#The first part is based on my dad's ufo sighting

[pointycorgiears]

Crocodile was on the outer balcony, watching the dark waves. It was a moonless night and thousands of stars littered the sky. He gave a puff of his cigar and gazed out on the horizon. Shark Rock, a tiny island off the coast of Karai Bari, was a black silhouette against the starlight. It was given that name because of the tall dolomite that jutted out the middle, resembling a shark's dorsal fin. There was a scout ship milling about it.

It was quiet. Just the soft tumbling of the breakers and Mihawk's shuffling books around the shelves inside to keep him company. Buggy was already passed out somewhere. No Marines, no rival pirate crews, no activity whatsoever. It was peaceful.

He took one more drag of his cigar. As he turned to go inside, something caught his eye.

He looked at Shark Rock. The orange lights of the scout ship seemed higher than they should be. He blinked to clear his eyes, thinking it was a trick of the darkness. But no...the lights hovered above the water...all three of them.

"Huh..."

He watched them for a moment, squinting to focus. Maybe a rogue wave had lifted the boat upwards? That idea was shot down as soon as the lights rose higher....and higher, far past the shoreline of the rock. And they kept going.

And then they moved.

They changed their position, spinning around each other while simultaneously rising, until they were at the tip of the shark fin. The arranged themselves, by some force of their own, into a triangle pattern, hovering over the rock.

"Mihawk..." Crocodile quietly called out to his partner. The other didn't hear him. And he was too transfixed to look to see what the swordsman was doing.

The lights grew brighter.

"Mihawk..."

The lights became so bright that they began illuminating the rock...and then they illuminated something else. Something metallic-like, nestled in between them as if they were attached to it. Triangular, silver, and solid. A light shot from the middle of the thing directly onto the shark fin. As bright as a pillar of light from God himself.

"Mihawk!" His voice was now strained, and he didn't know why. The air on his arms stood up. His hand trembled his cigar. And he didn't know why.

"Yes?" Mihawk answered from inside and began walking to the balcony.

The lights pulsed, flashed, and disappeared in the blink of an eye. Shark Rock was dark again.

Mihawk finally appeared on the balcony. "What is it, Crocodile?"

Crocodile tried to find his words and choked. "Uh...nothing. I just...I thought I saw something."

****

[[About a week later...]]

The beach was nice and moonlit. The palm trees swayed overhead, their fronds dark and gentle in the wind. Crocodile liked to smoke on nights like this. The moon cast a caressing glow over the whole island and it soothed away the hectic moments of the day.

He walked to the edge of the trees, looking across the beach to the water. The waves rolled calm and easy. He took one final drag and blew the smoke through his nose. He bent down to crush the embers of the cigar in the sand. Some flitted along the ground and burnt out. One caught the breeze and flew up past his eye before simmering into nothing. Crocodile turned away to head back through the trees.

The little ember appeared in the corner of his vision. He tilted his head to make sure it went out.

Then froze.

Oh no.

Three lights glowed an eerie orange further down the beach. His gaze was stuck. He could not look away from the three orbs hovering several feet above the sand, casting their luminance on the beach. He paused and waited in the trees.

What are these things? he thought. He never expected to see anything like this again. He stared at them from his hiding spot in the treeline. They could be a threat to Cross Guild. As he observed, he noticed a black shape between the lights, connecting them together into one form just like the first time he saw them. It was slender and narrow. It looked like a cake platter and cover. The lights glowed on the underside, arranged in a triangular pattern. He was fixated on it.

Then the beam shot down from its belly, just like it had on Shark Rock, only this time it hit the sand a few feet below it. Crocodile narrowed his eyes. Something moved behind the light pillar. He blinked again, and there was a humanoid form with long arms and legs. It looked…off. Like parts of it were transparent or made of a mirror.

Crocodile froze. Every hair on his body became alert. It felt like the wind was knocked out of him and he almost gasped for air. Instead he made a quiet inhale of breath in fear of drawing the thing's attention.

The fear.

Crocodile was a veteran as far as battles were concerned. He faced Marines, pirates, Whitebeard, all head on. He was never afraid. He could not be shaken. The thing moved its glittering head.

He was afraid. And he didn't know where the fear was coming from.

He was thankful he was in the dark shadows of the trees. The head moved again, turning, and two black, soulless eyes were suddenly looking in his direction. Crocodile instinctively dropped into a pile of sand next to the tree stumps. He dared not move a single grain on the ground.

The thing turned away. One of its long arms reached down to where the water curled on the beach and scooped some of it up into some kind of vial. Then it shimmered and dissipated into the light beam. The light disappeared, and the orange orbs and black mass began floating out toward the ocean, slowly, and was eventually far enough out to sea that the lights could have been ordinary stars on the horizon. They vanished into the night.

Crocodile crawled as a sand pile all the way back to his tent.

****

Dinner was quiet. Crocodile did his best to keep his fork from rattling in his hand and his hook from carving holes in the table. Mihawk asked him what's wrong. Crocodile couldn't answer. He wasn't sure if he wanted to. Buggy was staring at him to. He drank a little bit more than usual that night. Buggy bumped into him in the hall as they prepared for bed.

"You ok?" he asked. There was something in the clown's eyes. Crocodile nodded.

"Did you see the lights too?" Buggy asked, deadpan.

Crocodile stuttered and his voice cracked. "W-What?"

****

Mihawk had forgotten the book he was reading in the common room of the main tent. He went down the hall that connected the living tents to the main tent, walking brisk and silent with barefeet. He trotted up the stairs intending to retrieve it and go back to bed, but he found something unexpected that made him take pause.

Crocodile and Buggy were still there, talking excitedly about something on the sofa. He peeked from the top steps. They were dressed in their night clothes and Mihawk wondered what was so important that it was stalling them from going to their quarters to sleep. He walked up the last steps. "Why are you two still here?"

"AAAAAHHHHAAIIIIEEEEHHH!"

Mihawk was taken aback. Both Buggy and Crocodile had just screamed, at him.

Buggy's eyes were wide as he was pressed against Crocodile's chest, a knife gripped his hand pointed at Mihwk. Crocodile's hook was also raised in his direction in a defensive stance.

Mihawk lifted a brow. "Are you in distress?"

"We can't go to sleep!" Buggy exclaimed."

And why is that?"

"Because they'll come for us!"

"Who, exactly?"

"The Star People!" Buggy exclaimed and Crocodile silently nodded. His eyes were bloodshot.

Mihawk was now concerned. "What are you idiots talking about?"

****

Mihawk never should have asked. He never should have indulged them. Because then, maybe he could be sleeping snug and comfortable in his room right now. Instead, he had to hear a mad rant from Buggy about the "Star People" and how they were flying around at night in invisible vessels, and they got into people's heads to hear their thoughts, and how Gol D. Roger had seen them once, and how Roger had told Buggy to beware of them, and how they somehow lived among the stars, and...

Mihawk didn't really remember the rest. He stopped listening after awhile. All he knew was that Buggy, and somehow Crocodile, had convinced him that they were suddenly incapable of sleeping tonight because they needed to be on guard and they wanted Mihawk to stay with them in the common room all night. Because he was the most powerful, they reasoned. He could protect them.

While it was flattering that his crewmates thought so highly of him, he had a slight issue when it meant he was going to be protecting them from ghosts and fairytales like a couple of scared children.

Actually, Buggy and Crocodile were terrified. Of what exactly, Mihawk did not know. Crocodile was not easy to scare, so it had to have been something serious. All he knew was that both of them saw something to put them in this state, and it was his duty as the only currently sound mind of the leadership to care for them and be on guard. Cross Guild couldn't afford to be vulnerable. If that meant sleeping in the common room with them, then so be it.

So here he was, bringing some blankets and pillows from his quarters for himself to sleep on. He reached the top of the stairs and walked in the room. Buggy was in a reclining chair with a blanket over him and a very large lion plush toy caught in his death grip. Crocodile was laid out on the sofa, draped by blankets and his coat. Both of them seemed to be settling down at least, finally.

Buggy caught sight of him from the chair. "Did you bring Yoru?"

Mihawk raised the sword with his hand, making sure the blade was displayed sharp and intimidating in the low light.

"Good," Mihawk heard Crocodile mumble from under his coat.

Mihawk sighed. He set his blankets and pillows on the floor between the sofa and chair, arranging them so he would be comfortable. As he began to lay down, he heard footsteps on the stairs. Mihawk stood, taking Yoru with him to the landing.

Daz Bones met him there in the dark. He looked at Mihawk curiously. "I was doing a security check. I thought some children had snuck in here. It sounded like little girls screaming."

Mihawk sighed. "Do not worry. I will handle any children that need attending to."

Buggy yelled from his chair to see what was going on and if they should put the foil on their heads and start running. Luckily, Daz caught on to Mihawk's exasperation.

"I see. Goodnight, Sir."

Daz left and Mihawk returned to his luxurious bed on the floor. He laid down, Yoru dutifully lying next to him within arm's reach. Just in case there were any...intruders, or something.

🛸🛸🛸

#Long post #short story #cross guild #dracule mihawk #sir crocodile #buggy the clown #daz bones #one piece #This just kinda happened. Instead of working on my other fic I wrote this lol #The first part is based on my dad's ufo sighting #I grew up in a very active area. Lots of weird lights in the skies #I just wanted to torment Croc a little bit #Yes I know there are Space Pirates. But this not about them. Spooky.

[makingoutinthemojave]

This is something i thought of a few days ago, but fo4 companions reacting to the sole survivor taking off their prosthetic leg/arm and hitting someone ( maybe one of the othet companions lol) with it after being annoying.

I wrote a few of these! Feel free to message me if you’d like other companions!

—

Deacon-

“All I’m saying is that if Aliens exist- then why is it so hard to believe there are microscopic robots in all of our food?”

“Ok- Tom- that’s a lot to unpack,” Tinker Tom was in one of his rants again that he would go into while everyone was trying to sleep. However, his ramblings normally got everyone up and talking. Sole always tried to argue with him, which was hilarious to Deacon. “First of all, Aliens aren’t real.”

“Hey now- that ain’t true!” Tom interrupted them, “I saw that UFO the other day!”

“And we’re supposed to believe in everything you see?” Glory takes Sole’s side, lifting her brow at Tom.

“Hey, if the man says he saw a UFO- then who are we to say he didn’t! I believe ya, Tinker.” Deacon scooted from his mattress to Tom’s, patting his back. He loved to side with Tom in these fights- mostly because he reveled in the chance to tease Sole.

“Thanks, Deeks, at least you know the truth.” Tom puts his arm around Deacon, glaring at the other, less believing crew. 

“Whatever, ok, Second of all, how did you go from Aliens to microscopic robots?” Sole ignores the idiots arm-in-arm in front of them and brings up their second point.

“That’s obvious! The Aliens make the tiny robots!” Deacon declares in a dramatic voice, and Tom gasps.

“Do you think so? Maybe that’s why they’re flying over the earth- they’ve been experimenting on us!” Tom sounded like he was on the cusp of revelation- and Glory groaned.

“Come on, Tom, you can’t be serious.”

“I’m sorry that you can’t open your mind to the possibilities, Glory. I’m just trying to be safe!” Tom takes a condescending tone, and Deacon anticipates a shitshow.

“Oh, and being safe means being an idiot?” Glory snaps, and Deacon ‘ooh’s.

“Being safe means suspecting everything! And you don’t suspect enough!” Tom spits back.

“I don’t, do I? Well, Tom, I ‘suspect’ you’re about to get your ass whooped-” Glory starts getting up, and Sole grabs her arm.

“Wait, beat him with this-” Sole grabs at their hip, feeling for something.

“You’re not actually gonna beat me up, Glory-” Tom begins to nervously ask, Deacon recoiling from his friend to prevent suffering the same fate. He’s interrupted by a loud POP.

“WhAT THE FUCK-” Glory yells, jumping back from Sole. Sole then lifts their whole leg into the air.

“Get ‘em with this!” Sole offers the leg over to Glory, and she backs up.

“Woah, Woah- hold on, you can’t just hand your leg over to someone!”

“Yeah, you need to take them to dinner first- at least.” Deacon quips, making Sole laugh. He’s known about Sole’s prosthetic leg for some time and especially knows their tendency to use it as a disciplinary weapon. He’s just glad he’s not the one to receive their calf of wrath at the moment.

“What, do you not know about my leg, Glory?” Sole gestures with the leg while talking, “Damn, I knew I forgot to tell someone. Well, you can still use it to beat up Tom. Here.” They continue to hold the leg to Glory.

Glory thinks for a moment, still trying to take in what had happened. Then she nods. “Ah, fuck it, gimme the leg.” She takes the leg from Sole and turns with a vicious look towards Tom. “I’ll show you just how safe you are-”

Deacon learned a lesson that night. Don’t give a prosthetic limb to Glory when she’s angry. Also, don’t wake Desdemona up in the middle of the night. Both things produce terrible, terrible consequences.

Nick Valentine-

It ended up being a late night in the office and Nick said he’d make up for it by buying drinks for Ellie and Sole. The trio went to the Dugout inn, preceding to the bar.

“Hello, Detectives! What will I be getting for you?” Vadim greeted them in the same, loud way he always did. Nick began to fish the money out of his trench coat pocket.

“Hi, Vadim. It’s gonna be a round for these two. My treat.” Nick pulled out his caps, sliding them across the bar to Vadim.

“Oh, I see…cruising, huh, Valentine?” Vadim graciously took the money, chuckling to himself.

“Excuse me?” What is that supposed to mean? Nick sure didn’t know, but based on the way they scoffed- Sole did. Ellie started giggling as well.

“Oh, come on, Nick…I always knew you were a smooth operator. But shouldn’t you be keeping it professional with these two?” Vadim laughed, turning to grab their beers. Nick thinks he was starting to understand.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Bobrov.” Nick’s internal fans were working in overdrive to keep him cool, and Ellie kept laughing at his sake.

“Oh-hoh, that’s how it is! Well, good luck in your-” Vadim hoots, turning to put the beers on the counter. His remark is cut off by Sole.

“Alright, that’s enough of that.” Sole suddenly tears their right arm off, whacking Vadim on the back of the head.

Wait. They what.

Ellie squeals, jumping and standing back from the now armless Sole. It takes her and Nick one more second to register the straps and cords coming out of the detached arm.

“You have a fake arm??” Ellie declares, more in relief than anything else.

“You didn’t know?” Sole seems surprised just the same as they were.

“How would we have found out?” Nick defends, staring at them in confusion. He still wasn’t quite sure what had happened, 

“That’s one way to shut him up.” Yedim chimes up, interrupting their bickering, and making Vadim laugh.

“Yes, yes, sorry for teasing you guys! Enjoy your drinks!” Vadim apologizes and pushing the beers over to the three. Sole puts their arm back on, and they and Ellie grab the drinks.

“Thank you, Vadim. And sorry about the arm.” Sole apologizes, and they walk to find their seats.

“Well, kid, good to know you’re armed at all times.” Nick quips, watching the anguish wash over Sole and Ellie’s faces.

“Oh god- was that a pun? I thought you were better than that, Nick.” Sole cringes and Nick grins victoriously.

“Okay, now you have to tell us what happened…” Ellie nudges Sole, ignoring Nick’s dad jokes.

“Fine, I lost it when…”

Paladin Danse- 

“No wayyy!” Haylen shoves sole on the shoulder with her bottle hand, nudging them gently as they put their hands up in defense.

“I swear! I was out of the vault for like, less than an hour and already killing deathclaws!” Sole tries to convince their crowd, shrugging with their beer.

Sole and few other brotherhood members were drinking together on the lower levels of the prydwen, something Danse was completely unaccustomed to. He wasn’t one to do anything out of protocol and wasn’t interested in activities that could lead to said behavior. But Sole, the ever-inviting harpy they could be, convinced him the initiates would benefit from seeing a Paladin more relaxed. “Show them you’re a person like the rest of us,” they said. Sure.

“That would explain your pre-existing combat prowess, charging into that ghoul onslaught when we met.” Danse joins the conversation, taking a sip of his Gwinnett Ale. Everyone looks to him quickly, surprise in the initiate’s eyes. True, he hasn’t spoken at all yet, but they don’t need to treat it like a big deal. Danse tucked his head down a bit.

“Would you call that ‘prowess’ or ‘reckless abandon’?” Rhys, charming as always, chimes up before Sole could accept the compliment. He was always thorny towards newcomers, but he seemed especially so to this pre-war Vault dweller. Danse has handled in-team conflicts before, but when they involved Rhys, it was always more complicated.

“I would call it bravery.” Haylen says, glaring a moment at Rhys and then smiling back at Sole. She was always the compassionate one.

“What’s so brave about almost killing yourself?” Rhys continues to bicker, waving his beer in the air.

“Killing myself? I think I was doing most of the killing there!” Sole teases, always loving to mess with Rhys. Danse wishes they wouldn’t.

“Oh really? I think you ought to remember your place here.” Rhys frowned.

“Should I? Who got the instant promotion? Who’s working directly with the Elder to defeat the institute?” Sole continues to poke his buttons, making the initiates watching “ooh”.

“That’s it-” Rhys gets to his feet, and then does Sole.

“Wait a minute, Soldiers,” Danse quickly hops to his feet to stop the fight, but is interrupted by Sole swiftly yanking their arm off and wielding it like a weapon.

Haylen doesn’t hesitate to scream at the sight, and even Rhys seems spooked.

“What?? Y’all didn’t know I have a fake arm?” Sole reacts with just as much surprise, waving the arm around like it was nothing.

“We had no idea, Soldier, I-I-” Danse awkwardly stares.

“Well, I can tell you how I lost it if Rhys will just shut his mouth.” Sole glares and Rhys does the same.

“Settle down you two.” Danse crosses his arms and gets them to back down, going back to their seated positions. “So, tell us about the arm.”

“Okay, so way back before the war….”

X6-88- 

X6 would probably walk in on Sole knocking one of the institute directors on the head with their prosthetic arm and instantly become over-interested. He’d start inquiring about the technical abilities of their prosthetic, what weapons it was equipped with, how it could be improved.

“It doesn’t really have any abilities, other than functioning as an arm,” Sole sheepishly responded to the questions, embarrassed by the sudden attention.

“That doesn’t do at all, Sir/M’am. You should see the Robotics branch to get an upgrade. The face of the Institute deserves the best limb enhancers.” And so, through X6’s urging, Sole would end up with a wicked arm. Robotics would hook them up with like…inspector gadget style tricks all in the prosthetic. They’d honestly look part synth, which shortly became Sole’s new favorite thing to trick wastelanders into thinking. Thanks, X6!

#fallout reacts #fallout #fallout 4 #fo4 reacts #fallout 4 reacts #Paladin Danse #x6-88 #Deacon #Nick valentine #fo4 paladin danse #fo4 deacon #fo4 nick valentine

[lokisgame]

A Generous Donation [10]

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8] [part 9]

The day rushed by, as Scully drowned the uneasiness in workload, grateful that she was still able to focus on her patients' problems instead of her own. Mulder texted her around 5pm, saying he was done with the tests and that his invitation still stands, and she realised, that somewhere between exams and paperwork, the thought of facing him again, didn't paralyse her anymore. She still didn't know how to tell him about Will, or had any idea how he might take the news, but the truth settled in.  

Charlie was right, he really was a great guy after all. If she ever wanted a father for Will, Mulder would pretty much fit the bill, smart, funny, kind and as far as she could tell, steadfast. He would be the kind of dad who never forgot to pick him up from school, was there for the baseball games and swimming tournaments. She could see herself sharing couch with them on Saturday evenings, eating popcorn and watching macho-movies. Though it was dangerous to hope, if fate allowed she might still have that.

She went to see Will at the end of her day, pausing by the door to watch him for a second through the window. He was reading, curled up on his side, earbuds in, completely enthralled, and now when she knew, she couldn't help but notice the similarities. The chestnut mane, the tall and lean frame, high cheekbones, and finally, definitely, undeniably, Mulders' mouth. That pout that usually got him his way, the smile that brightened her day, is was Mulder all over again. Will must've felt her gaze because he glanced up from his book and smiled, sitting up. He looked pale and tired, but his eyes were bright. "Why are you staring at me?" He asked, when she came in and dropped a kiss on top of his head. "I just got here, you must've sensed me coming." "Spooky," he grinned and scooted over, letting her sit beside him. "What are you reading?" "Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy," he said, closing the book to show her the cover, "uncle Charlie brought it." "And the t-shirt?" "Aunt Missy," he grinned pulling at the hem of his new PJ's, on it, planes were chasing UFO's around the world, the words Foo Fighters written across the front, "she remembered the UFO's, but Emily said, she didn't have the heart to tell her it's a band." "Be glad it's not a tie-dye," Scully laughed. "Yeah, aunt Melissa, the last hippy on earth." "Will," she nudged him lightly making him laugh, and it was the warm honey sound she loved most. "Mom?" "Yes honey?" "Doctor Skinner was here to see me, too." "You had a busy day," she said, keeping her voice light. "Does that mean, he found someone?" "I don't know," she said, kissing his temple, "these things take time." "Because I wouldn't mind getting out of here." "And I wouldn't mind taking you home, either." A knock made them both look up and a second later, a young girl came in, her red hair cut short almost like a boy's, piercings catching the light from the fluorescents overhead. "Emily!" "Hi, aunt Dana," she said, kissing Scully's cheek before ruffling Will's hair, "told you I'd come back." "You got it?" Will perked up. "Yup," she plopped across the foot off his bed, dropping a small box between them. "Cards?" Scully laughed, letting go off Will, who reached for the deck and immediately started shuffling. "There's only so much TV I can stand." "Why didn't you tell me." "Haven't thought of it until I saw this one here," he chuckled, jerking his chin at Emily. "Right, because I'm known for bringing up base instincts in men." Scully felt slightly uncomfortable, Em was 24, but in her eyes, she was still that teenage girl who watched cartoons sitting on the floor with her son. "How's Palo Alto, Em?" "Dry, I miss Boston," she sighed picking up her cards, "and this little one." "If you didn't give up that scholarship at MIT and sell out to the blue chips," Will said. "I wouldn't have that house with a pool I just sold, to move back here." Will's ears went up so fast he almost jumped. "You're coming back?" "Yup," she grinned and he threw himself at her, both of them laughing. Emily held him tight and Scully heard her tone change, "so now you have to get better, you hear me?" "Yup," William said, letting go off his childhood best friend. "What does your mom think about this?" Scully asked, proud of her brilliant punk niece. "She's not thrilled," Emily sighed a little sad, but then smiled at them both, "but that's what I want to do, so it's happening." "Well, if you need a place to stay in the mean time." "Thanks," she smiled brighter, fixing the sheets Will kicked over, "I'll come to you when Charlie grows tired of me." "Or his next girlfriend shows up." Will said, then picked up his cards. Scully played three hands with them then kissed the kids goodnight.

A nurse came by with Will's meds and took a few notes on his chart, while Emily paced the room, noticing the pile of books on his nightstand. "Visiting hours end in one hour," she reminded and left, and Em was back, sprawled at the foot of Will's bed. "What's this?" She said, showing him one of the books, the one with the UFO on the cover. "Extra reading for my psychology class." "It's signed." "Yeah, the guy's my professor and he kind of dates mom." "Why kind of?" She asked, looking at the photo on the back. "You know, not like Charlie dates girls, takes them out a few times and you know they'll disappear, mom and Mulder, I think they're past that." "You don't like it?" "It felt weird at first, but then I saw her coming home from seeing him and wow, I don't think I ever saw her that happy." "Really." "She doesn't hum show tunes to anything, she just sort of, glows." "Hmm, she didn't seem glowing to me." "That's because you didn't see her a week ago, heck, last Thursday even, I'm telling you, that guy is different." "He is cute, and," she held up the book, looking first at the picture then at Will, then at the picture again, "he sort of looks like you." "What?" "I mean, if you skip the eyes and the nose," she covered half of the picture with her hand and glanced at Will again, "yeah, definitely." "I don't think that's why she likes him." "No, I think it's the glowing part," Emily said, wiggling her eyebrows and Will gaged. "Ugh, let's not talk about my mom and that." "Why?" She laughed, stretching out like a cat, and if he didn't know his cousin since before she had tits, he'd find the sight very attractive. "Let me give you a piece of advice, you want to keep a girl, be that guy, one who makes her glow." "That's it? Sex? What about connection, shared views and mutual trust?" "That's when you're looking for a friend, and believe me, it's even rarer than great sex." "Well, I'll have it both." Will sighed, shuffling the cards, looking a little embarrassed and she covered his hands with hers. "You will," she said without teasing, "you just have to get out of here."

Mulder decided on the epitome of comfort food, chicken casserole, but the longer they sat at the table, in the warm light of his kitchen, the stronger was the sense, that something bad was about to happen. Scully kept smiling letting him fill silence with chatter, but her eyes were unusually present, fixed on his face as if she was looking at him for the last time, determined to learn his face, before she told him goodbye. Fear, uneasiness, long silences, he could understand, but at the same time, he itched to touch her, just to make sure she wouldn't push him away. They moved to the couch after dinner and when she folded herself against his side, the relief was instantaneous. "The dean wasn't too pleased when I asked for the week off," Mulder said, drawing her closer. "But Skinner said I should avoid public places, so I wouldn't pick up any infection, in case the tests came back positive." "Walter knows what he's doing, you're both in good hands." "You haven't told Will yet?" "No, I don't want to scare him," she said, taking his hand and lacing her fingers through his, "he keeps joking and teasing, but I know it's an act." "That's him, being your son," he said, kissing her temple, "you're both so careful not to show weakness." "You say it like it's a bad thing," she sighed. "There's time and place for everything, and Will knows what he's up against, there's just nothing he can do about it, and goofing off is his defence mechanism. I think he's scared just like everyone else." "Why are you doing this?" She asked quietly, stroking the back of his hand. "Why help us?" "Because I can," he said simply. "Because you got dealt this shitty hand and I wouldn't be able to live with myself, if I just stood idly watching a great kid fade away, while his mother fought the fight alone, for both of them. Even thinking about it makes me wanna kick my own ass." "So you feed me and fuck me and let me stick a needle in your butt," she said, turning in his arms, and cupping his cheek, drawing his lips down, "because you can." "There's no endgame for me here," he smiled, feeling her warm breath, "you might as well ask me why I breathe." "Why do you breathe?" "So I we can keep having these talks, apparently," he said and let her kiss him, because that was what she needed from him.

They moved slowly, bodies wrapped around each other, arms and legs and mouths drawing lines. In the dim light he held her gaze, luminous blue beneath delicate skin and lashes, with every stroke bringing her higher and away from her problems. A moment of release was all he could offer, but he made damn sure, the moment was worth it. Her eyes locked on his, lips parted, heart pounding, his, hers, he didn't know anymore, didn't care. She bit her lip, he caught it, freed it, soothed it. "Don't hold, back, let me, do this." "Thank you." "What for?" "Everything," she breathed, raking his back, drawing him in. "Shhhh," he kissed her neck, lips against her ear, "don't thank me, feel me." And for a time, that was all she did.

Scully woke up sometime past midnight to moonlight filtering through a crack in the blinds. The light cast a blue glow over his face, drawing the story of his life in a secret language of lines and cracks. How would they look like, if she was there to watch them grow, would there be less of them, or more? How many cracks formed, because there was no one to hold him, which lines were ruts, carved by the same old jokes. She touched his cheek and he shifted, arm falling around her without thinking. "I hope you'll forgive me," she whispered, brushing his lips lightly and the arm tightened around her, drawing her in.

#generous donation #au #x files fanfic #sweet nothings

[davidmann95]

This Superman guy's pretty great, huh?

Okay. Figured I’d write this at somepoint, seems like as good a place as any to do it.

Yes: Superman is pretty great. The character’s great,the costume’s great, the cast is great, the powers are great, the scope of thekind of adventures you can tell with him is great, the mythology’s great, thepower he has to inspire on the page and in the real world is great. I’ve known that since I was…I dunno,three? Two? I’m told he was my first three-syllable word. I’m not sure what myfirst exposure would have been; Supermanthe Animated Series was airing when I was a kid, my dad had the Fleischercartoons on tape, we’d watch reruns of TheAdventures of Superman whenever they aired, I had some odd issues of Superman Adventures, I had picture bookslike The True Story of Superman, Superman: Slippery When Bad and I Hate Superman!, I even had an abridgedversion of John Byrne’s Man of Steel manyyears before I would change my tune on it. It was well past the whole nineyards of lunchboxes and Superman-themed birthday parties - mom and dad wereLois-Mom and Jimmy-Dad for a bit, who got a call one time from a teacher inpreschool that I had dramatically taken off my shirt to show the temporaryS-Shield tattoo I’d gotten on my chest. My dad ended up having to drive toevery Burger King in the area asking for any spare Superman toys because Icouldn’t stand that they had been discontinued before I could get them all andI was making life hell for everyone in the process. I couldn’t play Supermanwith other kids on the playground, because I’d demand we recreate the scriptsof adventures verbatim.

Around seven or thereabouts though,while I never developed any of the disdain towards him that so many seem tohave, I drifted away for a while towards Batman and Spider-Man. Purely bycoincidence, this is also the age I was diagnosed with Asperger’s.

It’s not something I talk about agreat deal these days. Not because of some sense of shame, to be as clear aspossible about that right upfront. It isn’t even a matter of my especiallybeing able to pass as neurotypical - take me out of my comfort zone into anynumber of common social circumstances and that illusion falls by the wayside.But I’ve carved out I feel a pretty decent niche where I’m typically fairlysatisfied and able to function at a level that meets my own standards, and as aresult it’s usually background radiation of my life, not something that comesup unbidden until a situation demands I start thinking about it again. Even when I do, thinking about it much often leaves me feeling self-conscious and self-indulgent, and convinced I’m either being stupidly self-aggrandizing or stupidly self-pitying about it.

So naturally, even once I reallystarted to get back into Superman in earnest at 13 alongsidecomics in general and he became my favorite character in earnest, there are some associations it took me awhile to make.

I’m not quite certain when Istarted to think about it, but the structure of how I thought about it I know came about thanks to @postcardsfromspace‘s (excellent) article I See Your Value Now on learningabout their own Asperger’s. I doubt it’s an association any creators for thecharacter have given any thought (aside from maybe Mark Waid, given that in an interview on Birthright he specifically noted how his idea for Martha Kentbecoming a UFO buff in response to her son was meant as a parallel to parentsof kids with autism having to become self-taught experts on the subject), andall a Google search immediately turns up is comparing a young Clark’s troubleswith his X-Ray vision in Man of Steelto sensory overload in children with autism. It’s not something that would havelikely even occurred to me if it wasn’t for that…well, that I have Asperger’s,and Superman’s a special interest, and as a default I’m always ready on somelevel to connect any input I get back to him.

Obviously, there’s Clark himself.He screams it, right? Likely just because of a general conflation of ‘nerd’traits with ‘Aspie’ traits, but it’s all there right on the surface: shy,awkward, naïve, can’t read a room to save his life, unaware of some generalsocial conventions given his penchant for drab suits, horn-rimmed glasses andfedoras well into the 21st century, either without many friends orlocked into a rigid and small social circle, by all appearances more alivebehind a screen than he ever is to anyone’s face. Even the more confident takeson him, such as in the Reeves TV show or the New 52 Action Comics, seem to lack a social grace or two, seem to grate onthe people around him. Precision-constructed by the greatest man to ever liveto be beneath the notice of his peers in every way imaginable, of course you end up with that guy.

…except even when Clark’s purely apost-Smallville construct on Superman’s part, he’s not made out of nothing, ishe? The Kansas boy who grew up reading ATale of Two Cities as a toddler and obsessively pouring over astronomytextbooks for clues can hazard a guess of what it feels like to be a nerd. Theguy who grew up on a farm who flies and can accidentally shatter steel in hisgrip is entirely familiar with how it feels to awkwardly maneuver around in acrowded city. The square who grew up in the middle of nowhere constantlygetting accused of not knowing how the world really works can probably express a little doubt over his ownself-awareness and naiveté if he absolutely has to. Clark Kent is historicallybuilt on Superman’s own worst image of himself.

(This incidentally, along withplenty of other storytelling-based reasons, is why I intensely dislikeit when Clark’s the ‘real guy’, and therefore confident and charming and on topof things; it’s Kryptonite to the ideas in play there.)

And the shyness? The sense of beingout of place? The - let’s get right to the heart of it - alien-ness?

Superman’s pretty cool. He’sfriendly; he’s understanding; he’s clever and kind and determined. He’s alsosomething of a loner who’s often surprisingly loathe to open up to people,and even once he’s married he still needs plenty of time to himself to thinkthings through. He’s someone who when he puts on the costume always engageswith the world in a very specific context: where his natural talents are mostobviously geared towards being helpful, where so long as he can pull off Sweetand Composed and make some speeches when he has to people will accept him withopen arms. Being Superman puts him in a situation where he can show his bestself, personally and socially and morally, and be accepted for his goodness ina way nerdy, quiet Clark Kent never can.

And god, does he need thatacceptance.

That’s often applied to painfullymaudlin stories of him hand-wringing over his social impact on humanity andwhether he can save all the little children of the world from cancer orwhatever, but it’s still something else that seems to be pretty consistentacross the various interpretations. Unless he’s barreling ahead with a degreeof self-confidence bordering on flat-out arrogance, he’s always worried abouthow he seems in the eyes of the world. Whether that means Red Kryptoniteexternalizing anxieties of old age or powerlessness or throwing him intodreamworlds of hate or irrelevance, or wondering whether he can justify one ofhis two identities, or pondering his alien nature, or questioning what Supermanmeans as a symbol to the world, or being flat-out replaced, or even protectinghis secret, it’s always the same question refracted through endless prisms: Can I belong here? Am I doing well enough,being useful enough, to deserve what I’ve been given? Will they find me out?Would they ever accept me if theyknew the truth?

For all the joy that comes with who he is, that’s his life too: it’s growing up inSmallville knowing there’s no one else who’ll ever know the distinct timbre ofair-pressure changes when a hummingbird slows down its wingbeat a fraction, noone he could talk about the sight of snowflakes assembling themselves out offreezing raindrops to without sounding as if he’s out of his mind, no one whocould fully empathize with having to practice normal human reactions to theworld. It’s spending half his life trying to be a normal guy among normalpeople and failing because of his own insecurities, the other half really beingable to do his best in his own element and being the person he wants to be, butnever being sure if it’s enough for those around him. It’s finally meeting other Kryptonians orsuperheroes but realizing even their own experiences diverge so sharply thatthe communication gap remains, that as a matter of circumstance he is and will alwaysremain fundamentally other in someways, no matter how deeply he connects with other people.

His relationships seem to fit the mold too - it works pretty dang well that histwo best friends are a coworker who’s simultaneously the cool dude who takeshim under his wing and the kid whouncritically looks up to him, and someone with the same ‘hobby’ who’s himselfpretty well-known for having issues opening up to people. Or that his wifefalling in love with him is framed in terms of her looking past him at his mostvulnerable and awkward and unable to fit in to see the person he actually iswhen no one else can, while a major part of his love for her is her being thekind of person who’s pushy enough to force him out of his shell and some of hismore self-defeating behaviors.

And that his worst enemy, in spite ofhis aura of smug self-regard, doesn’t seem able to relate to other people on afundamental level or manage to work with them very well when he’s not in fullcontrol of the situation, even as he needs them to accept and validate him. Lexfails because he’ll never work to bridge that gap in the same way as Superman,seeing that as a ridiculous and unrealistic imposition, and Superman as anintruder into his personal universe trying to force his unrealistic standardsof “acknowledge other people and whatthey think about things” on him while at the same time agonizingly,bafflingly succeeding where Lex fails. He’s the embodiment in that regard ofthe frustrated, shamed instinct of the isolated that you’re already great, sopeople should already love and understand you and it’s their fault for notgetting it (hence for instance how in All-Starhe overtly sees the world and the relationships that make it up in a coldly material manner where people naturally flock to only the most outwardly great aroundthem - colored by a sexist streak that’s taken on a whole new degree of toxic prominencewhen it comes to the socially awkward in the near-decade since the book’sconclusion).

(It also works that Superman’scharacter in All-Star is defined byhis disconnect from humanity, and that his big character arc is having tobecome emotionally honest enough to talk with the people who love him aboutwhat he’s going through.)

Again, clearly none of this is theintent on the part of those who’ve worked with him over the years. This is byno means the bedrock or secret key to what makes him tick; it’s at best a componentin a much larger machine. I’m sure if you dug into it enough you could find somethingproblematic in the proposition, and I won’t pretend there couldn’t becharacters closer in every sense to my own experiences.

But none of them would be Superman.

Sure, it helps that I grew up withhim, and that he’s a character with enough detail and weird ideas and characterwork that I can delve into the minutia of him in a way I can’t with anyone elseto the same extent other than Batman, but beyond all that, he’s Superman. He’s TheGuy, the best, and that I can see myself in him in *any* way means more than itever could with any other character, because that makes him being a role modelmean something else.

For all I talked about how lonelyhe is above he’s still an idealist, still has friends and a job and weirdpersonal hobbies at his personal ice-cave and a way to express his highest,best self in a way that’s loved by the people around him. The way he seesthings differently can be accepted and shared even as he understands and caresfor the people around him. He’s happy. And that he can start from a place of being the onlyone of his kind and end up a good person, the best person, in part because he knows better than anyone what it isto be alone and why others matter so much? That has more weight to people, andto me, than can be expressed.

I mentioned before I’m not wildabout Clark being the exclusive true identity in part because of how much itmesses with this. I’ve also said elsewhere that while both Clark and Supermanare inseparable and true parts of his identity that can’t be denied as importantaspects of who he is, if I absolutely had to choose one as being the ‘real’ one I’dgo with Superman. And I can pick apart any number of storytelling reasons forthat, but thinking about how I relate to Superman in the way I do made merealize something else. I have to see Superman as the truest self becauseSuperman’s who he is at his best, when he’s not afraid or ashamed and can showhimself in all his alienness to everyone and be accepted for it. That’s thedream, right? I’m no Superman, but I’ve gottabelieve in him, ‘cause I’ve gotta believe in me.

I’m pretty sure some of you canrelate.

#Superman #Asperger's #Autism #Clark Kent #Lex Luthor #Lois Lane #All Star Superman #Analysis #Opinion #Me