#I just died on a sunflower seed | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

enhaheeseung · 4 months

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At your service l. Heeseung

Pairing: live in maid heeseung x rich fem reader

Warning: age gap, smut, fluff, angst, dirty talk.

Note: I’m getting back to this story so something’s might not line up but overall I thinks it’s still pretty accurate

Masterlist

WC 2,676

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heeseung decided to skip school and just spend the entire day with you planting the flowers that he had gifted the night prior.

He also woke up hours before you and realized that he felt something else in his heart other than guilt as he analyzed your peaceful sleeping figure. His heart skipped a beat when he looked over at your side of the bed and saw you sleeping soundly next to him. He felt like he could just stay like that forever. Having you next to him, spending the entire day with you, cooking with you, laughing with you, talking with you. Reading with you.

Something that he hated till he met you.

You have been on his mind all day, every day, since the day he laid his eyes on you. Sure, the pay was insane, but your beauty was even more insane.

And since the first day he got hired, everything has just been.

you you you

He Definitely owed Jay an apology after his little outburst in the grocery store. But he was just scared and confused about his feelings for you. His past girlfriends warped his image of women and relationships. Ever since he got his heart broken, he decided that if he couldn't find love, then no one could, so he played with girls by leading them on and ditching them later. However, you were the first one of those girls he actually had sex with, and he's pretty certain that after you, there would be no one else.

"Can I help now?" you asked for the third time after he ignored you the first two times.

"Nope, you just sit there and look pretty," heeseung said as he dug up the dirt to plant more of the seeds.

"But you said you wanted to plant them together," you pouted.

"yeah, planting them, not digging up the dirt!" he said in a high-pitched voice. “You’re too beautiful to get any dirt on you,” he winked, and even though it was cheesy, he still made you flustered.

You smile, sitting back and watching him dig a few more holes in the garden before grabbing the sunflower seeds.

"Now you can help." he handed you a packet once he was finished with the dirty part.

"how long till they bloom?" you squatted down and sprinkled them onto the ground, the little seeds falling into his neatly dug hole.

"umm, about three months, but we should see the blooms in a couple of weeks," he answered with his chin resting on his knee and a pout on his lips as he concentrated.

"Good, 'cause I'm impatient," you say, smoothing the dirt over the seeds.

"so, how is your book coming along?" he emptied the last packet while making small talk with you.

"it's… coming. I'm still stuck on the ending," you sighed.

"aww, I'm sure you'll figure it out soon." he dusted the dirt off his hands and helped you up off the ground. "So shall we water them now?"

You agreed, and he went to the back, grabbing the hose to water the freshly planted sunflowers.

"hee, where- don't," you spotted him walking towards you with the hose, a mischievous smile on his face, "don't! hee, I'm serious!" Your pleas fell on deaf ears, and seconds later, you screamed as the cold water drenched your body.

A hearty laugh erupted from his chest as he spayed you with more water, enjoying the sounds of your playful screams.

You ran towards him, trying to get the hose, but his grip was much stronger than yours, and he looked down at you, smiling evilly.

"Aww, poor little baby," he teased right when he was about to spray you again. You started to tickle his sides. His grip instantly loosened on the hose, and you were quick to snatch it away from him.

His eyes widened in shock, knowing that you were going to get pay back. "Y/n, wait!" he said while chuckling still. You aimed the hose at him, and his laughter soon died down, turning into nervous chuckles as he stared at you. "y/n! Wait!" he shrilled as you sprayed the water on him, and now it was your turn to laugh at him.

He tried to put his hands up and block the water, but it was no use. The stream was splashing everywhere. He soon charged over to you, fighting to get the hose from your hands, but you had a solid grip.

"y/n, stop!" he giggled while you both struggled for the hose. Eventually, through your battle of tug of war, the hose had turned upright, causing the water to fall on top of both your heads and from afar, it looked like a scene straight out of a movie.

Loud gasps came from both of you as the cold water ran down your shivering bodies.

"oops," you said and peeked up at him.

It took but a moment to notice just how close you had gotten to one another, and he was the first one to make a move.

He looked into your eyes, and you stared back. He wore a small smile on the corner of his lips as he gently took the hose from your hand, letting it fall on the grass and creating a puddle around yours and his feet.

He placed his hands around your waist, his cold, wet skin sticking to yours.

"I told you to stop," he grins before closing the distance between the two of you.

As soon as your lips collided with his, you couldn’t help but moan softly into the kiss cause his lips felt so perfect against yours.

You kissed for a few moments before you felt his erection poking against you, and he sighed onto your lips, his body yearning for more of you. "Should we take this to the pool?"

"yes, please," he picked you up in his arms with ease, walking to the front door and opening it with you still hugged around him.

He walked upstairs while you focused all your kisses on his neck, waiting for him to take you to your guy's destination.

"if you keep doing that, I might just have to fuck you on the stairs." He warns.

"I'm not stopping you." You bit his neck softly, placing wet kisses on the light pink marks that were starting to form on his skin.

He groaned, feeling himself grow harder by the second.

Once he reached the spot, he carefully set you down at the edge of the pool, removing his clothes, while you did the same before getting into the pool with him.

"I just can't seem to keep my hands off of you," it had only been a few seconds, but you were already wrapped up in his arms again, and you felt the same way you wanted to be glued to him at all times.

You brushed your fingers through his hair, locking your eyes with him. Those eight letters were just on the tip of your tongue, but before you could say them, he was wrapping your legs around his waist.

"ready?" he asked you with his tip, slightly brushing your entrance.

You nodded your head, and he wasted no time before slowly pushing his dick in you.

"ah fuck" he hissed, mouth hung wide open, your walls already clenching down on him from the intrusion. He wasn’t even two inches in, and it felt so good he was so desperate and needy for you.

He thrust in you inch by inch, the head of his cock brushing against your walls and opening you up so perfectly.

After being with him multiple times, you'd never get used to his size and how he was always able to make you feel so good and so full.

"so warm and wet, this is all for me, right? Tell me I'm the only one who can make you this wet." he licked a long stripe up your chest, his palms kneading your plush backside as he thrusts into you.

"Only you can make me wet. Only your cock can make me feel like this," you held him tighter for support as he fucked his cock into you faster and deeper.

"and this pussy is all mine. No one can have you but me." He says, letting his emotions get the best of him.

"no one but you, hee." He pressed his lips to yours. It wasn't even barely a kiss, just his lips resting on yours. But he just wanted you to be as close to him as possible.

"Yeah, only mine,” he smiled, feeling content now that the words came from your own mouth. “hold on to me tight" he used all of his strength to fuck you, his thigh muscles burning from all the energy he used to hold you up.

"hee!' you squeak, feeling him hit your spot with each stroke, your head lulled back from the intense feeling of your climax quickly approaching.

"look at me darling, I want you to look at me." he held you up higher, your thighs resting on his forearm as the water continued to splash from the fast jerking of his hips. "that's it."

You maintained eye contact with him as your expressions mirrored each other's lips, parted, hooded eyes, and a mix of loud, desperate moans.

He backed you up to the edge of the pool to gain more leverage to massage your clit with his fingers.

"close?" he asked, feeling you tighten on him every few seconds.

"so close," you mewl.

"me too, precious, me t-too." He whimpers.

"yes! Yes! fuck me, oh hee." you cried in ecstasy when he hit your sweet spot repeatedly

He gave you his absolute all, his fingers still rubbing on your clit, and the pace of his strokes never once faltering, not even when you came, and your walls clamped down on him impossibly tight.

A helpless moan of his name bounced off the walls as he brought you to your intense climax.

"fuck yes," He said in a drawn-out moan. "squeeze my cock, just like that," he grunted, giving your cunt a few more thrusts before he pulled out. His cock throbbed in desperate need of attention to reach his high.

You took notice of this and quickly grabbed his cock, guiding it between your legs and rubbing it through your folds, massaging his cock with your slick and swollen pussy lips.

His legs trembled as he emptied himself straight into the pool just a few seconds after you. “So good,” he pants out and brushes his lips against yours.

Choked moans left his lips as he reached his end. You caressed his sensitive length gently until he was completely satisfied. Once collecting himself a bit, he pinned you to the pool's edge, trapping you in his arms.

You grabbed his face, pulling him in for a long, passionate kiss.

You both pulled away, looking at each other with adoration in your eyes.

"We should come in here more often." He says while smiling, loving every last second of what had just taken place.

"Should we?" You ask, and he nods his head, kissing you once more.

He led you to a much less steep part of the pool, laying your back against his chest while he rested his chin on your shoulder and held you tightly in his muscular arms.

You leaned your head back on his shoulder, sighing in contentment when he placed gentle kisses on your neck.

"I could just stay here like this all day," he confessed.

"We don't have to move anytime soon." You placed your hand in his.

"good," you kissed the back of his hand, silence filling the air as you both enjoyed each other in the relaxing pool.

Later that night, you both showered and sat together on the couch watching TV, his hands preoccupied with your hair.

"I wanna take you out tomorrow," he talked over the TV.

Was he asking you on a date? You didn't want to assume things, but it sounded like a date.

You hadn't gone on a date in years, and you weren't sure if you were ready for that yet.

"I don't know. It's been so long since I've gone out with someone." You played with your thumbs nervously.

You didn't want to call it a date in case that wasn't what he had in mind. That would be so awkward.

"it'll be fun, trust me. You're always cooped up in here all by yourself." He says, not knowing just how rude it sounded to you.

"cooped up?" you took offense to his sudden choice of words. It’s the same type of thing all your “friends” would always say to you whenever they thought you needed to get out and live a little. The only reason they wanted you to hang out was to use you for money.

Before he could answer, you got up from his lap and went to the bedroom so you wouldn’t have to face him.

"y/n, I’m sorry. You know I didn't mean anything by it," he said softly and reached for your hand.

"Okay," you got up and went to your room to go to sleep cause you were in a bad mood, and it wasn’t entirely his fault, but still, you just needed a minute.

He quickly followed after you, sensing your off behavior.

"You're not even going to say goodnight to me?” he said while standing in your doorway when he got no response. He closed the door behind him, making his way to your bed and sitting down.

"hee, not now. I just want to sleep." You say, obviously annoyed you knew Heeseung wasn’t like your friends, but it still felt like shit hearing him say the same thing about you that they did.

While you stayed silent, he got into bed, cuddling up to you as close as possible.

"Darling, please don't be mad at me. It hasn’t even been five minutes yet, and I can't stand it," he whispered and cradled your small frame in his arms.

"I'm not mad," you told a white lie, not mad, just frustrated.

"then please don't ignore me. I know what I said came across as insensitive, but what I meant was I want to take you somewhere you can dress fancy, I want to spoil you, I want to show you a good time, I want to feed you, and at the end of the night, I want to bring you home and fuck you." He whispers in your ear.

You felt shivers run down your spine when he whispered the last words straight into your ear, and you couldn’t stay mad at him. He knew just what to say to make you feel better. He acknowledged his faults, and now he was making them right, and that’s all you ever wanted in a relationship of any kind.

You turned around and faced him. "I'm sorry for getting mad," you pouted and realized you kinda went a bit over the top for no reason.

“Don’t be. Just know I'd never say anything hurtful to you intentionally, and I promise I’ll be careful with my words, okay baby?."

He kissed your forehead, and a small smile graced your lips.

“Sorry, my precious.” Once again, you were seconds from saying those words, but it still felt way too soon, so you suppressed it for now.

“I forgive you,” you whisper shyly.

"Thank you, darling. Is it okay if I sleep with you tonight?" He asked.

"you can always sleep with me, hee, you don't have to ask." You tell him truthfully.

"Okay, good, now get some rest. Darling, 'cause tomorrow we're going to do it all." he turned off the night lamp before you even had time to protest, not to say you would anyway.

"goodnight, hee," you pecked his cheek.

“Goodnight, darling.” It looks like you were both in for quite the day tomorrow.

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Thanks for reading likes comments and reblogs are always appreciated sorry for any typos or errors I hope you all have a good day/night ♥️

#enhypen heeseung #enhypen #heeseung #lee heeseung #enha heeseung #engene #heeseung smut #lee heeseung smut #enhypen heeseung smut #enhypen lee heeseung smut #lee heeseung angst #enhypen hyung line #heeseung enhypen

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sukisukistar · 15 days

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Scarian Flower Language

˚₊‧꒰ა 🌻 sunflowers 🌻 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

☆ Sunflowers symbolize long life which is kind of interesting because scar won secret life and never died. ☆ Sunflowers are also known to represent adoration and loyalty. This stems from the Greek myth of a water nymph (Clytie) who fell in love with Apollo (the god of the sun)(also grian is the sun). She adored him so much and watched him as he flew in his chariot across the sky. Too much staring at uv light with no eye protection transformed her into a sunflower, always turning her head to follow the sun.

☆ Sunflowers are known for following the sun. (:o :o omg grian is the sun and like he gave scar something that would always point in his direction so he could always find him wjejfjdjsjhd)

☆ As Sunflowers get older and mature it will become too heavy with seeds and will end up dropping down to face the ground. Omg desert duo angst???

☆ I think scar is the sunflower to the sun. They are so similar and yet so different. They merely look alike. Scar brings life, he is the earth, and he relies on the sun, but if you are in it’s light for too long you will inevitably burn.

( also just as a side note this is what the flower language data base says an sunflowers - “pure and lofty thoughts, adoration”)

#grian #life series #hermitcraft #life smp #trafficblr #scarian #desert duo #gtwscar #gtws #flowers #flower language #sunflower #sun #earth

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luvneymar · 1 year

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(2) JUST A MILE AWAY — NEYMAR JR

— SUMMARY: You visit Neymar in the hospital instead of Bruna & torment him in many ways which doesn’t go totally according to plan

PARINGS: young!neymar x female!reader & young!lucas paqueta x female!reader

NOTE: I actually hate tumblr for delete half of my shit when I was trying to put the taglist ☹️ but enjoy!

Fluorescent lights shone into the eyes of the young Brazilian as he woke up feeling pain & irritation all over his body, his throat was on fire & he felt like he was skinned & roasted like a pig on the first of July.

As he lifted his body up it felt as if he was he was being punished by God in some way for messing around with a woman who wasn’t his to mess around with, once he was able to sit up he looked around the room spotting a feminine figure sitting in the visitors chair.

As he squints his eyes, he realized that it’s not his girlfriend who he’d very much like for it to be but none other than you, the very person who landed him in a hospital bed.

Neymar sat there watching your every move in pure fury questioning how you could even show your face to him let alone snack on fucking sunflower seeds & raspberry lemonade while reading trashy magazines. It infuriated him.

“W–!” Just as he was going to curse you out for showing your face, his throat betrayed him as it basically on fire. He winced as he grabbed his throat in pain frantically looking around for water.

Just then you looked up from your magazine after hearing a less than pleasant sound just to see Neymar frantically searching around for something, most likely water; or any liquid for that matter.

The doctors had told you that he was going to need lots of fluids for his recovery but just to be petty you decided to keep a bunch of water bottles hostage on your side of the room.

“Your not going to find any water around you, better start swallowing your saliva.” You nonchalantly informed him turning your focus from his panicked eyes right back to your magazine flipping the page.

He continued to search around for water praying that you were kidding, his throat was seriously on fire & he needed something to quench it before he died from lack of air & dehydration.

Watching him search around for water like a fish out of water for a good 10 seconds basking in his despair & desperation you decide finally pull out the last “water” bottle from under your chair throwing it from your right hand to your left.

Neymar whipped his head around at the sound of water swishing around in plastic with a relieved look on his face which was short lived once he realized that the water bottle was half empty.

He wasn’t going to trust any type of liquid in a bottle that you offered him ever especially if it was half empty. If he wasn’t in this situation where he desperately needed it he’d turned down your offer. Seeing the sadistic look on your face almost made him want to just close his eyes & die.

You closed your magazine & got up from your seat, slowly walked towards Neymar with a menacing grin on your face, it was almost as if you walked in slow motion trying really hard to savour the moment of your enemy completely at your mercy.

If you were going to be forced to be here with him you should at-least have some fun with it, right?

“You want the water?” You bent down whispering into his ear cunning grin still sitting on your face, as you pulled back from his ear you noticed an angry glare resting on Neymar’s face as he tried to snatch the water from you.

“Ah, Ah, Ah.” You waved your finger in his face talking to him in a tone a kindergarten teacher would use to talk to a child, the situation was almost comical to you.

Under normal circumstances Neymar would’ve physically taken the water from you but he was to weak to even leave his bed.

“We don’t grab things that we want from other people Neymar. Say please if you want the water.” You stood there for 5 seconds waiting for him to comply to your demand.

Every sound out of his mouth sounded like some sad cheap sound in a chew toy for a dog, seeing as how he wasn’t planning on at-least clasping his hands together to signal a please you spun your heel preparing to walk back to your seat.

You could barely take 2 steps back to your chair before Neymar’s hand grabbed your wrist pulling you right back to where you were seconds ago, except he used too much force & tripped you causing you to fall right onto him.

Your eyes widen as you felt your body fall onto his almost in slow-motion, everything happened so slow yet so fast you hadn’t even registered the fact that you sprained your ankle or the fact that your chest were right in Neymar’s face. Again.

His hand was on your lower back in an attempt to stop you from hurting yourself as you fell which wasn’t helpful at all seeing as how his hand kept you both in the position for longer than you needed to be.

Once you both had registered what had happened you quickly pulled away unaware that you had dropped your blackmail “water” bottle on the bed right beside Neymar’s hand, you weren’t even able to reach for it as his reflexes were much quicker.

He quickly wiped away the lip-gloss on the rim of the bottle quickly taking a sip of the “water” in the feeling refreshed, that feeling only lasted a quick second as his face cringed along with his tastebuds as he took in the true flavours of the beverage. “Ew, what’s in this?“

You hadn’t realized you were just standing there like a fool with your mouth slightly opened, flabbergasted at what had just happened. Quickly closing your lips as you cleared your throat, gaining your composure back as you spun your heel walking back to your seat.

Or at-least tried to, just as you put weight on your left foot you felt a sharp familiar pain run through your entire body, you jerked in pain lifting your left leg up as you hoping towards your chair. Damn adrenaline.

You hadn’t noticed Neymar’s eyes on you studying your every move as you were more concerned with why you felt pain on your left foot every time you walk to begin with.

You took your shoe off along with your sock & analyzed your foot checking for any damage, there was minimal swelling & a bit bruising which should be gone in about half an hour but nothing else to major; Thank God.

You sighed in reliefs placing both your sock & shoe back on. Looking back up at Neymar who had a superior looking smirk on his face. You rolled your eyes internally cringing at what had happened in-front of Neymar no less,

Neymar’s face & your chest made contact for the second time, unwillingly and You basically made fool of yourself rolling your ankle right in-front of the person you disliked the most in the world

“Wipe that smirk off your face you’re in no position to gloat.” You reminded him as you rolled your ankle left & right a few times just to avoid having to look at Neymar look down at you with that stupid expression of his.

That stupid grin he did whenever he succeeded in getting back at you better than your original prank at him was sitting right on his stupid face as he answered, “I’m not gloating, I just think this is justified instant karma.” You made a face at him before throwing some of your sunflower seed shells at him.

Just then you remembered his question earlier as you looked up from your foot with a evil little grin chuckling a bit before answering him, “Do you really want to know? What’s in the drink?” You raised your eyebrow at him.

The look on your face combined with the tastes of the liquid gave Neymar a weird feeling about it in his gut as if the substance was trying to burn a whole in his stomach.

Seeing his face of uneasiness gave you the feeling of superiority back over you as you laughed placing both your hands at the back of your head stretching out both of your legs. “Oh relax you long baby, it’s Vodka. With a little bit of Tequila in the mix.”

Neymar nodded before downing the rest of the bottle shivering like a alcohol virgin once he was finished, as he put the bottle down he felt something cold, hard & flat hit his face.

“Look.” He looked down to see you had thrown one of your trashy magazines at him hitting him directly in the face, “What’s this?” He picked it up, opening it to skim through the thin bright pages.

“It’s our magazine, look at the front page stupid.” You rolled your eyes at him as you begun to pack your things preparing to leave the hospital, your job to torment him & make sure he was well & alive was done giving you no other reason to stay there.

Neymar placed the magazine on his bedside table having no interested in it the moment once he collected his cheque, instead he turned to you with a confused look on his face wondering why you were there but his girlfriend wasn’t anywhere to be seen. “Where’s Bruna? Shouldn’t she be here?”

“She had some type of family issues so she couldn’t come. She sent me instead to make sure you didn’t, y’know die.” You explained snickering once you reached the word die.

“Which I kinda wished you did to be honest. After all you tried to feel me up.”

Neymar scoffed at your statement knowing what you said couldn’t be farther from the truth. “You tripped on your own two feet like some mentally underdeveloped bird with two left feet.”

“And that was thanks to who? Thanks you Mr. ‘Please give me water, I need water.’ Over here.” You mocked him as you reapplied your lipgloss before tossing it into your bag scanning the room to make sure you hadn’t forgotten anything.

“Just shut up & get out i’m fine now, And remember tell Bruna that I’m okay.” He reminded you hoping you had it in your stone cold heart to at-least tell his girlfriend he was alive & well.

But of course you weren’t going to do anything good for him of all people without something in it for you. “I’m gonna tell her that your dead.”

“Fine.” He poked his tongue on the inside of his cheek knowing it was a mistake, “I’ll just call her myself. Just get out of here (Name). I already feel suffocated from your venom.”

“Good. Hope you die from it.” As you were leaving just a few miles away was a creepy looking photographer. One with a camera lenses that stretched so far it was actually stalker-ish was sitting on the rooftop the hospital checking the photo’s he just took on his camera.

The photo’s he was checking with such a menacing look on his face? The photos where you tripped into Neymar’s body, specifically the ones where his hand was on your back.

The angle made it seem as if you both shared an intimate moment together, which couldn’t be further from the truth.

In your minds you both knew that was an accident but photos can only say what they captured, and in this photo; you & him were entangled in a less than ideal position.

Even though you both knew what actually happened the public was going to take 1 look at the photos and from what the photo is telling them —You & Neymar were having some type of romantic affair.

TAGLIST: @watersquirtpewpewboomm @neymaruposts @aniya7 @foolsarehome @abluvions @rheasfavouritechoker @oh-kurva @sophiaspoet @i0veless @neymarslut @imagineyneyjr @mybloggyblogblogshitpost @onepunchisallittakes-blog @alchemark @innocent-daydreams @stressed-but-still-a-kpop-blog @strngtsblog @rheasfavouritechoker @sophiaspoet (send a reply to be added to the taglist!) 💕

ON HOLD

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foxes-that-run · 5 months

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Sunflower Vol 6

Sunflower is a sweet romantic song. It references HYGTG and Clean, reminding of her how it used to be to suggest dating again.

My Vol 1 - 5 theory

My theory on Vol 1 - 5 are times they dated or hung out. I have playlist grouped into possible volumes. There is more in the dates and timelines.

31 March 2012, 20 May 2012 - July 2012 (Everything has changed - IKYWT)

28 September 2012 - 3 January 2013 (HYGTG - NTWDT.)

25 August 2013 - November 2013 (Happily - Wonderland)

14 February 2014 - February 2015 (Style - FTDT)

February/29 April 2016 - May 2016 (High infidelity - IDWLF)

To me, Sunflower is contemplating a Vol. 6 (Fine Line/Lover). Sunflower hasn't been played since Live on Tour ended in 2021.

Lyrics

Sunflower Sunflower My eyes, want you more than a melody Let me inside Wish I could get to know you

I wanna get to know you is a reference to the Everything has changed "I just wanna know you better" which Taylor and Ed wrote the week after 20 May 2012.

Love 'I want you more than a melody' which reminds me of HYGTG “say you want me”

Sunflowers Sometimes Keep it sweet in your memory I was just tongue-tied

Wildest Dreams: "Say you’ll remember me standing in a nice dress, staring at the sunset, babe" and OOTW "I Remember.."

Harry describes Taylor as sunshine and butterflies and all things summer in many songs:

Olivia “You live in my imagination / The summertime, butterflies”

Watermelon Sugar: “summer evening”, “summer feeling”, “end of June”

Adore You: “your wonder under summer sky”

Canyon Moon: “sky never looked so blue”

They are tongue-tied in:

Two Ghosts "Tongue-tied like we've never known"

Sushi "Blue bubblegum twisted 'round your tongue"

Message in a Bottle "And I became hypnotized by freckles and bright eyes, tongue-tied"

I don't wanna make you feel bad But I've been trying hard not to talk to you Sunflower (Sunflower, sunflower)

Taylors Gorgeous has a similar line “You should take it as a compliment / That I'm talking to everyone here but you (but you, but you)”

I couldn't want you any more Kiss in the kitchen like it's a dance floor I couldn't want you any more tonight (Tonight, tonight, tonight)

Lover (feat. Shawn Mendes): "We could light a bunch of candles and dance around the kitchen, baby"

Wondering headshake Tired eyes are the death of me Mouthful of toothpaste Before I got to know you

Harry brushes his teeth before performing. He met Taylor backstage at the kids choice awards, I take wondering headshake to mean acknowledging each other when they first saw each other.

I've got your face Hung up high in the gallery I love this shade (Sunflower, sunflower)

To me the picture line is not a literal gallery, but a symbol that this person is his person. I think this song and line a response to HYGTG "Remind her how it used to be, be / Yeah, with pictures in frames of kisses on cheeks, cheeks" and You are in Love and has "he keeps a picture of you in his office downtown"

Your flowers just died Plant new seeds in the melody Let me inside, I wanna get to know you

Plant new seeds in the melody is the nicest line. It is a reference to:

Clean "The drought was the very worst / When the flowers that we'd grown together died of thirst".

Call it what you want: "All my flowers grew back as thorns / Windows boarded up after the storm" (more thorns and roses)

Chronologically then Harry says to plant new seeds and try again.

I don't wanna make you feel bad But I've been trying hard not to act a fool Sunflower (Sunflower, sunflower)

Harry has called himself a fool many times, here he is trying to be nonchalant and cool but before he's been all kinds of fool:

I just wanna love you "We can whisper, we can talk about these things / Reconsider my foolish ramblings"

Just a little bit of your heart "I know I'm not your only / But I'll still be a fool / 'Cause I'm a fool for you"

Fools gold "But I'm not done yet / Falling for you / Fool's gold"

Boyfriends "You love a fool who knows just how to get under your skin / You, you, you still open the door" and "You feel a fool / You're back at it again"

In the Long Pond Sessions Taylor later emphasised how James had been foolish, saying fool/foolish 7 times.

#haylor #harry styles #sunflower vol. 6 #fine line album

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baronessblixen · 4 months

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Playing to Win

Prompts are: Eight Nights of Mulder, day 6 - dreidel + X-Mas Files Challenge - trapped in a car during a snowstorm

Summary: Mulder and Scully have to sit out a snowstorm in their car. (UST; wc: 843)

Tagging @today-in-fic @eightnightsofmulder

Leaving the car in the middle of a snowstorm was one of the worst ideas he’s ever had. And he regrets every second he’s out here in the snow that’s pelting against his face. He holds his phone to his ear, his hand cold and wet. He squeezes his eyes shut in the hopes of shielding his eyes – and hearing what the guy from AAA is saying on the other end of the line.

Two cold minutes later, he gets back into the car, shaking his head like a wet dog. Much to the chagrin of Scully, who’s half disappeared into her winter coat. Only her eyes are peeking out and they’re as skeptical as ever.

“AAA said to stay put if we can. They should be here in a couple of hours. We’re not the only car stuck in this snowstorm.”

“Shocking,” Scully mumbles into the collar of her coat.

For once, this isn’t his fault. The snowstorm hit them unexpectedly, with temperatures dropping rapidly. Now here they are, in some ditch in the middle of nowhere. Mulder rubs his hands together and turns up the heat. Scully glances at him.

“We have enough gas,” he assures her. “The tank is basically full.”

“We don’t know when AAA gets here.”

“The gas will last, trust me.” Scully merely sighs. “What should we do?” It’s been less than ten minutes since they’ve had to stop, but he feels restless already.

“There’s not much to do, is there?” Scully opens her coat, the sound of the zipper loud in the small car. “All we can do is sit here and wait.”

“We could play a game,” Mulder suggests. “Or we could- remember what I said about crawling naked into a sleeping bag with someone who is already naked?” He waggles his eyebrows at her. One day it will just have to work.

“Still no sleeping bag, Mulder,” she says and grins at him. So not today then. This time he is the one who sighs.

“Truth or dare?”

“What’s the dare going to be? Go out and eat snow?”

“So not that either.” Mulder taps his fingers against the steering wheel. “Is there anything in the glove compartment?”

“Like what?” Scully asks, opening it. She hands him his bag of sunflower seeds she stored there earlier when they stopped at the gas station. A blush appears on her face when she takes out a small bag of chocolate chips she must have bought while he was using the restroom.

“There’s something here.” Her arm almost disappears in the compartment and when she pulls it back, she’s holding something small and colorful in her hand. Mulder recognizes it immediately.

“A dreidel,” he says, in awe.

“Do you know how to play?” Scully asks him, turning it around in her hand.

“My grandmother taught us when we were kids. I’m not sure how much I remember. That,” he points at one of the symbols, “is gimel. It means you get everything. I remember because It was Samantha’s favorite. She always wanted to win the whole pot.” He smiles, remembering.

“Did she?” Scully asks in a gentle voice.

“Sometimes. She tried to cheat a lot.” They both laugh softly.

“So did Charlie. No matter what game he played, he always wanted to win. It drove Bill mad.”

“I can imagine.” Scully hands him the dreidel and he inspects every symbol, tracing them with his fingertips. After his grandmother died when he was around eight, his parents threw away almost all reminders. He never knew why. He never asked either. Their Christmas trees got bigger and brighter with each passing year and then Samantha was taken, and more family history was swept under the rug.

“I’d like to keep this,” Mulder says quietly.

“Maybe you can teach me how to play once we’ve made it out of here and we’re back home.” He didn’t think it was possible, but his adoration for Scully only grows, and he gives her a soft smile, the knot in his throat preventing him from speaking. “I’d say we play a round now but…” She’s right. There’s no way to spin the dreidel here in the car.

“I’d like that,” he says, clearing his throat. “We really don’t have the best track record when it comes to snow, do we?” They have never talked about Antarctica, neither of them quite knowing how to bring it up, or what to say. They just left everything that happened – or didn’t – out there buried under the snow.

“We don’t. But at least this time we’re warm and not running for our lives.”

“Next time I’ll pack a sleeping bag, just in case.” Scully chuckles softly.

“If you play your game right,” she says, moving the dreidel in his palm. “You might just end up getting everything.”

“Do you mean-”

A knock at his window startles Mulder and kills the moment before it becomes too real.

“AAA,” someone yells. “We’re here to get you out of this ditch.”

“You’re right,” Scully says. “Never much luck with snow.”

#ficmas2023 #this fic wrote itself #msr #xf fanfic #my writing #my fic

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emyn-arnens · 10 months

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And There Make a Garden

Éowyn | G | ~800 words | @tolkiengenweek Day 4: Solo & Work and Craft | AO3

Éowyn walked through the rows of the garden that sprawled beyond the house, her hand laid over the swell of her stomach. It was high summer, and the garden grew in wild abandon, hardly distinguishable from the fragrant wilderness that rippled and tumbled over the hills of Emyn Arnen. But Éowyn knew every plant in her garden, for each was dear to her and held memories of the person she connected it to.

Her garden had grown larger than she had ever thought it would, stretching behind the veranda of the low stone house for many yards, but it was just the right size for her to complete her morning walk without feeling too winded. Ioreth had insisted on Éowyn’s last visit to the city that it was important she walk daily—both for her health and her child’s—even in these late days of her pregnancy, when she felt more like sitting, catching her breath, and sparing her back than walking.

But walking in her garden passed the time while Faramir was away in Minas Tirith, governing in Aragorn’s stead, and made the long summer days without him pass by more quickly, if only a little. He had promised to return before her lying in, even if Aragorn was still campaigning in the south, and she counted down the days until he would return home.

Lothíriel had written that she would arrive shortly before then, to provide Éowyn female company at her “outpost of men,” and Éowyn was grateful for her sister-in-law’s thoughtfulness. Lothíriel seemed to have an innate knowledge of people’s needs and gracefully wove her way to where she anticipated she would be needed.

In the meantime, Éowyn walked in her garden, under the watchful eye of Beregond, who sat some paces away beneath an ash tree, whittling a toy for Borlas. He had taken to heart Faramir’s charge to watch over her while he was in the city, accompanying her every time she left the house, even if she only ventured out to her garden.

And so Éowyn walked in her garden as he watched on and talked to the child growing within her, feeling as if she had some small measure of companionship in doing so. If Beregond thought her strange for behaving thusly, he said nothing, too gentle-hearted and loyal to let an unkind word slip from his lips.

“These are sunflowers from Master Samwise in the Shire far to the west, planted in soil he collected from his own garden,” she said, brushing her fingertips beneath the flowers’ bobbing heads as she walked by. The flowers just barely reached her shoulders, but as the summer wore on they would stand as tall as her or Faramir.

“And these are several kinds of pipe-weed from Master Meriadoc in the Shire,” she said, pointing to the bushy plants that grew next to the sunflowers. Their blooms let off a gentle fragrance that wafted through the garden. “The leaves are crushed and smoked in pipes in the Shire, but no one does so in Gondor, other than the king. The custom is very popular in the Shire, according to Merry, but it has never spread here, much to his dismay.”

She pointed next to the sprawling patches of kingsfoil that were beginning to outgrow their section. “This is athelas, the plant that brought your father and I back from the shadow of death by the power of the king's hands. We keep it in memory of how nearly we were saved from the brink, and of the hope we found in the days afterwards.”

Next to the kingsfoil grew the lavender Lothíriel had gifted to Éowyn on her first visit to Emyn Arnen, shortly after she and Éomer had wedded. Éowyn fingered the blossoms fondly. “Lothíriel brought lavender seeds from Dol Amroth in memory of Finduilas, your grandmother who died untimely many years ago, for they were her favorite flower, and Lothíriel thought your father might like to have a token of her here.”

At last she came to her mother’s roses. She always ended her walks here, where the sun spilled gently through the cedar trees that rose along the slope girding the house and limned the roses' petals with light. “And these are my mother’s roses,” she said fondly, brushing their petals with her fingertips. “Sam helped me collect cuttings from Meduseld’s rose garden and grow new roses from the cuttings, so that I might have a memory of my mother when I came here.”

Éowyn rubbed her hand over her stomach and smiled. “Perhaps one day you will work by my side in the garden and add your own memories to the garden, so that it becomes a living tapestry of all that our family holds dear.”

#tolkiengenweek #lotr #lotr fic #tolkien fic #eowyn #fotfics #she deserves all the happiness in the world <3 #my fic

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shadowxamyweek · 1 year

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(ShadowxAmy Choose-Your-Adventure Pt 8)

The anger dies in his chest as soon as he steps through her doorway. Shadow swallows the ashes, lets it curl in his chest as he sighs. No, no he can’t ruin the sunshine on her face. He’ll tell her what has transpired later.

Gentle. Easy.

He hopes he can pull this off.

“What are you baking?”

Amy looks away as she brushes her bangs out of her face and closes the apartment door. “Oh, uh, just trying something different. Lavender scones.”

His face must have done something, because Amy laughs.

“Yeah, I know.” She shrugs as she walks back towards the kitchen. “But uh, um… I’m- I’m making them for someone’s birthday, and they like lavender, so uh, I thought- I don’t know…”

“I’m sure they’ll be fine.” Shadow looks out the window, squinting at the patio garden Amy has set up.

“You think?”

He nods. He can’t see the tomatoes from here. They must be against the wall.

“Would you try one?”

Shadow blinks, turning to face Amy. She’s watching him as she chewed her lip, clasping her hands behind her as she bounces one foot.

“I don’t- I don’t know if they taste good. I mean-” Amy shakes her head, hands moving to hover on either side of her face. “I mean they taste okay, flowery. Flower, not- not flour. I mean- augh. I don’t know what they’re supposed to taste like is what I’m trying to say.”

Shadow can’t help the way his head twitches to the side, cocking at an angle. Amy sighs.

“Will you try one, yes or no.”

“Yes.” Shadow nods.

He assumed she’d know he would. It’s not like he can say no to her, not when she lights up as she does now, hands clapping before she darts away to the stove.

Shadow looks about the living room, taking in the scattered mugs and magazines. There’s a bag of sunflower seeds sitting next to an open page of a notebook. It’s covered in shells, obviously what she had been in the middle of reading, and as Shadow leans in, he squints to decipher her handwriting.

‘Lavender: Mint Family: Uses- Love/Protection/Sleep/Happiness/Peace/Longevity/Purification. Language of Flowers has it as BOTH Devotion/Mistrust. BE CAREFUL OF MIXES. BE SPECIFIC.’

“Oh, that’s just my little black book.” Amy says as she enters the room again with a stacked plate of scones the size of a small fist, as well as a set of spoons and two jars. The plate is set atop the table, and Amy swipes the notebook out from underneath. “I was just brushing up. You can take a seat you know.”

Shadow looks about, unmoving. It’s not until Amy comes around the table and sits down on the couch that he sits down next to her.

SHADAMYWEEK 2023 THEME VOTING IS LIVE! PLEASE CHECK THIS LINK TO BE TAKEN TO A LIST OF ALL ACTIVE POLLS! VOTING WILL END ON MONDAY THE 15TH.

#amy rose #shadow the hedgehog #shadamy #shadamy story poll #8 #shadowxamy

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nightraiderwrites · 2 years

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Chains of Daisies

There are always flowers on Cleo.

Tucked behind her ear, or growing out of her orange mane, you can always smell the flowers. They are her trademark item, bringing sweet scents everywhere she goes.

It was Joe who started it. When she joined in season two, he remarked how plain she looked. Of course, Cleo wacked him, but he just ran away. She thought that was the last she'd see of him, but he came back a few minutes later, arms full of seeds and flowers. "Rotten flesh is like fertilzer, right? So you're the perfect place to grow flowers!" he informed her.

They started with the yellow roses. Joe braided them into her hair with practiced ease. He did this often for his daughter, he explained. The seeds were planted seeds in her skull. "They represent friendship," Joe mused. "Do they now?" she replied. He pulls out daffodils and plants them in her chest. "New beginnings and relationships." A dandelion in her shoulder. "Wishes for the future." She smiled at him. "Thanks, Joe."

It became tradtion to plant flowers at the beginning of a season. Sometimes it would be alliums, other times magnolias. Whatever it was, it was thing for her and Joe.

When Third Life came around, Joe wasn't there. So she scavenged around the server for seeds, and had Bdubs help her plant them. The only seeds she could find within the borders were purple hyacinths, for all the others had been claimed. On her final death, flowers bloomed.

Last Life was hectic. There were no flowers around to embed in her body, and the danger of the boogeyman loomed over to scavenge for more. When she allied with Scott, he gave her a small blessing. Flowers of her choosing would bloom, no matter when or how. It is rather uncomfortable to feel roots suddenly wrap around a still heart, but what can you do? A gift is a gift.

She prefers planting them with Joe, though.

During Double Life, the flowers grew rather involuntarily. Sunflowers wrapped their stems around her sternum, hopeful for the future. Over the course of the first session, they slowly began to wilt. By the end, black dahlias grew out of her hair and daisies wrapped around her wrist. When she set the Keep on fire, orange tulips wound around the hilt of her sword. And when she died for the last time, daffodils bloomed from her blood.

There are always flowers on Cleo.

¤¤¤¤¤

This is based on this prompt by @theminecraftbee for their ask game. I really had fun writing this, and plan to write for more of their prompts if they're ok with it. Ok, enjoy!

#nightraider writes #writing #dlsmp #double life #zombiecleo #hermitcraft #last life smp #third life smp #yep listen fools send an ask if you want to know what the flowers mean #joe hills #night's other blog ask prompt

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amplifyme · 2 years

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Quonochontaug - Snapshots

The X-Files. MSR. Mature. WC: 8,063. Established Relationship. Post-Je Souhaite. Alternate Series Finale. Read on AO3 Tagging @today-in-fic

One of my newer pieces. The first TXF fanfic I managed to write after a seven year bout with writer’s block.

Loose Ends

He answered on the seventh ring, just as she was about to give up.

“Mulder, where are you?”

“Headin’ up the I-95.” There was a soft crack of a sunflower seed between his teeth and then nothing.

“I just spoke to Skinner. He said you called him at five o’clock this morning and requested a week’s vacation.”

His measured reserve was louder than the faint music coming from the car radio. She thought she recognized the song.

Gonna take a lot to drag me away from you. There’s nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do.

“Mulder… Mulder what are you doing?”

“End of the road, Scully. Just tying up loose ends.”

She dipped her head and accepted the inevitable. She’d been afraid from the onset that his fragile peace wouldn’t last. Had felt the unsettled aura that’d enveloped him the last few months, the indigo shimmer of his dissatisfaction.

She knew it was in small part her unfortunate adventure with CGB Spender; the full details of which she’d chosen not to disclose to him. But Mulder had discerned her flimsy ploy and instead of pressing her, meted out punishment by withholding his affections. There was an end to that impasse only after she’d gone to his bed the night of his return from London; seduced him slowly with her mouth and nimble hands, dragged him back into the cradle of her thighs, made him fuck her for the first time in almost a month.

But the larger part, the root of his sadness, was what it’d always been. His proclaimed freedom after his ghostly reunion with his sister hadn’t come without a small kernel of doubt. He’d always wanted to believe – but that didn’t preclude the moments when he couldn’t.

She pulled up a road map in her head and asked, “The summer house?”

The last time he’d been there he’d had a gun tucked under his chin.

“Ding, ding, ding,” he intoned. “We have a winner.” There followed another long silence. She refused to fill it for him. Their relationship was based on an implicit and equitable give and take. He’d not been holding up his end of the deal lately. He finally gave in and told her, “I’m putting it on the market. I need to get it cleaned out before I call the real estate agent.”

“I thought you’d decided to keep it.”

“Why, so I have somewhere to spend my forced yearly vacations? Anything good about the place died a long time ago, Scully. Better to get out from under it. At least the proceeds will pad my retirement fund. Maybe we can take a trip to Mexico sometime soon. Sip margaritas, bake ourselves on the beach, get sand in uncomfortable places. Whadda’ya think?”

She caught an edge of humor in his tone and softened hers to match.

“I wish you’d called me, Mulder. I would have come with you.”

“You’ve got that thing at Quantico later this week. Wouldn’t want to disappoint all those fresh young faces waiting for your wisdom.” He let loose a sigh. “I’ll be fine, Scully.”

“You’ll call?”

“Don’t I always?”

No, not always. But enough that she didn’t feel the need to point it out.

“I’ll miss you,” she whispered, as though she were sitting in the basement office surrounded by fellow agents.

“Yeah,” he responded. “Same.” He ended the call and she sat listening to the silence on the other end, vaguely unsettled.

Chasing Ghosts

Mulder tossed the phone on the passenger seat and dug another seed from the bag resting in the console. He glanced at his watch. Tuesday morning traffic was light; three more hours should see him there. And then would begin the work of what he hoped would be a final exorcism, a purging of the last of his demons.

He allowed himself a beat or two of regret for not forewarning Scully of his plans. But in his defense his final decision hadn’t come until just hours ago, when caught in the teeth of the night’s wolf, he’d reckoned this could be the resolution he needed. If he was wrong, no need to pull her into another nightmare-scape of his creating. She’d been yanked through too many of those already. Better to put enough miles between them to serve as cushion before he spoke to her. He’d hesitated to answer the call, knowing it would be her, knowing she’d want answers. He had none to give her, not yet anyway. Still, it was incredible how their brief conversation had centered him, corrected his course. She was light and purpose. Scully was clarity.

To say he’d been distracted of late would be an understatement. Theories shuffled and tumbled through his head twenty-four-seven, rolled and bounced like pinballs; faces and memories with their jagged edges had sliced through thin skin and burned the back of his eyelids.

His father. Dead. Sacrificed on the altar of a global conspiracy of monsters.

His mother. Dead. Sacrificing herself to escape another fact too painful to admit or fight against.

His sister. Dead. Sacrificed… or saved?

Samantha.

He’d spent twenty-seven years chasing a ghost. What might his life have been like if he’d known at eighteen what he thought he knew now? What choices might there’ve been for him.

Jung believed that a persistent attachment to those lost to us could make life seem less worth living. Mulder had, aside from a few extreme moments, felt life to be worth every ounce of labor. Because if he gave up his quest, who would find his sister?

He was struggling to fit into the unfamiliar clothing of an orphan, of a solitary child, that circumstance had handed him. He felt uneasy in them, rubbed raw. He was the last one. The only one left.

He stopped just outside New Haven for gas. Took a leak and bought bottled iced tea and a couple Slim Jims. He ripped open the wrapping on one of them with his teeth and bit into it. The greasy, salty taste brought another flood of memories. He and Samantha on Quonnie Beach, skipping rocks across the water, racing down the shoreline, their skinny wet calves painted with sand as they raucously yelped like odd, prehistoric birds.

He forced down the bite and threw the rest of it onto the floorboard of the car. His hand smoothed over the weathered cover of the journal lying next to his cell before he turned the key in the ignition and got back on the road.

Creatures of the Night

“Did you know Rhode Island was once considered the vampire capital of America?”

“Vampires, Mulder?”

“Yeah. Hear me out. In 1892 on a cold March afternoon in Exeter, a group of men exhumed the bodies of the family members of a farmer named George Brown: his wife, and their two daughters. All three had died under mysterious circumstances over the previous years and his only son and the last of his children, Edwin, once hearty and hale, was now suffering from the same malady. The village doctor was convinced that the underlying cause was consumption.”

“Tuberculosis, “she interjected. Rolling over and forcing one eye open, she registered the time on her alarm clock. 1:52 A.M.

Mulder had no circadian rhythm to speak of. He just kept going until he dropped. His occasional afternoon naps in the lab area of their basement office were a long-standing secret they shared.

“Right. But despite the doctor’s diagnosis many of the country folk were convinced their deaths were caused by a much more malevolent force.”

“Let me guess. Vampires.”

“Right again. They were certain that one of the members of the family was rising from the grave and taking midnight strolls to slowly suck the life out of Edwin.”

“Mulder, these were poor, uneducated people, raised on folk tales brought over from their home countries. I mean, the Irish alone have a wide range of folklore surrounding vampires. There’s Dearg Dur, the female vampire; the Abhartach, who was purported to be a dwarf and was defeated only after he was killed for a third time and his body buried upside down.”

“I love it when you talk dirty. Keep it up, Scully, and we may have to try phone sex.”

She chuckled. “I’m sorry. Go on with your story.”

“Well, as I was saying… They exhumed and examined the wife, Mary, and the older daughter, also named Mary.”

“How original.”

“The two Marys passed muster in so far as they were moldering appropriately.” He snorted a fraction of a laugh, amused at himself. “Then they got to the youngest daughter, Mercy, who’d been interred two months previously and hit paydirt, so to speak. She was curiously well-preserved, and when they poked at her corpse with a shovel, they found it filled with fresh blood.”

“Oh, Mulder, come on.”

“No, no, no, listen. They removed her heart, burned it to a crisp on a nearby rock and then mixed the ashes into Edwin’s medication, hoping to stop the curse and cure the boy.”

“And did it?”

“Of course not. He died a few months later. But the tale spread and soon Rhode Island was considered a hot bed of vampiric activity. As a matter of fact, it still is.”

“And you called to tell me this, why?”

“I just find it interesting, the obstinacy of the human mind. People will latch onto the most farfetched idea and convince themselves that it’s true, even when all evidence points to the contrary.” He went quiet and she considered the scrap of insight handed her, a piece of a puzzle he’d been trying to solve. A large piece, if she was reading him correctly.

“Don’t you find that interesting, Scully?”

Prod, or no? She landed on a subtle approach. “How are you, Mulder, really?”

“Hanging in there,” he murmured. “I decided to call an auction house, have them do an estate sale, take care of the furniture and stuff. That way I don’t have to fuck with it. I just need to go through the papers and personal things. My folks bought this place just after I was born. Living large, y’know. It’s amazing how much shit accumulated over a few decades of summers.”

A noisy yawn came through the line and crept in her ear. She shifted and settled deeper into the bed, comforted by his familiar nocturnal sounds.

“Well, I guess I better let you go,” he said. “It’s getting late.”

“Getting?”

He snickered softly. “You got me there. Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt your beauty sleep.”

“It’s okay. It’s good to hear your voice. I thought you might call sooner.”

“Up with the sun, gone with the wind,” he sang off-key. “Just have a lot to do.”

“I know.”

“I miss you, Scully.”

She’d never understood how he managed to slip right under her skin with a few simple, whispered words. She pressed her eyes tight against the burn of sudden tears.

“Same here.”

“Sweet dreams, hon’.”

Her bed was too empty and sleep returned slowly, stepping in on reluctant tiptoe.

Darlene

The Blue Whale Diner was an institution, open long before he was born and likely to outlive him. The smell of strong coffee and bacon grease engulfed him like a wave when he came through the door, the bell hung above it chiming his arrival. The place was half-empty, a lull between breakfast and the lunch rush. He contemplated a stool at the counter amongst the old men sipping coffee and talking shit and a couple pimply teenagers ditching school, grabbed a booth against the back wall instead. He slid across the faded and cracked red leather and gazed out the window. There wasn’t much going on in the street this time of day, either. He’d forgotten how small the village was, remembering instead the hustle and bustle of the summer people, the tribe he’d been part of.

How many times had he sat in this diner, first with his family intact and later just him and his mom? How many cheeseburgers and pieces of fried chicken, how many sticky ice cream sundaes and fresh slices of strawberry pie had he downed here? How many kicks under the table delivered to Samantha and retaliatory smacks across the back of his head from the old man? They used to talk then, the four of them. Making plans for the day or taking a break from the unrelenting heat of the little summer house, back before it was air-conditioned.

Simple times. Effortless and carefree. When the days went on forever and the nights were spent under the stars in the cool grass just off the back deck; foregoing the loft he’d shared with Samantha, too ungodly hot to sleep under the eave of a roof that’d soaked up the sun.

“Hi there.” Mulder looked up as a laminated menu was laid down in front of him and the upturned cup beside him was righted on its saucer. “Coffee?”

He saw kohl-rimmed hazel eyes and round cheeks, curly dishwater blonde hair pinned in a messy bun; the face of a pretty woman a few years younger than him. Ample curves filled out faded jeans and a green t-shirt above a food-stained white apron informed him that ‘Life’s a Beach’. She had an order pad in one hand, a pot of coffee in the other, and an inquisitive tilt to one eyebrow.

“Yeah, please.”

“Sugar’s right there next to you. You need cream?”

“No, no thanks. Are you still serving breakfast?”

She worked a wad of gum tucked in her cheek before answering. “All day long. You need a minute?”

“Nah. Two eggs over easy, double order of bacon, toast, hash browns.” Scully chattered deep in his brain, reminded him he was getting too old to eat like a college kid. He shushed her. “Some ice water, too?”

“Comin’ right up, darlin’.”

She spun away and sashayed toward the narrow order window behind the counter, stopping after a few steps and throwing him a quick look over her shoulder. Mulder grinned into his coffee and took a cautious sip.

He made a few calls while he waited for his food, glancing up now and then and catching more sidelong looks from his waitress. She came around to refill his cup, bring his water, and he focused on his phone, not wanting to encourage whatever had captured her attention.

Scully’d told him once that he was like catnip to women, and she couldn’t believe he wasn’t more aware of it. He’d been rewarded with a stinging slap on his bare ass when he’d responded that the only pussy he was interested in attracting was hers. That brought back his grin. He was still wearing it when his breakfast was placed in front of him.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

“Uh, no,” he glanced at her name tag, “…Darlene. I used to spend summers here a long time ago. My folks have… had a place on Quonnie Beach.” He salted and peppered his eggs, splattered the hash browns with Tabasco. “I’m out there now, getting it ready to go on the market.”

“I know you,” she declared. He stopped, a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth, and shifted his attention from his breakfast to her. “I grew up on the Quonnie.” She gave him another long study before announcing, “I remember who you are. You’re Samantha’s brother. What was your name? It was a weird one.” She snapped her fingers a few times and he flinched with each crack. “Fox, that’s it! You’re Fox Mulder, aren’t you?”

His fork hit the plate and he gave her a tight smile. “Guilty. How’d you know; was it…?” He tapped the side of his nose.

“Oh, no, darlin’, it’s that mole right there on your cheek. I remember that. I used to have such a crush on you. Your sister and me are the same age. We used to play together when you folks were here. Don’t you remember me? I lived just down the road. I was at your place just about every day. ‘Course I was a hell of a lot younger and skinnier back then.”

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t.”

“Well, that’s okay. It was a long time ago. I sure felt bad when I heard what happened. She was a peach, your sister, just a sweet girl; never hurt a soul. I remember her spending the night once or twice a summer. We’d have sleepovers, y’know? We’d stay up half the night gigglin’, making up stories, braiding each other’s hair. Yeah, she was my best friend those summers. It’s a shame what happened. Did you, did she… did she ever turn up?”

He pushed his plate aside and ducked his head, throat gone tight, and muttered, “Uh, no... no, she’s gone.”

His teeth latched onto his bottom lip when she cupped his shoulder. “Oh, sugar, I’m so sorry. What a terrible thing.”

A benign Pandora’s box beckoned him with the promise of solace too seductive to ignore. Standing there in front of him was someone who remembered Samantha, who’d known her the way he had, in that innocence of childhood and long summers. He’d thought he was the only one.

“Darlene, will you sit with me for a minute while I eat, maybe take a break? I’d like you to tell me about my sister.”

Possessions

He’d stopped at a grocery store after breakfast and begged some cardboard boxes from the kid stocking produce, bringing them into the living room to start sorting the detritus within the brown clapboard house. Black trash bags for things he’d toss in the burn barrel out back, boxes for smaller items to be sold, another for things to keep.

He worked steadily through the afternoon, at first carefully sorting through stacks of old utility bills, appliance manuals, scraps of note paper; words written and forgotten long ago, their significance lost to time. Grocery receipts, Mom? Really? he’d thought once, finding stacks of them two and three inches deep, neatly bundled with rubber bands that disintegrated when he tried to remove them. And then the day grew late, twilight stretching fingers of russet and gold across the sky outside the grimy windows. His patience waned with the sun, and soon he was stuffing trash bags and boxes indiscriminately, not really seeing what he held in his hands.

Twice before he’d labored at this sort of task. The first at his father’s house in West Tisbury, the second not long ago, caught in a miasma of anguish as he’d waded through the leftovers of his mother’s life in her small, meticulously kept condo. She’d given up the house in Greenwich a few years earlier, overwhelmed by the weight of meaningless possessions and advancing age. She’d taken on the culling in Greenwich by herself; his time and attention then focused solely on Scully and the work.

He found himself wondering if people were creations of what they’d chosen to surround themselves with or if those things were simply a reflection, a way for others to remember you. What memories would he trigger, then? He once bore a singular obsession, driven to find the truth, to learn everything there was to know about everything, a curiosity fueled by a mind hungry for knowledge. That aspect of himself had become blunted, worn down with the passage of years and the gradual discovery that not all he’d sought to know had brought him satisfaction. Most times it’d offered only pain.

But there remained an unquenching passion in him. For justice, for a measure of peace, for smaller truths that’d become ever more precious. Passion and need for simpler things, one in particular: his partner, his love. The sound of her girlish laughter, the sharply honed edges of her intellect scraping along his, the sparkle of her eyes. Scully’s silken skin beneath his hands, the scent of her, the taste of the delicate folds between her legs. He wanted to tuck her in his pocket and slip away with her, go be with her somewhere else, in another life, safe and mostly whole.

And then he wondered if such a thing was even possible.

After a dinner of take-out pizza and Shiner Bock he moved to the loft, pulling boxes from the small closet where he and his sister had kept their summer things. There was an old baseball glove, the leather cracked from disuse. Samantha’s Barbie dolls, draped in dust and cobwebs, clothed in the last things she’d ever chosen for them to wear. Board games, frisbees, stuffed animals, 500-piece puzzles. Handfuls of Webbles, Matchbox cars, and G.I. Joes. Then he found a banged-up shoebox covered in colorful wrapping paper and Day-Glo stickers jammed in the back corner of the closet. Sams Stuff. Keep Out! was scrawled in pale red magic marker on the lid.

Mulder retreated until the edge of one of the twin beds stopped him and he staggered, reaching with one hand to steady his clumsy descent onto the bare mattress. With reverence he slipped the lid from the box, twisting on the bed until the angle of the overhead light fully captured and presented its contents to him.

Small seashells, a dozen or more. Samantha had favored the rounded clamshells, mottled with smears of soft silver, ivory, and gray. A few rocks, none of which seemed particularly unique to his eyes, except that she’d seen something in them that warranted squirreling them away. A desiccated bottle of what had once been bright pink nail polish. Plastic purple and green butterfly hair barrettes. Ponytail elastics, one with several strands of dark hair still tangled around it. A corner of red construction paper with an angry stick figure head and I hate my brother! written on it. He flipped it over to find a smiling moon face and I love my brother! there.

His next trip into the box brought up a short stack of faded Polaroids. There were a few of him: skinny with angular arms and hairpin legs, shirtless and crouched on the beach in his swim trunks, poking at the sand with a stick. One taken from behind, his back tanned to dark honey, his long legs hanging over the edge of a dock.

There were several of Samantha and a girl he knew instantly was Darlene. They were laughing in one, sticking out their tongues in the next. In a third, their arms were around each other’s necks, heads pressed together, sporting delighted gap-tooth smiles. He’d never seen these. That there could be photos of his sister that’d existed without his knowledge shocked him, though it shouldn’t have. She’d had a life that was bigger than just him and his memories of her.

He didn’t realize he’d been weeping until he couldn’t breathe through his nose anymore. He tugged the hem of his t-shirt up his belly and used it as a snot rag.

The last two photos were of his parents. In one they stood peering out the front window of the house, side by side and shoulders back, their profiles immutable, young in a way he could barely recall. The last, he recognized, taken from behind the loft’s open railing. His mother was on the couch, eyes down and hands folded primly in her lap. His father was on his feet at the opposite end, shoulders hunkered forward, a stiff finger pointed at his wife. He might not have remembered Darlene, but moments like the final photo were etched deeply in Mulder’s cerebral cortex. Especially the ones after Samantha was gone.

He glanced into the box at what the photos had uncovered and took the stairs three at a time, grabbed the baluster at the bottom, swung around and centrifuged his way into the living room. A few moments later found him panting under the roof’s eave, a journal in each hand.

He and Samantha had been gifted one every year on their birthdays, their first arriving as soon as they could print. Their mother had been the list maker, the storyteller, the one who was always with a pen in hand, encouraging them to write something every day. He’d known all along that those journals hadn’t been their father’s idea.

Except that maybe one had. The one he’d found behind a bookcase at April Air Force Base. But how… and why? And which father?

He thumbed the latches, opened the journals, and got to work. Mulder had seen enough handwriting comparisons at the bureau to know they were from the same hand. One rounder and more effortless, redolent with premature wisdom, doused in anger and pain, in confusion. The other the sloppy but earnest scrawls of an eight-year-old whose life was about to become hostage to a cabal she neither knew existed nor could ever understand.

So, there it was. His proof irrefutable. The truth. Samantha Mulder was well and truly gone. And had been for twenty-one years. He sank slowly onto the bed as he pulled his cell phone from his back pocket.

“Scully?” He swallowed a sob when she responded with his name. “I need you.”

He went down like a snapped tree limb, curling in on himself when she promised, “I’m on my way, Mulder. I will be right there.”

Immutable

She was on a flight to Providence within two hours of his call. In a rental car by midnight. Less than an hour later sprinting up the uneven cobblestones leading to the little house, and straight into his needy arms.

She cradled him on the couch, surrounded by papers and boxes in the dark, half the furniture still draped in ghostly sheets of plastic. He wept a tidal wave into the front of her jacket, his face folded up in an origami of grief. She didn’t speak and neither did he. He just cried, strangled howls leaking from him like helium from a balloon. She was tremulous under the weight of his anguish, holding fast to her barb-wired core so she wouldn’t tumble into the depths with him.

She didn’t know precisely what had happened and thought to herself that it didn’t matter anyway. Something had broken in him and would need repaired. The part she would play in that reconstruction wasn’t apparent to her; not yet.

Scully ordered him to the bedroom when he eventually ran out of steam, tears transforming to ragged sighs against her neck, the tremors rolling through him lessening in frequency and strength. She pulled herself out from behind him and grabbed his hand, guided him down the hall like a sleepy toddler. Undressed him in the dark and tucked him into threadbare cotton sheets. He rolled onto his side and was out not a minute later.

She sat at the kitchen table, dunking a twenty-year-old teabag into a mug of hot water, staring out at the darkness beyond the window. Something was coming, she knew. Things were soon to change. What she perceived of that within herself was elemental and absolute; what was without remained unknown. But the immutable would always be Mulder.

He lived in her. He’d seeped down through her skin, her muscles, blood and bone. Coiled himself within her brain and nervous system, reached graceful tendrils like fingers into the messy viscera where hidden was the heart of her. Mulder had taken it in his hand, and she’d let him.

She’d fought so hard not to want him, not to give in. In doing so she’d discovered, when she finally stopped fighting, that the wanting of him had become a need. A vital element of who she was.

He was an acerbic bastard a lot of the time. But curious and whip-smart, with a sense of humor as dry as a martini. He was self-absorbed and arrogant. Generous, compassionate, kind to children and the elderly. He suffered from tunnel vision and bore a lofty sense of entitlement. But he also spent long nights enchanting her with stories only so he might be rewarded with her rare, belly-deep laughter. He could be a selfish lover sometimes. Then again, so could she. They used each other that way and never felt the need to apologize or explain.

But when things were good, which had been more frequent of late, when nothing dark or angry festered between them, Mulder was magical. She could find no other word for it. He played her like an instrument, knowing just where to pluck, to strum, to make her sing for him. He was beautiful and repulsive, an Adonis and a selfish beggar, astonishingly violent and endlessly tender. And she loved him beyond measure.

She washed her face and brushed her teeth, slipped into pajamas and joined him in bed. He didn’t rouse when she pressed herself against his back, weaving her arm under his to place a hand over his heart. This night, she’d hold his. This night, that was how she’d begin to fix him.

Ahavah

She woke slowly to sunlight leeching through her eyelids, grudgingly forced them open and found Mulder on his side next to her, mapping her with familiar scrutiny. There was a moment or two of discomfort; waking to his penetrating gaze wasn’t something she’d ever grown used to. She scrubbed hair out of her face and rubbed gummy eyes. “G’morning.”

His mute observation continued, and he lifted a hand to stroke her cheek. Even rumpled with sleep, face shadowed with two days of stubble, eyes swollen and red-rimmed, he was infinitely stunning.

“Thank you,” he eventually whispered, “for last night.”

“You’d do the same for me.” He nodded in answer as his fingers combed through her hair and curled around her skull, pulling her close as he leaned in. “Mulder,” she whined, twisting away. “Morning breath.”

“Hush now... it’s like garlic. As long as you both have it, it’s okay.”

“Mul –“ He slid his mouth across her lips and prodded them open, silencing her. He tasted of salty tears and bitterness as his thick tongue brushed across hers, warm and inviting. She took his offering and allowed his curious hands a short journey before rolling away and standing. He groaned his disappointment behind her.

“Bathroom first,” she explained over her shoulder.

“No tooth brushing while you’re in there,” he warned, and she grinned because she knew he wouldn’t see it.

She emptied her bladder and cleaned up, splashed water on her face and slipped out of her pajamas. She presented herself in the frame of the bedroom doorway wearing only panties.

He lifted a hand and beckoned her with a wolfish smile. “C’mere, Scully. Lemme show you how beautiful you are.”

She went to him, and he did.

He was markedly gentle with her. He touched her as if she might shatter. Sipped at her mouth and tenderly bathed the peaks of her breasts with his pliant tongue. Skimmed his palms up and down her ribs and arms, her legs, back, and bottom. Carefully opened her thighs and slid down to lap at her with the flat of his tongue. Her orgasm, when it came, was in direct contrast to his delicate ministrations: it violently roared to life, sudden and overwhelming, and left her dizzy and gasping for air. He eased up over her and shared the essence of the ocean and musk of her in a long, wet kiss. He wrapped his arms around her, rolled and brought her atop him, and she gratefully reached down and sheathed him within her soft and humid sex.

He let her set the pace when she’d settled fully onto him and rolled his hips up against her in encouragement. She mirrored him, pulling back and then rocking up, swiveling her hips on each stroke. Mulder barked a delighted laugh. He braced her hips and helped her along, bent his knees up and splayed his thighs wide, and she was enclosed by the cradle he’d made for her.

She rode him slowly for a while, until she could see the need flaring in his eyes, and his hands slipped to her waist, lifting so he could slam her back down again. Prying his fingers away she raised his arms to bracket his head, holding him there by the wrists and grinding her breasts against him. She dropped her forehead to his and rocked in measured strokes as he began to moan deep in his throat. Then she sped up and dipped low, fingers digging into the forearms she braced against.

She could feel the spiraling tension in him, knew he was close, lifted from his chest and waited. Kaleidoscope eyes opened to hers, dazed with arousal, gray-green and speckled with gold. Mulder blinked slow and she fell into the small universe there and gave him what he needed. Lifting her head from his shoulder when she could breathe again, Scully kissed the tears from his eyes.

Later, he pulled her from the bed and took her to the loft to show her what he’d found.

Persuasion

They spent most of that morning in sloth mode, drinking coffee in the sun-dappled kitchen while he made breakfast. He’d picked up a few provisions when he’d gotten the boxes and managed to whip up decent plates of scrambled eggs and toast. He taunted Scully into splitting a Pop Tart as dessert and couldn’t keep his enjoyment hidden as she tongued sugary icing from the corners of her mouth, her expression bordering on orgasmic. Then he took her back to bed and made sure she made that face again.

Cliché as it sounded, Mulder felt as though the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders. Maybe part of it was allowing himself to grieve so fully in her arms the night before. The simple act of sharing his sister’s treasures with her had been freeing as well. Now there would be another person who knew these specific things about Samantha; he didn’t have to carry it all by himself. He’d encouraged her to compare the journals and fidgeted like a streetwise junkie until she finally looked over and told him the handwriting would need to be analyzed but she was fairly certain he was on to something. He hadn’t expected anything more than that. She was his Scully, and she would always hedge her bets until she had absolute proof. He depended on her for that.

He impulsively called Skinner mid-afternoon and requested another week off. Slotted his phone in his pocket and declared, “Your turn.”

She was poking through his mom’s cookbooks setting aside the ones she wanted to keep, and it took her a second to reconnect. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Why don’t you call Skinner, request vacation. He’s in the office. Jesus, you’d think the guy would learn how to take a weekend off every once and a while.” His attempt at self-aware humor fell flat.

“Mulder, I can’t,” she said, turning to him.

“Why not?”

“Well, because.”

“Have we got anything going on next week other than the usual? Any reports due, paperwork to file, meetings scheduled, unexplained phenomenon requiring our immediate attention?”

“Well, no, but… “

“Do you have anything penciled in on your personal calendar that can’t be postponed?”

She cocked an eyebrow. “You just want free labor.”

He shot her a toothy grin.

“Mulder, I can’t call Skinner and ask for time off now.”

“Why not? I just did.”

“Exactly! What’s he gonna think if I call him right after he gets off the phone with you?”

“Probably the same thing he’s thought for going on a year now.”

She looked aghast and gave him an owl-eyed face. “You think so? But, but we’re always so careful.”

“The man’s not stupid, Scully, that’s all I’m sayin’.”

“Well, I can’t.”

“What, you didn’t bring a bag?” he asked innocently.

Deep pink spots of color flooded her cheeks, and he knew he had her.

“C’mon, Scully, it’ll be fun. And if you get tired of me you can always hop in your rental car and leave me behind.” He sidled over and pulled her into a loose hug. “Pretty please with sugar on top? You know you want to.”

She impatiently pushed him away. “I’ll think about it. Now get back to work; there’s still a lot to do around here.”

“You got it, G-woman.”

She called Skinner a couple of hours later and then went on sorting and packing, sporting an interesting flush. She didn’t tell him what Skinner’d had to say other than his approval for the time off, and Mulder didn’t ask.

Keeper

Both freshly showered and in clean clothes, he took her to the Blue Whale for a late dinner. They had the place to themselves, and he led Scully to the booth he’d taken the last time. She chose to sit across from him, her back to the door. They heard the banging of pots and pans from the kitchen, two or three voices joined in laughter, but no sign of any wait staff. Hungry and impatient, he started to rise to investigate just as the door to the kitchen swung open and Darlene stepped through. Mulder was surprised to see her. He’d figured she worked the day shift. Then again, his food service labor-related knowledge was sorely lacking.

“Well, look who’s here,” Darlene chortled, headed toward them. “Couldn’t get enough of me the first time, darlin’? Had to come back for more?” She cut her eyes at Scully as she reached the table. “I see you brought somebody along this time.” The two women sized each other up and he felt obligated to make introductions.

“Uh, yeah. Darlene this is… this is Dana. My partner.”

“And friend,” Scully added.

“Yeah, absolutely.” He lifted an open hand. “Dana,” he said formally, “this is Darlene. She’s the one I told you about this morning.”

“Well, aren’t you just the prettiest little thing,” Darlene chirped. “I can see why Fox looks better than he did last time he was in here.” She shifted her eyes to him. “You were in rough shape, my man.”

He could only nod in agreement, feeling weirdly tongue-tied. Scully stepped up and saved him further embarrassment. “It’s nice to meet you, Darlene.”

“You too, sugar.” She glanced back toward the kitchen. “I’d bring you menus, but we had a nice little dinner rush. Not a lot to choose from right now. Why don’t you tell me what’s soundin’ good and I’ll see what we can do.”

He decided on a burger and fries and Scully a turkey club, no mayo. Darlene set them up with coffee and hot tea and left them alone.

He propped an elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand, angled a look at her. “Are you jealous?”

“Oh, please,” she groaned into her tea.

“’Cause I think I might have a shot with her.”

“Mulder, statistically speaking, you have a shot with just about anyone you set your sights on. All you have to do is bat those eyes and you’re in.”

“I do not bat my eyes, Scully,“ he huffed. She offered a tiny smile. “Although now that I think about it, Darlene did say you were pretty. Maybe she plays for the home team.”

“Maybe she plays for both,” she mischievously suggested, one sleek brow creeping up.

“Oooh, now I’m intrigued. Do you think she’d be interested in a– “

“Don’t. Not a chance. Don’t even say it.”

“Not even for me, Scully? Just once?”

“What has gotten into you, Mulder? You’ve been bordering on giddy all day.”

That set him back in his seat a little. Because he had been, he was. And the odd part was that it’d been so long since he’d felt that way that he almost didn’t recognize it. He leaned up, reached across the table and took her hand, waited until he had her full attention.

“I guess…” he hesitated. “I think I’m just happy. I’m just really fucking content.”

It started in her eyes and moved down to become a lazy, brilliant smile, with teeth and everything. “Well, we can’t have that now, can we? Whatever would I do with a happy Mulder?”

He didn’t get a chance to answer. Darlene delivered their plates with some small talk directed at Scully that he only halfway paid a mind to, and then remembered just as she was walking away.

“Oh, hey, Darlene,” he called out, reaching in his jacket, “I almost forgot. I’ve got something I want you to have. I was gonna leave it for you. I didn’t think you’d be here.”

She turned around and eyeballed the small manilla envelope he extended. “Darlin,’ I’m here all the time. Me and the old man bought this place about five years back. Might as well sleep here for all the free time we get. Now, what’s this?”

He watched as she opened the envelope and reached in, pulling out one of the Polaroids he’d found, the one of her and Samantha embracing. Darlene’s eyes flitted from the photo to him and then back, and he saw that they were damp.

“I found it yesterday, going through things at the house. I thought you might like to have it.”

Her eyes slid back to the photo. “She was such a sweet girl,” she whispered. “Thank you for this, I’ll treasure it. And you, you’re a good man, Fox Mulder.” Then she leaned across the table and grabbed him by the cheeks, planted a sloppy kiss on his mouth. “You take care of this one, Dana,” she directed Scully. “He’s a keeper.”

He couldn’t do anything but smile at Darlene’s back as she walked away. Scully plucked a fry from his plate as he shifted in his seat and found her soft gaze on him.

“She’s right, Mulder. You are a keeper.”

He let her steal more of his fries and managed to eat the burger despite the goofy-ass grin he couldn’t seem to get rid of.

Closure

By Wednesday the following week they had everything wrapped up at the house. The broker had a key, and the estate sale had been scheduled. Mulder had been shocked when told he would likely get considerably more for the house than he’d thought possible. Ideas for the windfall slowly coalesced over those last few days.

They planned to leave the following morning. The back seat of his car was loaded with two cardboard boxes, one containing books and a few other items that’d caught Scully’s eye; the second smaller one held Samantha’s shoebox and a file of loose papers he’d deemed important enough to hang onto. And that was it. Almost forty years condensed to two boxes. It felt good to him. It felt right.

His unfamiliar sense of contentment hadn’t waned, as he’d thought it might. Instead, it seemed to spread even deeper within him. He’d realized a few nights back, lying in his parent’s bed with Scully softly snoring in his arms, that he hadn’t thought about work in days. He’d even begun to send calls straight through to his voicemail, Chuck Burke’s and Langley’s among them. That, too, had felt right, at least for the time being. Unfortunately, Scully’s cell had taken the brunt of it, people reaching out to her when they couldn’t get to him. He’d eventually suggested she turn it off. She eventually had.

He sensed the change in her, too. She’d become looser in the days following her arrival, was less tightly wound, less fundamentally rigid in her bearing. She laughed more and took frequent naps and was even adapting her diet to include more of his questionable favorites. She didn’t bring up the work, either. Instead, she was simply his constant and steady companion, his partner in all things, in all the ways that mattered.

He had come to Quonochontaug seeking answers and the hope of laying down burdens he’d carried for most of his life. But he’d come to know that he’d unconsciously been seeking more than that. He’d needed a path forward. He couldn’t live in the past any longer. It was time to plan the future.

They took a walk on the beach after dinner and watched the seagulls swoop and dive as the sun made its slow crawl down to meet the horizon, painting the sky in smears of vivid pinks and oranges. He lifted their clasped hands and kissed her chilly knuckles.

“I’ve been thinking, Scully.” He didn’t have to look at her to discern the face she was wearing. “I know, I know, but bear with me, okay?” He stopped and turned to her, waited until she faced him, took her other hand so he was clasping both. Her eyes were startlingly blue. “You know I love you, right? But do you know how much? That’s okay, I didn’t either, not for a long time. But I do now. And I think… I think it’s time for both of us to get out of the goddamn car. It’s time for you to go be a doctor.”

“Mulder,” she breathed.

“No, no, just listen. I’ll be fine, better than fine. I can teach, pick up consulting gigs, write a book. I can write two. And you can finally do what you were meant to do, what you’re so good at. No more mutants, no more flukemen, no more alien conspiracies, no more autopsies in the middle of the night. No more hopping on a plane with an hour’s notice and sleeping on bad motel beds and eating shitty food and dealing with hostile local law enforcement.

“No more risking your life at the beck and call of a crazy man howling at the fucking moon who’s convinced that nothing’s more important than getting answers that aren’t his to find anymore. I don’t want to be that man. I’m not that man anymore. I want you. That’s all. I want peace and a place to call home and I want you there with me. Let’s build a new life, Scully, anywhere you want. I got more money now than I could ever spend. Let’s have that life. Let’s make ourselves a home.”

He leaned in and kissed the wet spots on her cheeks, kissed her runny nose, kissed her forehead and laid his against it. “Just think about it, okay? Take as much time as you need.”

She sniffed and nodded, pulled one hand loose so she could wipe the edge of it across her nose. She patted his chest and fiddled with the buttons on his jacket. Ducked her head so he had to follow her down to get a good look at her. Her features were hidden in shadow.

“Mulder,” she whispered, “you are the smartest person I have ever known. But sometimes,” she lifted her face and locked her laser-beam eyes onto his, “you can be the stupidest, too.”

“Yeah,” he gulped.

“Oh, Mulder, you didn’t have to say anything after ‘get out of the goddamn car.’ Let’s do this thing. I’m all in.”

He lifted and spun her as she squealed in his ear and wrapped her arms around his neck. He got dizzy and tangled up in his own feet, and they dropped like wet sacks onto the beach.

“Is this where I get sand in uncomfortable places?” she asked when they finally stopped laughing.

“No, that’s gonna be our first stop after we put the X-Files to bed. You, me, Cabo San Lucas.”

“You’re a very smart man, Mulder.”

“I know I am. I fell in love with you, didn’t I?”

He worried just a little, as he followed her to the airport to return the rental car the next morning. What if she’d changed her mind? He wouldn’t blame her for backing out on him. He wasn’t easy to put up with, he’d be the first to admit it.

They were several miles down the I-95 heading home when she reached over and turned off the radio, slipped her fingers through his.

“I think we should look for a place in the same area we’re in now,” she declared. “Maybe still in Virginia but smaller, somewhere rural but close enough to drive to civilization. How does that sound?”

He glanced over at her and that damned goofy grin of his settled back into place.

“Nothing’s ever sounded better, Scully. I’m all in.”

#xfiles #msr #x-files fanfic #quonochontaug-snapshots #mine

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