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incognitotoro · 1 year

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prompt for garashir: garashir first kiss happening at an unlikely time. this can be whatever that means to you (perhaps it’s during a scenario where a kiss/first kiss would be unlikely, perhaps it’s just kind of a surprise to one or both of them, perhaps it’s during an ep or a scene from an ep that isn’t a usual backdrop for garashir getting together fics… or any other way you want to interpret this prompt)

Hiya anon, you'll be happy to know you are officially responsible for my first foray into Garashir, and also my first ever slash fic.

I wanted to pick the most ridiculous episode possible to set this to, so here we go, Garashir first kiss during 'Who Mourns for Morn' (The Magnificent Ferengi was a close second but I couldn't figure out how to do it)

Enjoy :)

One Way to Mourn (AO3)

“So Keep it warm, for Morn,” said Quark solemnly, pulling out the stool and gesturing to a Bajoran who looked both proud and unnerved to have been chosen for the honor. The man sat down gingerly to a small, somewhat subdued round of applause, and just like that the formalities were over, and the conversation bubbled back up into a respectful buzz that filled the bar.

“I just can’t believe he’s gone,” said Jadzia for what must have been the tenth time today.

“I know,” sighed Keiko, who’d appeared at Miles’ elbow partway through Quark’s speech, “It’s amazing how many people are here though, isn’t it? I swear I’ve never even seen some of them before!”

“Morn did have a certain… magnetism,” said Jadzia, with a twinkle in her eye that wasn’t lost on Worf, who scowled and huffed, but mercifully said nothing.

“That he did,” said Miles.

For Julian’s part, Morn had been less of a magnet than a much needed constant fixture on this bustling melting pot of a station, but his absence somehow felt like the straw that broke the camel’s back in this seemingly endless war. Once, a million years ago, Quark had said; ‘when Morn leaves, it’s all over’, and at the moment it felt true in a way, like everything before this had been part of a different life. Or perhaps he shouldn’t have had that large whiskey with Miles before they’d come here. He knew that whiskey made him morose, but it was a toast to Morn, so how could he possibly have said no?

Miles launched into an action packed anecdote about the time they’d invited Morn to join them in the holosuites for the Battle of Britain. Catastrophe had inevitably ensued, and it was a great story, but Julian had heard it before- he was there for god’s sake, and that was how he managed to spot someone lurking just beyond the bar’s threshold, hovering as if he hadn’t made a decision about whether to enter yet.

“Garak,” he called, waving, “Join us,”

Once upon a time this would have caused a few raised eyebrows, but a lot had happened in the last several years, hell, a lot had happened in the last few weeks, and now, when Miles, Keiko and Jadzia saw him they smiled and beckoned him in, even Worf gave him a terse, but not unfriendly nod.

“Why were you lurking?” asked Julian as Garak crossed the room to join them.

“I resent that, Doctor,” sniffed Garak, “Lurking, honestly,”

“Hovering then,” he said with a smirk.

“If you must know, I wasn’t sure I’d be welcome.” He said in short, clipped tones. “I know how much trouble the Major went through to ensure my presence wouldn’t cause any trouble at- at Ziyal’s service,”

“It’s hardly the same, Garak,” said Keiko gently.

“Yeah, this is Quark’s anyway,” Miles added decidedly less gently, “Nothing’s sacred here.”

“I resent that.” Said Quark, appearing as if from nowhere between Jadzia and Worf with a new tray of drinks to set on their table.

“Fine, fine, I take it back,” muttered Miles, “Latinum is sacred, right?”

“As it should be,” said Quark, “But I was obviously referring to Morn’s memorial stool. Really, Chief, have a little sensitivity.” And with that he disappeared again, leaving Miles grumbling under his breath and the rest of them smirking.

“Even so,” said Garak, “I know that my last interaction with Morn wasn’t exactly cordial.”

“Oh, that’s right,” said Jadzia, eyes wide with the prospect of gossip, “The comment about the-”

“Yes.”

“Oh, Garak,” cooed Keiko, her arm on Garak’s. “That must be so hard for you,”

Garak smiled tightly at Keiko, but before he could reply Ensign Bergstrom, who had been standing silently until now on Jadzia’s other side, suddenly let out a burst of almost hysterical laughter, then slapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. All of them stared for a moment, then she let out another laugh, which quickly turned into a giggle.

“I- I’m sorry, I-” she managed between breathless, hiccoughing laughs, “I don’t- I don’t know what-”

“Come on, Susan,” said Keiko, throwing her arm around the Ensign’s shoulders, “We’ll go somewhere quieter.”

Ensign Bergstrom nodded, and the two of them shuffled off while the rest of the bar gave them strange looks as she continued to giggle.

“That was disrespectful.” Said Worf, breaking the silence.

“Worf!” hissed Jadzia.

“It was disrespectful.”

“Worf, it’s not that simple,” said Julian, “People have all sorts of reactions to grief.”

“Right,” said Miles, “I had a cousin that used to laugh like that. My aunt used to stare daggers at anyone who’d make something of it.” Jadzia nodded with a small, sad smile.

“One of my previous hosts used to, too.”

“Curzon?” asked Julian.

“Emony actually, though I can see why you’d think it was Curzon.”

“I bet Curzon was one of those who just wants to do anything to feel alive” said Miles, draining his glass, “Drink, laugh, the -uh- other thing.”

Jadzia chuckled and tapped the side of her nose, making the rest of them smirk into their drinks.

“He and Morn had that in common,” she said, a little wistfully, ignoring Worf’s obvious displeasure, “They certainly did live.”

“At funerals though?!” exclaimed Kira, who had entered the conversation at the worst possible time.

“Not at the funeral obviously,” said Miles. Jadzia nodded, but Julian thought she was conspicuously silent. He couldn’t blame her, under the circumstances.

“Regardless, pretty much any reaction to grief is acceptable,” said Julian, slipping unconsciously into ‘bedside manner’ mode. “It affects everyone differently.”

“Laughing though? It does seem a little… unseemly,” said Garak, “On Cardassia-”

“Oh, let me guess,” scoffed Julian, “On Cardassia, no one ever laughs, drinks or the ‘other thing’ unless the state sanctions it?”

“Not at funerals,” he said primly, in that sing-song voice that he always used when he was spewing state-sponsored lies that even he didn’t believe. Infuriating man.

“I don’t believe that for a second,”

“Julian’s right,” said Jadzia loudly, pointedly interrupting their bickering. “We’re all missing Morn, and Ensign Bergstrom was seeing him for nearly six months, they were really close even after the breakup, so we’ve no right to judge.”

“Hear hear.” Said Miles gruffly, to murmured agreement from most of their group.

It wasn’t until much later, when the crowds has thinned and the mood had subdued a little, that Miles (somewhat unsteadily after all their toasts to Morn) left Julian and Garak alone so that Morn’s stool wouldn’t be left empty. They were sitting almost underneath the staircase, shielded a little from the other mourners and bustling Ferengi waiters, and Julian was feeling pleasantly fuzzy. He had his genetic enhancements to thank for the fact that he wasn’t flat on his face after matching Miles almost drink for drink, and that he wouldn’t have a hangover tomorrow, but he was definitely feeling it, and he was also feeling a lot of what he could only describe in his inebriated state as; swoopy, teenage feelings. No, it was worse than that.

Swoopy, teenage feelings at a funeral.

Garak was talking about something, but Julian wasn’t listening, he was watching, enraptured as Garak’s features rose and fell and undulated like the tide with the cadence of his voice, his eyes twinkling in the low light. It wasn’t like the way Jadzia’s eyes twinkled, all mischief and flirtation, no, this was as if he was pleased with himself for getting away with something, and if you had figured that much out then he was either going to kill you or-

Oh yes, Julian was definitely drunk.

“Do you really think it’s that unseemly?” he asked suddenly, “Wanting to feel alive to cope when you’ve lost someone?”

“Really, Doctor,” he scoffed, affronted, “You do insist on misquoting me, don’t you? I merely said that laughing hysterically was somewhat-”

“Unseemly?”

“Perhaps.”

“Only perhaps?”

He pursed his lips, rolled his eyes and took a long, indulgent sip of his kanar. It was such a ridiculously Garak thing to do, that Julian couldn’t help but smirk.

“My dear Doctor, if you haven’t figured out the concept of grey areas after everything we’ve been through, then you are far more naive then I had realized.”

“I understand grey areas,” grunted Julian, a little sulkily, “You are a fucking grey area, Garak.”

“If that’s some sort of crude comment about the colour of my skin-”

“What? No, of course it wasn’t- ugh.” He sighed and slumped in his seat, defeated. “I just meant that you- you don’t make much of an effort to be understood.”

“Is that a problem?” asked Garak with a shit-eating grin. (An expression which Julian had, on one memorable but deeply frustrating occasion tried unsuccessfully to explain to him, and since then had vowed never to speak aloud in case it reopened that conversation)

“Oh, fuck off,” he said, smiling despite himself. “You know I love it really.”

Silence.

A second, passed, and then Julian realised what he had just said.

“I- I mean-”

Garak watched him, seeming amused and eager to hear how he was going to dig himself out of this one. Hell, Julian was just as eager to see how he was going to dig himself out.

“I-”

“Feckin’… Didn’t realise the time…” Miles exploded into the conversation like a whiskey scented hurricane and hurriedly grabbed his jacket from the chair besides Julian. “Gotta get back home.”

“See you tomorrow,” called Julian, chuckling when Miles waved but didn’t turn, clearly all too aware that every second that passed was another second that Keiko had to think about exactly how late he was.

Still smiling, he turned to Garak, who was now watching him with a strange expression, head cocked like a curious puppy. (Garak? A puppy?! A curious panther might have been a better comparison, but Julian apparently had bigger problems than inappropriate metaphors.)

“You were saying, Doctor?” he asked, deadly calm and suspiciously pleasant.

“I was saying…” Julian trailed off, feeling exceptionally stupid. What exactly had he been saying?

You know I love it really.

And shit, he did love it.

And Morn was dead, and he wasn’t, and neither was Garak.

And before he really knew what he was doing, Julian was leaning forward, time moving too fast and too slow all at once.

Garak’s mouth was slightly open, his brow ridges raised in surprise, and his whole body froze when their lips met. He tasted like kanar, and the extra texture on his skin was odd, but not unpleasant, almost like he was just kissing someone with chapped lips, and then, the realisation like icewater in his veins, it hit Julian that he was kissing Garak. What the-

What was he doing?!

His eyes slammed open and he wrenched himself away.

“Oh- oh god, I’m so sorry, I-”

“Doctor-”

“That- that was- I’m sorry-”

“Doctor,”

“What?”

Garak was looking at him like he’d never seen him before, the only sign that everything was not utterly completely normal, the rapid rise and fall of his chest and his wide, suddenly dark eyes.

“If you apologise one more time, I may have to kill you.” He said softly.

“I-”

“Be quiet, Doctor Bashir.”

“Ok.”

And then Garak was kissing him with such breathtaking intensity that he thought he might literally melt right there in the bar.

The bar in which a funeral had just been held.

Oh dear god, he was worse than Curzon Dax.

But dear god, he felt like he was finally living.

#fanfic #fanfiction #star trek ds9 #ds9 #garashir

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docilepillow · 28 days

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March Media Diary Thing 2024

This one's a weirdo! I'm typing this first paragraph after the fact, because it's the 30th instead of the exact end of the month like i wanted to post it . This post's a two-phaser, just because the way i typed this one out was in a " Live thoughts as fresh as i got them on the day i did stuff " kind of format. I didn't realize that there'd be so many more embeds then in febuary and january, but i guess it's just that kind of thing where you end up doing alot or doing the same but having more to say on it because its Now and not Before? I guess? I dunno. Everything below this space was gonna be from the start of the month , approaching towards the end. Okay, see you at the end of the second media diary post, now ! I'm gonna mix up this one and like unlike the last two i'm gonna try and write to this as i finish stuff instead of leaving it all until the end of the month, i think. im wondering if it'll make my thoughts more consise or not, but honestly, i have no idea! the main thing i think that gets lost out from this is the fact that i'll probably have less personal anecdotes about the month itself. Ohhhh.... MIGHTY SWITCH FORCE! < Silliest 3DS Home Screen Jingle >

i'm not giving this one a docism as a title just because it's kind of embarrasing to make too much more focal then it is, but the game's visual design and the way it flaunts itself does kind of make it a little distracting, but, i guess, more then anything else i've played from wayforward. um

i dont think its nessisarily a bad game or anything its perfectly alright. its like a little short for the price it retailed at on 3ds at least but its like. mediocre good i think . its not like bad or anything. its mostly just a game that sells itself with cute girls. which is fine i guess. like the game design Holds but the games focus is kinda scattershot, but whatever. it doesnt overstay its welcome or anything. the design's sound its just kind of okay all around NO MORE HEROES 2 - DESPERATE STRUGGLE < voice clip game of all time >

unintentional misogyny theming in this media diary oh no

coincidentally as i was playing i learned that the day i chose to start this game came out 3 years after the first game, which, coincidentally , lines up with the game's actual in-universe timeline iif my opinions on this game lines up itll be like, (9) years until i play the next one thats for sure

ok so my story with this series is that i played the first game accidentally completely handicapping my own experience with it because i didnt know you could upgrade your stuff in it and thus made everyone in the ggame into a big dumb hp sponge that wasnt enjoyable to figght and despite my best efforts to try and like this game more ( And, i will say, despite the very prevalent appeals to the male gaze, it CAN be charming ! ) i also took entirely way too long to learn about switching weapons worked functionally, just because despite SEEING the tutorial prompt for weapon switching, i didnt put it together because it takes a bit longer to activate then you'd expect, and thus, never used it. Oops! but yea this game mostly just stands on its own crass nature and in that respect its both very self aware and self indulgent. if you like that kind of vibe youll enjoy the game and its style or be mostly indifferent/uncomfortable with it . Shrug! shinobu is pretty cool. u get to play her after the events of the first game and its neat.

one thing i like about this games like direction is that its very well established that nobody in this game is a good person like even remotely and in that aspect it does get to explore cool stuff i can appreciate. i like that much. i tthink my favorite boss conceptually is the big robot you fight at one point in the battle royale segment. but id mostly consider this game as kind of a gimmick. i can see elements in there that'd make it a classic to a certain brained kind of person, but it doesnt appeal to me. i did wanna try and i did get at least to the very end until the final boss, at least. people say thats one of the worst final bosses in video games period and i gotta say they didnt lie shit doesnt really work

i got endeared by this sign , so i took a screenshot of it . i also like the crickets in the bug minigame.

pretty good though the games just kind of middle of the road for me overall. i didnt hate it enough to not completely finish it and as of typing this and as is its only 3/9 , so i might still truck through the final battle of this game, but, i wont really guarentee or force myself after 3 hours straight of it ----- ok nevermind literally the next day first thing when i woke up i first tried the guy lol games charming its just very peculiar

get fucked idiot SUPER MARIO BROS DELUXE

I technically started this last month but this is the month where i actually sat down and finished it just because MAR 10 ran around so like. might as well fish out some random mario sidescroller to play next also. its short and ive heard some ssay its like definitive mario 1 but the way mario's speed + the screen crunch make it kinda sloppy in a way. limitations of a gameboy color i know but i guess as a standalone way of playing mario 1 its not like. the worst in the world . ive never actually finished mario 1 before on my own so this is a new experience for me !

if you think the 3ds being retro in the modern day is extra fucked up, consider the fact that this version of mario 1 came out 14 years after the original....!!!! if you think the ds being retro in the modern day is extra fucked up, consider the fact that this version of mario 1 came out 14 years after the original....!!!!

Dōbutsu no Mori ( The Animal Crossing Anime Movie ) < Ough-est main character >

Watched this one again for the second time in a discord movie night! A very sweet and nice little movie with very very very cute characterrs. i see the able sisters on the screen and i clap

whats wrong with her

shes like a frog anyway the movies cute and theres aliens at the end. id describe it as a very loving adaptation of an animal crossing player's imagined version of events going on in an animal crossing gamecube-era town. though the biggest thing of all that endears me is AI i think theyre so silly looking

Pictured : Another Silly Subject KERO BLASTER

another game ive played many times before, but, considering my recent cave story fix, i felt drawn to playing it again. i still think its a cute and extremely solid sidescroller game..aaaa ithink everyone should give it a try if thats ur kind of game. also theres lots of very good video game enemies in this

very simple but effective art direction theres like a very nice feeling of atmosphere to it ( cool game ) idk what else to say ive playedd this game like five times before and this is a media diary for documenting new feelings and thoughts and not for like full on game reviews, i think. < Mid-Month Side Note >

i still havent completed this game's story mode to this day, but, recently, cus' the efforts of the team 0% team ( group of crazy freaks with the sole goal of making sure every mario maker 1 / 2 level gets cleared ) ive been driven to try and finish my super world recently. i might feel like showing off the levels ive made at the end of the week,as well, but it's honestly really satisfying, even if i know that the userbase for this game's comparitively shrunk since launch. idk! its fun to make mario levels. i think its satisfying and ill do it even if nobody plays them. also apparently i forgot to turn off my nso subscription so thats why im extra driven to upload lots of levels while i have it. I still hate how NSO is a paid service attached to online. it just kind of paywalls large swaths of games that don't need it and it's just dumb, evil, corporate greed. Ugh! That's the price of gaming in the modern era, i guess....

PETAL CRASH < Thank you, Bison...! >

game i've only played very recently, and arguably, doesnt fall under regular completion criteria, as it's mostly meant to be played on a whim in short bursts ( it does have a short story mode, though, plus a bunch of challenges i haven't played yet..! ) ( I might not be smart enough, for those... ) , but that doesnt really matter! This game is absurdly , amazingly, adorably adorable! !! !

Look at these things!

Ouuu!

Fairy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! aside from having an adorable fairy character that appeals to every aestetic i love, its also a decently digestable GBC styled puzzle game ! thats really fun!! and ive been playing it on steam deck, where, i think, it really shines!! the character design in it is really good!

i've yet to master it , as it's pretty fast paced, but its essentially a match game that bumps stuff togetheer good with cute characters like puyo. i havent interacted with that series before but i have played kirbys avalanche and star stacker and this is pretty fun like those. if you like those games you'll like this.

Thanks to my BF for buying this game for me !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Record of Lodoss War: Deedlit in Wonder Labyrinth < most symphony of the night award >

the docism is kind of demeaning but this game is really solid i finished it just now in 6 hours ( 3/21 ) ( Wait, those numbers add up to 6! wow! ) i think this games strongest suit is how drop dead gorgeous the sprite art is . like . holy shit there are giant gorgeously animated ps1 quality era crisp pixel perfect sprites just everywhere

the picture quality google images gave me doesnt do it justice but there are just like these fantastically rendered fantasy sprites wherever you wanna look for it and it just reminds me how awesome the ladybug developer team is. i think in terms of indie studios ive gotten attached to this is definitely like a dev i eagerly cant wait to see what they do next in the metroidvania sphere. like. considering the source material the actual designs dont stray too far from like what " conventional " fantasy looks like,( A little basic ) , they still kept my attention just from the number of moving parts and shit. and like. mechanically this game is actually pretty neat. they make you juggle a whole lot of projectiles on screen, but it becomes pretty managable when you learn how the two-prong element system works to be pretty engaging ( It reminds me alot of cave story's weapon system, actually! ) ( really cool! ) https://clan.cloudflare.steamstatic.com/images//36872249/d5f18e9ecfb93d0547f6ccf894cd2e0bab2d12c1.gif WHAT???? tumblr posts have a 20 image limit! What! i didnt know about this! i think websites should let u post as many cool images as you want. i should make a neocities for these at some point if i keep doing them...... regardless i think this game is awesome even if the story is kind of like throwaway ( saying this as someone who hasnt engaged with the source material yet, which there apparently is, so maybe thats not a fair thought. on the games steam community page though i saw a gif of the main character in an anime adaption wiggle her ears around with a silly face, so maybe it'd appeal to me if i look into it? Huh. ----- PART TWO WILL BE POSTED SOME TIME IMMEDIATELY AFTER THIS FROM THE EMBEDDING ISSUE -------------------

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reikaniichan · 1 year

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2 and 3 (voice prompt) c:>

(transcript: i think it's favorite food and favorite outfit... were the questions...

my favorite food is probably barbecue ribs. I have even been told a fun anecdote on that one where, when i was small, i really wanted the normal portion of ribs rather than a child's portion, and i was told i had to finish it all... and i'm told that in fact, i did (slight laughter here). i just really wanted all the ribs i could get, and i did, in fact eat them.

...so that's fun.

as for a favorite outfit i just wear pants and... shirts...? I don't really do anything with... clothes...)

extra notes: yeah i could have checked the questions BEFORE recording but that's not what i did. i have skirts but haven't been wearing them... i also have a couple dresses but they're for specific special occasions only. also i guess i could have edited or something but nope! here's a voice clip! i use a headset!

#ask response #voice stuff :0 #voice clip #reikaniichan #voice reveal or something idk #cupcakes and daydreams

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effervescentandpuzzlingself · 8 months

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✍️

Dear Reader,

I'm reaching out once again, sharing my day filled with enjoyable and relaxing activities as a counterbalance to the impending exhaustion that the upcoming weeks seem to promise.

Earlier today, I dedicated my time to video editing, so to post on IG. I then received a message from someone, filled with compliments. The sense of reward was immense, particularly given the two-hour effort I had invested in editing that specific video. Despite having numerous clips I wished to incorporate, the constraints of IG only permit three-minute videos.

On another note, I'm currently engrossed in the third season of BSD. Originally, my intention was to check costumes for Halloween, prompting me to watch this series. However, the narrative turned out to be captivating that I've continued watching. The rest, as they say, is history.

Later today, my plan involves delving into research materials for an upcoming class. I've encountered a potential challenge in one subject, particularly one involving technology. Aware of my friends' busy schedules, I'm considering resorting to YouTube for help.

I understand, Reader, that this update covers quite a bit.

Oh, let me recount an incident from last Friday. It marked my friend's birthday celebration. Considering how welcome I always feel at their house, the multitude of guests didn't faze me. Alongside the crowd, her boyfriend was also present, and I must say, we’re pretty cool. We've interacted before through games, and we also had a chance to bond at Megamall. But, that's not the point of my story. As we indulged in a drink, a single cup each, I asked about the secret behind their eight-year relationship. It resulted in laughter. The coziness and endearing nature of their relationship warmed my heart. Witnessing my friend B's happiness is a joy in itself, especially knowing her tendency to avoid overtly sweet expressions. Her boyfriend and I playfully teased her, while he, on the other hand, answered with, "Consistency and communication." Though his explanation was elaborated, the essence of these two words is essentially self-explanatory. After B left us for a while, D expanded on his thoughts about consistency and even introduced the concept of contentment. He shared stories about how his colleagues at work would tease him about exploring other romantic interests, and I attentively listened without judgment. He confessed his discomfort with his friends' behavior, believing that they struggle with embracing contentment. They only chase fleeting excitement, failing to understand that relationships should ideally evolve into a comforting and secure haven. His response resonated deeply with me, and I wish more men shared his perspective.

Therefore, I apologize in advance, Reader, for the long read. I wanted to recount these seemingly unrelated anecdotes before they slip from memory.

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ingolds · 2 years

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oh, tell me something i don't know. @riddlethat / prompt

theo’s not sure how to parse his tone - it’s clipped but not harsh, arrogance in his shoulders. it’s terribly unusual for him to meet someone that isn’t shocked by his anecdotes, by the knowledge he’s stored in his brain simply from living through civilizations and centuries. most times, he’d get lifted brows, perhaps a confused chuckle, as if they couldn’t imagine that the information readily available in textbooks and historical archives was wrong. so many facts had been lost to the failure of memory, the lack of physical manuscripts, but here is someone unconcerned with that - someone who is perhaps just as knowledgeable as he, but in a different way. learned, studied, rather than lived. theo leans back, legs crossed at the ankles, gives the man an appraising look.

“ i don’t think i could, ” he says honestly, taps his pen on the open notebook in front of him. he’s not embarrassed by the admission, one side of his mouth ticking up to expose white teeth and a single, accented canine. “ you seem like the kind of guy that knows everything. ”

#riddlethat #i nibble on u gently #and eddie ofc #ANSWERED.

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kitchenscene · 2 years

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married buddie?

this time i'll be good, this time i'll get it right

(this wasn't a prompt, but i turned it into one. here's some fiances era buddie for you)

[read on ao3]

Six people per table isn’t enough. The chairs would be oddly spaced around the circular tables, the groups wouldn’t divide well. Eight, nine, it’s too many, too crowded. Seven would work, but one table would get stuck with eight regardless.

“Eddie.”

Him and Buck decided they wouldn’t have a separate table for themselves; they’d spend too much time wandering away to their friends. It would be too isolating. They’ll have time alone later, weddings are for dancing and conversation and family—

“—Eddie.”

But seating themselves with the rest of their friends creates a whole new problem, the whole arrangement becomes distorted. Maybe six seats will work. Six seats and one odd table of seven. Deciding who takes the seventh seat is a headache in of itself and Eddie struggles to maneuver the digital seats around the digital tables of his diagram. His detailed, incredibly thorough diagram of the venue. There’s even a cake, a clip art design he spent far too long cropping and placing off to the side on it’s own little table.

On second thought, that table should be moved too. There’s a window right beside it, that might cause—

“—Eds, hey,” Buck finally pulls his attention away for a brief moment. He wraps Eddie’s hand in his own, silver engagement band reflecting off the warm light above the dining table, which has been temporarily converted into his wedding planning station. “You’ve been sitting here for hours staring at… nametags?”

Buck has to squint to read the names, most of the text boxes stacked together on the side, waiting to be rearranged. Again.

He snaps his gaze back to the screen. “I need to fix the seating chart.”

“It’s fine the way it is,” Buck insists, pressing his thumb along the back of Eddie’s hand, tracing the veins, smoothing away the tension. He guides his hand away from the touchpad with a delicate touch.

“It can’t be fine, it needs to be perfect.”

Buck lets out a breathy laugh. “I can almost guarantee you nobody is gonna stay in their seats.”

He stares at the seats. Smaller tables might fix the issue entirely, five seats per table divides evenly. But would five be too intimate, too small? Too many opportunities for awkward silences, and besides, what if someone needs to excuse themself? Then there’s only four, and four is definitely—

“Hey.” Buck rests his fingertips on Eddie’s jaw, easing him away from the screen. He slides the laptop away from him slowly, giving Eddie every opportunity to stop him. He lets the lid fall shut. “Since when do you care so much about the seating chart or—” he flips through the scattered notebook pages on the table “—or playlists, or tablecloths?”

“It needs to be perfect,” he echoes himself.

“Why?”

Buck started planning the wedding first; him and Maddie picked the venue. He made a list of pros and cons, and another list, and another. He printed out spreadsheets of prices and locations, this one is too cramped and this one is slightly over budget, but it has these vaulted ceilings and a back patio. Maddie promptly decided she was done helping.

(“—I’m going to smack you over the head with that clipboard if you don’t stop using the word ‘rustic’. You watched HGTV one time and now you think—”)

Eddie decided to take over after that, despite knowing next to nothing about weddings. He wasn’t in charge of his first wedding, he let Shannon take control over that. It was last minute and messy and around every corner, there was a new problem that couldn’t be solved. The wrong flowers, the wrong band, and ultimately, the wrong husband.

He can’t afford to be wrong again.

Buck presses reassurances against his skin, his hand trailing up his arm. His touch is gentle, always is. It’s the anecdote to all his worries and, with enough time, could rid him of all panic. His touch is the ultimate coercion, leading him home, through the front door, always closer, closer, closer. His touch is enough to pull the truth from Eddie’s head and make sense of all the jumbled thoughts.

“My wedding was nowhere near perfect. It was a disaster, actually. And we’re only getting married once—you are only getting married once.” He looks down at their knees, slotted together in their seats. “I want it to be perfect for you.”

Buck smiles, sweet and bright, something so private. “Eddie, I don't need a perfect wedding. I don’t want a perfect wedding.” He takes both his hands and rests them on either side of Eddie’s face, gently tracing his cheekbones. The touch, the smile, he melts under the weight of it. “I like the messes and the mistakes and I’m really excited to watch our friends get drunk and start some family drama.”

Eddie laughs at the mental image of his sisters getting blacked out at the open bar with Hen and Chimney, or Karen trying to persuade him into taking an extra glass of Champagne, or Bobby sitting across from his father, stuck somewhere between friendly conversation and pointed glares.

Buck pulls him back in, trying to fold madness into reason. “What did you tell me when you proposed?”

“I’d marry you in the kitchen in our pajamas if that’s what you wanted. The frog soap holder could officiate.”

“Because…”

He sighs with a long, slow blink, “...because all I need is you, Chris, and a ring.”

Buck nods, taps his cheek. “So you get dressed and grab the rings, I’ll get Chris, and we’ll go to the courthouse right now.”

Eddie laughs. How could he not? There’s fabric samples on the dining table mocking him for overplanning. Then in comes Buck (notorious for overplanning) ready to throw it all away on a whim in favor of love and spontaneity.

“Buck—”

“If you wanna wait, I can wait.”

The words hang oddly in the space between them. “But…”

Buck smiles, “But I’m also sick of not being your husband.”

It’s honest and it would be disgustingly sappy if Eddie didn’t love him so much. Buck pouts, he genuinely pouts and it’s impossible to not lean in and kiss him, soft and slow, a desperate attempt to somehow love him harder. He leans closer, hands shifting around Eddie’s neck, tracing the joints of his spine.

He tries to be the voice of reason. “But we already booked a venue and put down a deposit and ordered the flowers and the cake, the red velvet one you wanted—”

“—The frosting was so good—”

“—And I don’t think our friends would appreciate us getting married without them.”

Buck shrugs. “So marry me now, then marry me again in a month,” he says in that pointed way, as if it’s the obvious solution to a problem he wasn’t aware existed. “Just you, me, and Chris. We won’t tell anyone we did it, but we’ll know.”

“I think they’ll notice when we come to work with matching rings,” he argues with a raised brow.

“So we’ll take them off at work,” he says. “It’s a win-win. I get to marry you twice, our friends will be there the second time, and by then I will have perfected my vows. A win-win-win, really.”

Eddie shakes his head, not quite in disbelief because he may not have predicted a surprise second wedding, but it’s not exactly surprising either.

“You really want to do this?”

“I do,” he nods, pulling away from him just to slide out of his chair onto the floor. Buck props himself up on one knee in a cheesy, dramatic fashion, reaching out for Eddie with pleading hands. “Eddie Diaz, will you marry me?”

He rolls his eyes at the antics, his face settling on something fond. As if he could say no, as if he could ever say no to Buck. He’d rebuild the world, break it down too, if he were only to ask.

Eddie slides to the floor, just as clumsily, searching for something to hold him steady. His hands find Buck’s face, his thumb pressed to the corner of his eye, outlining his birthmark, smoothing over the soft skin. He kisses Buck, his fiancé, his almost husband. It’s a little messy, piled together on the floor, but it’s the best kind of mess. He kisses Buck once, twice, cradling his face with a gentle touch, leaving behind a promise with every press of their lips. This time I’ll be good and this time I’ll get it right and I may not be perfect, but good God, I’ll try to be.

#drew 🌧#married buddie my beloved #911fic #911 fox #911 #buddie fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #fics #texas.fic #userceecee #tusera #userbecky

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mrs-gucci · 3 years

Text

Burning Calories [blurb] {Maurizio Gucci x Reader}

@trubluepensfan

In honor of the new house of gucci clip that just came out . And the last kink week prompt I ask for thigh fucking and Maurizio. Signore Gucci is a very busy man he doesn't have much time with his mia dolcezza.

for anyone that hasn’t seen the new clip (and everyone should because he looks really good in it...just one woman’s opinion ☺️), here’s the link: https://youtu.be/fsEsa0Xfvrc

warnings. SMUT, light humor, reader is Maurizio’s wife, non-penetrative sexual activities, a quickie, cum on panties. **no actual use of Y/N in this fic.

(possible) tw’s. thigh fucking, semi-public smut.

word count: 993

Italian used. ∙ sì, sembra buono = yes, that looks good ∙ grazie = thank you ∙ tesoro = treasure (an affectionate nickname) ∙ bene = good ∙ cazzo = fuck

(NOTE that all the Italian in this fic was found via an online translator service, so it is likely at least partially, if not completely, inaccurate. I have no control over this, as I do not speak a lick of Italian, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes)

"Sì, sembra buono.” Maurizio says as he gives the garment on the mannequin a final once-over. “Grazie.”

You smile as the woman nods, then rolls it off the stage. The Gucci fashion show is coming up in a few days, so tensions are especially high and Maurizio has been working really hard to pull everything together last-minute.

“Am I allowed to request one of those in my size after the show is finished?”

He turns at the sound of your voice, laughing softly as he wraps an arm around you. “Of course you may. I’m sure Luigi would make it for you, you know he adores you...almost as much as I do.”

“Mm, do I sense a rivalry brewing for my affection?” You laugh, reaching up for a kiss.

His eyebrows raise. “I should hope that I'm the winner, considering you are married to me and not to Luigi.”

“Well, you did express interest in exploring new things to spice up our sex life...”

“Oh tesoro, you are bad.” He laughs, giving your ass a spank as he pulls you in for another kiss. “What brings you to the House this afternoon, besides Luigi?”

You giggle softly, nipping his bottom lip before pulling away. “I made us some lunch. It’s in your office...I thought maybe we could eat together, if you’ve got time?”

“I always have time for you, tesoro.” Maurizio says with a smile, leading you back up towards his office.

His stomach growls in anticipation as he sits down and opens up the Tupperware full of his favorite pasta dish. The two of you eat in a peaceful silence, broken up by the occasional anecdote or a quick chat.

Once he’s finished, he puts his container to the side and pats his lap, wanting you to come over. You saunter over, taking a seat on his thighs and wrapping your arms around the back of his neck.

He leans forward, lips pressing against your neck and the column of your throat. “What do you say we burn off some of our lunch calories with a little office quickie, hm?”

“Shouldn’t we ask Luigi first?” You laugh softly as he laughs against your skin, shaking his head.

“You’re mean.” His hands come down on your ass before he stands up, shoving you back against the edge of his desk. “Perhaps I shouldn’t fuck you today, after all.”

Eyebrows furrowed, you look up at him. “Then what are we doing?”

He smirks, nose nudging your temple as his breath wafts across your ear.

“You forget, tesoro,” His fingers tease the waistband of your pants. “I do not have to penetrate you to pleasure myself with your body.”

You shudder, letting him yank your pants down before watching him pull down his own. His cock is already hard and getting harder with each passing moment. You bite your lip as he begins stroking himself, jaw clenching to dampen the small grunts and groans that slip out.

“Lotion.” He breathes and you nod, opening the drawer where you know he keeps some lotion during the harsh winter months. “Bene. Take some and rub it in between your thighs.”

Nodding again, you whimper softly as you spread some of the cool, unscented lotion between your thighs. Goosebumps spread down your legs at the sensation and he groans quietly, spreading the lotion over his throbbing shaft.

“Keep your thighs together, tesoro.”

Before you can even reply, he’s wrapping an arm around you and sliding his cock between your lubricated thighs. His eyes flutter shut as a long, low groan passes through his lips.

“Cazzo.”

Your hands wrap around the edge of his wooden desk for support, leaning back against them while his hips begin to rock back and forth. His forehead falls forward onto yours, panting breaths puffing over your lips.

“God, you feel...amazing, s-so good for me.” He groans, hips speeding up as his hands slide down to grip your ass cheeks. “Mm, take it.”

You whimper, letting him pull you flush against his body, hands now free to wrap in his beautiful walnut tresses. Your grip on his locks is firm and he moans softly at the sweet burn, thighs beginning to tremble as his orgasm draws nearer.

His lips mouth at your neck, teeth occasionally joining in whenever his hips give a particularly harsh thrust. You’re enjoying this experience quite a bit, even though it’s not directly physically pleasurable for you. You love watching Maurizio pleasure himself and if you get to be even a small part of that, you’re more than satisfied.

Suddenly, he spins you around and pushes you down onto his desk, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips as he drills your thighs from behind. He moans aloud, then quickly bites down on his lip to keep quiet.

“Fuck, I--I’m close.”

“C’mon, cum for me, Mauri.” You say, clenching your thighs as tightly as possible.

He groans, then reaches around and pulls the crotch of your panties down enough to fit the head of his cock in just in time for the first rope of his cum to spurt from the tip.

“O-Ohhhhh tesoro...”

Your eyes flutter shut, a soft sigh leaving your lips as he empties his load onto the crotch of your panties. He buries his face into the crook of your neck and peppers kisses all over your neck before pulling away, gently placing the now-soiled fabric back into its place over your heated center.

Maurizio helps you up and kneels down to pull your pants up, kissing all along the way as he does so before connecting his lips to yours for a proper kiss.

“You have no idea how much I needed that today.” He whispers with a small smile. “Thank you. I promise that when I get home tonight, I will make it up to you several times over.”

You smile, nodding up at him.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

🦇 10/27 kinktober 🦇

fic-or-treating everything taglist. @babbushka @safarigirlsp @bksrcool @thepalaceofmelanie @trubluepensfan @mrs-zimmerman @aileenwuornoscigarettes @007swhore @daughterofaries @icarusinthesea @rynwritesstuff @brideofkylosolo @caillea @madamsidra @ahsoka1 @charliesdoll fic-or-treating mini events taglist. @eagerforhoney @oodlesofn00dles @alternativeprincess ▻ the link to sign up for any of the fic-or-treating taglists is HERE.

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detective-giggles · 3 years

Text

(Grand)mother Knows Best

So this fic is going to be a double prompt fill. I started this LAST YEAR for my entry for the Barisi Professions bingo! This is my “Sonny-as-a-nurse” AU. Now for Flufftober, I have FINALLY finished it and I’m using it for Day 7: Meddling Friends (I mean, technically she’s family but...) Also, please note: No grandmothers were harmed in the making of this fic. Thanks to @moderateshouting for giving me this idea (forever ago). And, thank you to @sarahcakes613 for the beta!

WC:1,461

***

Sonny sighed as he poked at his food. A big pan of homemade lasagna always sounded great in theory, but by the third day, the novelty was gone and he was checking his watch to see if he still had time to run to the bodega on the corner. He had almost decided on Funyuns and a Mountain Dew-the dinner of champions-when someone tapped him on the arm.

“May I join you?”

“Huh? Oh, of course, Mrs. Diaz.” He shifted and prepared to stand, “do you need help?”

“No,” she waived him off and took a seat at the picnic table across from him, “I’m not as helpless as my grandson thinks.”

Sonny smiled kindly, “I’m sure he doesn’t think that, Mrs. Diaz.”

“I would have been just fine in my apartment,” she insisted.

“And how many flights of stairs was that?” Sonny asked.

She huffed and rolled her eyes. “You sound just like him, you know?” Sonny chuckled as he rummaged through his lunch bag. Residents were always telling him he reminded them of their sons or grandsons. It was a compliment. He hoped. “You seem like a nice boy. I bet you’d never stick your abuela in a place like this.”

Sonny shrugged and took a bite from an apple. “I couldn’t afford to stick my nonna in a place like this.”

“You’re always here on Fridays. Saturdays too. A handsome young man like you... your wife doesn’t mind you leaving her home alone all weekend?”

“Mrs. Diaz-”

“Catalina. Please, call me Catalina.”

“Catalina, you know I’m not married,” Sonny sighed.

“Do you want to be?”

Sonny opened his mouth and then closed it, clearing his throat. He sipped from his water bottle to stall and settled for a casual shrug. Personal questions weren’t entirely unusual, but they were usually followed up with an attempt at setting him up with someone’s granddaughter (or once, someone’s daughter), and Sonny wasn’t interested. “Someday. If I find the right person.”

“You’re not going to find her in here,” Catalina stage-whispered. “Unless you like older women?”

Sonny laughed, “you’re half right. But I won’t be finding her anywhere.” He glanced at his watch, missing the scheming grin on Catalina’s face. He pulled a couple chocolate chip cookies from his bag. “My lunch break is almost over. You want to help me eat these?”

“No. Eat them both. You’re too skinny.”

Sonny laughed. “Now you sound like my nonna!”

Catalina stood slowly and put her hand on Sonny’s forearm. “Well, she’s right. Just keep in mind, us nonnas know what we’re doing.” She gave his arm a pat and Sonny watched as she slowly made her way back inside.

***

“Abuelita! Como esta?” Rafael wrapped Catalina in a hug and kissed her cheek. “Hola Mami.” He held up a small bunch of yellow and orange flowers and Catalina beamed.

“They’re beautiful, Rafi.” He pulled a vase from the cupboard and helped clip the ends of the stems while Catalina filled the vase with water.

“Rafael, come sit. I’m going to make coffee and I was just telling your mother abou-”

“No, I can’t stay long. I have meetings this afternoon.”

“You work too much, Rafi. You need to relax, have a little fun once in a while. Speaking of fun, you should meet-”

“I have fun!” Rafael insisted. “And I relax.”

“But Rafael, I have someone I need you to meet.”

Rafael chuckled, “I just had a few minutes, and I thought I’d stop by. I can meet your friends next time, okay?” Catalina shot Lucia a look, and Lucia shook her head, clearly not wanting to get involved in whatever her mother had planned.

“You’ll let me introduce you to Sonny then?”

“Si. I’ll come back later this weekend,” Rafael promised. “I’ll even bring you dinner. Just tell me when.”

Catalina exchanged another glance with Lucia. “Friday night, in the courtyard. Is eight-thirty late enough?”

Rafael sighed. “Yes. I’ll see you then.”

***

Knock knock

“Good morning, Mrs. Diaz.” Sonny popped his head into her room.

“Oh, Sonny! Come in, come in! You remember my daughter, Lucia, right?”

“I do. Good morning. Mrs. Diaz, I can’t stay today, I’m not working in this wing. I just stopped by for my word of the day.”

“Oh right. Let’s see. Abogado.”

“Abogado? What does that mean?”

“Lawyer.”

“Ah.” Sonny looked thoughtful. “I’m sensing a theme with the words this week. Is your grandson a lawyer, by chance?”

“Si, y muy guapo.”

Lucia’s eyes widened as she realized what Catalina was up to. “Mother! You leave him alone!” she hissed, turning towards Sonny. “I’m sorry, please don’t listen to her.”

Sonny chuckled. “It’s okay. And I will google that one. You ladies have a good afternoon.”

“Oh, Sonny. Are you working this Friday?”

“I always do.” Sonny called over his shoulder.

***

Sonny settled in at his usual picnic table. He scanned the courtyard before pulling out his phone. When he looked up a few minutes later, there was a slightly older man, in a very expensive suit, standing nearby. He had a plastic bag in his hands, take-out Sonny assumed, and he appeared to be looking for someone.

“Can I help you?” Sonny called out.

“Um, maybe? I’m supposed to be meeting my grandmother for dinner.”

“Dinner is in the dining room between four and six-thirty,” Sonny replied.

“Oh. She said she eats out here on Fridays. At eight-thirty?”

“No. Just me.”

“What?”

“I take my lunch break out here-alone-from eight-fifteen to nine. Every Tuesday through Saturday.”

The man rolled his eyes. “Great. Now she’s...confused?”

Sonny cocked his head to the side, “Wait. I know that eye-roll.” He looked around and then up, catching Catalina staring down at them from her window. “We’ve been set up. She’s watching us.” He gestured for the other man to sit, and he did, joining Sonny at the wooden table.

“Set up?”

“Tricked. Hoodwinked. Bamboozled.”

He blinked as the realization set in. “Oh, Dios mio.”

“I’m guessing you’re Rafael. The, what was it? The abogado guapo I’ve been hearing so much about lately.”

“Fuck me,” he muttered. “You must be the blue-eyed rayo de sol she mentioned on the phone the other day. I’m sorry, I don’t remember if she mentioned your name.”

“It’s Sonny.” Rafael blinked again, and Sonny felt the need to clarify, “I mean, it’s Dominick, but no one calls me that.”

“No, it’s just. She literally described you as a ray of sunshine.”

Sonny grinned, his dimples on full display. “I try.”

Rafael sighed, “Well, I am sorry she let me bother you. I will go tell her to keep her nose out of your business.”

“You don’t have to do that. I think it’s kind of sweet, actually.”

“Embarrassing. Embarrassing is the word you’re looking for.”

“She just wants you to-” he stopped short. “Look, I’m the only grandson, so my nonna adores me... But she still tries to set me up with every single woman on Staten Island, you know? At least yours cares enough to get it right. I mean, she hasn’t been wrong about anything yet.”

“Don’t tell her that.” Rafael thought for a moment. “Well, I guess if I’m not eating with my abuelita and she did go through all the trouble of introducing us... will you at least have dinner with me?”

“Um, yeah. I would like that. Thank you.” He watched as Rafael unpacked the food, handing him a small box. “I was beginning to wonder if you actually existed.” Sonny admitted. “I mean, you were sounding too good to be true. And then she kept insisting that I had just missed you.”

“Too good to be true, huh?” Sonny shrugged and laughed. “Well, you already know what my grandmother thinks about me. Tell me about yourself?”

Sonny talked as they ate and occasionally Rafael interjected with an anecdote of his own. Sonny was loud, he talked with his hands, and he laughed at his own jokes, and yet Rafael was intrigued. He was surprised to find himself actually enjoying the company of the younger man, and hoped Sonny felt the same.

“Oh... hey, I have to get back to work. But, um, this was nice.”

“Is she still watching us?” Rafael asked. Sonny glanced up and then nodded. “Then I guess I should be on my best behavior. But would you like to go on a proper date with me sometime?”

“Yes,” Sonny stood and gave Rafael his phone number. “Maybe you can come over and I’ll cook something, sometime?”

“Sure. I’ll call you. It was nice meeting you, Sonny.”

“Yeah, you too. Have a good night, Rafael.” Sonny turned and as he made his way back into the building, he caught sight of Catalina’s triumphant grin.

tags: @flufftober2021 @beardsanddetectives @itsjustmyfantasyroom @moderateshouting

#barisi #flufftober2021 #dominick sonny carisi jr #rafael barba #rafael barba x sonny carisi #sonny as a nurse AU #Catalina Diaz is a matchmaker

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mldrgrl · 3 years

Text

The Matchmaker

by: mldrgrl Rating: PG Summary: Based on this old prompt I got, which I originally said I couldn’t handle, but then inspiration struck and I had to roll with it.

Scully has only just barely opened the door to the dark office when Mulder is shoving a file into her hands and closing the door behind her. The projector is on, but the screen is blank, just white square of light and Mulder’s silhouette as he takes her to-go cup of coffee from her hands so she can shrug out of her overcoat.

“Once upon a time,” he says, handing her coffee back to her.

“Really, Mulder? Once upon a time?”

He smirks good-naturedly and snatches up the remote to the projector to advance to the first slide. “Once upon a time there was a little tiny tree in a great big forest in New Hampshire.”

“Mmhm.”

Scully tucks the unopened file under her arm and passes through the warm light of the slide projector to put her satchel down at her workstation. She takes a momentary glance at a grainy, black and white photo of a large tree and sips her coffee.

“Estimates have placed this particular tree to be somewhere around 400 years old. This is the earliest photo of it I could find, in the Manchester Daily from 1929.”

“Did someone cut this tiny little tree down and release a great big swarm of deadly mites like the ones we encountered in Washington state?”

“No, nothing like that.” Mulder winces and scratches the back of his head before advancing to the next slide, another black and white photo from a different angle, wider so that the tree in question stands small and alone in the middle of a field against a backdrop of mighty oaks and firs and pines.

“Well?” she asks.

“Did you know there are countless legends about enchanted trees? Trees with magical powers, trees that have the ability to heal or harm or grant wishes or foretell the future?”

“Folklore.”

“Every single culture has some kind of legend about the power of a tree.”

“Mulder, you once tried to tell me the same thing about Bigfoot.”

He ignores the wisecrack and clicks through his slides, narrating the images that appear on the screen. “The Jinmenju tree in Japan is said to have fruit with human faces that laugh at people who happen to walk by. There’s the sacred Norse tree Yggdrasil, center of the cosmos and where the Gods gather for daily court. In Iranian mythology the Bas tokhmak is said to contain seeds that eliminate sorrow and despair. And the Hungarian égig érő fa or sky-high tree that only selected shamans are entitled to climb and encounter magical worlds in the clouds.”

“Sounds suspiciously similar to Jack and the Beanstalk.”

“And then there’s the Hart’s Location Flame Thrower Redbud.”

Scully presumes the new slide is the same tree that was in black and white at the start of the slideshow, only now it’s in color. The leaves are multicolored, mostly red and purple, but some are so dark they’re nearly black. Though small, the tree stands out in sharp contrast to the yellow fieldgrass, blue sky, and the green trees behind it.

“Well, it’s certainly beautiful,” she says.

“The locals call it The Matchmaker.”

Scully snorts softly. “And why is that?” she asks.

“If you open up that file I so generously put together for you, you’ll find newspaper clippings from the past half-century, most of them wedding announcements, citing this tree as a key to what led these couples to a happy union.”

“Mulder...you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Of course with any good legend, there’s a catch.”

“Of course there is.” She puts her coffee down and opens the file, but doesn’t take more than a passing glance at the pages she flips through.

“From what I can gather, and keep in mind this is the Cliff’s Notes version of things, people believe the tree can predict compatibility in couples who make the pilgrimage there.”

“And how, pray tell, does the tree do this?”

“Glad you asked!” Mulder advances the next slide, a close up photo of the left hand of a woman. The ring finger is disfigured in some way, appearing to Scully to almost resemble a twig.

“What the hell am I looking at, Mulder?”

“You’re looking at an example of what might happen if a couple is not compatible. There’s an online Usenet group dedicated to finding matches for anyone who’s had, let’s say, experiences with the tree that have left them unrequited.”

“Unrequited?”

Mulder scrolls through the next few slides without comment. There’s another photo of the side of a woman’s face with what appears at first to be a small pinecone earring, but on closer look the pinecone is actually attached to the earlobe. There’s another of a hand, masculine this time, with veins that look like tree roots creeping up from wrist to knuckles. The last one is a forearm covered with a thin layer of moss.

“They say the only way to reverse the effects is by true love’s touch.”

“True love’s touch,” she repeats.

“Hope you’ve got your hiking boots ready and an overnight bag in the car,” he says, clicking over to an aerial photo of a forest. “We’re headed to a little town on the outskirts of Crawford Notch State Park.”

She tries not to sigh in response.

*****

The flight to Manchester is less than two hours and they arrive just before noon. Scully has flipped through the file Mulder gave to her, and though the clippings make for amusing anecdotes, she sees nothing noteworthy or remarkable.

“What exactly is your interest in this case,” Scully asks, buckling her seatbelt after she takes her usual navigational seat in their rental car. “Not that I even believe there actually is a case here, let alone an x-file.”

“You don’t think it’s unusual just how many couples cite that tree as a turning point in their relationships?”

“Not really.”

“You’re not even a little curious?”

“About what?”

“The tree.”

“Quite honestly, I’m far more curious about what you’re going to buy me for lunch than I am about a matchmaking tree.”

He chuckles. “Ah, well, lucky for you our first stop happens to be a diner not too far from here.”

“Yes, lucky me.”

*****

The diner resembles a small cabin and is nestled amongst the trees off the side of the road. She doesn’t want to admit it, but the drive so far has been beautiful. The highway is narrow and tree-lined and it’s autumn. Miles upon miles of yellows and reds and golds and greens and oranges. To say that the road is picturesque would be an understatement.

The little cabin-diner is warm and cozy. A wood-burning stove is on in one corner, easily heating the small space. There’s a long counter with swivel-seats dividing the cabin in half, lengthwise, and four booths pressed up against the front windows, two on either side of the door. Only one man sits at the counter, sipping coffee and reading a newspaper. He looks up briefly when Mulder and Scully enter, but immediately returns his attention to his newspaper.

A waitress in an emerald green, button-down dress and starch white apron comes out from behind the counter with two menus. She smiles congenially as she says good afternoon and waves to the booths.

“Take your pick,” she says.

Mulder looks to Scully and she sees him glance at the counter. She nods and cuts her eyes to the nametag pinned above the pocket of the woman’s uniform. “The counter is fine,” she says. “Janet.”

“Sure.” Janet turns and her blonde curls bounce lightly against her back. Her shoes squeak as she makes her way back to the other side of the counter and places the menus down side by side.

“What do you recommend?” Mulder asks.

“Can’t ever go wrong with a burger,” Janet answers, pulling an order booklet out of her apron pocket. “But, the special today is meatloaf. And the soup is tomato bisque.”

“I’ll do the burger. Medium well. Is that pie under that dome back there?”

“Pecan.”

“More of a sweet potato guy.”

“Yeah, me too. Well, sweet potato girl.” Janet laughs and winks and Mulder chuckles and nods.

Scully clears her throat and slaps her menu down on the counter so hard that Mulder jumps. “I’ll have the chicken salad,” she says, pushing the menu towards Janet. “Balsamic vinaigrette on the side, if you have it.”

“Sure.”

Janet swipes the menus from the counter, scribbles their orders down and rips the paper from the pad to slide it through a small window behind her. Scully adjusts her napkin and cutlery as Mulder swivels towards her and leans in close with his elbow on the counter and his hand across his forehead.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you being hostile to the witness.”

“The witness?”

Mulder inclines his head towards Janet and then raises his eyebrows. “Did you even read the file?”

“I gave it a glance.”

“Janet is one of the unrequited.”

“Too bad for Janet.”

Mulder narrows his eyes a little at her and puckers his lips to form a question. She doesn’t know why she’s suddenly feeling so catty, she just does. No, that’s not true. She does know why she’s feeling catty. The past year her partnership has felt like a game of ping pong, bouncing between extreme highs and extreme lows. And the wedge that was driven between them by Diana Fowley, may she rest in peace, is not far enough in the rear view mirror for her liking. They’re on the mend, both professionally and personally, but she still can’t help but feel threatened in some way when Mulder turns the charm on with strangers.

“I’ll stop being hostile if you stop flirting,” she blurts out, regretting not only what she’s just said, but the way in which it flies out of her mouth.

“Flirting?”

“Forget it.”

“Flirting?”

“Nevermind.”

Mulder straightens in his seat and puts both hands flat on the counter. Scully rolls her shoulders back and tucks her chin down. She lets her hair fall across her cheeks to hide her embarrassment. Janet is suddenly there in front of them again, two glasses of water in her hands.

“Didn’t even ask if you folks wanted something to drink,” she says.

“Got any iced tea?” Mulder asks.

“Sure do.”

“Two lemons, please.”

“And for the lady?”

“I’ll just have the water, thank you,” Scully says.

Janet is gone for what feels like only seconds before she’s bringing a glass of iced tea to Mulder and a small glass dish of lemon slices. Mulder thanks her warmly and for some reason, that makes Scully feel even more chagrined.

“Janet,” Mulder says, reaching into the interior breast pocket of his jacket to grab his ID. “My name is Agent Mulder and this is Agent Scully. My partner and I are actually on an assignment right now that you might be able to help us with.”

“Me?”

“Have you ever been out to see a tree they call The Matchmaker?”

The smile on Janet’s face wavers and then fades into a frown. She stands stock still for a few moments and then grabs a rag from the side of the counter as though she’s about to clean something, but then just twists it nervously her hands.

“What do you know about it?” she asks.

“Not much, which is why we’re here. We know from our preliminary investigation that you’re amongst the group that calls yourselves the unrequited.”

Janet nods slowly. “That’s not...a crime, is it?”

“No, no. We’re trying to determine if you might be the victim of one though. It’s my understanding your contact with the tree has left you with some sort of affliction.”

Janet nods again and then hesitates before tucking the rag in her hands into her waistband and coming around the counter. Both Mulder and Scully turn in their seats and Janet turns her back to both of them. She lifts the hair up off her neck and it’s then that Scully’s interest is finally piqued. The back of Janet’s neck is rough and scaly, resembling tree bark. Scully whips a pair of latex gloves from her pocket and leans closer to Janet.

“Do you mind if I…?” Scully asks.

Janet glances over her shoulder at Scully, looks at the gloves she’s pulling on, and then nods her head. “Go ahead,” she answers.

“Agent Scully is a medical doctor,” Mulder says, unnecessarily.

Scully gently prods the ridges at the back of Janet’s neck. It appears as though the skin is very dry and may flake away, but in reality it’s very thick and does not give at all. Mulder hovers over Scully, his chin nearly touching her shoulder.

“It could be an allergic reaction,” Scully says. “It appears to be a localized eczema. Have you seen a dermatologist?”

“I’ve been to every dermatologist in the area,” Janet answers, dropping her hair and turning back around. “They’ve done biopsies, tried laser removal, creams, gels, cryotherapy, the whole nine yards. No one knows what it is or how to treat it.”

“And you think the tree that Agent Mulder mentioned earlier has something to do with this?”

“Oh, I know it does. I was foolish enough to ignore the warnings and so...well, now I’m one of the unrequited.”

“I see.”

“Can you walk us through how it happened?” Mulder asks.

“It was about five years ago now, I was a senior in high school. Me and my boyfriend at the time, Anthony, we thought it would be like a funny thing to do just before graduation. We’d been together all through high school, grown up on the same block, and we were planning on getting married the next fall.”

Scully lets her eyes drop momentarily to Janet’s hands and notes the absence of a ring on her finger.

“You knew of the stories before you went up there?” Mulder asks.

“Oh yeah,” Janet answers. “I mean, if you’re from around here, you hear all about it from the time you’re a kid. And everyone wants to brag about it, you know? You hear from all your friends, my parents touched The Matchmaker and then got married, but no one wants to talk about the other side of it.”

“You and Anthony?” Scully asks. “You never married?”

“Well, how could we? He wasn’t the one.”

“According to the tree.”

“If it was true love, I wouldn’t be afflicted.”

“You really believe that?”

Janet points to her neck. “I didn’t until this happened.”

“You didn’t believe in the legend when you went there?” Mulder asks.

“Not really. Who would believe that a tree could do this?”

“You folks need to talk to Hattie Vale,” the man at the other end of the counter suddenly pipes up, even though he doesn’t even look up from his newspaper.

“Hattie Vale?” Mulder asks, swiveling in his seat to face the older man.

“Mmhm.” He nods once and turns the page of his paper. “That cursed tree is part of her legacy. Janet, I’ll take my check now, if you please.”

“You got it, Wallace.” Janet gives Scully a wry smile before she heads behind the counter again, ripping a page out of her booklet.

“Can you tell us how to find Miss Vale?” Mulder asks.

“Take the red bridge about a mile inside the entrance of Crawford Notch. Sign’ll say private property, but it’s just to try to keep looky-loos away from the tree.” Wallace takes a few bills out of his wallet and puts them on the counter. “Thank you, Janet.”

“See you tomorrow,” Janet says.

“Miss Vale lives out by the tree?” Mulder asks.

Wallace folds his newspaper and then stands and tucks it under his arm. “Go right at the fork, that’ll take you to Hattie. Go left, that’ll take you to The Matchmaker. And take my advice, don’t touch that tree.”

“You have a personal experience you’d like to share with us?”

“No.” Wallace pulls a hat out from his jacket pocket, slaps it on his head, and walks out of the diner.

“Why do I not believe him?” Mulder says to Scully as he turns back to face the counter.

*****

Hattie Vale’s home is exactly where Wallace says it would be. While the diner was a faux cabin, Hattie’s place is the real deal. Scully would not be surprised if it did not have running water or electricity.

The woman that greets them on the porch is both ancient and spry. She’s stocky and squarely built, wearing a thin housedress and a hand-knit sweater and moccasins on her feet. Two long, grey braids fall over her shoulders to her hips. Her face is sunburnt and weathered, deep lines in her forehead and at the sides of her mouth. She grins broadly, revealing a handful of missing teeth.

“I had a feeling I might get visitors today,” she says. “And here you folks are.”

“Are you Hattie Vale?” Mulder asks.

“Sure am. Who’s asking?”

“My name is Agent Mulder, this is Agent Scully.” He stops at the edge of the porch and holds up his badge and Scully does the same.

“That supposed to impress me or something?”

“Ah, no Ma’am,” Mulder says, chuckling as he tucks his ID back into his pocket. “We’re investigating some unexplained afflictions associated with a tree in these parts referred to as The Matchmaker.”

“You’re about three centuries too late for that, bub.”

“Forgive me for my tardiness.”

Hattie laughs heartily at Mulder’s joke and Scully has to fight not to roll her eyes at him when he gives a pleased grin in her direction.

“Come on in, I got coffee I can put on.”

“That’s not necessary, Mrs. Vale, we only want to ask a few questions,” Scully says.

“Come on in anyway, let me put my feet up.”

Mulder hops up the stairs onto the porch and Scully trudges up behind him. She’s surprised to find that the cabin actually does have electricity and is fairly tidy and well-furnished. The large room is a combination kitchen, dining area and living space. Hand-woven rugs are strategically placed on the wood floors. Knitted blankets are draped over the couch and a lounge chair. There’s no TV, but there is a transistor radio perched on a folding tray next to the chair.

Hattie plops herself down into the lounger and pulls a lever to extend the footrest. She leans back with her hands over her belly and flexes her toes inside her moccasins.

“How long have you lived out here?” Mulder asks, waiting for Scully to take a seat before he perches himself at the edge of the couch.

“Well, I was born here, so I figured I might as well die here too, but I did move out to Vermont for a time when I got married. After I raised my kids and my husband passed, I thought it was as good of time as any to come back. That would’ve been somewhere around 1942, I think.”

“That was fifty-seven years ago,” Mulder says. “You had already raised your kids and been widowed by then?”

Hattie laughs again. “I was born in 1885.”

“You’re 114 years old?”

“Don’t look a day over 100, do I?” She wiggles her shoulders a little and lifts her brows. Even Scully has to smile in amusement.

“Mrs. Vale,” Scully starts.

“Hattie, please. Never liked formalities. So stuffy.”

“Hattie, can you tell us anything about the tree?”

“Maybe why some might say it’s cursed,” Mulder adds, and Scully grimaces.

“A curse? Bah. Sounds like you’ve been talking to my grandson.”

“Who’s your grandson?” Mulder asks.

“Name is Wallace Byrd. He’s my girl Rosemary’s boy.”

Mulder and Scully give each other a glance. “We did...happen to run into someone named Wallace,” Mulder says.

“Wally had a bad go of it when he was a young man. He blames the tree for it, silly boy.”

“So, you don’t think it’s cursed?”

“Not at all, the tree is blessed, if anything.”

“Do you happen to know how it came to be blessed?”

“Oh yes, I can tell you exactly how it came to be.”

There’s a twinkle in Hattie’s eyes as she starts to tell the story of the tree, one that makes Scully even more dubious and Mulder even more interested.

“My four times great grandfather, Jean-Luc Benoit, came to this area from Quebec City in the first half of the 1700s,” Hattie says. “There was a Winnipesaukee tribe that lived nearby and they traded goods often. Jean-Luc fell in love with a squaw from the village called Little Flower, and she with him, much to her father’s dismay. Sensing that Jean-Luc was going to ask for his blessing to marry his daughter, her father met with some of the elders of the village and they told him he would have to ask the white man to pass a test of his true love if he were to take one of their women away.”

Mulder nods encouragingly at Hattie and then grins at Scully. His enjoyment of the tale is palpable. She keeps her gaze straight ahead, afraid she might slip and very unprofessionally roll her eyes at him.

“Little Flower’s father took the advice of the elders,” Hattie continues. “Except, he decided he was going to give the would-be suitor an impossible task. He told Jean-Luc to plant a seed, and only when that seed had flourished and become a tree, could he have his daughter’s hand in marriage. Jean-Luc said his love was unhurried and he would plant the tree and wait as long as it took. A ceremony was held for the planting and to everyone’s astonishment, the tree grew overnight.”

“Overnight?” Mulder asks. “Incredible.”

“I’ll say,” Scully murmurs.

“But, that wasn’t to be the end of it,” Hattie says. “Little Flower’s father was distraught by the turn of events. Instead of turning to the elders as he had before, this time he went directly to the tree, believing the Gods may have grown the tree as punishment for his trickery. He apologized for his wrongdoing and pleaded with the tree for a sign that would show him that Jean-Luc was worthy. When he went home, his village was in chaos. They told him that right before their eyes, his daughter had started growing leaves where her hair was and roots where her feet were and that she reached up to the sky and her arms became limbs and her fingers became branches.”

“She turned into a tree?” Mulder asks.

“So they say. Little Flower’s father was distraught and horrified. He tried pulling her feet from the earth, but the roots just grew deeper. When he saw that he could do nothing, he ran to Jean-Luc and asked for his help. The instant that Jean-Luc touched the tree that Little Flower had become, she was restored to her human self.”

“And since then, people have come to ask the tree to show them who their true love is?” Mulder asks.

“That’s about right. Mostly locals though, passing the story along to their children and grandchildren.”

“Mrs. Vale, Hattie, are you aware of any pesticides that may have been sprayed around the tree or perhaps any poisonous foliage that might surround the area?” Scully asks.

Hattie shrugs. “Been years since I’ve been out by that tree. The state took that part of the land years ago when they formed the park.”

“Have you heard about people coming away from the tree with afflictions?” Mulder asks. “Skin problems, or physical ailments of some kind? You said your grandson, Wallace, believes the tree to be cursed. Has he been suffering from an ailment after contact?”

“Ailments? No. Broken heart is more like it. Wallace brought his sweetheart out to the tree before he proposed. He was a believer in the legend and said the tree showed him that Corrine, that was his girl, was his true love. A week before their wedding she was killed in an automobile accident. He never got over it. Now, he thinks the tree cursed him to a life alone. I tried to tell him many times not to take stock in that tale. It’s just a tale, after all.”

“So, you don’t believe in the legend?” Mulder asks.

“Believe in a tree that grows overnight and wraps a girl up in branches?” Hattie laughs. “You’d have to be crazy to believe in that kind of thing.”

It’s Scully’s turn to grin and Mulder smiles good-naturedly. He stands, and Scully does as well.

“Thank you for your time,” Scully says.

“Could you tell us, what’s the best way to reach the tree from here?”

“Once you cross back over the bridge head due west. The ‘no trespassing’ signs should lead you right to it.”

*****

It really is a stunning tree, Scully thinks, as they stand before it. The photos didn’t do it justice. The sun shines onto the top of the tree, making it look alive with red-purple flames. The branches curve out and the leaves cascade like a waterfall. The field grass flutters in the wind like a golden wave around their feet and the leaves of all the trees that surround them shake and rustle. She has to brush her hair from her eyes and away from her cheeks.

“Well, I guess we should take a look,” Mulder says.

“What is it that we’re looking for?” she asks.

“You tell me.”

“I don’t know, Mulder, I’m not a botanist. Plants aren’t something I ever took a strong interest in. I’m not even sure I’d truly be able to identify poison ivy if I came across it.”

“Leaves of three, let them be.” Mulder smiles as he pulls on a pair of gloves. “Something we used to say as kids to avoid it when we were camping.”

“And somehow I’m guessing you still managed to pull your share of rashes.”

“I don’t know where these baseless accusations are coming from, but I will neither confirm nor deny the generous supply of Calamine Lotion my mother kept on hand for such occasions.”

Scully snorts softly and pulls her own pair of gloves on. Mulder is already crouching before the tree, running his hand over the dirt. He picks up a fallen leaf and twirls it by the stem.

“It looks like a heart,” he tells her, turning it upside down and holding it up between pinched fingers. He’s right.

“Bag it,” Scully says, handing him a plastic bag. “We’ll need soil samples as well. Maybe scrape some bark off as well.”

“I take it your theory is the tree is toxic?”

“Perhaps.”

“Mmhm.” Mulder seals up the leaf and stands back up. “Any of those poisonous plants you mentioned before known to cause skin irritations for over five years?”

“Mulder, I’m fairly certain that contact with this tree is merely coincidence. Take Janet, for example, she could have daily exposure to an allergen without even knowing it, causing that rash at the back of her neck, her laundry detergent, for example.”

“Something that all of the dermatologists she’s been to have failed to diagnose?”

“I’m only saying that there are more probable explanations for why someone would develop a skin irritation than a centuries old legend.”

“Probable, but not implausible,” he says.

“Mulder, you’re crazy,” she answers with a shake of her head and a small laugh.

He pockets the plastic-wrapped leaf and then walks away from her to circle the tree. Scully studies the lush mane of leaves, trying to determine the best possible way to part them and reach the trunk. She puts her hands into a gap and a few birds fly up and out of the tree in a panic, their wings flapping wildly. She jumps back, heart racing. A sudden breeze ruffles the back of her hair and she shivers. Goosebumps prick her arms, but she isn’t cold. Her shoulder pulls up automatically as the inside of her ear is tickled with what feels like a soft whisper.

“Mulder?” She turns, but no one is there. She hurries to the other side of the three and spots Mulder a few yards away, looking up into the white pines that border the clearing.

Scully turns back to the tree and finds another gap in the leaves to part. She cautiously pushes them aside and finds she’s able to lift a section back and step under the canopy of branches. Hunching slightly, she pulls her pocketknife out and scrapes a bit of bark from the thin trunk and bags it. She crouches down to collect some dirt as well. As she straightens her knees, her heel comes back and catches on a tree root and she stumbles. Her first instinct is to throw her arm out and her hand smacks into the tree trunk. She can feel the bark bite into her palm through her glove and the inside of her wrist is scraped in her efforts to prevent herself from falling.

“Dammit,” she mutters, wobbling into her hunched position and letting go of the tree. She pulls the sleeve of her blazer up to inspect her hand. There’s debris on her glove and the inside of her wrist is scratched red, but the skin wasn’t broken and she’s not bleeding. She rotates her wrist a few times and fortunately it doesn’t feel sprained, just a little sore.

“Scully!” Mulder calls.

“Yeah,” she answers, warily.

“Where are you?”

“In here.” She can hear the crunching of the field grasses and leaves underfoot as Mulder approaches. She pulls the cuff of her sleeve down over her wrist before pushing the leaves aside like drapery and steps out from the canopy.

“You have…” Mulder approaches and reaches up to pluck a leaf from her hair.

“Thanks.”

“It matches,” he says, twirling the red leaf softly against the ends of her hair.

A breeze comes up again and that same whisper and tickle of her ear returns. She shivers again and moves her hand up to take the leaf from Mulder, but he pulls it back and puts it in his pocket.

“Find anything interesting?” he asks.

“Bagged up some bark and some dirt.”

“You ask the tree if it was cursed?”

“I did.”

“What was the answer?”

“Stop letting your crackpot partner talk you into fruitless jaunts to the forest.”

Mulder chuckles. “There is some poison oak in the woods up there. You’ll be happy to know I steered clear.”

“Wonderful,” she says, wincing as her wrist burns slightly when she peels off her gloves.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You think those are storm clouds rolling in over there?”

She nods slightly, rotating her wrist in her pocket. It’s beginning to itch.

“I guess we should probably head out then?”

“No argument from me.”

*****

They leave New Hampshire with nothing more than the samples and family legends. Mulder finally accepts there isn’t much of a case to be had, especially when they can’t find any other afflicted locals to speak with, and they return home. They run the samples through the lab, but the results don’t account for any toxins.

A week passes and Scully’s wrist doesn’t seem to stop itching. It’s at its worst during the day at work and seems to calm at night when she goes home. She sees a dermatologist who can’t find anything wrong, but gives her a prescription for an anti-itch cream that does nothing to help.

They’re out of town again, on a case in Iowa. She shouldn’t be relieved to be doing autopsies again, but it’s been awhile since she’s been in a morgue and not out in the field. She’s either too busy to notice her itching wrist, or it miraculously ceases to bother her for the day. When she’s back at the motel, having a pizza dinner over crime scene photos and witness statements, her whole hand starts to feel like it’s on fire. She excuses herself from the table and shuts herself in the bathroom.

By all outward appearances, nothing is wrong with her wrist. It’s not inflamed, it’s not scratched, it’s not even red anymore, but her skin crawls. She holds it up to the light and takes a closer look, running her thumb across the line where wrist meets palm. There does seem to be a slight bump where there wasn’t one before. She checks her left wrist in comparison and then the right one again. When she scratches at the little bump with her nail, she can actually feel a slight pull under her skin. She pushes at it with her thumbnail and then her skin ruptures and what looks like the stem of a leaf emerges.

“Oh my god,” she whispers. There is a pair of tweezers in her toiletry kit that she finds and then plucks lightly at the stemp, but it doesn’t budge. It doesn’t hurt and it doesn’t bleed and no matter how hard she pulls, the stem is immobile. After only a few minutes she’s nearly in tears with frustration. She wipes her watering eyes dry and then goes back to the table to rejoin Mulder.

“I need to show you something,” she says.

Mulder pauses with his hands full of photos and looks at her. He sets them down and then wipes his hands on his pants and leans forward, elbows on the table. “Okay,” he says. “Show me.”

Scully pulls the sleeve of her shirt up and drapes her hand across the table, wrist up. Mulder looks down at her hand and then up at her. He moves his face closer to her arm and tilts his head from side to side.

“What am I looking at?” he asks.

“When we were in New Hampshire, I scraped my hand on that tree.”

“The Matchmaker?”

“Yes. It wasn’t a bad scrape, no skin was broken, but since then, my wrist has not stopped itching.”

“What is that?”

“I don’t...I don’t know. I tried using my tweezers on it, but it wouldn’t come out.”

Mulder picks up Scully’s hand with both of his and runs his thumbs across the bottom of her palm. Her whole arm tingles when he touches her and she can feel something move beneath her skin.

“It feels like...I’m not sure...” Mulder puts a little more pressure on Scully’s wrist and slides one of his thumbs up to her palm. Suddenly it feels like her whole hand opens up somehow and something unfurls out of her wrist like a butterfly to rest in her palm. It’s a red, heart-shaped leaf.

They’re both silent, staring down at her hand, at the leaf. Her arm still tingles and she sways slightly, lightheaded. “Mulder…how did…?”

“I don’t know.”

“What just happened, Mulder, it’s impossible.”

“Well, there is one explanation.”

“Don’t say it.”

“You touched the tree.”

“A tree didn’t do this, Mulder.” She jumps up from the table, determined to pull the leaf from her hand, but it’s stuck to the stem and the stem won’t budge. “I need scissors.”

“Well wait, maybe you should see a doctor.”

“I am a doctor!” She rushes back into the bathroom to get the small scissors from her toiletry bag. Mulder follows behind and watches as she attempts to cut at the leaf and the stem, but the scissors just slide right off of the leaf as though it refuses to be cut.

“Stop,” Mulder says, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Come on.”

“Mulder, there is a leaf growing out of my hand!”

“I can see that, come out here.”

Mulder guides her out of the bathroom back to the table, but she doesn’t want to sit. She stares at her palm and at the leaf while Mulder sits and then he brings her towards him with his hands on her hips.

“Let me see,” he says.

Scully reluctantly shows him her hand and he holds it gently, tracing the shape of the leaf in her palm with his index finger. He pinches the leaf between his fingers and pulls gently and the stem slides out of her wrist without any effort at all. When it’s completely free of her hand, she feels something wash over her that she can only describe as utter euphoria. She sways slightly on her feet, leaning into Mulder and putting her hands on his shoulders to hold herself up.

“Scully?” The leaf flutters to the ground as he grabs her hips.

“Oh, I feel…”

“Sit down.” He stands and tries to urge her to sit, but she holds onto his arms and shakes her head.

“No, I…” She feels overwhelmed by something she can’t describe, but the force with which she aches to be as close to Mulder as possible is powerful. It’s like she can’t breathe, but he is oxygen. It’s like she’s freezing and he’s a warm fire.

“I really think you should sit down,” he whispers.

“Mulder,” she says, blinking lethargically. Her voice is slow and her eyes are heavy. “If it was the tree, then that would mean…”

Mulder puckers his lips a little and his chin juts forward as he swallows. “It would mean whatever you want it to mean,” he says.

Her heart hammers in her chest. She tingles from head to toe, but especially where his hands grip her hips and where his arms press against hers. She opens her mouth a few times, but doesn’t know what to say.

“I heard you, you know,” he says.

“Heard me?”

“When I was exposed to the artifact.” He lets go of her with one hand to reach up and lightly touch his fingers to her forehead. “I heard you. I don’t need an enchanted tree to tell me what I already know.”

She should feel embarrassed, and maybe two months ago she would have, maybe even two minutes ago, she would have, but not now. She drops her gaze to his mouth and then she looks up into his eyes again. By some unspoken, mutual agreement, they both lean in. Mulder bends and tips his head to the right, Scully lifts onto her toes and lets her eyes slip shut just before his mouth touches hers. The kiss is soft and unhurried. It’s tender and sweet in a way that makes her feel warm and secure.

“I can’t believe this is real,” she whispers against his lips.

“What part of it?”

“All of it.”

“Of course you don’t.” He chuckles and bends down to pick up the leaf he dropped. He twirls it between his fingers and then brushes it against her nose.

“It’s just not possible.”

“All of it?” He cocks his head a little and his eyes fall to her mouth.

“Maybe not all of it.”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m having a hard time believing it myself.”

“Which part?”

“All of it.” He smiles, and bends to kiss her again, but she leans away and puts two fingers against his lips.

“Why did you take me up there?” she asks.

“I’ve owed you a nice trip to the forest for about seven years.”

“Is that all?”

“Autumn in New England? I only wish we could’ve found something worthwhile to stick around a little longer.”

“So, you never intended for…”

“For you to start becoming part tree? Not at all.”

“Oh my god, I just can’t...I can’t wrap my brain around it. It’s…” She covers her face with both hands and shakes her head.

Mulder kisses the knuckles on her right hand. “You wouldn’t be you if you believed it. Once upon a time there was a very skeptic little g-woman named Scully.”

“You are not allowed to start any stories with ‘once upon a time’ any longer,” she says, taking her hands away from her face. “Bad things happen in fairy tales.”

“Well you are forgetting one thing though.”

“What?”

“They always end with ‘happily ever after.’”

The End

#i wrote this #xf fanfic #definitely non canon #but set somewhere after The Sixth Extinction: Amor Fati #msr

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perksofhs · 4 years

Text

‘So... the weather?’

This is a little AU piece that was requested! The prompt: Hey could you do a one shot where harry and famous reader are in a talk show and he has a crush on her. Maybe he accidentally hurts her while playing a game and he feels awful about it orrr maybe the host put a video where harry says that the reader is his crush and he gets nervous and embarrassed.

Promoting a movie was all but glamourous. It was a constant string of 14 hour days, 5am wake up calls and repetitive questions about working with this person or that person with very little time spent discussing the actual plot of the film. The savior of press tours was any interview where you werent alone, whether it was a joint interview with cast mates or a full couch talk show.

You’d been on the Late Late Show once in the past and you had to be honest, it was so much fun. Your first appearance included a 7 minute long musical medley involving fifteen quick changes and you very nearly faceplanting the floor.

By this point you were sitting in the dressing room, your hair being tugged one way or another by David your hairdresser, with your make up artist Cam working his magic on your noticabley exhausted face. “Who am I on with tonight Maggie?” you ask your manager, realising no one had actually told you. Maggie looked up from her laptop, a smirk on her lips. “James told me not to tell you so you’ll have to wait!” she said smugly. You rolled your eyes, “Of course he said that, that man has to stop trying to set me up”. James was a good friend, the two of you having met a number of times through industry parties award shows. He’d always try and find the mosyty eligible bachelor in the room and push you towards them just to shit you. Suffice to say none of them worked out.

Once your hair and makeup were done and you were dressed in a cute but entirely impractical and kind of uncortable outfit, a crew member came to get you and walk you down to the stage. “Ok so once we get to the stage, you’ll hear James announce your name, walk down the steps through the audience, wave or high five whatever you feel like. Then greet James and take a seat, then he’ll then announce the next guest”. You nodded along politely, already knowing the drill. “By chance, do you know who the other guest is?” you say shooting Maggie a smug look. “Yeah its Harry Styles” with that your heart skipped a beat, you’d always found him attractive and incredibly charming which is something you had stupidly mentioned to James once or twice. “That bastard” you say under your breath, you didnt have much time to think about it though because not even 30 seconds later you rounded a corner and there he was.

He was a gorgeous as ever, wearing what you could only assume with a gucci knitted jumper with a delicate lacy collared shirt beneath it, his signature pearls hanging perfectly around his neck, and a pair of cream flared pants. The outfit was quintessentially Harry. He was chatting to another random crew member who seemed to be giving him the same speech. You could hear James wrapping up whatever he was talking about, you were too distracted to follow it, you couldnt look away from the man 8 feet away from you. “You good?” Maggie says, pulls you from your bewildered state, Maggie’s words also caught the attention of Harry who finally looked in your direction.

Harry’s eyes landed on you and unbeknownst to you he was just as taken by the sight of you. Realising his gaze was lingering, Harry snapped himself out of it “Hey i’m Harry, nice to meet you” he said, taking a few steps towards you, his hand awkwardly out for a hand shake, something Harry was already kicking himself for doing. You took his ring clad hand in yours briefly “Hey I’m-” before you could finish you could hear James announce your name, you let out a laugh “that’s my queue”. It was probably a good thing that James has inadvertently introduced you, who knows whether you could have actually remebered your own name in that moment.

You descend the stairs, meeting James at the bottom with a friendly hug before taking your place on the couch. “Can you also put your hands together for the incredible Harry Styles!” James proclaims, the audience erupting once more, you watch Harry interact with the audience effortlessly as he makes his way down the stairs, having a bromance moment with James before he plops down next to you, sitting closer than you had expected him to. “So have you guys met before?” James says, knowing full well the answer is “No we haven’t, we met briefly backstage” Harry says. He couldnt stop thinking about how awkward he’d made the initial encounter but he couldnt help it.

Throughout the interview it was all too clear that sparks were flying bewteen the two of you. Harry had talked about his new music, you’d talked about your new film, an anecdote or two thrown in from the both of you. all was going smoothly until about 15 minutes in when James began to look very smug. “Now Harry, I know you two hadn’t met before but from what I hear you have quite the crush huh?” Harry’s cheek went bright red knowing exactly what was about to happen. You on the other hand had zero idea what was going on. “And how would you know that James?” Harry says trying to pretend he has no clue what James was referring to. “Funny you should ask my friend, this clip might just answer that for you!”

Your eyes darted to the nearest screen as the clip rolled, it was an interview from the press tour of the movie Harry had been in last year. The interviewer had asked the cast who they’d love to work with on future projects and to your surprise, Harry’s pick was you. The interviewer then asked why you were his choice, Harry’s response was “she’s just so talented, every time I watch her in something I’m just profoundly captivated. Her on screen presence is incredible.” One of his castmates laughed, playfully poking Harry in the shoulder adding "If it wasn’t already obvious he’s got quite the crush! He made us watch like 4 of her films during our set downtime” before the clip ended.

Harry dramtically buried his head in his hands out of sheer embarrassment as the audience let out a series of ‘oooohs’ and whistles and James burst out laughing. You let out an laugh as you awkwardly fiddled with your fingers, not entirely sure what you were menat to say or do in that moment. "Well then Harold, go on, ask her out. Nows your chance!” James goaded. Harry was utterly mortified but wasnt the least bit surprised. “So... the weather?” the audience laughed at Harry’s miserable attempt at changing the subject. “Alright alright i’l drop it but you can’t say I didnt try! Just remember this moment when you get married ok?” James said, throwing his hands up in defeat as he got in one last playful jab.

The rest of the interview went awkwardly by, although you were a little distracted. Did he really have a crush on you? How could he have a crush on you? You’re the one who had the crush on him, surely he didn’t feel the same? James wrapped up the interview and once the cameras had cut both you and Harry made your way backstage.

“Well that was sufficiently awkward and I apologise for how uncomfortable I’m sure that made you. I’m honestly gonna fucking kill James for that” Harry said, you could only giggle in response. “He has no idea what’s coming the next time we catch up. In all fairness, despite how uncomfortable that whole ordeal was, it was lovely to meet you” the two of you smiled at each other. “It was lovely meeting you too Harry, no need to apologise, I bloody knew he was up to something. anyway, I have to head back to my dressing room, I’ll see you around” you say before starting to walk away. You only make it a few steps before Harry stops you “Hey wait! What are you doing this afternoon? This was my last interview for the day and I was gonna head from here to get some food. Wanna come along?” You pause for a moment to think about what the rest your day looked like before smiling back at him “Well, I had planned to go home and eat some left over chinese in front of a film... but I like your idea better. Swing by my dressing room on your way out?” Harry could conseal his happiness with your response, a giddy grin now plastered on his face “It’s a date, but we have to make a deal that neither of us tell James ok? You know how smug he’d be. Deal?” Harry said with a wink, reaching his hand out to seal the deal. You laughed as you shook his hand once more, this time a little less awkard than the first encounter. “My lips are sealed. Now you better not take too long, I’m starving!” you say as you walk away with a smirk and as they say, the rest was history.

Hey lovelies, I hope you enjoyed this one! And I hope the anon who requested it thinks I did an ok job! I havent done many request pieces. Also I know its not super long but I still think its pretty adorable. Requests are open, just shoot me a message and I’ll see what I can do! xx

#imagine harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry fic #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles #one direction #harry fluff #harry smut #harry imagine #imagine harry #harry oneshot #harry styles onseshot

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katzkinder · 3 years

Text

Bloody Work

SakuMahi, serial killer au. Yeah, I don’t know how this one happened either, laughs. I was supposed to be writing Valentine’s stuff, oof

_________

Another glass served and another glass to clean, another patron asking for a refill and another patron leaving their pay on the counter. Small talk here and there, never a moment’s rest. Honestly, Sakuya had almost ignored the plain looking young man that had sat down at the bar and unceremoniously thunked his head down onto the counter top, but after about ten minutes of not hearing a peep from the guy, he just had to make sure he hadn’t up and died right there. Bad for business.

“Excuse me, sir?” drifted his faux concerned voice over the med student’s ears, and thankfully his words earned a shift and a tired reply of ‘Sorry, just resting…’

“Rough day I take it?” he continued, and this time the boy actually bothered to lift his head, blinking bleary brown eyes, the same as a doe’s, at him before nodding slowly.

“Yeah, you could say that…”

Sakuya smiled, bidding the boy wait just a moment for him to return. A simple pick me up should do the trick, a rum and coke that was more coke than rum. Very basic, but should be good enough for someone who looked like a couple beers could put them under the table.

“Here. It’s on me."

He smiled and slid the drink in front of his weary visitor, and slowly, the young man picked himself up to inspect it. A sip.

"Thank you. But, y’know...”

Oh, what a pretty smile…

“You should really card me first.”

Ah.

“S-sorry! Sorry, I’m still new at this...” He paused, bashful, when his floundering earned a laugh, and soon found himself laughing along, the nerves and annoyances of the past week seeming to vanish from his mind altogether. “I’m Sakuya, by the way. Watanuki Sakuya. Care to talk about your day for a bit with me?”

“Are you sure? You seemed busy.”

“Of course! I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t."

There was that smile again— Bright and dazzling and inexplicably like summer. He couldn’t help but think the brunet in front of him would look good in red.

"Shirota Mahiru. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine~”

__________________________________

Months later, and Mahiru had become something of a regular, dropping by on his off days for something alcoholic, or occasionally lugging his heavy books all the way to Sakuya’s humble establishment to set up in a corner booth and while the evening away with a soda or five. On slow days, he’d even hole up at the end of the bar farthest from the door and closest to the employees only area, entertaining Sakuya with idle conversation and anecdotes of his mundane life, or of his hectic days bustling from ward to ward. Other days, Mahiru would drag some of his rabble-rousing friends behind him, and while he found them more pain than they were worth, Sakuya wasn’t going to turn down the extra business.

Sometimes, though, when Mahiru wasn’t looking, Sakuya couldn’t help but stare at his hands. They were smaller than his, but more worn, more work weary, not nearly as delicate. More like Higan’s, who had multiple decades of experience under his belt where Sakuya only just started to wield brushes and carving tools and all manner of palette knives a scant few years ago. Still, he liked them with their healthy glow and scattered freckles and short clipped nails. But what caught his eye the most, aside from Mahiru’s grin that always seemed to melt away all the irritation and that terrible, horrible itch that made doing his job so difficult at times were his fingers.

Long, nimble ones.

Piano fingers they called them. Good for playing music.

Good for creating.

He absentmindedly wondered what they’d feel like in his own, only half focusing on the drink he was making–a simple coke and rum, Mahiru’s standard, go to favorite– as he thought.

They’d probably be warm. Incredibly warm, just like the personality of the person they belonged to. Gentle, too. Mahiru was in medical school, after all, and doctors and nurses had to be gentle with their patients.

He chuckled at the irony of their situation, prompting a curious look or two from other patrons, Mahiru included. The surly purple one with an unfairly pretty face and a high end wallet muttered something to him and he laughed, returned to the conversation, but not without catching Sakuya’s eyes and flashing him another of those blinding, heart stopping smiles.

A boy who wanted to save lives.

A man who wanted to take them.

No wonder their hands were so different.

As he handed off the drink to his customer, he wondered if perhaps one day, he could make it so that they’d both be the same.

#kat's katerwauling #servamp #mahiru shirota #Sakuya watanuki #sakumahi #pawprints #servamp drabbles

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blackestnight · 4 years

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28: a colloquy

Prompt: Irenic

Word count: 1414*

*Only 271 here, because I am not going to finish this fic in the next 4 minutes, so here’s an excerpt (I’ve submitted a Gdoc with everything I’ve written since the prompt release). If you haven’t read “The Blackest Night” or “The Branded Dawn,” you might want to.

He knew—after a fashion. Hanami was hardly an eager conversationalist at the best of times, her confessions coming in clipped sentences and profuse action. She was a woman of incredible honesty but few words; her halting, hushed retelling of what exactly she had learned in the shadows of Ishgard’s underbelly came in fragments of anecdotes interwoven with minute displays of power, a jumbled puzzle of evidence and explanation that Aymeric still struggled to wrap his mind around. He half-suspected that Hanami herself was overwhelmed by the mastery of her art, sometimes—but sometimes, there were moments of clarity, of confidence, like in Ala Mhigo when she had pressed dark fire into his skin and whispered searing promises in the sunrise. He could trust her skill, even if he could not always understand from whence it came.

The figment named Fray had featured in the earliest segments of her story, the segments that had trailed off and shattered while she hunted for words, and he’d wondered, briefly, whether Fray was some sort of conjury of her mind, constructed from the overwhelming rush of the soul crystal she carried. He’d touched it for himself; the power it carried was piercing, overwhelming, even when he had barely brushed its surface, like feeling a supernova through a thick film of glass, and men’s minds had created stranger tales to contextualize such things. The sheer consistency of her story had immediately put that half-formed theory to doubt, though, and a furtive skim of the Tribunal’s records had turned up a familiar name.

This, Aymeric supposed, was the final proof, even if he hadn’t been searching for it.

#ffxivwrite2020 #oc: hanami hagane #final fantasy xiv #aymeric de borel #(and a special guest!)#writing - mine

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kaiserdingus · 4 years

Text

Night of the Vampire Robots - 1995 Cartoon Network Retrospective

youtube

Most anime fans in the US over the age of 25 will tell you they got hooked on anime through Cartoon Network’s Toonami block, which aired weekdays from 1997 to 2004. The block would introduce staples such as Dragon Ball Z, Sailor Moon, and Gundam to a national audience, as well as more obscure shows like Tenchi Muyo and Outlaw Star. Toonami was created by Williams Street, Cartoon Network’s in-house production studio responsible for Space Ghost Coast to Coast and Adult Swim.

Well before the launch of Toonami and its success as the premiere anime destination on cable TV in the early 2000’s, Cartoon Network broadcast three animated movies in a one-night event called Night of the Vampire Robots. The marathon aired on Saturday night, January 28th 1995, and featured three anime movies from Streamline Pictures: Robot Carnival, Vampire Hunter D, and Twilight of the Cockroaches. These movies weren’t new, they’d previously been released in theaters and had previously aired on the Sci-Fi Channel, as well as TBS and TNT.

Streamline Pictures were a small film distributor in the late 80’s and early 90’s who would release anime movies and OVAs to American theaters. Founded by Harmony Gold’s Carl Macek and animation historian Jerry Beck, Streamline’s goal was to introduce Japanese animation to American audiences beyond poorly dubbed Saturday morning cartoons. They dubbed and released several noteworthy anime films in the early 90’s, including Kiki's Delivery Service, Akira, and Fist of the North Star.

Anecdotes from viewers who tuned in detail the marathon as being heavily edited, which isn’t surprising considering the mature content in Vampire Hunter D alone. The format of the marathon was similar to that of the Cartoon Network retrospective series Toon Heads. During commercial breaks an announcer would talk over clips from the movies and explain the cultural relevance of Japanese animation.

For this retrospective I watched Twilight of the Cockroaches on Amazon Prime Video, I watched Robot Carnival and Vampire Hunter D on VRV. These versions differ from the ones that aired on Cartoon Network, being uncut and more faithful to the original Japanese releases.

Robot Carnival

Robot Carnival is a package film that was released as a straight to video animated film in Japan, but received a brief theatrical release in the US. It features nine short films centered around robots, some of which are full of action, others can be sad and introspective, and some can be funny and over the top.

The first thing I noticed during this movie was the beautiful animation. Each of the nine shorts is a work of art that could never be produced today. Japan's economy was booming in the 1980′s, resulting in a wave of great animation. Among the animators who worked on the film are Katsuhiro Otomo, creator of Akira, and Yasuomi Umetsu, creator of the Kite series. Only two of the shorts feature spoken dialog, the rest rely on visual cues and the soundtrack to carry the narrative.

The central theme is robots, with each short being about robots in one way or another. One short is about a man who creates a robot who yearns for affection, exploring the idea of what it means to be alive, or to be human. Another segment is a parody of World War 2 era Japanese propaganda films, taking place during the 19th century and features a giant Japanese mechanical wooden robot fighting an invading Western robot.

Vampire Hunter D

Vampire Hunter D is the least obscure of the three movies, having been widely available on home video and given a sequel in 2001. Its based on the popular book series by Hideyuki Kikuchi, and is credited as the first horror anime for adults to feature graphic violence and sexual imagery. This was the movie you didn’t want your parents walking in on while its on the TV.

D is a dhampir, a half-human/half-vampire, with a giant cross sword and a parasitic left hand with a sassy mouth. When the evil Count Magnus Lee begins hunting a towns woman named Doris, D is hired to protect the woman. The movie takes place in a far off future that resembles the late 19th century. Guns are actually high powered laser rifles, and the horses are cybernetic. Its alluded to, but not explained, that the vampires are actually aliens from another world who’ve settled on Earth.

For much of the movie D is seen struggling with his identity, as his father was a vampire and his mother was a human. The humans live in fear of the vampires, and anyone bit by one is cast out of society. D recognizes the suffering vampires have brought upon humanity and vows to protect humans from them.

Vampire Hunter D was a minor hit in the US, prompting the creator to allow a sequel to be made with the West in mind. A PlayStation game would launch in 2000, followed by the sequel Vampire Hunter D: Bloodlust in 2001. The books would eventually be translated and released in the US starting in 2005, and there were plans for a licensed American comic book that were canceled at some point.

Twilight of the Cockroaches

Twilight of the Cockroaches is a movie that blends live-action with animation, similar to Who Framed Roger Rabbit. The movie is about a colony of cockroaches who live in the apartment of a depressed man who can't be bothered to exterminate them. The cockroaches are depicted as cartoon characters with humanoid features, the humans are portrayed by live actors on a set.

The cockroach colony feeds off the unkempt nature of the man in the apartment. He orders take-out and leaves piles of uneaten meals on the counter tops and tables, creating a feast for the cockroaches he largely ignores. The younger cockroaches go out in the open without fear of being attacked, while the older cockroaches understand the need to stay in the shadows. The fears are eventually realized when the man starts dating a woman who isn't fond of cockroaches. In order to impress her, he agrees to clean the apartment and exterminate the roaches, leading to a war between the roaches and humans.

The story is an exploration of genocide from the perspective of the victims. It's true humans generally dislike cockroaches, but the movie presents them in a sympathetic light. The film is shown from the perspective of the cockroaches, showing the humans as larger than life figures. Common sounds the humans make, such as footsteps, boom with a loud intensity that help make the audience feel small.

Twilight of the Cockroaches was relatively obscure even in its time, though it did manage to influence later films. The 1996 MTV film Joe's Apartment was inspired by Twilight of the Cockroaches, boasting a similar plot about a society of cockroaches living in a man's apartment. Director John Payson has been open about taking inspiration from Twilight of the Cockroaches, and outside of the basic premise, the two are completely different movies.

Even though Night of the Vampire Robots was a one-night event, Cartoon Network aired the movies individually during the Summer of 1995. For three weeks in a row Cartoon Network would air each movie at 12:15 AM on Saturday night, during what they called Saturday Japanime. As far as anime for an adult audience is concerned, these would be the last until 2001 when Cowboy Bebop premiered along with the rest of the original Adult Swim line up.

Where to Buy

Robot Carnival (Amazon)

Vampire Hunter D (Amazon)

Twilight of the Cockroaches (Amazon)

Support Y2K FunZone on Patreon

#Cartoon Network #Night of the Vampire Robots #Cartoon Network Anime #Toonami #anime #90's anime #80's anime #Robot Carnival #Vampire Hunter D #Twilight of the Cockroaches

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scripttorture · 5 years

Note

There is a Star Trek episode (Deep Space Nine, s3e21) where it is described how one character, who used to work for the secret police of a totalitarian government, "got a confession" out of a dissident. " You just sat there [- - -] And after four hours of watching you stare at him, he confessed.[- - -] Afterwards, he just kept saying, 'His eyes his eyes.'" (There is a one-minute clip of the scene on youtube entitled “DS9 3x21 - The Die is Cast - The Good Old Times”.) 1/3

Considering other things we see of this culture, it seems likely the victim is restrained and he might well have been beaten or otherwise tortured before the staring described above. Furthermore, there are implications elsewhere that the torturer and the dissident knew each other, possibly very well, before these events. 2/3I’d be interested to hear your take on this, its plausibility and anything that might ‘salvage’ it if it seems very unrealistic. How common is the use of intimidation tactics such as long stretches of silence? What is known of the difference between being tortured by a stranger and by someone you know and possibly trusted? P.S. Thank you for this excellent blog! 3/3

Youknow I think I’ve seen part of this episode.

Fromwhat I can remember there’s a heavy implication throughout that thetorturer-character is an unreliable narrator. Part of that seemed (tome at least) explicitly tied to his role as a torturer.

Andwell, that isrealistic. Torturers are often incredibly unreliable sources when itcomes to both the effectiveness of torture and what they actually didor why something they did was harmful.

Whatthis reminds me of is the way American torturers described usingheavy metal or other Western music against non-Western prisoners.They seemed to consistently put the distress down to the formof music that was being repeatedly played. Rather than the fact itwas constant and at top volume, preventing the prisoners fromsleeping.

Silencecanencourage people to speak but it doesn’t necessarily encourage themtowards confessing or speaking about anything relevant. And I don’tthink staring at someone would have this effect. It’s the ‘HISEYES!’ that underlines the disconnect from reality for me, it justseems so melodramatically implausible if staring was genuinely theonly factor at play here.

It’sone of those strange depictions that can be read as either veryrealistic or hugely unrealistic depending on how much weight you givethe torturer’s account.

Becausethis does seem like a realistic thing fora torturer to claim.But it isn’t a realistic thing to happen.

Whichis another reason why nuance is so important in these stories. We’redealing with unreliable narrators throughout. Torturers, survivorsand even witnesses are all compromised at a neurological level; theirmemories are suspect.

Andtorturers are additionally heavily biased in their accounts. Theytake credit for things that are beyond their control, don’t mentionthings that go against their accounts (sometimes they don’t seem toeven make the connection between them) and bend over backwards tojustify their actions after the fact.

Ican give you an idea of the kind of thing that a torturer mightreport in this way.

Aprisoner is brought in. They’re restrained. They might be beaten.And then they’re ‘sweated’.

Thisis something that used to be common among police forces across quitea few countries. It basically means the victim was tied to a chairwith a bright light shining in their eyes and interrogated for aprolonged period of time. Rooms were usually cramped, so the lightwould make the room unbearably hot. There’s an element of restrainttorture, keeping the victim for a long time in one position. There’ssleep deprivation (because this often went on for over 12 hours).There’s dehydration, because the victim usually wasn’t given foodor water. And they generally weren’t allowed to go to the bathroomeither.

InRussia (and some other countries) they combined this with somethingRejali calls ‘relay interrogation’. Which means they basicallykept switching the torturers. This meant that the torturers wouldalways be pretty well rested but the victim could be kept awake forliterally days at a time.

I’dsuggest that was what happened here.

Ratherthan the victim confessing after ‘four hours’, I’d suggest itwas much more likely he’d been brought in 36-48 hours before andconsistently deprived of water and sleep.

Overthat time frame humans (we shall pretend that aliens work in the sameway) become delirious and often start to hallucinate. Which couldexplain saying something like ‘THE EYES!!!’ It might also explainthe ‘confession’ because in this state some victims aredisconnected from reality to the point that they don’t reallyunderstand they’re confessing.

Torturersare competitive. In a situation like this, with relay interrogation,the firsttorturer gets absolutely no ‘credit’ for a forced confession thathappens five torturers later. All of the ‘credit’, all of thepraise, goes to the last person in the room.

Giventhat there is considerable encouragement for that last torturer toact as though the entire thing was down to them and theirunique/unusual tactics.

Andas torturers are prone to exactlythe same memory problems as survivors,it’s also possible that a torturer in this situation could havegenuinely forgotten that that particular prisoner was brought inseveral days before and had been tortured for that time.

I’venot heard of the use of silence as a tactic by torturers.Intimidation, yes. But it generally seems to come in the form ofthreats.

Howeversilence is commonly used as a tactic by people being interrogated. Atthe very least I know the IRA used this as a consistent organisationwide tactic that members were told to employ if arrested. They wouldturn their back on the interrogators and remain silent. It’sincredibly disquieting and does prompt some people to talk. I thinkthere’s a link to a more detailed discussion of this in the EffectiveInvestigation masterpost.I’m not sure if the Alisons have written any papers on it: their worktends to focus on tactics for interrogators rather than people whoare being interrogated. They’d be a good place to check though.

Fromwhat I know, silence could be an effective tactic in genuineinterrogation but it would have to be part of a broader strategy. Idon’t think it would be effective without the use of other tactics orif it was applied randomly.

Itcould help to get a person to start talking but it couldn’t replacebuilding up a rapport or the ability to steer a conversation to thetopic of interest.

Asfor the last question- I’m afraid I genuinely have no idea. Therereally aren’t enough studies on torturers and the studies I am awareof use a very small sample size. Studies with survivors tend to be alot larger but I’ve never come across a study that talked aboutsurvivors and torturers having a prior relationship of any kind.

Anecdotalaccounts aren’t much better on this front. I’m aware of cases wheresurvivors and torturers came from the same village or small town. I’maware of cases where they knew each other as acquaintances prior tothe victim being tortured. But none of the cases I’m aware ofshowed any indication that the relationship was close. It’s- peoplewho knew each others names, passed on the street, perhapsoccasionally lent the other person a cup of flour. There’s noindication of anything as close as a working or colleaguerelationship in the accounts I’ve seen.

Theaccount Fanon records of a torturer’s daughter who came to him forcounselling doesdescribe a closer relationship with victims. But that’s atorturer’s family member and victims, rather than the torturerhimself.

Becauseit is, by definition, institutional torture doesn’t seem to involvethose sorts of previously strong relationships often.

Nowabusedefinitely does and I suspect that if a prior strong relationshipmakes a difference then you could find that difference by comparingsurvivors of abuse with survivors of torture. Which is a doctoralthesis I’d very much like to see funded but it’s rather beyondthe scope of the blog.

Inthis case I don’t think I’d advise going through anecdotalaccounts and trying to make the comparison yourself. In order forsomething like that to be significant you’ve got to control for alot of factors, which might not be reported in anecdotal accounts andyou need to go through a lotof accounts. I think it would be very easy to leap to an incorrectconclusion, especially when you don’t have direct access to thesurvivors themselves and can’t ask them.

Forthe purposes of the story I’d suggest assuming that there isn’t asymptomatic difference. Assume the symptoms would be the same whetherthe relationship with the torturer was close before or not.

Butadd to that particular issues around relationships and trust.

Thesecan show up as a normal part of the mental illnesses torture causesbut they don’t always. I think tying this kind of… element ofself-isolation and difficulty around personal interaction to thecharacter would add to a story with this kind of relationship.

Accountsfrom survivors of abuse (especially spousal or familial abuse) cangive you an idea how these sorts of difficulties with trust andrelationships manifest. I’d suggest asking @scripttraumasurvivorsfor a source recommendation there though, it’s outside of my area.

Ihope that helps. :)

Disclaimer

#tw torture #torture in fiction #star trek #torturers #writing torturers #behaviour of torturers #forced confession #memory #relay interrogation #sleep deprivation #Fanon #ourfinaldecember #sci fi ask

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nerdiests · 6 years

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Here’s day 4 of Kaminari week!!

Check it out on ao3!

prompt: theories - traitor/backstory/creator’s choice

Denki had never been good with Japanese to begin with, but the fact that it wasn’t his first language definitely didn’t help matters. Sure, he’d grown up speaking an amalgamation of English and Japanese, but he hadn’t grown up writing an amalgamation of English and Japanese. After all, despite his parents speaking Japanese so he wouldn’t flounder when they moved back to Japan, America didn’t prioritize learning second languages until later years. So he didn’t exactly get to learn any written Japanese. Coming back to Japan was definitely a struggle, since he had to pick up a new written language.

After moving back to Japan shortly after his twelfth birthday, Denki had a bit of a crisis. He could speak the language just fine, so everyone assumed he would be able to write Japanese just as well as he could speak. That was not, in fact, the case. Being thrown into Japanese middle school as he had been without any knowledge of written Japanese whatsoever, he was immediately floundering. Denki took it upon himself to try and teach himself how to read Japanese, but it was slow going. Kanji was, after all, much harder to read than English. And Spanish and French. So Denki was barely passing his classes, and his parents were extremely disappointed in his sudden drop in grades.

Eventually, as high school approached and everyone always laughed at his low test scores, Denki decided he was going to shoot for the best school out there. U.A. High School. Everyone was shocked when he said he’d be shooting for the most prestigious school in Japan for heroes, support engineers, business students, and even academically. But Denki was going to blow all of them out of the water with his expertise. He knew what they were talking about, he was learning everything they’d talked about in classes, he just couldn’t read anything anyone wrote. So he was going to especially brush up on his kanji comprehension skills before going in to take the U.A. exam.

For the almost year leading up to the exam, Denki spent all his spare time studying - both for school and how to read written Japanese. They were both slow-going, but he managed. Picking up how to read kanji definitely accelerated his learning process with school, since the more kanji he learned how to read the more words he could read. Though he did a lot more studying of more advanced words as he looked for the material that would be on the U.A. entrance exam, which was a lot more complex than the words he’d been studying for the past year.

The day had snuck up on Denki with almost no warning, though his mom had reminded him about his exam the week prior. It was a tiring day, for sure. He’d almost gone over his voltage limit repeatedly during the practical portion, and he might’ve written some of his answers on the written portion in English instead of Japanese. It’s not his fault he didn’t learn any written Japanese until he was twelve, it’s the American education system’s fault for not prioritizing bilingualism. If they had he’d probably have done a lot better on the entrance exam’s first half, which did not go well.

He, surprisingly, passed with flying colors. All Might - who was teaching at U.A. now, wow - informed him that someone had to specially grade his test because it was an amalgamation of English, Japanese, and a bit of Spanish and French, surprisingly. And the practical exam - which he got 53 points on - was definitely enough to get him into U.A. Thank goodness.

As the year began, and continued to go on, Denki grew close to some of his fellow classmates. Ashido Mina, Kirishima Eijirou, Sero Hanta, and Bakugou Katsuki to name a few. He also might’ve had a few. Crushes on fellow classmates (Read: all of them). And all the events the class went through definitely drew the class closer together. They had to move into dorms after an event at their summer camp, and Denki couldn’t even help because he’d failed the practical final and-! Let’s move past that for now.

The dorms were nice. He’d almost short circuited the whole dorm building at one point because Kirishima decided it was a good idea to get the whole class to watch a movie and someone (Bakugou) decided to take it upon himself to ensure they watched SAW. He’d also almost beaten a level on Geometry Dash when Ashido decided that sneaking up on him while he was sitting in the common room lounge was a good idea! Nope! What made him laugh, though, is that despite living in close quarters with all eighteen of his classmates, it never came up that he was technically American. Well. Not until the joint English/World History project.

“Alright, listeners! We’re doing a joint project with World History! You’re going to be assigned a country and give a basic summary of that country’s history, but here’s the catch! It has to be all in English!” Present Mic explained, and groans chorused throughout the classroom. Denki, however, grinned. Denki felt eyes on him for a moment, Present Mic possibly, before his teacher continued.

“Now, for countries! Aoyama Yuuga… Belgium!” There was a quiet sound of disappointment, but Denki had tuned everyone out for a moment. Wouldn’t it be wild if he got the U.S? Like, man. If he could spend a whole project blathering on about his home country that would be a blast, he could make so many pop culture references…

“Kaminari Denki… United States of America!” Denki froze. Holy shit. He heard someone laugh around him, muttering about how he’d have an easier project. Denki began to laugh lowly under his breath, and someone tapped on his shoulder. Kirishima. Denki turned around to see his friend’s slightly concerned face.

“You okay, man?” he asked. Denki nodded once.

“I’m doin’ absolutely amazing, Kirishima!” Denki said excitedly, unable to keep the manic grin off his face. Kirishima nodded slowly, seemingly not believing him.

“O… kay…” Kirishima said, and Denki turned back around, manic grin still on his face. Denki tuned out everyone else for the assignments, though he heard the explosions that followed Bakugou being assigned France.

The next few weeks were a breeze for Denki. He didn’t have to do a ton of research, since he’d saved all his notes and assignments from American History - he’d tested out of Texas History, thankfully - and he could detail the first half of American History fairly well, plus he just knew random facts about the 1900s because a lot of his favorite movies and games were from the time period, plus it was just an interesting time period. The 2000s were definitely more… Intriguing, though. It took a fair amount of time to get to present day with his research, and he went. Extremely in depth, because who wouldn’t go extremely in depth when you can actually read and understand what you’re reading?

The day before Denki was set to present, he managed to get a pass to leave campus to go shopping. And they let him go by himself. What a blessing. He needed to grab the fashion items - or make them, in some cases - before he presented. He’d already gotten his permission to walk in when he was supposed to present from Present Mic so he just needed to get the clothes he’d need for his presentation. People would get extra credit for wearing the fashion of the country, after all. And he was going all out.

The next morning, when he was set to present, Denki was waiting outside of the classroom.

“Next to present, possibly for the whole class period as I’ve been told, is Kaminari Denki, with his project on the United States of America!!” Denki grinned. Time for his entrance. Denki kicked the door open with his saddle shoe-clad foot and walked into the room with a grin on his face.

“Sup, I’m Denki Kaminari and I lived in the United States for twelve years!” Denki said enthusiastically. Everyone looked at him, shocked for the most part, but he spotted a grin on Present Mic’s face. Denki’s grin grew wider, and he gestured back at the old fashioned Powerpoint he’d made, with cruddy transitions to give the effect that it was, in fact, the early 2000s and not their current time.

“Now, lemme tell you about the wide and varied history of the United States of America, complete with cultural anecdotes, a few Spanish and French bits because I know bits and pieces of both languages, but other than that it’s totally in English. Aka, my first language,” Denki said, before turning around and adjusting his handmade cravat.

“So. U.S. history technically didn’t start with Jamestown and Roanoke back in the 1600s…” And so Denki went on to ramble for the entire class period - all in English, no less - about American history, a subject he’d found to be somewhat interesting.

He ended up getting the highest grade in the class. His… Cross decade ensemble - saddle shoes, legwarmers, ripped up jeans, a graphic tee, a cravat, clip-on disco ball earrings, and a fascinator - got him some extra points, eventually when he revealed that he made half of them himself. Denki spent a month fielding questions about why he never revealed that particular fact, and half as much time being asked to get a translation for the people that hadn’t understood a word. It was a wonderful month.

#nerdiwrites #denkiweek2018 #kaminari denki #kaminari!!#bnha #american denki returns with a vengeance #note: fascinators are those little hats that people wore with the feathers

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