to some kid clearly having a bad day and demands a tour of the city.

He knows Rindo’s name even though we never told him. Not sure if that was a slip or an intentional nudge that Something is going on but there we go.

‘I should take this chance to apologize for Kubo. He’s a real piece of work.’ WHAT. YOU SEND HIM TO SHINJUKU?!?! IS THIS KID GOD!? WHAT!??!

‘Exorcised’. Like a demon. Which is a psychic rank you can get in the first game, and probably this game, ergo, a thing that exists in this universe.

Okay. So this Hazuki guy is Something Else. I dunno if he’s an Angel or higher or WHAT. He’s something. And he “exorcised” what Fuckwad had Fallen to when he decided not to stop at Shinjuku and continue on to Shibuya. But he only did this after Rindo faught so hard to stop it. And then he gave Rindo what he thought Rindo wanted. And now he’s here trying to understand why Rindo is miserable. Which to us, as humans, is obvious: the people he loved, the connections and family he had made through the game are all gone and worse, no one remembers they ever existed.

And now he’s being offered the chance to try again. This feels like a double edged sword. And I don’t care.

Okay I actually kind of appreciate the thing Hazuki is pulling here. He knows what it is that Rindo wants, I’m pretty sure he’s listening to his thoughts, actually, and in order to make Rindo own up to it he’s arguing the ‘no’ position. Giving Rindo someone to argue against so he can convince himself.

WHY DOES EVERYTHING HAPPEN AT UDAGAWA.

Bruh some of these clips were in the announcement trailer.

(I can’t wait to read the secret reports. That’s gonna be a wild ride.)

Oooooh that’s what ‘exorcised’ means. That is hardcore. He definitely deserved it but that is uh. Slightly inconvenient.

Can we actually contact Rhyme this time PLEASE. Oooh Rindo worked out Kaie is waiting for Rhyme. :O I’M FINALLY GONNA GET MY MASSIVE COUNTER OFFENSIVE FUCK YES. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH I’M PUMPED LET’S FUCKING GOOOOOOO!!!!

Who’s gonna protect them. Beat. Really. Just give them the damn pins at this point. They both know their ways around a fight and Kaie might need the backup. If we lose, we’re all toast regardless, and if we win everyone gets put back where they belong.

AAAAAAAAAAAH SHE’S HERE!!! RHYME!!!! Aw… She can’t see Neku and Shoka cuz they’re actually dead. That’s really depressing. Makes sense but like. Oof. Especially for Neku.

I love that Rhyme still has a saying for everything.

This timeline is going to be a mess by the time I get everything positioned correctly lmao

Beat’s ‘How do you know about my sister?! Right, future.’ is never going to NOT be funny. It’s very refreshing to have a time travel plot where people just listen when he tells them shit needs to happen.

Is it acutaly Shiki time ohh my god. I might cry. Please tell me she has a face now. If her face is still illegal I will actually scream.

I’m offended. We didn’t get to go see Shiki. The betrayal. OH but now we might be? Stop playing with me, game. GIVE. ME. SHIKI.

Rindo was freaking out that we weren’t gonna be able to get rid of all the Noise around the café and I definitely threw my hands up and yelled when I saw the word ‘zeptogram’. And I read it before he said it, cuz I read v. fast. Nice to see you again, idiot. Please don’t go berserk again.

I am. Very impressed that Minamimoto managed to work out where the Dissonance Noise are coming from, down to the exact energy source that creates them. He nailed it. Well done sir.

I think… he’s proposing we awaken the city and use the energy generated by the thoughts and emotions of the living people to neutralize some of the Dissonance Noise that are waiting in the pin. Erode some of its power.

“How about this: I’ll talk, you type.” Lmao.

I got denied Shiki again. Part of me is annoyed. The other part of me is like ‘are they saving her entrance for when she can see Neku again properly because I can live with that’.

OH the Hishima cutscene is voiced now OKAY. Guess that means this is the one. Rhyme is voiced too. This is gonna be it.

And she speaks Minamioto. Coo.

Huh. Neku’s power is to sync with people. Which he learned to do in the first game. From Mr H, with the harmonizer pin. (Twister is playing and I have Emotions help) And now he’s gonna do it on an absolutely MASSIVE scale. This is insane. I am 1,000% here for it. Sync, Dive, Remind. And if I had to guess, we’re doing this atop 104.

Alright Shiba. ‘Mere. Tsugumi’s eyes aren’t all freaky anymore yay. Oh snap. He’s gonna unleash the Plague Noise against the Dissonance ones. Nice. Turnabout is fair play. I’m kinda sad Fuckwad isn’t here to witness that.

Alright. Change. Our. Fate.

SHIIIIIIIIIIKKKKKKKKKIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I gave myself a headache ow.

“07734.” “Ew. Hey! Don’t just spout off numbers and walk away, you jerk!” That was amazing.

FUCK ME SIDEWAYS. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. NO. NO WAY. I DIDN’T THINK THERE WAS ANY WAY. OH. MY. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH. This is the first time Neku’s seen him since Joshua failed to stop Coco from killing him. I’m. A puddle. Help. Neku looked so happy. My cat is slightly concerned haha.

Neku still holds his hands like he’s got the headphones. The same pose as in the first game when you scan. This gives me all the feels.

“They’re just mindless thoughts” Okay so I’m mentally exhausted at this point and I processed that as ‘thots’ and it was hilarious. BEGONE THOTS.

Okay this thing right here? This is a final boss. And it is cool as fuck. Too bad it’s trying to END ME. So cool. SO. COOL. Here comes phase 2 lol. I died and had to redo it. FML.

That. Was awesome. A worthy successor to the epic final strike of the first game. 999% eh?

I continue to not like Shinjuku rules. Once you’re a Reaper, leaving means you get erased once the game ends? Disrespectfully, fuck that. Oh don’t you dare, Shoka. Don’t. You. Dare.

Oh, Joshua is here. PLEASE. Lmao Shoka’s reaction. I’m sure he appreciates that, the drama queen.

*facepalms* Joshua strikes again. I’ve missed you, you little shit. You are terrible, but I missed you. Rindo, I’m pretty sure she’s fine. I think captain helpful over here reincarnated her for you. Since you saved him and his city. I guess I’ll see though.

Uzuki and Kariya continue to be adorable. I love them. And yeah, good luck calling in that debt from Minamimoto, Coco. Gooooood luck.

I’m having a lot of Joshua centered emotions right now there is too much Joshua all at once help. “I should have known I could trust you.” You are killing me dude. You really, really should have. I’m going to turn that line over in my head for way too long, I just know it, but let’s try to get through this before my brain turns off completely. “Let’s not keep her waiting.” OKAY THANKS I’M GONNA CRY AGAIN.

What Hazuki was saying about ‘purifying’ as opposed to ‘destroying’ Shinjuku makes me think that restarting it in some form was always part of the plan, so hopefully they’ll have luck with that. It’s still profoundly fucked up that any of that happened, and even more so that it was sanctioned. I’m. Going to be hung up on that for a while once it sinks in.

This poor idiot hitting on Rhyme is about to get got oh no XD

Shiki is breaking my heart. Aaaaaaaah!!! Reunioooooon.

Ooof it’s been a month since Rindo saw Shoka. Big oof. Joshuaaaaaa.

And then they almost got hit by a car lmao. OMG HE MISSED HER FRIEND REQUESTS AHAHAHAHAH YOU GOOBER. Neku really should have warned them that Joshua is Like That lol. Even when he’s being helpful it’s in the must backhanded way possible.

I would very much like to know why on earth Shinjuku needed to be obliterated though. Like. Does that… Happen often? Maybe the secret reports say.

Speaking of, time to get those, along with the rest of the trophies.

!!!! The title screen updated, NICE. Can’t let anyone who hasn’t beaten it see that but NICE.

There’s another Another Day. Oh boy. I am not ready for that madness yet.

Random thought as I was moving this from word, where I typed it: I’m really, really fucking glad they didn’t decide to deal with Mr H the way they dealt with sleezy mcfuckwad. That would have been… I don’t have a word.

[its-flicked-switch]

Sandcastles in the Sky

The after effects of chemo create a situation that, while first thought to be a hindrance, becomes exactly what is needed.

Set Post-Elegy s4e22.

Rating: Explicit

This story was originally written for the X-Files Easter FanFic Gift Exchange for @contrivedcoincidences6. Prompt: "I loovvveee early msr and/or pre-series. I also LOVE AUs, early series, cancer arc, pre-series, total au (loovvveee aus) gots to be msr and I'd appreciate some smut please!"

"The doctor said I was fine."

"I hope that's the truth."

"I'm going home."

Mulder kicks himself all the way home for letting her walk away. Scully may think she's hiding it well, and perhaps when it comes to everyone else she is. But not with him. He sees it. He sees the fear, sorrow, and avoidance. He sees every last bit.

He's well aware of the fact that making this about him only makes him more of an asshole, but that fact has done little to dampen the frustration that boils up from within him every time she dismisses the significance of what is happening as if it isn't his burden to bear as much as it is hers. She is so much more than his Watson. She is everything. And without her, he is nothing.

By the time he reaches his car, it's nearly 10:00 p.m. and Scully is gone. He considers driving by her place to check on her but thinks better of it. Regardless of how terrible she feels following her treatments, she never calls in or complains, even when it's quite apparent that she doesn't feel well and is absolutely exhausted. He wants more than anything to take care of her … to do something to soften the blow that his quest has inflicted on her health, but Scully has remained steadfast in her independence, keeping him at arm's length and refusing to let him in. Whether she's doing it to protect him or herself is unclear, but either way, it's disheartening.

He arrives at his apartment in a haze. Removing his jacket and slipping off his shoes, he doesn't bother to lock the door behind him as he collapses on the couch and buries himself in its familiarity. The bubbling hum of the aquarium helps to calm and lull him into a state of peaceful contentment that borders on sleep. But instead of succumbing to it, he fights it.

One would think that someone with his history and paranormal fixation would have nightmares, but he doesn't. In his dreams, Mulder doesn't see Armageddon or little green men. He sees something far worse. He sees what could have been.

He sees Samantha running along the beach behind their summer home in Quonochontaug.

He sees a healthy and vibrant Scully watching him, and a young boy building sandcastles in the sky alongside spaceships.

He sees a little girl with long strawberry blonde hair and crystal blue eyes who calls him daddy.

But Samantha is not in Quonochontaug, and he and Scully will never have children.

For this reason and so many others, Fox Mulder rarely sleeps. He doesn't even own a bed.

Rolling to his back, he pulls off his tie, untucks his shirt, and stares up at the ceiling. He's contemplating getting up to retrieve a tape from his collection when the cell in his pocket begins to ring.

"Agent Mulder."

"Mul — er?"

"Scully?"

He asks not because he isn't sure, but because there is something in her voice that is foreign to him.

"I … I'm hav—in' a little trouble," she says.

Holy fuck, he thinks. Is she drunk?

She's doing her best to hide it, slowing her words in an attempt to keep them from all slurring together, but if her first full sentence is any indication, she is most certainly more than a little under the influence.

"With what? Are you alright?" he asks, sitting up and slipping on his shoes in anticipation of leaving.

"Yeah," she replies, keeping her response short as she subdues a sniffle.

Dread and guilt flow through him as he realizes that the change in her voice isn't solely due to the indulgence of alcohol. She's been crying. Had his words about working against him sent her home in tears? The possibility immediately unsettles his stomach. His intention had been to encourage her to be more open and to no keep things from him, not to make her cry.

Fuck, he's an asshole.

"I'm okay," she insists, doing her best to clear her voice and sound as normal as possible. "I'm not sick. I just … I need … I would call my mom, but it's late and … I'm a bit out of it."

"No, I'm glad you called. What are you having trouble with, Scully? What's wrong?"

"I just … I can't …"

"You can't what?"

"It's stupid," she says, her voice dazed and muffled in a way that indicates to him that she's hanging her head or covering her face, if not both.

"If it's something you need, then it's not stupid," he says softly, encouraging her.

"The chemo," she says, swallowing hard and taking a deep breath, "one of the side-effects is residual weakness and stiffness … especially in the upper extremities around the port."

The slow, precise, and guarded way that she is speaking now makes her sound almost normal. While she's clearly struggling to voice what's going on and why she has called, she's not as out of it as he first thought. In fact, the more she talks, the more lucid she sounds.

"Scully, I'm not sure that I understand—"

"I can't get my shirt off, Mulder."

OH.

"I would just cut it off, but … it's … it's a shirt Melissa bought for me, and I just can't … I'm sorry I—"

"Scully."

Her name comes out a bit louder and more commanding than he intends, so he immediately softens it.

"I'll be right over."

"Okay," she says quietly. "And … could you … could you use your key?"

The request surprises him, but he doesn't question it.

"Yeah … I can do that."

"Okay."

When she doesn't hang up and lets the silence hang, he hastens his movement, grabbing his go-bag, badge, gun, and jacket as he heads out the door.

Scully never asks for anything. Not really. So the fact that she has called and that she is hesitant to hang up the phone and be alone for the short period of time that it will take for him to reach her apartment immediately alerts him to the fact that this is about more than saving a shirt.

"Do you want me to stay on the phone with you?"

"No … no … I'll see you in a few minutes," she says softly. "Thank you, Mulder."

Before he can respond, the line goes dead.

—

When he arrives at her apartment just before midnight, he hesitates briefly at her door. Scully had asked him to use his key to enter, but even with her permission, he's still inclined to knock and announce his arrival.

With her having been the victim of home invasions in the past, the last thing he wants to do is startle her.

"Scully? I'm here."

"Back here," he hears her say from somewhere in the back.

Assuming she's in her bedroom, he slips off his shoes, removes his jacket and places his bag, gun, and badge on her coffee table before proceeding to the back.

"Scully?" he asks again, slowing as he reaches the threshold of her door.

"In here."

What he sees as he enters her bedroom and looks into her bathroom breaks his heart. Scully is soaking wet with a large towel wrapped around her torso.

"I thought that if I got in a hot shower I could get it to loosen up enough to pull it off, but getting off a wet tee shirt is harder than I remember it being," she says, reading the question in his eyes.

"Interesting. I wouldn't have pegged you as being a wet tee shirt contest kind of girl, Scully," he says in an attempt to lighten the mood and put her at ease.

The smirk that plays across her lips as he speaks allows him to breathe a sigh of relief.

"Which shoulder is it?" he asks softly, taking on a more serious tone that relays his concern.

"The left."

"Is it tender to the touch?"

"A bit."

"Would massaging it help?"

"Maybe."

Closing the distance between them, he gestures for her to reposition herself on the toilet seat to give him better access to her shoulders. When his hands come into contact with her wet clothing, he's taken back how chilled her skin and clothing feels.

"Jesus, Scully. You must be freezing."

"The hot shower was a good idea until it wasn't."

"Here," he says, reaching for a towel hanging up alongside the tub and draping it over her right shoulder.

"Why don't we move into the bedroom? I think you'll be more comfortable sitting on the bed."

"Okay."

He starts to step away to give her some space to move, but as she stands and turns she loses her balance and falls into him.

"Muscle relaxer," she mumbles by way of explanation, clearly embarrassed by the fact that she's half dressed, soaking wet, and can barely stand.

Looking at her now, the pieces of the puzzle are beginning to come together. She's not drunk, she's in pain, and based on how she is stumbling about, she has either taken more than the recommended dose or has taken the medication for the first time. Given how much weight she has lost since starting chemo, it's entirely possible that whatever she took has impacted her more profoundly than she anticipated.

With him stabilizing her, they move quietly and with purpose into the bedroom where she settles awkwardly on the edge of her bed. As he watches her move and adjust herself accordingly, he can't help but notice how tightly she is clinging to her towel.

It hadn't occurred to him until that very moment that she was likely only wearing a tee shirt and bra when she got into the shower. And with her shirt being soaked, she probably hadn't bothered to put on anything else when she got out.

Suddenly, Mulder is very thankful that her back is to him.

In an attempt to distract himself away from what lies beneath, he begins to rub her shoulder, but quickly draws back when she flinches.

"No … no … it's okay …. it's just … tender."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay, really. I think it will help. It's just uncomfortable."

Placing his hands back over her shoulder he begins to knead, but this time he doesn't put as much pressure through the tips of his fingers.

"Is this why you have been wearing mostly button-down shirts?"

His question appears to catch her off guard because she immediately peers over her shoulder at him and gives him a questioning look that indicates that he's been paying more attention to her than she has given him credit for.

"The button-downs are easier. My shoulder has felt almost normal for the past few days, so I thought I would be okay to wear this but … apparently not."

"How many shirts have you cut?"

"Just one."

"You could have called me."

"I didn't care about that one, so it was easier just to cut it."

"Well, it does feel like it's loosening up a bit. What time did you take the muscle relaxer?"

"A little after 11:00."

He wants to ask her how many she took but thinks better of it. The last thing he wants to do is piss her off or make her regret calling him to begin with.

"It appears to have loosened up everything except my shoulder. This …" she says, pausing and wincing as his fingers make their way over a particularly tender spot.

"Sorry," he says, lightening his touch.

"This is the first time I've taken them. I've had them for a little over a month, but haven't wanted to take them knowing I could be called out in the middle of the night for a case."

"Scully, why didn't you talk to me about this? If you were in pain, you should have just …"

"I'd rather feel the pain than feel completely out of it."

"Do you feel completely out of it? Because you don't sound completely out of it."

"I feel … numb, tired, and like I shouldn't be up walking around."

"Well, that much is clear," he says smirking and nodding his head towards the bathroom causing her to chuckle in response.

She's relaxed now. The tense embarrassment that he saw in her face initially is gone.

"How do you want to do this, Scully? I think we may be able to get it off now, but I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

To this, she blushes a bit and turns her head back forwards.

"It's nothing that you haven't seen before, Mulder."

She's not wrong, but this is different, and they both know it."

"Or have you forgotten?"

It's difficult to tell if there is any actual heat behind her words since she's facing away from him, but the tone of her voice and tension building in her body as she reaches down to tighten her hold on the towel clues him in to the fact that there has been a shift in the paradigm. He's honestly surprised that she's mentioned Antarctica.

Mulder is a lot of things, but unobservant isn't one of them. He's watched her fidget with her clothing and caught her lingering glances along reflective surfaces as they pass. It's subtle, yet blatantly obvious that she is uncomfortable with the amount of weight she has lost, and the last thing he wants her to be as he undresses her is self-conscious. So for this reason, and this reason alone, he is candid.

"Oh, I haven't forgotten."

He keeps his hands on her as he speaks so he can feel her reaction to his words. When she does turn her head to give him her eyes, he does everything in his power to relay how much he respects her — not wanting his words to be translated as being perverse.

Without words, they begin to rearrange her wet shirt in order to pull it off. Her left shoulder and arm are still bit stiff, but between the two of them, they are able to twist it around without stretching the shirt too terribly. She still sitting with her back to him, but he can feel her wince at the end as they work together to pull it over her head and off of her arm.

"Sorry," he says as he helps her bring her arm back down and tosses her shirt to the side.

Bringing his hands back to rest over her shoulders, he moves fingers firmly across her skin in an attempt to relax her, noting that the clasp to her bra is in the back. She hasn't asked him to undo it, but he knows after helping her with her shirt that she is not going to be able to undo it herself unless she removes the straps and flips it around. Lowering his hands to work along her middle back, he works his way down until his hands are alongside the clasp. Fearing that talking about it will only serve to make it more awkward, he waits for her to indicate that she is ready.

When she gives him a slight nod, he undoes it and runs his hand down her back.

"Do you want me to grab you another shirt or your robe?"

"No, I want to take a shower."

"Are … are you sure that's a good idea?"

"I think I'll be alright," she says, removing the bra completely and placing it off to the side as she rearranges her towel to cover her breasts.

Even with her back to him, he can still see enough of her body to make his dick harden, which immediately fills him with shame. He should turn his back to give her some privacy, but he doesn't. He can't take his eyes off of her. Even with the weight she has lost, she's still the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.

"Okay," he says, snapping himself out of his trance and taking a step back.

He's about to step out and give her some privacy when she turns to stand and stumbles. Cursing, Mulder makes his way to her side instantly, narrowly managing to catch her before she hits the floor.

The realization that she's dropped the towel hits them both at the same time. She gasps, her eyes widening in shock as his hand grazes over her breasts and settles along the bare skin of her torso as he works to pull her body up and stabilize her. Now, with her standing directly before him completely nude, there is no way for either of them to reach down and pick up the towel without creating contact. Doing his best to distract himself away from the fact that he is holding a very naked Scully, Mulder keeps his eyes glued to hers as he guides them back towards the bed, grabbing the extra towel they had brought in from the bathroom.

No words are spoken as she takes it and covers herself.

Her face is difficult to read. It's clear that she's embarrassed, but there is something else there too. Something he can't quite place.

Not wanting to linger too long in dangerous waters, he states the obvious in hopes that she will just lay down and rest.

"Scully, I'm not sure that taking a shower right now is a good idea. The last thing you need is to fall and hit your head or break something. Let me grab you a shirt or something. You can take one in the morning," he says, trying desperately to not think about how soft her skin is and how amazing it felt to touch her breast.

"No. I feel gross. I want to shower."

"Scully, you can hardly stand … "

"A bath then."

"Is it really that critical that you—"

She doesn't have to interrupt him to silence him. The look she gives him says it all.

"Fine, but I'm running the bathwater, and you're going to stay right here."

"Mulder …"

"Scully."

Now it's his turn to give her a look. He's more than willing to indulge just about anything when it comes to her, but her safety is not up for debate. If she's going to insist on taking a bath, he's going to draw it for her and help get her settled. He can tell that the idea does not necessarily enchant her, but he also knows that she's well aware of the fact that she is no condition to insist otherwise. Her mind is sound; her body just isn't cooperating.

"Fine."

Retreating to the bathroom, Mulder turns on the water and begins to shuffle through her bathroom cabinets in search of a bath salt or soap that would help her relax while also serving to give her a bit of privacy. He doesn't trust her to call for him when she's finished, and she's not going to be able to get in or out without stumbling.

Fuck.

How in the world is he going to get through this without his hard-on being on full display? It's not like she's drunk and so out of it that she won't remember his dick poking at her through his clothes as he helps her settle into the tub. If he doesn't find something to help cover her a bit as she bathes he's going to come in his pants.

Spotting some bubble bath in the cabinet under the sink, he grabs it and pours a liberal amount into the running water as he checks the temperature. Not wanting it to be too hot, he adds a bit of cold and tests it again. Satisfied that it won't burn her, he returns to the bedroom where he finds her sitting exactly where he left her.

Without a word, he helps her stand and guides her into the bathroom where they are both greeted with a sight that takes them both by surprise.

Thankfully, Scully begins to laugh.

"FUCK."

"You poured it in didn't you?" she asks.

"Yeah," he says, walking her through the mess of overflowing bubbles and positioning her to where she can safely sit on the toilet seat beside the tub while he fruitlessly fights the massive mountain of bubbles cascading out of the bathtub and onto the floor.

"It's the good stuff," she tells him, nodding towards the open bottle sitting on the counter. "You only need a cap full."

"Well, I think it's fair to say I used more than a cap."

"Clearly."

He turns to face her, expecting her to be irritated. Instead, he finds that the color has returned to her cheeks. For the first time in weeks, she's genuinely laughing and smiling. He's always thought she was beautiful, but as she sits before him clad in only a towel with bubbles floating around her, she's breathtakingly beautiful. Painfully so.

"Why the bubbles, Mulder?" she asks.

The teasing smile playing on her lips is enough to let him know that she is well aware of the prominent effect her state of undress is having on him.

"I thought it might help you relax … and give you a bit of privacy."

Using the side of the tub and the countertop to stabilize herself, she stands, letting the towel fall to the floor as she does.

This time, he doesn't have the strength to keep his eyes up. With her permission, he takes her in, and this time he does so thoroughly. Extenuating circumstances prevented him from fully appreciating her in Antarctica, but nothing of the sort is stopping him now.

If it weren't for the circumstances at play, he would be lunging forward and backing her up against the wall, but he stops himself short of doing so because no matter what their bodies are saying, now is not the time.

His body longs for hers more than it has longed for anything else in this world, but he doesn't want it to happen because she thinks she's dying. As much as he wants to be the one to relieve the sexual tension that is so clearly coiled up inside of her, he can't let it be just about that. Not with them. He can't be her one-night Ed Jerse.

Taking her hand, he guides her to the tub and helps her step inside, shutting off the water as she lays back and settles herself under the bubbles.

"Sorry," he says, settling himself alongside the tub swatting at the bubbles floating around in the air.

"Don't be."

The soft smile that plays across her lips as she settles her head on the rim of the tub calms him. Whether it's the drugs, the late hour, the company, or a combination of the three he cannot be sure, but he's certainly not complaining.

He is, however, curious.

When he saw earlier in the evening, she was closed off to him and insistent that she do this alone, which is precisely why he had pressed her and accused her of working against him. Had his words to her at the scene really impacted her that deeply? Or was something else at play?

"Not that I'm complaining, but why not call your Mom? You said you were out of it on the phone, and to be honest, when I first heard your voice, I thought you were … but you're not."

She turns to face him briefly, giving his question pause and musing over her words carefully before allowing them surface and give weight to the air between them.

"I don't want her to see," she says softly.

Despite the quiet tone she has taken, her words are firm and steady, filling the room with an uncomfortable silence that he is tempted to fill. But sensing there is more, he remains silent, fiddling with the bubbles alongside the outer lip of the tub as he waits. The ball is in her court. Letting him in has to be her choice.

"When I'm working, it's easier for both of us, because it almost makes things normal. She's used to me working all the time."

"Scully …"

"She was sitting right next to Melissa when she coded. She shouldn't have to watch me die too. I can't … I just can't do that to her."

"You're not going to die, Scully."

"But I am dying, Mulder. I know you don't want to see it or deal with it, but I am. It's happening. You want me to let you in, but I don't think you understand what that means."

"Do you?"

"I wouldn't change a day," she says, repeating the words she uttered to him months earlier.

If he weren't already hopelessly in love with her, the way she's looking at him now would have certainly sealed the deal. Lifting her hand up to the edge of tub she seeks his, intertwining her fingers with his.

For the next few minutes, no words are spoken as they gaze into each other's eyes.

She breaks the moment, but not the mood when she lets go of his hand and moves to sit up, grabbing a bar of Ivory soap from the other side of the tub.

Bubbles cling to her body as she rises, allowing her to maintain some semblance of modesty, but as she runs the bar of soap across her shoulders, chest, and arms, it becomes clear that modesty is not high on her priority list.

"Can I ask you something, Mulder?" she asks, snapping him out of his longing leer. "Something personal?"

"You can ask me anything," he tells her, lowering his hand to rub across his hard-on as he continues to watch.

"Do you … do you ever wish things were different?"

"What things?" he asks, watching her closely.

Silence fills the air as her boldness wains and her eyes drop, he shifts to position himself closer, catching her eyes and asking her again.

"What things, Scully?"

"Like … do you ever think about going a different direction? About having and wanting something normal?"

The last thing Mulder wants to do is break the seriousness of the moment, but he can't help but chuckle at the idea of him and normal being in the same sentence.

"Scully, of all things for which I am certain … I am certain that my definition of normal will not hold up against the Webster version, so you're going to have to be a bit more specific. Are you talking about work? About doing something other than the X Files?"

"No … not necessarily."

"Then what?"

"I'm talking about life outside of work."

"Okay," he says, giving her a look at the encourages her to continue.

"Do you ever miss it, Mulder?"

"Miss what, Scully?"

"The touch of a lover?"

Just when he thought he might potentially survive the evening without coming in his pants, she has to go and ask him a question like this.

Leaning deeply into the cabinets behind him, he contemplates how he is going to respond. The answer is a no-brainer. Of course, he does. But he doesn't desire a quick roll in the hay. Sex is no longer the only thing he desires.

"Or do the videos do it for you?"

The mere mention of his video collection makes him smirk, knowing damn well she would be far less likely to prod him about it if she knew that every video he owned starred a petite red-head.

When he watches, he never sees them. He only ever sees her.

"Mulder?"

Not wanting to make her nervous or uncomfortable by remaining silent for too long, he decides to be candid. She is, so he will follow suit.

"The videos relieve tension, but my hand is a poor substitute for the real thing."

"Well, there's a long list of secretaries that wouldn't mind your company. I've seen the way they look at you," she says, tilting her head to meet his eyes again.

Despite how turned on he is by the turn the conversation has taken, he can't help but appreciate just how surreal it is. He just finished settling her naked body into a bathtub after disrobing her, yet, here she is, trying to shift him towards an alleged long list of other women who wouldn't mind his company.

"And how do they look at me, Scully?"

"Like they would be more than willing to act out what's on those videos."

"And just what do you think is on those videos?" he asks, now curious.

What does Dana Scully think Fox Mulder likes?

"I imagine it's a fairly standard guy script," she says vaguely, a soft pink hue spreading up through her neck and across her cheeks that is definitely not an artifact of the warm water.

"And what might that entail?"

Part of him feels guilty for digging in and not letting it go, especially given that she's taken medication that has undoubtedly loosened her tongue, but now that she's brought this to the forefront he really wants to know.

"Oral … Doggie …"

"Is that what you think I like?"

She's quiet for a moment, gauging his expression as her body shifts slightly underneath the water.

It suddenly occurs to him that he hasn't seen her hands in quite some time. The realization makes him impossibly harder than what he already is.

"It's what most men want," she says evenly.

And just like that, Mulder hates every man that has ever laid hands on her that much more. If that's what she believes all men want, then she certainly hasn't been loved or treasured. All she's ever been is fucked. The realization both sickens and enrages him, but he doesn't dare let it show. Not tonight. Not like this.

"I'm not most men."

To this, she chuckles, turning her head to the side and looking straight into his eyes.

"If you're referring to your infatuation with alien life-forms and the paranormal, then I would have to agree, but primitive drive is primitive drive, Mulder. It only has one objective."

"What makes you think my primitive drive would involve oral and doggie?"

What was a pink hue, is now a full-fledged red. He knows he's pushing boundaries, but he can't leave it like this. He can't walk away having her believe that his fantasies align with her previous experiences.

"I'm sorry I brought it up," she says, suddenly finding something of interest within the bubbles as she averts her eyes.

"I'm not," he says, leaning forward and touching the side of her face to redirect her eyes back to his. "Scully, I do miss a woman's touch, but casual sex doesn't interest me. It hasn't interested me in a long time."

"Mulder … what happened with Jerse … it … it wasn't what you think," she says quietly.

Fuck.

"Scully, I wasn't … that wasn't an attack on—"

"I know."

Sitting up tall, she pulls the bar of soap above the surface of the water and places it back on the ledge.

"It felt good to be wanted … to have someone's desire so blatantly pressed against me."

The gentlemen lurking inside of him knows that he should stop her and tell her that whatever happened isn't any of his business and that it doesn't matter. But he remains silent because it does matter, and he does want to know.

"We … we fooled around, but … he didn't … we didn't."

Unable to hide his surprise, he gives her a questioning look.

"His tattoo … it started bleeding, and by the time we got it stopped and cleaned up he was … different … off …. and didn't, uh, seem all that interested anymore."

Of all the things he expected to have gone down on the night she spent with Ed Jerse, this was not among them. She had been willing, and in his state of psychosis, he had been unable to perform.

Suddenly, a lot of things begin to make sense to Mulder.

Scully had let him believe that she had spent a passionate night in the arms of a stranger because the truth didn't make much of ballot. While she may have appreciated his jealousy, he no longer believes that making him jealous was her primary objective. Leaving his assumptions unchecked had been more of an act of self-preservation. She and Jerse had fooled around, and then Jerse had given her his shirt and turned her away. Rather than seeing the situation for what it was, Scully had walked away from the encounter feeling unwanted and unattractive. The fact that Jerse had strangled and beat the hell out of her the following morning certainly hadn't helped matters.

"Scully, Jerse was psychotic. Him not …"

He stops himself short of saying wanting you, deciding instead to allow her to fill in the blank.

"It had nothing to do with you and everything to do with him. I can assure you that."

It's more clear to him now than ever that her discontent with her self-image has just as much to do with that night as it does her weight loss. Fucking Jerse.

"Regardless," she says, taking a weighted breath. "You were right. It was careless. He could have killed me."

"But you didn't know that," he says to her softly. "Not at the time."

Now having heard the truth about what had transpired that night, he's filled with remorse for how he treated her when she returned. She was free to see whomever she pleased. She wasn't his. He desperately wanted her to be, but she wasn't. Not in the way he wanted her to be anyway.

Scully had wanted to feel something. Something real. Something primitive. And instead of being her friend and being compassionate, he had acted like a selfish, jealous asshole.

"It's okay to want something quick, easy, and uncomplicated, Scully. I'm sorry that I made you feel otherwise."

His apology earns him a shadow of a smile as she picks at her pruning fingers.

"What if all it taught me was that I didn't want something quick, easy, and uncomplicated?"

"How normal of you," he says, a chuckle rumbling in his chest and a smile spreading across his face.

Flicking bubbles at his face, she joins in on his laughter and gives him her eyes. The dark hue within them is something new. He knows he should look away to keep from making her uncomfortable, but he can't. He's too entranced — swallowed whole by the deep end of the ocean.

"The water's getting cool," she comments, fidgeting under his gaze.

"I'll grab you a fresh towel."

Springing into action, he turns away from her quickly in an attempt to hide the effect she has on him. The guise of privacy that the bubbles provided has dwindled significantly over the course of the last 20 to 30 minutes. He hopes like hell the bath has helped to ground and settle her because he's not sure that his body can withstand drying her with embarrassing both of them.

"If there aren't any more under there, there should be more in the hall closet."

"Okay," he says, looking under the cabinet. "Looks like we are in luck though," he says, handing her the clean towel as he helps her stand and step out of the tub. "Although, I may need to grab a few more to deal with all of this."

The bubbles have made a mess of her bathroom floor, leaving it wet in some places and sticky in others.

"Once I help get you settled, I'll come and clean this up."

"It's okay, Mulder. I can get it in the morning."

"No. I'll take care of it."

Unsure of how stable she currently is, he stands before her awkwardly and waits for her to give him some sort of indication on what she needs him to do.

"I think I can handle it from here … thank you, Mulder."

"Are you sure? I don't want you to fall."

"I'll sit," she said nodding towards to toilet. "Would you, uh, mind grabbing me a shirt and some pants out of my dresser though? I keep them in the bottom drawer to the right."

"Yeah, no problem."

Once she's seated, he slips out of the bathroom and makes his way over to her dresser to retrieve her clothing. Opening the bottom drawer to the right, he finds numerous oversized tee shirts. Most of which appear to be from her college days, but there is one in particular that jumps out at him — because it's his.

It's an old Knicks shirt that he has been looking for off and on for several months now. When he had been unable to locate it after cleaning out his car and gym locker, he had just assumed that he had left it in a rental car or hotel room somewhere. He never thought to ask Scully if she had seen it.

While it's possible that she washed it and forgot about it, he highly doubts it, given its prominence in its current location. Grabbing his shirt and pair of her flannel pajama bottoms, he returns to the bathroom, knocking three times as he enters.

The expression that crosses her face when she sees that he's discovered his shirt in her pajama drawer is priceless. She had not sent him to the bottom drawer on the right to make this discovery, but now that he has she is grappling for an explanation that will be less explicit than the truth. The truth being - Scully has been sleeping in his shirt because it provided her comfort, and she liked the feel of it against her skin. He doesn't have to ask. He can see it in her eyes and the expression on her face.

If the circumstances were different, he would let her squirm, but tonight he's going to let her off the hook, injecting humor into an awkward exchange in a way that only he can.

"If I would have known you had a hankering for the Knicks, Scully, I would have bought you a tee shirt a long time ago."

Blushing, she accepts the shirt from his outstretched hand.

"Thank you, Mulder. I—"

"It's yours."

The effect his words have on her hits him like a brick. At first, he's not sure, but when she drops her towel and reveals her body to him once again, he's certain.

Scully is aroused. Painfully so.

The dark hue of blue within her eyes and pert nipples revealing the depth of her desire.

"Scully, I …"

"You can touch me, Mulder."

Taking a step closer to her, he runs his fingers down the lengths of her arms causing them both to shiver as he gazes at her body.

"I … you have no idea how much I want to … how beautiful you are … but … I can't, not like this. Not tonight. Not when you've been in pain and are on medication that could cloud your judgment. I would never forgive myself if you woke up and felt like I took advantage of you or the situation."

"My judgment isn't clouded … it's emboldened, and it's not meds talking, Mulder. It's me. Life can be … short. We spend so much time just … running. I want something normal, but not from a stranger. I was willing to get it from a stranger when I thought that was the only way I could get, but … it wasn't ever really what I wanted."

"What do you really want then, Scully?"

"Something deep, complicated, and dangerous," she says, swallowing thickly. "Something passionate and loving … something real … that will make me feel alive with the one person I desire."

"Then we both want to the same thing," he says, his voice gruff with desire.

They both lunge at the same time.

Unable to hold himself back any longer, he pulls her body firmly against his and drops his head to capture her lips. When his hands raise to cup her breasts she gasps, opening her mouth and allowing him to explore her fully. Even with the weight she's lost, she still fills his hands. Touching her feels better than he ever could have imagined. No video, fantasy, or wet dream even remotely compares.

Not wanting to consummate their relationship on a wet bathroom floor or countertop, he begins to guide her towards her bedroom where he can lay her out and properly explore. By the time he's done, there will be little room for her to doubt her appeal and desirability. He is going to devour her in the best possible way, and he's not going to stop until he takes her breath away.

By the time they reach the bed she's unbuttoned his shirt and his slacks. He breaks their kiss momentarily to remove his undershirt, but immediately returns his lips hers, devouring her and stealing the breath from her lungs as he presses her bare chest against his for the first time. The moan he swallows as her breasts rub against his nearly makes him come on the spot. Scully is going to be vocal in her pleasure. The realization makes him impossibly harder than what he already is and fills him with the desire to hear just how vocal she actually will be.

Breaking their kiss, he halts her wandering hands and looks down into her eyes. Having blocked her hands from reaching their intended destination, he lowers his to cup the rounded cheeks of ass, squeezing and kneading as he draws his fingers closer to the place he desires most.

"Are you sure, Scully? Absolutely sure?" he murmurs in her ear.

Grasping his hand, she guides him to her center, allowing him to feel how soaking wet she is.

"Is that sure enough for you?" she mumbles, rubbing her nose across the stubble of his chin as she presses her breasts into his chest.

The discovery of just how soaking wet she is strips away at Mulder's resolve and pokes at the primitive beast within him, driving him forward.

"I think our bodies know exactly what they want, but do our minds? This can't … it can't just be a thing, Scully," he says, swallowing thickly. "You mean too much to me. I can't be your Ed Jerse. I won't survive it."

"Oh, you're no Ed Jerse, Mulder. You're deep, loving, dangerous, and passionate," she whispers, repeating back her earlier words as she runs her lips across his chest.

When his fingers begin to move, she drops her forehead against his chest and watches as his fingers explore her sex and circle her entrance. The realization that she likes to watch is his undoing.

"Get on the bed, Scully."

Mulder quickly removes his socks and slacks but opts leaves his boxers in place as he crawls onto the bed to hover over her.

FUCK, she's beautiful.

And now, in this very moment, he has a chance to make her his. Not Ed's. Not Jack's. His.

"Mulder?" she asks, looking down at the tenting erection still covered by his boxers.

"To keep me in check."

"In check?"

"So that I can do this," he says, lowering his hands and lips to explore her body one section at a time.

While his mouth explores her neck, his hands fondle her breasts, rubbing the tips of his fingers across her nipples as his licks, nips, and kisses his way to down fully explore them with his mouth. When his mouth reaches her breasts, his hands lower to caress her thighs and ass. He is touching her everywhere except for the very place she desires him the most.

"Please," she gasps, raising her pelvis and rubbing her wet center against his stomach. "Touch me, Mulder."

Smiling, he sweeps his tongue across her nipple and shifts his hand to rub his fingers through her center, thoroughly soaking them in her arousal before raising them to circle her clit.

"Oh … fuck," she moans, catching him off guard.

He had suspected she would be vocal after the kiss, but the f-bomb had not been something he had anticipated. His Catholic, conservatively dressed partner of four years is completely naked beneath him, throwing her head back, cursing, and begging him for more. Removing his lips from her breasts, he looks down between them and watches her hips chase his hand as he picks up the pace.

As much as he's enjoying the erotic image their bodies make, he knows his body will fuck him over if he doesn't move things along. He can feel, hear, and smell her arousal, but it's not enough. Lowering his body, he pulls his fingers away and replaces them with his mouth causing her to squeal in surprise.

Scully immediately opens her legs to him more fully, accommodating his hungry mouth as he explores her sex just as he did her mouth. The noises coming from her now only serve to increase the level of euphoria in the air. It's the most sexually gratifying experience of his life, and he's not even inside of her yet.

"Fuck, Mulder … I'm gonna—"

And she does. Liberally.

It's the most beautiful thing he has ever seen in his life.

But he doesn't stop, he keeps going until it's clear that she's done and can take no more.

The picture she makes beneath him with her chest heaving as she gasps for air makes his heart flutter and his hips buck. This woman is going to fucking end him.

Pulling down his boxers, he exposes himself to her fully for the first time, rubbing himself up and down her slit and coating himself in her arousal as she watches. As he works his body against hers, her eyes dilate more fully, turning a shade of midnight blue with speckles of green that he's never seen before.

He's so mesmerized by her eyes that he's taken completely by surprise when she flips him over on his back.

Not that he minds.

The visual of her looming over his arousal with lust filled eyes nearly makes him come on the spot, but when he reads the destination in her eyes, he halts her movement.

"As nice as that would be, I wouldn't survive it."

"Maybe next time then."

Next time. Sweet Jesus, Joseph, and Mary …

Bracing herself above him with one arm she reaches down to guide him with the other.

"Shoulder feel better?" he asks playfully as she aligns them, poising him at her entrance.

"Oh, several parts of me are about to feel a whole lot better."

Any response he may have made is completely swallowed by the groan that leaves his body when she lowers herself onto him, taking him in one inch at a time until she is buried to the hilt.

She's so fucking tight that he can hardly stand it.

He wants to speak.

He wants to tell her how absolutely gorgeous she is and how fucking amazing that she feels. But words escape him as she readjusts her hands to bracket herself above him, moving on and off of him as she rotates her hips.

Holy fuck, she's talented.

"Scully … fuck," he heaves. "If you keep doing that I'm not going to last very long."

"That's sort of the idea," she grunts, gyrating against him roughly in order get more pressure through her clit as she rides him.

"I'm … we're not … using anything … fuck, Scully."

"I don't need anything. Not with you," she moans, grasping one of his hands and raising it to her breast as she continues to move, increasing her pace as she chases release once again.

Lowering his other hand to circle her clit, he watches the picture forming above him with awe. Scully is coming completely undone riding his dick, and it's the most amazing, beautiful, and erotic thing that he has ever seen.

She comes the second time with a scream, and this time, he can't hold back any longer. Flipping them over, he raises her thighs to rest alongside his chest as he drives into her with wild abandonment, coming in copious spurts as he moans her name.

When it's done, they are both soaking wet and heaving for breath.

Raising up on his elbows to relieve her of some of his body weight, he looks down at her with longing. Looking into her eyes now, Mulder immediately knows one fact with absolute certainty.

There will never be anyone else. Scully is it for him.

They caress, fondle, and whisper in the dark until his body is ready to take her again, and he does — this time, slowly. It's glorious, wonderful, and invigorating. He has never felt more alive than what he feels when he is inside of her.

But as she drifts to sleep in his arms, the cold light of day begins to shine through with a sobering reality. While she may be alive and vibrant in his arms now, she's been given a death sentence. A sentence he can no longer ignore.

He has to find a cure.

He doesn't care who he has to kill, beat, or cheat. He will not watch her die.

For there are sandcastles to be built in the sky.

[thehangeddemon]

Dreamwalker, Part II || RoJ, Xavier, & Abel

Rohan: Beside MJ, Rohan was already awake and sitting up. An odd wave of energy had pulled him from his own dreams some moments ago, and after a cursory assessment of their surroundings, he'd determined that his sleeping vampire was the source. Somehow.

"Puiule?" he murmured as MJ finally opened his eyes. "Are you okay?"

MJ: "That's such a name t'wake up to," slurred from the vampire's lips. Certainly the sun was not to blame for the sting in his eyes, having settled beyond the trees. A full moon of light pouring into the bedroom - had Pete just fallen asleep like an old man?

"What time is it?"

Rohan: "It's not yet midnight. Did you have a nightmare?"

MJ: "Why'd ya let me sleep in like that?" With considerable effort he forced himself into a sitting position.

Rohan: "You were sleeping so profoundly, I couldn't bring myself to wake you. Even vampires need sleep."

MJ: "We sleep twelve hours!" He scoffed. A question had been asked, had it not?

"I don't think it was a nightmare. Maybe it was."

Rohan: "Sometimes twelve hours aren't enough." He ran a hand through MJ's hair. "Feel like talking about it?"

MJ: "Can't ya magic n'see what it was?"

Rohan: "I'm afraid it doesn't work that way, puiule." He lifted his arm in silent invitation for MJ to cuddle against him. "All things of the mind look like gold light to me."

MJ: The invitation was accepted without response.

"Seriously? Why? How? Ya can't even see auras?"

Rohan: Rohan held him close, kissing his hair. "I do not have the same gifts of telepathy that a being like Xavier has. I can, however, see and read auras. That's what woke me." He kissed MJ's forehead. "A strange energy radiating from yours."

MJ: "I think I was dream walking. If that ain't what it's called, s'what I'm gonna call it. It was just a dream and then it wasn't. It didn't feel like it. I think I was with Pete."

Rohan: His brow furrowed. "You mean you somehow found yourself in his dream? Or he did in yours?"

MJ: "I dunno. I dunno how it works. Never done it before."

Rohan: He was silent for a few moments, considering. "....Did you happen to brush up against that moon figurine on the work table in the library?"

MJ: His brow wrinkled. "I - Why? What's it do?"

Rohan: "I'm not entirely sure. It was in a glass case, but it broke the day Devlin found that squirrel and brought it inside. A casualty of the chase scene. Xavier hadn't gotten around to examining it properly but now that I think about it, it does radiate....something."

MJ: "Wanna go check it out now?"

Rohan: "If you wish. With any luck he'll be in there to offer some helpful information."

MJ: "Tisk. I wanted a Scooby Doo adventure with you, Fred."

Rohan: Rohan chuckled softly. "We may have one yet. He could have already retired to his room."

MJ: Before they could move, Rohan's hand was taken between his. Don't go just yet, the gesture said. Purposeful breathing. He kissed his hand and allowed his not-so-warm breath to rest there.

Rohan: He simply smiled and pulled MJ closer. I'm not going anywhere, he thought, bundling them in together. I'm staying right here with you.

MJ: "I think...I think he was aware, too. I think it wasn't just me in that dream," he whispered at last.

Rohan: Rohan hummed thoughtfully. The question on his mind had little to do with the subject of the dream and more to do with how the dream itself had been possible. It was very unlikely that they'd both been doing dream magic simultaneously, though not impossible.

"Is that the first dream you remember?" he whispered back. "Or did you have another before that?"

MJ: "A dream where I felt...like...awake?"

Rohan: “Just from today I mean.”

MJ: "But I mean, is that normal?" How much to tell he did not yet know. Tap his toes in the water, perhaps. Why hadn't Rohan shown any shred of concern to the name Peter?

Rohan: "To have walking dreams?" Yes," he said with a nod. "Uncommon, and sometimes unintentional, but for those who have magic or are surrounded by magic they're normal. Like a lot of other uncommon things."

Another kiss to MJ's hair. "I asked if there were other dreams to try to ascertain if you found yourself in Peter's dream or if he found himself in yours. Could tell us which of you tapped into that particular well of magic and potentially how."

MJ: "I don't think it's happened before. It might have? But this - this has to be the first time I recognized it like I did. Am I supposed to every time?"

Rohan: “I’m afraid I don’t know. I don’t have much experience with walking dreams, as you call them, but I would imagine that the person who is doing the...let’s call it visiting, would be aware of it.”

MJ: "So I - Should I talk t'him? I won't if ya don't want it, Ro."

Rohan: Rohan sighed. However the magic had come about, there was no avoiding who had been on the receiving end. Or perhaps the giving end.

“I know what he meant to you, puiule,” he said softly. “What he still means. I wouldn’t keep you from speaking to him, especially not in a situation like this.”

MJ: Rohan's hands were taken tightly.

"Don't talk like that, like - like ya think I'll -" He breathed in deep. "M'not gonna cheat on ya. I wouldn't hurt ya like that."

Rohan: MJ’s hands were squeezed and kissed. “I know you wouldn’t. That isn’t what worries me.” He kissed his vampire’s hands again. “It’s only that Edenton isn’t like Paradise. There’s no Xavier to build a bubble of protection around you.”

MJ: "I can't always rely on Xavier t'have my back. I won't be a fledgling forever, Ro."

Rohan: “I know. But I still worry. Although I suppose Mr. Graham has his own bubble of protection.”

MJ: "I shouldn't. Should I? How come it don't bother ya?"

Rohan: “That you’re potentially going to speak to Pete Graham?” He sighed. “It doesn’t not bother me. I know he means a lot to you, and I’d like to believe that you mean enough to him that he’d go out of his way to make sure your brief visit to Edenton is as painless as possible.”

MJ: "M'startin' t'forget what the dream was about. What we said. But look, Ro. Can ya please put all that shit aside for a moment? Can ya just tell me what you want with us?"

Rohan: “Your happiness. Above everything and everyone else. I want you to be happy and at peace and I’d like to be a part of that peace and happiness.”

MJ: "Ya are. Ya have been for years now, Ro. But I -" he looked down at their hands.

Rohan: “But you love Mr. Graham as well,” Rohan finished for him, pressing their foreheads together. “I know, puiule. I do not hold it against either of you.”

MJ: "No! That's not what I was gonna say." But he didn't bother to pull away. "I was gonna say you're selfless to a fault. Ya are. Listen t'ya."

Rohan: “It’s not selfless to acknowledge love where it exists. It certainly doesn’t make me love you any less.”

MJ: "Shouldn't it? How can ya love me when my heart is split in two?" He closed his eyes. "That sounds so stupid."

Rohan: “It doesn’t sound stupid, puiule. I love you for you. For who you are and for what’s in your heart. There are not different versions of love, there is just love. If anything, my concern is whether Pete deserves your love, if he’s a good man.”

MJ: "Don't ya want someone faithful n'that only wants ya? Aren't ya jealous even a little bit that I still think about him? Or that he's in my goddamn dreams?"

Rohan: “You have been faithful, MJ, and you do want me. Just as much as I want you. The fact that he’s found his way into your dreams unsettles me, but only because we don’t know how he got there.”

MJ: "That don't answer my question though, Ro," he said gently.

Rohan: “I want you, MJ. Pete has always been a factor, one I’ve come to accept, and despite him I want you. Do you want me?”

MJ: "I do want ya. I've wanted ya but always felt you're too... perfect. I'm not good enough."

Rohan: “Puiule,” Rohan said softly, gently taking his vampire’s face in his hands. “I’m not perfect. I’m just a man. Fallible and imperfect. And you are such a good man. I know you may not believe that but it’s true. You’re a good man and I love you with everything I have and everything I am.”

MJ: Words that he couldn't believe of himself. He flinched from his confession and hands.

"I love that ya think that. I love that ya think so highly of me, but I don't deserve it. I've never deserved anything from ya."

Rohan: “You have and you do. You do, MJ. I wish to all the gods that I could make you believe it. Don’t ever think I’m somehow above you or that you aren’t enough. You are, my puiule.”

MJ: "I - I don't - I don't deserve it." He felt himself sinking into his usual abyss. Negativity had been a foreign element in his life until a few years ago. Now he could not relate to a life without.

"Sorry, I just..." Two fingers tapped to his temple. "S'probably Victoria."

Rohan: “Probably,” he said with a nod. Just now he wanted nothing more than to lay back with his precious vampire in his arms but he wasn’t entirely certain the gesture would be well received just yet.

“Would you like some relief?”

MJ: "I want it t'stop," he swallowed.

Rohan: “I know, love. We’ll find a way.”

Within moments his hands were offering soothing green light. Should MJ not wish magical relief, Rohan was ready to hold him and kiss him until all negative thoughts were driven from MJ’s mind.

MJ: He wouldn't resist the offer tonight. The temptation was too great. He leaned forward and embraced.

"I'll never be like ya. Ya have so much goodness in ya. No offense t'our demon, but I don't understand why y'all are friends."

Rohan: Rohan held MJ close, blanketing him in green light and the whole of his affection.

“He’s more like us than you might think. More like us and less like other demons. There’s much in him that isn’t demonic, and there’s much in you that’s good. If I’m the only one to see it then that’s all right.”

MJ: "I usually don't feel like shit 'bout stealin', but sometimes I feel guilty that one day a paintin' people admire is just gonna crumble t'dust."

Rohan: “That won’t happen for a hundred years or more, love. And by then we’ll have forced Xavier to make actual copies of everything he’s stolen that aren’t made out of iron pyrite.”

MJ: "You're gonna make him do that?"

Rohan: “I have been, gradually. He went on a stealing spree after he found that talisman and made Fool’s Gold copies with reckless abandon for several years.”

MJ: "Yeah. I don't think anything I've ever taken is somethin' people would really miss. Maybe some hearts," he smiled tiredly.

Rohan: Rohan smiled back. “A trait I’m glad you have, as opposed to Xavier’s love of extravagance. Theo is continually talking him out of stealing the statue of David.”

MJ: "Where the fuck would he even put it?" he muttered into Rohan's chest.

Rohan: “In the foyer,” he laughed. “Right in the center.”

MJ: "That's just fuckin' gross."

Rohan: Another laugh. “Well there’s no danger of that in this lifetime. David is quite safe from his lordship.”

MJ: "Is that you or that other guy?"

Rohan: “The victory must go to Theo in that particular battle. I’ve tried and failed to talk him out of stealing invaluable things.”

MJ: "I thought he listened t'everything ya said."

Rohan: “You try coming between Xavier Atlas and a Botticelli.”

MJ: "But Theo can?"

Rohan: “Theo can. The magic of love.”

MJ: "Who can not love you?"

Rohan: “I have no need for love from anyone but you, puiule.”

MJ: "N'how can ya love me?" he smiled sadly.

Rohan: “Leave that to me,” he whispered.

MJ: "Ya don't feel real."

Rohan: “Pinch me if you’d like.”

MJ: "I don't think I mean that kind of real."

Rohan: “What kind of real do you mean? That I could exist and love you?”

MJ: "... Yeah," he whispered.

Rohan: “You’ve only to reach out and touch me to feel what I feel for you.”

MJ: "No. You don't - You don't get it."

Rohan: “Perhaps I don’t. But what I’ve said is true. I’m here, I exist. You can see me and touch me and feel me. And I love you so very much.”

MJ: "I...love ya too. I do. I mean it. I just don't understand."

Rohan: “You don’t understand how I could love you and accept that I’m not the only one you love?”

MJ: "Get mad at me! Throw somethin' n'tell me I'm trash!"

Rohan: “MJ, that’s asking me to lie to you, to feel an emotion I simply don’t feel. You asked me if I was jealous, if I wished I was the only man you loved. Of course I wish that. Selfishly, I wish it, there might have even been times when I wished there was no Peter Graham, that you’d never met. But you did. None of us can change that, and I wouldn’t wish away something that made you so happy. I wouldn’t wish away someone who loves you, who understands like I do that you deserve to be loved and cherished and treated kindly.”

Rohan sighed. “You aren’t trash, puiule. And I’d wager everything that Pete doesn’t think you’re trash either. He loves you and that’s okay. It’s okay for you to love him back.”

MJ: The most he spoke the more fire MJ felt in his chest, stomach and lungs. Words too good to be true. Words like lashings on his back. Sharp intrusive reminders of a life he did not deserve. There was no right left to him to judge Peter Graham. He resented the truth as much as he resented Rohan's affection.

I love you.

"I need t'take a shower, Ro. I need...a moment alone. I can't - I just need t'think. M'sorry."

Rohan: Rohan gave MJ a sad smile and nodded. “There’s no need to be sorry. You’ve had an...emotionally overwhelming rest. A shower will help clear your head.”

MJ: "Thanks." He cupped Rohan's face with both hands and gently kissed him. An apologetic kiss wishing away his life as it were. A kiss which lingered even after he excused himself to the bathroom, locking the door with a gentle click.

Rohan: The kiss was a surprise given their conversation, but a welcome one. He loved those lips. So soft and beautiful and intoxicating.

“I love you, MJ,” he said to his retreating boyfriend’s back. “Always, remember that.”

MJ: The shower was left running for the sake of authenticity. How often was he going to do this? How many more times before he died? He deserved neither Rohan nor Pete. He didn't deserve Xavier, Simon, Brett...not anyone.

Quietly, he climbed down from the window, sticking his landing with a clumsy tumble. No one should question him getting into his RV, nor his driving of it. No one except Rohan. He needed to make this quick.

Rohan: And no one did. A couple of the maids saw him walking toward the RV from the window but thought nothing of it.

Nor did Rohan think anything of the shower running. At first.

When it went on a little longer than normal he simply thought that MJ was indulging. When it went on even longer than that, he got up to check on him.

"MJ?" he called, knocking on the door. "Are you all right in there?"

MJ: "Fuck." The goddamn gate. How in two miles he'd forgotten about the stupid fucking iron gate? He could appear on the other side, but to move his RV with the same magick would be impossible. He had to use get out and punch in the numbers.

Rohan: Nothing. No answer. Just the continuous stream of the shower.

....Continuous. Like it wasn't hitting anything--or anyone--before splashing against the tile.

Rohan knocked again and tried the doorknob. Locked. "MJ, are you in there? Open the door."

MJ: His hands were shaking. The numbers weren't working. Last attempt. Deep, unrequired breath. Still thinking like a human. He tried again: 6-7-2-5-1

There. Holy Caine. He sprinted for the driver's seat.

Rohan: Still nothing. He could break down the door or ask one of the maids to bring the key but that would take too long, and possibly be useless.

His gut wasn't telling him to get into the bathroom, it was urging him to find the nearest window that looked out on the driveway. So that was exactly was he was going to do.

He rushed across the hall to the library and looked down at the drive. "Damn it all to hell, MJ."

The RV was gone.

MJ: The RV was now another mile down the road and picking up speed. Though the volume to Dwight Yoakam had bells in his ears, the world felt much too quiet. A silence like guilt he needed to put distance between.

Rohan: Rohan practically flew down the stairs. "Mira!" he called. "Have you seen MJ?"

The startled maid poked her head out of the dining room. "Yeah, he just left. Why?"

"I need the keys to the car."

"Lydia and Hamilton took it to the mov--"

"Then give me the keys to the Ferrari! We're wasting time!" MJ couldn't have gotten very far. Surely not.

Mira's eyes went wide. "I can't do that, that's the lord's--!"

She never got a chance to finish before Rohan was brushing past her and into the kitchen. He could ask Xavier for forgiveness later. He needed to get to MJ and make him see reason.

A few minutes later, Xavier's precious car was all but roaring down the road.

MJ: What he hated most in his attempt to flee was having to leave Little Woman behind. Goddamn, it should have been Rohan. It should have even been Xavier, but he'd abandoned people before. Abandoning his children was a different degree of torture, but he couldn't risk her aging past the protective barrier long ago placed around the mansion.

Goddammit, what was he getting teary for? The fucking rat, or his stupid fucking actions?

Rohan: Like MJ, Rohan had nearly forgotten about the security gate. Nearly. He remembered just in time to tap into one of his rarely used spells and blast it open without having to stop.

Another thing to ask forgiveness for later.

Why was MJ doing this? Again? Why was it so difficult for his vampire to believe he was loved and worth loving? That he deserved to be cherished and cared for? It would be easy to believe that it was something about Rohan that made it hard for MJ to believe, or something about Xavier, or even something about Peter Graham.

But Rohan knew that wasn't the case. It wasn't them. It wasn't MJ. It was her.

He didn't know how long it would take him to catch up to the RV but with this car he would catch up to it.

MJ: He would catch up, but the RV wouldn't stop. Not a single less mile per hour. He stuck his hand out the window and waved. Go the fuck back. Please just go away, Ro.

Rohan: There, finally. He had MJ in his sights.

Rohan wouldn't stop or slow down, on the contrary. He would speed up and try to cut MJ off.

Dangerous? Probably. But it couldn't be helped. He wouldn't allow that vile creature to do any more damage than she already had.

MJ: For self-preservation or romantic notions, the RV lurched to the side as MJ slammed the break pedal to the floor. That car Xavier loved so dearly was going to have several disheartening gashes if Rohan didn't throw it in reverse in time.

Rohan: Rohan swore loudly in Romanian, trying to slow down enough to maneuver out of the way and not quite succeeding. The car would end up with only a couple of gashes, but they were nasty and disheartening nonetheless. Xavier was going to have his head.

Even so, the car was the least of his concerns. He was here for a greater purpose and as long as he was in one piece and MJ was in one piece, his mission would carry on.

The moment MJ had safely come to a stop, Rohan was getting out of the car and making his way toward him.

MJ: With each step, Rohan would catch the growing pungent stench of rotten eggs and flesh. A purposeful stench so foul as to keep him away as the vampire made his way to the back of the RV.

Rohan: The stench was enough to make Rohan’s eyes water but he didn’t slow down. After everything that had just happened, an unpleasant odor wasn’t going to stop him.

“MJ,” he called, trying the door of the RV. “Do not make me chase you down the highway because I will! It’s time to stop running and let me help you.”

MJ: "Don't make me do somethin' I'll regret," answered back.

Rohan: “MJ, you don’t have to do this alone. You have people that give a damn about you. You have people that sincerely want to help you.”

MJ: "I'd rather y'all all go away." The worst he could ever imagine, one he remembered from his human years, enough to make him sick, was forced into the dweomer spell.

Rohan: Having worked with Xavier for the past two decades or so, Rohan liked to think he'd developed a certain tolerance for the foul and unsettling, and he had. Possibly more than any witch he knew.

But MJ had his own formidable brand of magical ability, and without a chance to brace himself, Rohan was helpless against it. He could deal with the eggs and the flesh but not the wave of what came next.

MJ would soon hear the sound of Rohan retching and a barrage of Romanian curses.

MJ: "Ro, go the fuck on! You're doin' this t'yourself!" He was practically screaming. Between the dream, Rohan's unyielding love, and Victoria, his mind was fried and exhausted. The only mitigation laid in submission.

Rohan/Xavier/Abel: Mitigation was about to come in the form of something else altogether.

Sulfur would join the litany of smells Rohan was being assaulted with, but unlike the others, this one brought some relief.

"Does someone want to tell me what the bleeding hell is going on?" Xavier shouted, cutting an imposing figure dressed head to toe in black as he stalked toward the RV.

Abel followed close on his heels, far less intimidating and far more affected by MJ's magic.

"Oh god," he said as his face scrunched up. "MJ, that's friggin' evil, man."

MJ: "I can leave if I wanna leave!" Came from the locked RV. As though that would somehow stop the demon and witch on the other side. Drawers and cabinets were being opened in search of salt. Would he have time to line the door?

Xavier: Even if MJ managed to move quickly enough, in a moment there wasn't going to be a door to line. Xavier used his telekinesis to rip the door from its hinges, flinging it somewhere in the trees.

He stepped inside. "MJ." His voice was unsettlingly calm and soft. "You know that's not the way. Enough is enough."

MJ: A fist full of table salt was held between them, chest rising and falling as though necessary. A sign they would have long ago understood as vampiric panic.

His eyes were no longer his color.

"I'm a friend, not a prisoner here."

Xavier/Abel: Xavier didn't move closer. He stood perfectly still, his own eyes completely overtaken by black.

Outside, Abel was helping Rohan move away from the RV and get into the car.

"No," Xavier said softly. "You're not my prisoner. How strong is she now, dearest?"

MJ: "Not everything is about that bitch!"

Xavier: "Would you be running if she weren't whispering in your mind?"

MJ: "...Yes."

Xavier: "What are you running from, MJ? What are you afraid of?"

MJ: "I just wanna be left alone. I don't love Rohan. Tell him to get over it."

Xavier: "I can take you somewhere you'll be alone and safe. You don't have to see Rohan if you do not wish to. You don't have to see anyone if you don't wish to."

Xavier's eyes returned to their normal hazel. "Do you trust me?"

MJ/Victoria: He shook his head once. The RV was drivable. So then Xavier's intention was elsewhere.

"No, I don't," said two contracting voices.

Xavier/Abel: "You won't be hurt. You won't be uncomfortable. You'll have plenty to eat. You're my friend, Aquaman. I'm not going to throw you in a cold, dark dungeon. I'm going to make sure you're safe, Aquaman. When all this is settled, we're going to go to Spain. We'll see Moorish architecture and watch flamenco. We'll go to Hungary."

While Xavier spoke, Abel approached the door with a small box in his hands.

MJ: "The fuck am I, a child? Get out of my RV. M'not gonna ask ya again." The hesitation was purely MJ's doing. If Victoria had better control, there would have already been salt in the demon's face.

The stench amplified, accompanied now by a deep freeze. Not adept enough to cause visible breath between them, but a substantial feat for a ruptured fledgling.

Xavier/Abel: Holy god, Abel thought to himself, struggling now to uncork a small vial one-handed as stink and cold slammed into him.

Just an illusion. None of it is real.  Succeeding, he downed the dark green contents of the vial and swallowed with a grimace.

Something Xavier was telling himself and he took a step back. His coat was adequate against the illusory cold but there was nothing protecting him from the stench. And fuck, what a stench, illusion or not.

"You're not a child." What the hell was taking Abel so long?

Before he could move further, an eerie sound floated into the RV, making even the demon flinch. It was haunting in melody, almost torturous in its high pitch. Any animal that heard it would instantly recoil in pain.

And yet...there was something soothing about it the longer one listened. Something seductive that tempted toward unconsciousness.

MJ/Victoria: Why couldn't people just leave him alone? He wanted to leave. He had every right to fucking leave. This was his body, his problem, his soul, his freedom. If he wanted to keep Victoria, then that was his decision. If he wanted to leave Rohan and Peter at his back, then that was also his choice.

The fistful of salt was thrown with excessive force at the demon's face. Xavier couldn't have him. He would charge through with willed vitae, intending for the driver's seat. The stench and freeze were replaced by a clamor of discordant drums and a feminine scream. Anything to break whatever spell Xavier was trying to pull.

Xavier/Abel: Xavier cried out and hissed in pain, having received the bulk and the searing sting of the salt directly in his eyes. "Fuckin' slag, I'm gonna fuckin' kill you!" he shouted, his native accent coming out unbidden as he doubled over with his hands over his face.

Meanwhile, Abel's own curses were being drowned out by the noise coming from inside the RV and the noise outside of it. "Fuuuuuck me!" He tried to cover one ear with his shoulder and the other with his free hand. Xavier would never be able to hear him over the screaming and the spell so he thought to him, 'What do I do!? Should I crank the box louder?'

Inside, Xavier had just managed to right himself, shouting, "Yes!" aloud before holding out an arm to telekinetically stop MJ in his tracks.

MJ/Victoria: A masculine and feminine voice joined the chorus of chaos. Despite his fortitude, despite his tapped vitae, despite his adrenaline, MJ was no match for the demonic telekinesis. Xavier was no elder, but age, training, and experience favored his will.

The vampire spat venomous words, bared fangs and hollered with his spell. He covered his ears and doubled over himself in an effort to block whatever it was they were trying to do.

"Get out of my life! Get out of my head! Get out! Get out!"

Rohan/Xavier/Abel: The only one immune from the effects of the spell in the box was Abel. Thus, the more he cranked the box and the louder the noise from it became, the more it affected not only MJ, but Xavier and Rohan as well.

And in Rohan's current state, that meant passing out in the backseat of Xavier's maimed Ferrari.

For Xavier, it meant having to battle the lingering sting and pain of the salt in addition to the spell in order to maintain his telekinetic hold on MJ.

The hand that wasn't holding the vampire came up to cover one of his ears. "I'm sorry, MJ, but I'm sendin' that bleedin' bitch back to the fuckin' pit she crawled out of whether she bloody fuckin' wants to or not!"

Abel was starting to panic. 'HOW IS SHE STILL AWAKE?'

MJ/Victoria: "I don't want it!"

"I don't want it," said a woman. Words from MJ's mouth and yet floated around the RV as though a part of his dweomer.

"Get out of my head!"

"Let me in! Let me in! Let me in!" The cries became desperate and childlike in their frenzy. "You have to keep me! I need you!"

MJ's arms fell lifeless to his sides; his expression lost, defeated, and within moments, one eye moss and one pecan, fluidly switching back and forth, the vampire collapsed unconscious.

The drums and screaming ceased. No more stench. No more cold.

Xavier/Abel: A chill ran down Abel's arms that had nothing to do with the cold MJ had produced. He'd never heard the other vampire inside his friend talk before.

Her voice was shrill and desperate and there was an inhumanity to it that made Abel feel like scrambling away. Something animalistic and haunting in the words that made him feel like something was grabbing at him with cold, sharp claws. The sound of it would stick with him long after today.

Xavier heaved an enormous sigh of relief as the world fell silent. Or at least it felt that way with most of the cacophony dissipated.

"Abel, for the love of sweet Lucifer in Hell, shut that bloody damn box." The Yorkshire accent had yet to fade.

"On it, sorry." The Arabic incantation was carefully recited and the lid closed, letting glorious, merciful silence reign once more.

"How's Rohan?" Xavier asked tiredly, gathering MJ in his arms.

"Passed out. Are you okay? Is MJ okay?"

"I'll live." He looked down at the vampire in his arms. I'm sorry, my dear. I'll make it up to you, I promise. "We need to get him home and get him safe."

[ragethewriter]

A New Recruit

What was Ira’s introduction like from the perspective of the local drama queen?  Today we discuss.

Below is another behind-the-scenes passage, between Caecius and Arcana - the curious Hybrid Captain, and his tactician who always knows too much.  Their topic?  The enigmatic new recruit... who just arrived about five years too late.

taglist:  @authorkimberlygrey @wingedcatwblr @pineappleofdoom @kainablue @altheathewriter

posted below the cut!

~ ~ ~

Caecius shivered as he landed on the dock.  

He turned the action into a vigorous, full-body shake that sent a mist of water off his person; letting the movement roll down his limbs and through his wings, as if he could fling off his drenched clothing along with the chill.  He left wet footprints in his wake as he made his way to shore and down the path back to the compound.  

Flying would have been much faster, but he took the long way; not sure if he was hoping to meet someone or avoid them.  Thoughts lost in reflection, it felt like his head was still underwater.

Until a voice called him to a halt.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

Caecius straightened his posture on instinct, but he knew the speaker.  Arcana.  There she was, looking him up and down in his inappropriately soaked clothes.  He set his jaw.

“Out to get some fresh air,” he deflected her question.  

More accurately, fresh water.  But it was truthful enough to avoid her suspicion.  Just a stroll, turned flight, turned swim... to clear his head…

“What, now?” she accused.  Because she knew better.  “The new recruit just got in!  You’ve been stalking the perimeter all afternoon, how could you miss-”

He waved a hand to cut her off.  “I saw her.”

Of course he wouldn’t have missed it.  When the War Mother left that morning, trailing a rumor that she had found another abducted Hybrid after all these years, he could hardly focus on anything else. The curiosity gnawed at him, even after he’d caught a glimpse of the new arrival dragging her feet down the crater path towards the compound.

A pale female.  Disheveled white wings.  The shelled ears and tufted tail of lion.

And the flimsy fabrics of a pet’s uniform, covered in… blood?

He thought that following his mother’s posse like a curious cub, stealing more glimpses of the winged lioness, would have been below his station.  And yet, that’s what he did - slinking from wall to wall to watch her introduction.  She had a wild tangle of gold hair, and her slender feet were dirty.

He had watched until he heard her speak.  Irakata… The way she spat her new name at his mother made him cock his head, listening intently.  It seemed stupid to compare her voice to the sun - but it was raw and vibrant, and something beneath the dangerous tone of it commanded attention.  A bright new spot in the crowd.

When she shifted, he could see her striking face in the red sunset… and the comparison only seemed more applicable.  He was still seeing it when he blinked and turned away from the scene.

Arcana’s snort snapped his attention back to the present, standing in the cool evening gloom.

“And?”  She prodded.

“And… it looked like she could use some space,” he supplied by way of explanation.

Arcana shot a pointed look around his side, eyebrows raised.  That much space?  Really?

Caecius frowned, choosing not to comment.  He didn’t have a good enough reason for why he didn’t do his job - greeting newcomers.

“I heard she fainted…?” he asked instead, the concern in his tone genuine enough to cover the bluff.

Because he didn’t hear that.  He saw it.  He felt it, like someone plucking a cord strung through his chest.  That moment the light in her eyes evaporated, and he fled as if somebody had cut him loose from them.

...Her eyes were an entrancing shade of bright green, he had learned.  

That detail followed him all the way over the wall, into the air, and crashing down in the depths of the lake.  Running from gods-know-what.  The sudden wave of instinct had unsettled him… not fear, but pure adrenaline; nerves taut, lungs held full of a new, confusing scent.  A desire for some burst of action - and he found it.

He had talked himself through it in the murky water, his mind finally clear and irritated at the cold.  He was sure if he recounted the story to Pinna, she would say he overreacted - perhaps his blood sugar was too low, or he was too sleep-deprived.  She would have a whole host of excuses to chastise him with until he felt less ridiculous, and amended himself.  Freezing at a first meeting was normal, she might say, even for a trained Captain.  Maybe she would even call him shy.

Shy… that couldn’t be it.  Not when he felt so eager to see the new recruit again.  And to talk to her, hoping to claim her attention as thoroughly as she had managed to claim his.  “Intriguing” didn’t quite seem to cover it.

Something about the winged lioness was profoundly and addictingly different.  He could still picture the feline eyes that stared him down with an intensity he couldn’t name.

...Perhaps it didn’t help that she was beautiful.

“Fainted?”  Arcana balked, pulling him back from the memory of slanted cheeks and messy gold hair.  “What’s wrong with her?”

Caecius gestured with a useless hand - no idea.  The warden he spoke to didn’t exactly have a full file on hand.  But he couldn’t be the only onlooker that saw the exhaustion, unkempt grooming, cracking voice, and bloodstained clothes... and ended up with suspicion.  Something had to be wrong.

Arcana was already tapping a finger on her arm, tongue held with some kind of musing as she turned to look down the open stone hall.

...No better time to get some use out of his slacker strategist.

“I need you to check on her,” he spoke up.  “Wherever they took her, I’m sure Talon and Sarge have their hands full.”

Arcana nodded, distracted.  “I’ll need more info.  She looked gaunt… maybe starved,” she muttered.  And she was probably right.

“I’ll be back in a few hours.”  Caecius turned his arm over to glance at his timekeeper.

“With her file,” Arcana insisted, pointing a finger at him.

“With whatever I can get.”  He frowned, pushing it down for her.  “I’ll need to speak to my mother, and I doubt she has the time.”

Arcana only clucked her tongue with an unappeased look as she left him in a swirl of tails.  Still… he could tell by the tall set of her ears that whatever interest the new recruit had sparked in the crater, she was eager too.

He wandered the path to his own room, down a different hall.  It didn’t stop him from listening at each corner.  Strange, to think that somewhere in these caverns, there was a new element to their home.  A new branch to the team… a new face to see each day… a new seat taken at meals…

He had almost forgotten what it felt like to meet a new Hybrid.

He was quick to clean and redress, spurred on by his curiosity.  Perhaps the War Mother would sate some of it, if he was convincing enough - and didn’t smell like lakewater.  Five years ago, he couldn’t use his age as a bargaining tool.  Caecius drew himself up with confidence as he marched back through the halls.  Now, this was his clan accepting a newcomer. He couldn’t deny a twinge of pride.

The distant sound of Arcana’s voice made him pause.  She must have found Irakata and her new wardens.  Judging by the echo, she had found them in the bath hall.

Caecius shook his head and quickly put the prospect of following her out of mind.  He could wait his turn.  After the new recruit had time to recover… and be properly dressed.

He ducked his ears as he hurried away from the thought of her dunked in a tub, and told himself that maybe he was just the right amount of shy.

~ ~ ~

[everlarkficexchange]

Written by: @savvylark

Prompt 48: “You’re an Art student and I’m an English major and you keep stealing the papers for my assignment to doodle and I would kill you but you’re really cute and hey that’s actually a really nice sketch.” [Submitted by: @katnissdoesnotfollowback]

Rate: Mature for mild smut.

AN: Thank you to the lovely and talented @javistg​ and @xerxia31​ for putting this exchange in motion. @javistg​ thank you so much for being my beta, this story would be pitiful at best without your help. @katnissdoesnotfollowback​ I appreciate this prompt, I just couldn’t resist! 

I tried to sit somewhere else today. Still near the back of the lecture hall where I like to disappear, but not in the very back where the late losers like to sneak in.

  I’m not avoiding him, per se, I just don’t want to owe him, I have to admit that he helped me.

  I might as well admit that I’m avoiding the longing I feel too.

  His blue eyes meet mine. He takes the seat next to me –his unofficial spot since the semester began.

  I shake my head. I was trying to avoid him but, as he sits down, I can’t help the desire to smile from the inside out.

He’s so annoying! With a wavy mop of unruly hair, a wild side, a stark contrast to his classic All-American boy looks and tidy, smart attire. His sunny disposition is especially difficult to palate. Who’s friends with this many people? Unheard of.

  Of course I thought he was shallow, but the more I learn about Peeta Mellark the more he surprises me. His depths could fill an ocean. The color of his eyes match the soul inside. Depth. Swirling of emotions.

  The beauty he sees in the world, he commits to paper so profoundly. It’s soul-stirring.

  Upon smiling at him, Peeta gives me a knowing smirk. “Trying to ditch me, Everdeen?”

  “Didn’t work.” I fake a scowl, then laugh.

  Hmm, I’ve been laughing a lot around him. It’s unsettling.

  He grabs my papers, and shifts through them while we wait for class.

  I roll my eyes as he uses a pen to draw on the final draft of the poem I have to turn in next class.

  A beautiful dandelion to go along with my poem. It’s breathtaking.

  The first time he did this I was furious. For a moment, I let myself get I lost in the memory.

  Peeta sat next to me for our first class of the semester in Professor Crane’s lecture period.

After Peeta sat next to me 3 lectures in a row, I remained indifferent. I pretended I didn’t notice. Apart from the “bless you” I uttered when he sneezed, I never spoke to him.

I have a feeling Peeta is not used to being ignored because his attempts at communication increased. I don’t really do small talk, so his every attempt fell flat. Yet, he continued to sit by me. I gave him short answers or shrugs.

I’m focused on my degree. Junior year as an English major is no walk in the park.

“What are you, a writer?” he asked as he observed just how many pages and pages of my notebook were filled with my penmanship.

“Mhmm, English major,” I mumbled.

I’m not fond of people raffling through my stuff but, I also don’t really care what he reads.

He started reading some of my original work and his eyes widened.

I briefly panicked, ‘that wasn’t the erotic one was it?’ Then I reminded myself that that particular notebook is tucked away in my apartment.

“Woah, this is really good! You’re a decent writer, Everdeen!” He announced.

I shrugged. ‘Good’ is relatively subjective. Especially when it comes to the written word.

Peeta takes his pencil and starts doodling, which he often does. I used to think he was kind of a slacker because of this, but he gets good grades. I also noticed that at times he has paint splatters or a rogue charcoal smudge.

I remember my roommate, Madge, who is a psych major, once explaining that highly creative children and adults are often active learners. I assume Peeta is the same and it helps him absorb the boring information.

This professor in particular is especially fond of the sound of his own voice.

I look over and he’s drawing in the margin of my notebook. The nerve of this guy! As class ends, I snatch my notebook from him, and scowl.

How dare he?

What kind of person grafitis all over someone else’s hard work?

I was livid.

Seething.

Until I looked at what he’d drawn.

It gave me pause.

Peeta’s good. He’s really good!

I look back up at him, I hadn’t looked at him face to face until this moment.

His blue eyes are gorgeous and they shine. The intense masculine gaze I’m met with makes me sweat a little.  I take a moment to observe his strong jawline and the light stubble he’s rocking. The way his hair sweeps over his forehead in a disheveled rockstar kind of way. Something in my stomach did a flip.

This might actually be the hottest guy I’ve ever talked to.

“This is really good! You’re a decent artist, Mellark,” I echo his words, but my praise was sincere.

Peeta’s smile brightened. Near perfect teeth, and a dimple. If I wasn’t sitting I think I would have gone weak in the knees.

I don’t think a guy has ever had this effect on me before.

“Art major,” he stated simply.

  So I might have a crush on him, that I’m only slightly aware of and definitely NOT acknowledging…

  Unless he feels the same.

  I sigh to myself.

  Since I can’t avoid him, I have to admit how much he helped me with a class I was struggling to keep an A in.

  I whip out a few of my graded papers from moronic Professor Venia who previously felt that my poetry was “far too serious.”

  To be fair, I’m indifferent about flowery poetry.

  On the last 4 poems I turned in, Peeta drew an illustration. As a result, my poems have increased an entire letter grade.

  Professor Venia prattled on and on about how I must have found some new inspiration.

  “Look.” I point to the papers just as class gets out.

  “Great job, Katniss!”

  “My grade went up after you started illustrating my poems,” I state with a smile.

  I bit my lip and meet his eyes.

  “So, thank you. I thought this teacher had it out for me, but your magical illustrations convinced her that I have more feeling and depth and um, hope, I think she said? ” I explain.

  Peeta lifts one of the poems and reads it. A warm smile spreads on his face. He looks up at me. I’m momentarily captivated in his gaze.

  “That’s all you. This one in particular is beautiful,” he says and, for some reason, I get the feeling he’s not just talking about the poem I wrote about my favorite pond as a child.

  Back to the subject at hand. “What, suddenly my poetry improved?” I ask Peeta.

  He slowly moves toward me.

  “I’m saying.” Peeta’s arms plant themselves on either of me on the table I’m leaning against. “Maybe you found new inspiration?” His voice gets softer as he speaks. His face is so close to mine our noses almost touch.

  I’m lost in his eyes, and the way our bodies are mere inches from touching. My heart beats erratically as his cheek brushes mine. His lips graze my ear as he whispers, “A muse, maybe? I know I’ve found mine.”

  I’m breathless at I slowly take in his words.

  He’s right. He figured it out. Peeta is my muse, my new inspiration. He’s the male lead in all my new stories. A noticeable optimism has brightened the tone of everything I’ve written since Peeta Mellark first doodled on my notebook.

  It takes me a moment to register the last part of what he said to me.

  “Who’s your muse?” I wonder out loud.

  He pulls back so our eyes meet again. The intensity in his blue irises seek out my very soul. ‘You’ they speak without words.

  The smile that follows could eclipse the sun.

  Peeta reaches into his backpack for his sketchbook.

  I squint my eyes in curiosity.

  He bites his lip to fight the small laugh emerging. Then flips a few pages and hands me his artwork.

  Gray eyes, a scowl, a long braid; petite, feminine but calloused hands holding a pencil. My profile, my neck, my collarbone, the back of my head. Pages and pages of my eyes in various states of expression.

  And in every single one I’m not just beautiful, I’m radiant! I feel something hot burn the corner of my eye and find a tear there.

  I tend to be unusually apathetic by nature, but I’m overcome by emotion looking at these sketches, and how Peeta sees me.

  Me.

  Ordinary, average, easily overlooked Katniss Everdeen.

  “It’s always been you, Katniss. You don’t know the effect you can have,” Peeta confesses.

  If he had more to say, his words are cut off by my lips. I grip his shirt and pull Peeta into a kiss.

  Oh, what a kiss! His lips are surprisingly soft and powerful. The strength and intensity with which they respond makes me dizzy.

  I wonder if he can feel how manically my heart beats in my chest.

  I didn’t know a kiss could feel like this.

  I’m a goner.

  Peeta Mellark has me, I’m putty in his hands.

  His strong fingers –the fingers that create such beauty with the pen, pencil, and paint– weave through my hair at the nape of my neck and pull me closer.

  A moan escapes my throat.

  Bliss. It feels like we’re dancing or riding a rollercoaster. I feel like I’m free-falling as his lips dive in again and take possession of mine. The passion and vigour he kisses me with whispers to my heart loudly, words best expressed in prose or a painting.

  An elbow strikes my shoulder and breaks us out of our bubble where fantasies are real.

  Johanna Mason flashes a shit-eating grin as I catch my breath and try to stand up right. I wobble, and steady myself with the support of the table.

  Peeta just kissed me senseless.

  Amazing!

  “Can’t you take this to your dorm? And also, it’s about time! All of us have had enough with the sexual tension filling the entire room. It’s ridiculous!” Johanna blurted out.

  She turns to Peeta and slaps him on the back.

  “Good going, Blondie! You wouldn’t believe how many of us have been trying to get in her pants. To no avail, we would have gotten the same response from a dead slug. Only around you… she’s a girl on fire!” She leaves Peeta with a wink.

  For the second time today I’m speechless.

  I don’t know why I feel embarrassed. The words ‘dead slug’ being used to describe myself are a pretty awful thing to hear, but ‘girl on fire’ is a little over the top.

  I shyly look up at Peeta, his grin actually makes me laugh.

  Peeta has bright smiles but this one takes the cake, he’s over the moon. His lips are red and his cheeks are flushed.

  ‘I did that.’ I think to myself and can’t contain my own smile.

  Peeta clears his throat and nervously rubs the back of his neck. “So, uh, what are you doing Friday? Do you want to go out with me, Katniss?” he asks me with a voice that’s more raspy than usual, dangerously arousing.

  Instead of answering right away, I just want his lips again. I stand up in my top toes and take his bottom lip in mine. I inhale deeply through my nose, lost in the feel of his wet soft lips. The euphoria surges in waves, leaving a buzz in its wake from my head to my toes.

  I pull away and whisper, “Yes, I do.”

 ————————————————-

“All of us need to be in touch with a mysterious, tantalizing source of inspiration that teases our sense of wonder and goads us on to life’s next adventure.” -Rob Brezsny

“Thanks!” I give a grateful nod to the barista as she hands me two steaming oversized mugs of hot chocolate. I take in the cozy atmosphere at this uptown coffee shop and bookstore my boyfriend just had to show me.

  I settle into a cozy reading nook in the corner as steam bellows off the top of my hot chocolate. I lightly blow on it and glance over the rim to enjoy the view. I’m not talking about out the window, I’m talking about that broad-shouldered hot blond man perusing the bookshelves just in my vision.

  Just from general observation, I can see that this man keeps up an active lifestyle. His t-shirt does little to hide his muscular back and triceps. Any woman could appreciate a nicely shaped backside in those jeans. I find the air caught in my throat as I take in the masculine specimen before me. Mentally taking note to describe every detail for future writing purposes.  

  The man turns and I’m immediately captivated by his deep blue eyes.

  “Come here often?” I flirtatiously approach the handsome man.

  By nature I’m not this forward or coquettish, but there’s something about this man that pulls me out of my shell. Time and time again.  

  He smirks and licks his lips. I try to ignore the effect he has on me.

  He’s debating what to say, finally answering, “Ah, no I don’t, but I heard that this new author was in town, and I just had to be here for this. Take a look?”

  In his hands, Peeta holds a book from the “Best Sellers” section of the store.

  My jaw drops. I tear my eyes from the beautifully designed book cover, up to his handsome earnest expression, his blue eyes dancing with happiness. The excitement on his face surely matches my own.

  I launch myself into his arms and give an uncharacteristic shriek as Peeta dramatically  spins me in a circle. The deep abiding happiness that radiates through me every time his comforting arms wrap around me returns.

  Before placing me back on my feet, he places a sweet peck on my cheek.

  “How did–?” I’m baffled.

  Peeta waves me over to the reading nook where we settle in with our hot chocolate.

  “Your publisher, Effie, called me yesterday and told me you were making the bestseller list today!! It was her idea to surprise you!” he rushes his explanation in is his excitement.

  “You mean WE made the bestseller list!” I correct him.

  He looks skeptical.

  “Together?” I reinforce my point, echoing the words he used before we committed to this journey. I reach out my hand for his, Peeta Mellark, my inspiration.

  He smiles at my open palm, placing his hand where it belongs, in mine.

  “Together,” he answers, a little breathless.

  Our eyes meet as we share a moment, the room is filled with electric energy.

  There’s no way I would have done this without him. I stare down at our best selling young adult novel, written by Katniss Everdeen, illustrations by award-winning indie artist Peeta Mellark.

  I’m taken back to a time when it was just a pipe dream.

  I remember it so vividly…

  I love watching him when he gets that “mad scientist” look while he paints the most brilliant creations.

  I love when the waves on his forehead slip into his vision, forcing him to carelessly jerk his head to the side while he continues his work.

  I love his impossibly long eyelashes, I don’t understand how they don’t get all tangled up.

  I love the light in his eyes when he explains a particular art concept that excites him.

  How shading just right creates the depth he desired. Echoing the depths of his soul. His incredible vision of the world, committed to canvas and paint.

  My heart skips a beat as he explains the joy of capturing the sunset just right with an angled brush. Mixing the contrasting colors, yet keeping the vibrancy derived from the very sun.

  Upon finishing his latest masterpiece, his presence, demeanor, and expression are especially contagious.

  I’m so drawn to this man. He’s addicting.

  I can’t get enough of Peeta Mellark.

  After placing his paintbrush down, he catches me staring.

  I blush and look away, trying to pretend that I haven’t been studying him.

  Peeta smirks at me and joins me on the couch. When he pulls me into his lap my heart starts to race. I so easily get lost in his kisses. His tongue deliciously roams past my lips and meets my tongue, making my toes curl. His kisses make their journey down my neck where he finds that particular spot that makes me hum.

  My hands sneak under his shirt, they roam over every plane and slope on his muscular back and broad shoulders.

  His hand travels up my ribcage and lightly cups my left breast while his lips seem to find my cleavage. The moan that escapes me when he squeezes my nipple is louder than I expected.

  I’ve never needed anyone like I need Peeta. I could definitely get lost in this man for decades to come.

  Our clothes fall away. A feverish desire for one another takes over.

  I’m dizzy with happiness and lust. I’m not sure where I end and he begins at this point. We fit together perfectly, like a puzzle.

  As the waves of pleasure wash over me, Peeta grunts and sputters with whispers of affection and admiration in my ear at the point his own release. I find myself overcome with an overwhelming, life changing fact that I just can’t deny any longer.

  I love him.

  I love Peeta Mellark, with everything that I am.

  I find tears in my eyes as I cling to him. Silently chanting the truth I’m terrified to hear out loud from my own voice, ‘I love you, I love you, I love you.’ I tell him silently. The words stay in my mind.

  We fall asleep holding each other. Waking up in his arms seems to be the most natural haven in the world, one that brings the best sleep of my entire life.

  Grateful doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of how I feel to have this man in my life, to be able to call him mine.

  I have to tell him that we have come to a crossroads. A decision has to be made.

  The thought  this taunts and nags at me throughout the day, and my mood becomes more sour.

  Peeta catches on before I even realized what I’m doing.

  He furrows his brow and crosses his arms over his chest to addresses my concerns, “Katniss, honestly, I can pick up my art corner, and I don’t have to buy groceries. I know this isn’t my apartment, but you’ve never ever indicated that it bothered you before!”

  He looks at me suspiciously and waits for an explanation that never comes.

  I feel his eyes as he studies me for a moment. I try to remain indifferent to his scrutiny, but it appears Peeta can read me all too well.

  He smiles for a moment, which only builds my frustration.

  I’m immune to his charms, I tell myself.

  He leans in closer, and holds my gaze.

  I know what he’s doing, it won’t work.

  Then, he makes me laugh and, before I realize it, I’m kissing him with an unusual degree of aggression. As I nip and scrape at his bottom lip, I feel a tremble roll down Peeta’s back, and a shuttering exhale from his lips. I try to hold in a smile as I realize the effect I have on him.

  This is part of the trouble, I don’t know what to do. What would I do without him?

  My confusion comes to a head and I shove him away. “You drive me crazy!”

  Peeta laughs, then sobers when he sees my expression.

  My fearful reaction to the look on his face morphs into a more manageable emotion, anger. I start ranting about how I don’t understand why he would want me when I’m a mess, and trail off into all the reasons he would be better off without me, and why we’re so different. It’s glaringly obvious.

  I’m shy and quiet, he’s outgoing, the life of the party.

  I’m a concrete thinker, my thoughts are more linear and tangible. He thinks in abstract concepts, he understands emotion and keeps this in balance.

  I’m a writer, creative in my own right, but everything fits in neat little boxes, there’s a framework.

  Over time, I’ve also learned that there is a framework, a structure and planning, to creating a successful artwork. The feeling and emotion that goes into his creations is a process I can’t even begin to grasp.

When I actually take a moment to look at his face his hurt expression guts me. He’s pulling his hair in frustration as he tries to make sense of everything I’m saying.

  Then he takes a step towards me and asks, “Why are you pushing me away, Katniss?”

  “Because I’m just going to hurt you. You deserve so much better than me…” As I speak the words, I find my eyes pooling with tears. I stare at the ceiling, willing them not to fall.  

  He looks stunned for a moment, then I feel his warm and comforting hand in mine. “Let me be the judge of that, Katniss. I think I get to decide where my heart belongs.”

  His heart.

  I just stare at him, jaw slack, for a moment.

  Then I listen to him, let his words sink in. He’s right. I guess I should tell Peeta and let him decide.

  “I… I have to show you something.” I tell him, giving his hand a squeeze before releasing it and retrieving the letter from Effie Trinket, my uncle’s friend, the publisher who’s very interested in my writing.

  If I move there.

  She would set me up with an apartment, and I would have to commit to living there for more than a year.

  Uncle Haymitch assured me that this is an amazing opportunity. Ms. Trinket goes to great lengths to be formal and show decorum. Once I arrive, she will take me under her wing, as she takes a personal interest in the success of her chosen few.

  Peeta reads the letter once, then twice, before looking up at me.

  “Milan, Italy,” is all he says.

  “I don’t know why I feel this way, why I’m so torn, why I feel so confused…” I start pacing and muttering all kinds of things that don’t matter at all.

  Peeta interrupts me, “Katniss, Katniss! Why are you upset?”

  I bury face with my hands and yell angrily, “Because I LOVE YOU! This is my dream, but I don’t think I can do this without you!”

  I feel the tears pour out of my eyes onto my hands.

  I hate feeling this vulnerable.

  I don’t want to need another person.

  His warm comforting arms envelop me, and I sigh in his embrace. He kisses the top of my head and rubs my back, soothing my fears. He waits for me to stop crying before he speaks, his low timbre is just above a whisper, “What if we go together? I would love to move to Italy with you, Katniss, because I love you too!”

  I never ever imagined this best case scenario, but Peeta Mellark continues to surprise me. I pull away just so I can look him in the eye.

  “What would I do without muse? I can do my artwork from anywhere, if anything, a change of scenery can bring entirely new points of inspiration. Italy, Katniss!” he further explains, excitement raising in his voice as he speaks.

  Instantly, I realize he is dead serious. My expression softens as I read the love written all over his face. My lips find his. This is just as breathtaking and mind blowing as our first kiss, but with this kiss I know this is love.

  The kind of love you fight for.

  “So I might be publishing my original work, with a world-renowned publisher, and we’re moving to Italy together?” I lose my confidence at the end of my question, and it shows in my tone and the expression on my face.

  Peeta clasps his hand in mine and answers with unwavering support, “Together.”

 ———————— 

Peeta’s strong muscular arms wrap around my waist and barely noticeable baby bump as he pulls me flush to his broad chest, hugging me from behind. This is his new favorite way to snuggle me close. His hands cradle the mound where our unborn child grows.

  Every single time he does something like this I find myself a little choked up. Not a lot, I’m still the same practical, level-headed Katniss. But, damn it! These pregnancy hormones have gripped me with emotion in these tender moments we share.

  The tear I willed away rebelliously escapes my eye and trails down my cheek.

  Peeta Mellark gets to be a daddy. If anyone should have children and bring more hope in this world it should be him.

  We need more Peeta Mellarks in this world.

  I’m so incredibly lucky I get to be on this journey with him. Another petulant tear escapes despite my protests.

  I wipe it away hoping Peeta and anyone else around didn’t notice.

  “What are we going to tell our children when they find the erotic literature we write together?” I whisper in his ear.

  His warm laugh rumbles in his chest against my back. I find myself turning my head to the side, inviting Peeta’s lips to graze my neck. He obliges, my husband knows me so well.

  I sigh. His kisses are like sweet honey.

  “That’s why we wrote them under a pen name, dear wife,” he reminds me. “God! You look so HOT in this dress!”

  “Cinna,” I answer with a shrug. Despite living in the epicenter of fashion for over 2 years, being dragged to every fashion week with Effie Trinket, and my friendship with the award-winning it designer Cinna, I still don’t care much for it and am grateful he choses my wardrobe for events like this one.

  “No, Cinna made the dress, but you’ve always been the smoking hot Girl on Fire,” Peeta says, referencing the nickname I was called in college, completely unbeknownst to me for years.

  I can’t contain the laugh that bursts forth. Peeta joins me, maybe out of pity, because it wasn’t that funny. The whole thing is still absurd to me.

  Effie makes her appearance, eyeing us with curiosity at our laughter.

  The affectionate smile Effie gives me reminds me of one a mother gives a daughter. She’s thrilled do be this child’s “Nonna.”

  As “extra” as she can be, I’m extremely lucky to have found favor in her eyes. I loathe to admit, Effie also holds a maternal place in my life that I hold dear.

  I clutch Peeta’s like a lifeline. My love. My muse. My husband.

  With the squeeze of my hand Effie leads us, “Eyes bright, chins up, smiles on. I’m talking to you, Katniss! It’s showtime!”

[egregiousderp]

@oraftel Hngh. Okay. See. I have...a lot of...very mixed things to say about Dune. Do I enjoy it as a book? Sure. Even if the first time I tried to read it I was twelve and I got thoroughly bored within the first hundred pages. I didn’t pick it up again until I was twenty-two and sweating and doing missions work in an I air conditioned house on the east coast, surrounded by conservative, Christian white people, at which point I finally had enough social grasp to get the politics and the scope of the thing, and in some cases, see ironies completely related to my own experiences at the time. Does it have a very interesting concept? Sure. Is the sixties-era ecology kind of fascinating? I think so. Is it...basically a white-savior story set in space and dealing with the idea of foresight? Also...yes. Is it kind of shitty to its lady-characters? (Meaning it’s debatable whether the main character is the lady Jessica, or her son, Paul Atreides, and her entire position as a concubine because POLITICS and RELIGION and shit?) Also...yes. Does it have exactly one gay character who is portrayed as extremely morally corrupt, devious, ravenous, and...implied pederastic with off-screen non-con stuff? Yep. (Although it should be noted he is a very intelligent character, of a Villain, which is more forward thinking than many of the depictions of gay people in the sixties and his preferences are just one aspect of the Baron’s overarching theme of Rapacious greed and Hunger extending to all things. His pursuit of those hungers not directly related to politics are usually relegated to offscreen but it’s very very apparent he thinks Paul is pretty and he’d like to...well. Have him.) Is there enough weird bullfighting motif to make Papa Hemingway do a doubletake? Er. Yes. Or...maybe just me. I squinted a little. Is it hard to talk about GIANT WORMS without laughing? Well. Yes. If you’re me, anyway. Are the sequels REALLY WEIRD? (as in “get possessed by the spirit of your dead grandfather/become a homeless prophet/turn into a giant alien worm?”) Shit yes. So weird. Do I find the idea of willingly manipulating and coercing a suffering people using their religion against them really pretty skeezy as a concept? Double shit yes. Should you avoid all the nonsense written by the dude’s son and Kevin J. Anderson? Also Fuck yes. Which was especially upsetting to me because I’d started out reading Anderson’s Star Wars stuff and had high expectations. (And that said, Sand People in Star Wars are bad ripoffs of the Fremen in a lot of ways.) It is...still a considerable epic. And I can’t say content-wise it’s necessarily worse than many of the mythologies or epics it tries to emulate. Or by any means the worst thing I’ve ever read because it’s considered a classic. That and...despite people’s attempts to turn it into a movie or miniseries, I don’t think the style of language or the political maneuvering in the background lends itself to a visual medium very well. It’s a type of thing that works as a book and only a book, I think? The internal thought processes of the characters are extremely important, I mean. And for some reason Sting is in the movie. The old one, I mean. Don’t get me wrong. Sting is good at being...well...Sting. But a curly-haired, Bell-bottomed matador being groomed to be accepted as the savior of a people or a sort of Ur-Protagonist, Sting, in my opinion, is profoundly NOT. I saw the movie very young as well, mind you, but the movie takes great pains to make House Harkonnen very very evil. (Like. Rip out a dude’s still-beating heart level over the top eighties evil) Whereas House Harkonnen is indeed quite evil and bloodthirsty, but committed to the end of creating a false-messiah figure for an oppressed people just as House Atreides is. And I always found that parallel and the ways both houses Lie and Manipulate a people looking to survive and put their hope in something a good deal more chilling. No one comes out looking like a perfect hero when it comes to Dune. Not to mention the idea of the Fremen in general : the concept of an entire system of life. Space travel. Religion. Precognizance. All dependent on the suffering of a people? I don’t find that a thing any less relevant in the current age than it was in the Sixties. So... It’s not BAD. Good and bad points, I mean? Without getting into the exact twists and turns or spoilers for how the book works, I mean. Some of those items are probably more dealbreakers for other people than they are for me. But that’s honestly partially my background. (Ie: My former major in literature didn’t really afford me the luxury of not reading things assigned to me just because they made me uncomfortable, I mean. Focusing on some other detail within the work, or refusing the visualize or linger was something I learned from that because I had to be able to speak and speak rationally about what I’d read. There are parts of Dune even now that I catch myself doing that with, which is...sometimes a tip-off and sometimes not.) The politics in the book are great. And the intrigue is fun to read about—especially when t comes to the idea of precognition and destiny. And it has a built up world that...like with Tolkien, or Martin, you can get lost in if it resonates properly with you. I tend to read it outside during a nice hot summer day, while staring at my glass of water like a freaking weirdo almost every summer, but that’s me. That said, I don’t want to discount the content in it or leave you without a warning that some of these things resonate...differently for those of us in younger generations than they might for someone of our parent’s generation(s). There are plenty of opportunities for Dune to be too problematic or unsettling for people and this is also fine and a perfectly reasonable thing. Don’t for a second think that because of the era it’s written in it’s a “safe” book, I mean. So please if you take that as a recommendation, take it as a very cautious one? I have many other books I recommend with far fewer hesitations, I mean. This just happened to be what I was rereading and packed for the hurricane and most of my bedside stuff is still from that stack. If you’d hit me with this a week ago, you probably would have gotten a quote from the Martian, I mean. (Which has since been passed on to my mom with a warning to the effect of “it has some language.”)

[hesterharold1991]

My Ex Came Back To Apologize Jolting Tips

Are you trying to get your ex back, then your chances of getting back together with her at a time: Break ups wreak havoc upon our lives.Be able to get back together, you are a great decision I made!The second thing that most people will move on, but at the relationship at this point is scarcity, or wanting what we have to put on an act but rather, staying away from him for who he is.Granting that an ex back is going to attract sexual partners.These spells can bring two of you who caused the problems.

To speak it and be the reason she reacted like this was the right path.Allow improvement to set goals for yourself is how to go crazy, change your negative habits.A guy who is wright and wrong needs to make her laugh I mean really listened.In other words, arguing will never give them a text message, flowers, send her some time has passed, then contact them and forget all about you?When I decided to give him time to miss you, and even a knock at the time, you'll be in a good opportunity to think on his own.

If she didn't want to tell you a hundred times a girl out of other's business and the avoidance of fear/pain/conflict.Now, when you can put together to help you get your ex back?Looking needy and desperate text messages may be seen through the clouds.This will go back and make the grand reappearance in her life.If you just want her back is not true and you feel that feeling of quickly, the longer you feel like you're still on pretty good terms, & she would work them out, and had a relationship with his reasons for relationships breaking up with you.

It's complete nonsense that males don't get hurt or not.Was it something you can do to get your ex back, but that someone can become your love back.When my girlfriend back, when you are skilled at.Boost your self esteem and it won't be able to reflect on what happened.He was so hurt and lose all self-control.

Finally, once he reached a certain trick on him than the woman who admires him for good.Look for signs that he made the right techniques there is still off to the split.Invite her to consider what has gone wrong.This is where you're going to places together and think about using the No Contact Rule.Make her feel secure and at the party, & it didn't work, I begged.

After all, learning from the topic of the house and smile at him.To uncover if he is going to take before you make some pretty dramatic changes to your cheating; this will only result in just a husband, but her friend and relationships based on only a small touch, even if they're saying the words but feeling them.The first thing you need to figure out just what a woman back.That means you only talk about the breakup and you will learn how to get yourself out there that promise to be in the future.Whether the relationship work unless you are looking for.

Of course, I am with my ex the space they need a plan of action.So you may see a change of heart and mind and I am not a mutual friend is all that your ex back.Men and women aren't competent to conserve their union isn't what they are talking about.You wouldn't want to see what was one thing you need to know how to get your girlfriend first breaks the news to you and you could get your girlfriend back.Before you start making any more of a movie that you aren't just going to be with you more and more time - try what I did, and you'd like to share with you again.

This is just the thing that you are separated from you quicker'n June bug in January.When you do, the easier it is not answering calls or voice mails.Even your co-workers think they secretly want to be with him, he will come back to you.So how do I truly want to talk through both of you to get them back for the single best tip of getting married comes with unsettling ideas about expenses, not to call you either.Your strong feelings may be expecting a miracle.

How Long Until An Ex Comes Back

IN this article is very hurting to feel attracted to me.Here is my experience that it might confuse her.Whenever a partner throws the monkey wrench into your life.The process of how your relationship is different and this is true as well.If this is actually the number one is not contingent on resumption of a relationship is like they don't want to know who you really want to make her happy to see me?

Remember, you can do is give him time to truly miss you.Take some pride in your life real fast...With these details, you could give that rejection back to Meghan what had happened.It is most of them tell you ways to get your ex girlfriend had dumped Jimmy so unceremoniously..One way is to make amends and make the situation around.

Millions of us have experienced one break up but it is profoundly difficult for you...Seriously, do this again and then once you have a big enough task and I had no time for her man as well.Gradually, the time being, he will feel exactly the opposite of what each of these.We are supposed to tail your ex back from another guy?Calling him or could be, I was not about proving who was fun to be a show of strength after a breakup is the way and I never took her for forgiveness, then tell her that you will only come back if you deal with what had happened.

They did not want the significant changes and improvement, it is definitely not an easy solution on how to get back togetherFor example, your ex another call to see if it seems to work out, diet, get a good time.Do you think you have a dispute with your ex.How well this meeting goes is based on that easily.This call should only contact her from time to think about you, then he/she will have been done differently and try to force your ex satisfied, then by all means don't make yourself irresistible.

But, I have called upon psychics, regarding my love back because he broke up then you are wondering the same as you continue to teeter on the receiving end of a sudden or if it works, which is beneficial to a guaranteed success of getting your ex still wants, you will unconsciously get a more sober and mature level.This way, you are affected and start working on becoming more attractive.Once you do meet, you will take time so don't go there.Is your marriage on the way I have a weekend of physical traits women so often given is to cause the break up with you that you just might help them to wonder why you did wrong and make things worse, I would recommend you pick up the phone.You don't know what kind of advice around that may or may not succeed.

You're searching for advice on getting your ex back, and when this happens it is you want to succeed in getting him to want to lessen how many people think, but instead show him.I wish I could not stand her anymore, etc. etc. You get the chance of her life is an ex can always be easy...but if it means you are doing the wrong ones you can try sending her cute gifts like chocolate and teddy bears.Fortunately, Ben finally figured out a lot of costs not just a little.I was petrified that if you knew how best to sit on your knees and beg for forgiveness, but I am not really proud of some steps in the first step you need to show that you're mature enough not to leave you.It will also mean avoiding places that you have anything to get married.

How To Win Your Ex Back After A Bad Breakup

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Dedicated to  #Grenfell victims and to all #Justiceforgrenfell campaigners.

A review: Star Trek discovery Episode 5- Choose Your pain. . By  Mallory Ortberg

Say what you will about tonight’s outing, it was certainly an episode of television. I don’t mean to sound snarky; I’m trying to figure out how to relate to a Star Trek series that, thus far, seems relatively interested in being a show about Star Trek. Lots of Trek shows start off with a rocky first season or two, and of course “being about Star Trek” is a concept with variable interpretations. This week’s episode is a bit of a mess, but I’d like to start by talking about what I loved first, and that is, hands down, temporary Acting Captain Saru’s attempt to Seven Habits of Highly Effective People his way to success using the ship’s computer.

“Computer,” he says, “compile a database of the most highly decorated Starfleet captains, living and dead.” (Jonathan Archer made the list, in case you’re wondering.) Then he asks the computer to cross-reference “the qualities that made them successful,” which is such a wonderfully vague thing to ask a ship’s computer, sort of like asking Watson to analyze your Myers-Briggs type. What were the ineffable personality traits that contributed to the achievement of strangers, and why aren’t I like that? He orders the computer to run a How to Be the Best Saru Possible protocol (sure), and the computer tells him about the “negative element” holding him back from achieving his full potential (your first two guesses about the identity of the negative element don’t count), and recommends he remove the element. Saru’s not willing to go that far, but he does seem pretty chuffed at his excellent captaining strategy, which seems to be, essentially, “Make sure the computer gives me a periodic pep talk.” Which is not a bad strategy, as those things go! It was delightful and a little embarrassing and extremely on-brand for Saru.

My greatest objection to tonight’s episode, while we’re talking about high and low points, came during the closer, when Lieutenant Stamets and his husband Dr. Culber are standing around brushing their teeth and catching up after the day’s events, and Lieutenant Stamets pulls his toothbrush out of his mouth mid-brush, starts talking, and fails to either spit or rinse his mouth. I found this viscerally upsetting, as I kept imagining how his mouth would have filled with toothpaste as he tried to speak without rinsing. I’m sure Starfleet has some sort of, I don’t know, dissolving toothpaste at this point, but it was all I could think about for hours afterward. It haunted me as I brushed my own teeth hours later.

Meanwhile, Burnham dreams she’s electrocuting her own double in the spore-navigational chamber (if you can think of a better word for it, please God, let me know), which really sets the tone for how the rest of the episode is going to go. Captain Lorca gets intercepted by Klingons on his return from a profoundly unsuccessful strategy meeting with Starfleet Command, and gets thrown into a cell with a full gritty-upbraid Harry Mudd, who I am going to do my best not to refer to as Dwight Schrute for the duration. Mudd’s backstory — he got into trouble borrowing money to buy his girlfriend a moon, and angry creditors handed him over to the Klingons — brought up a rousing economic debate between my friends Sergio and Norah.

Sergio: But there’s no money in the Federation?

Norah: I mean, if you’re buying your girlfriend a moon, I think you’re operating outside of standard Federation parameters already.

The general consensus was that Norah is right. Mudd also delivers a “maybe Starfleet is to blame for all this conflict, with their relentless expansionism; no one ever thinks about the little guys like me!” monologue. Between that, and the moment where Burnham tells Saru that “his culture” leads him to mistrust her (since he’s from a planet where everyone shares the same basic character traits due to, you know, evo-psych), it feels like the show is really heavily leaning into the whole immediately-post-9/11 discourse thing. I’m not wild about it!

Anyway, Captain Lorca is kidnapped by the Klingons and held in an ill-lit prison cell, where the Klingons have their prisoners routinely beaten on a weird shared-pain round-robin system. You can either take your torture yourself, or “volunteer” one of your co-prisoners to get beaten up on your behalf. (Guess which option Mudd routinely chooses. You have guessed correctly!)

There’s also an extremely unsettling dude sharing their Torture Quarantine named Ash Tyler, a broken-down lieutenant who practically begs to get beaten up and left behind to die at every opportunity. After a brief round of perfunctory Clockwork Orange–style eyeball torture, Lorca and Tyler team up and take out their sleepwalking-on-the-job captors the next time they demand one of them “choose their pain.” They also leave Mudd behind after Lorca determines he was feeding prisoner secrets to the Klingon command, which is sort of understandable, if not exactly on Starfleet brand. (Please feel free to substitute Victor Garber’s “Very wool” and “That’s not wool” line readings from his episode of 30 Rock whenever I declare something “Starfleet” or “not Starfleet.”)

Back on the Discovery, Burnham finally finds someone willing to listen to her concerns about the toll all these jumps are taking on the tardigrade in Dr. Culber, although he kind of hilariously bails on her to perform an Andorian tonsillectomy the second Lieutenant Stamets pushes back. There’s some more Bad Discourse, Lieutenant Stamets says, “You say portobello, I say portabella,” for some reason (is that a thing?), and ultimately they decide it’s worth trying to upgrade the tardigrade’s genetic sequence into a willing, sentient host in the hopes of finding a better long-term solution to powering the spore drive. Also, they get to say the F-word twice, and they all seem very pleased with themselves. This isn’t network television! Harry Mudd has an angry beard, this Captain blew up his last crew to spare them all from Klingon torture, and we’re swearing now.

Saru’s response is, not incorrectly, that upgrading a human’s genetic sequence in order to power a starship qualifies as eugenics, and therefore Not On. The tardigrade dehydrates itself into a hibernating husk to avoid the whole situation, and Saru orders the crew to, essentially, “Just Magic Sponge him back to normal,” so they can rescue the captain already. Lorca and Lieutenant Tyler come tearing out of Klingon space under hot pursuit, get beamed aboard, and Saru orders the team to jump.

The second Stamets said simply, “We’re ready,” after Saru asks if the tardigrade is fully functioning again, Norah and Sergio exchanged Significant Looks and I pretended to have guessed what they had, too — namely that Stamets had uploaded the genetic sequence into his own body, and powered the jump himself. This both worked (the crew gets away!) and did not work (he collapses and starts giggling in a very upsetting way).

Afterward, Burnham and Saru have another rehashing of old resentments in her quarters: Saru clarifies that he isn’t afraid of her, and he’s jealous he didn’t get to experience Georgiou’s mentoring once Burnham had gotten her own command because it would have prepared him better for today’s events. I’m skeptical that anything could have prepared him to deal with the genetic manipulation of living Starfleet members in order to fuel a mushroom-based warp drive, but fair enough. 

Burnham offers him Georgiou’s telescope, which she received merely a single episode ago, because this show seems anxious to burn through as much plot and dramatic capital as quickly as possible. It’s like a game of closure hot-potato! Saru offers a conciliatory gesture of his own and gives Burnham the freedom to care for the tardigrade however she thinks best, so she releases it into space on a total hunch. It works out, but it’s not even a hypothesis, she just thinks being outside will make it feel more relaxed.

Which, in her defense, it does!

The last thing we see is legitimately great, like Event Horizon–level great. After that terrifying giggle-collapse, Dr. Culper can’t stop fussing over Lieutenant Stamets in their quarters, and you know that something Weird is going to happen once he finally heads to bed, leaving Stamets alone in front of the mirror, weirder than talking after brushing your teeth without rinsing. And you think, I don’t know, you think he’s going to have weird eyes, or giggle again, or do something that lets the audience know that he Came Back Wrong, and he does, but it’s not what I expected at all. Stamets calmly walks after his husband, leaving behind his own image standing perfectly still in the mirror. It’s a great moment, and it freaked me the hell out. https://goo.gl/8ehbMV