hopefully i'll be posting soon

sunday, 3am

“Gently,” she stressed.

Sitting on the sink-counter, she looked washed-out in the harsh fluorescent light of their bathroom, a little spatter of blood staining the shoulder of her light blue scrubs, her skin a wintery kind of pale and her freckles fading as though they’d been one of God’s afterthoughts. Her braid rested tattered and ripped down her spine, long red strands falling in front of the bruises on her cheek, and as he carded her hair back behind her ear, she flinched involuntarily, her shaky hands stilling on her lap, her breath hitching.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, the bag of ice in his hand hovering before her, his brain buzzing in the overtired way he used to feel accustomed to. If his circadian rhythms were reliable, then he and his body estimated that three in the morning, maybe half past, had come and gone. A long time ago, she’d told him that keeping lights on from the nighttime hours of ten-to-ten harmed the brain’s ability to produce melatonin, but he figured that light would be the least of their worries tonight.

Softly, she met his gaze, then looked back down at her lap.

“Sorry,” she said, wincing at the word. “I’m just…I’m still a little shaken up.”

He nodded, then gingerly brought the ice to her cheek, and though she recoiled at first, luckily she eased against his touch, let out a deep, exhausted breath.

“Is there any bleeding?” she asked, her voice muffled by the ice.

“None at all,” he said.

She swallowed, said, “The nurse there seemed like she was doing a great job of cleaning it.”

“And you’re absolutely sure you’re not concussed?” he asked as he leaned against the sink, the house around them so still and silent that it made the winter beyond them feel heavier and thicker than it already was. 

Looking up at him, she delicately pressed her lips together, said, “Had the nurse check. No headache or dizziness. I’m fine, Mulder.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding to himself. 

Though she avoided late shifts and preferred not to work on Saturdays, she’d been on a Saturday evening to Sunday morning emergency room shift, eight pm to eight pm, but a one am call let him know that a drunk patient, a punch to the face, and some police involvement meant that she would be coming home early. The last time he, in her words, went caveman left them both embarrassed and uncomfortable, but now, he wished he could’ve been there, could’ve watched over her and had her back so that some drunkard would’ve never decked her behind a modesty curtain, wouldn’t have had a chance to let her head thud against a sterile linoleum floor before punching her again. Though he wanted to think of this protectiveness as more than an ancient biological imperative, though he wished he didn’t find himself at fault for something so clearly irrelevant to his existence, he still brought Duane Barry and Phillip Padgett and all of the other men who had wronged her to mind, wondered once more if he could’ve done more. While at the Bureau, he could’ve argued that he was her partner, that it was of the utmost importance for them to watch each other’s backs, but now, he could hardly merit the wish.

And had he been there, he probably would’ve been decked too, only he would’ve cried about it instead of stoically driving home afterward like she did. Sometimes, he figured, the universe chose to punch the ones who could take it, not the ones who couldn’t.

“You’re never working a night shift again,” he said, hoping to elicit a laugh or at least a pained smile; thankfully, she reached toward him, wrapped her fingers in his open hand, kept her eyes down but let him know that she was present and receptive anyway. 

“I sure hope not,” she said, “but if they ever want me to, I’m sure that citing this incident will make them change their minds.”

Softly, he laughed, and though he figured it would hurt her to smile, the purplish and red smears of bruises on her cheeks keeping her from moving her face too much, she still quirked her lip, the movement minute but visible. 

“Did you have any Advil before you got home?” he asked.

“I had one before I left the hospital.” 

“Do you think you’ll be able to sleep?”

She sucked her lips in again, met his gaze, so he nodded in understanding. He figured neither or them would be getting much sleep tonight.

“Well,” he said, his voice turning theatrical, “I can offer some warm milk-”

“No hot liquids,” she said quickly. “Have to keep the swelling down.”

“Okay,” he said, off-put. There went his ideas for chamomile tea and maybe a warm bath in order to calm her down. “Then, cold water.”


He squeezed her hand.

“What are you looking for, then?” he asked. “My mind goes numb after midnight.”

Taking a deep breath, she said, “A movie, something mindless. Just until we feel we could fall asleep.”

So she shed her blood-smeared scrubs and opted for pajamas and thick socks; while she migrated to the couch, held the ice against her more bluish cheek, he rifled through their bookshelf, found Sleepless in Seattle and liked the irony it provided, so he popped the tape in, the lights off in their living room, the fish tank fluorescent and bubbling in the background, the winter winds shifting the shutters on their fixer-upper farmhouse. He sat on her less-bruised side, and as she spread a shared blanket over their laps, he fast-forwarded coming attractions of many years ago, her two hands wrapping around his free one. While the movie began, he tuned Meg Ryan out and kept his eyes on her instead, tried to survey her body for telltale signs of stress. 

She’d told him long ago that she felt anxiety not in her mind but in her limbs, in her joints; while her thoughts told her to push forward, her body cringed and faded, her demise coming not from her will but from her physical breakdown, so he’d tried to be a constant for her, had kept track of her hours and made sure that, even when she seemed so determined to finish just one more stack of paperwork, she would go home for a good night’s rest instead. From those many times, he knew what to look for: raised shoulders, shaky hands, huffed breaths, glasses pushed up far more often than one would expect. However, tonight shifted that response because her breakdown had come from a patient, not from herself, so while she took shallow breaths during the movie, he traced his thumb against the back of her hand, let her lean into him with her face angled so that his shoulder and her bruises never quite made contact. As four am ticked past, he realized that he’d never watched this movie in full, but because he’d distracted himself during the first half of the film, he hadn’t a clue where the plot went.

“Scully?” he whispered, almost wincing at how his voice interrupted the special, rural silence around them. 

When she didn’t shift, he craned his neck, and though he should’ve been able to tell through her long, languid breaths against his chest, he only noticed that she’d fallen asleep when he looked down and saw her closed eyes. Reaching for the remote, he turned the television off, and with deft, gentle motions, he managed to lift her up without waking her - after all, she could sleep anywhere, from passenger’s seats of cheap rental cars to bleach-ridden motel beds to his old leather couch back before he’d been able to offer her a bed instead - and carried her upstairs though his aging joints protested with each step. 

Thankful that he’d left the bed unmade after she’d called, he managed to slip her beneath the overturned sheets on his side of the bed, tucked her in before he climbed in on the other still-made side. Out here, the nights were dark save for the endless lines of unobstructed stars in the sky, so he kept their bedroom’s blinds up, soft light falling over her bruising face, the rise and fall of her chest shifting the duvet while she slept. Her pillow smelled like that lavender shampoo she liked, and though the stuffing was too thick for him, he found that he could still relax into it, their respective alarm clocks off for now, her bedside book-stack dwindling as his seemed only to grow larger, her reading glasses askew and the closet door left open in a way that would’ve scared him as a child. 

And he presented himself with two lonely options: either he could work out hundreds of different scenarios that left her unscathed and him some kind of half-assed hero, or he could watch her soft breaths until their cadence lulled him to sleep. For once, he picked the second option and drifted off before morning began to creep through the windows.

Shouji’s a pretty protective guy. 


“They sure like to review everything …”


I’ve made arrangements. You’ll be safe here until I return. What are you talking about? I’m going with you. You heard what she said. It’s too dangerous. If I’m standing next to you, he’s far more likely to see you for the man you were. He’s more likely to see you as a woman abetting a known pirate and hang you alongside me. I see no reason for you to take that risk. Of course there is reason. None that I am willing to take. It was  m y   f a u l t .

Another work selfie. Work loop, food loop, life loop. My blood tests came back good and I have my ecg on Tuesday, I’m sure that will be fine. I just want to get this consultant appointment over with so they can work out a care plan and I can try and engage with therapy and get on with my life. I want to be able to cope with work again, I want to be able to socialise and do fun things with Ian and most of all I want to have more babies. I’ve got my life on hold for this stupid shit and it needs to stop.

Random confession time!

Because honestly I’m choking myself by keeping this odd new excitement in life. So, just random ramble. Sorry for no digimon content, content on it has been low recently.


…I somehow got hooked on Pokemon.
I’m soon-to-be 24 years old young lady, and I got hooked on Pokemon. I don’t even know exactly why.

This hook came in form of the newest Pokemon 3ds game, Pokemon Moon. I loved it. I had finally found a game that I could enjoy playing on a fly, and focus on the aspects I kinda would like to do with digimon, but can’t because no digimon games are for 3ds.
Despite not usually being a jrpg fan, the gameplay felt nice in Moon. I love filling ny pokedex and oh god, I loved customising my trainer. Also, Rowlet is freaking cute. And Decidueye has certainly become my favourite pokemon of them all.
Well, after completing Moon’s story, I was left with a craving feeling of wanting more. So I got Pokemon X. Because it has trainer customisation as well lol. It proved to be harder than Moon to me, because I was bad with remembering types and such, but it was so enjoyable. And Pokemon Amie system seemed to do wonders to my recent anxiety problems. I felt happy. Pikachu is the cutest thing ever in Pokemon Amie.

However, after finishing X, I felt empty again. I wanted to see more pokemon. Then I somehow thought that hey, why not check the newest Pokemon season? Since I so loved Alola region. My childhood memories of TV show were kinda bad imaged, and I prepared to have the mindset of “nope” the instant I saw first 5 mins.

Well… the opposite happened. Before I noticed I caught up til newest episodes in japan, and noticed myself having fun while watching it. Ash, or as I kinda prefer due to watching in japanese, Satoshi really grew on me, mainly because I LOVE his relationship with Pikachu. It’s so sweet.

Then I decided to rewatch the very first episode to see how Satoshi’s journey started. Mm, I did remember right about start being quite annoying, but the way Pikachu grew on Satoshi was nice to see. However, I felt like I would not like the early show so I dropped it.

THEN I kinda decided to check how the XY series was, since I did enjoy the X game, and heard people liking a more “mature” Satoshi in it. In the end, even thou it had it flaws, I liked the series lots and it now has a warm spot in my heart. Serena, Eureka (Bonnie) and Citron (Clemont) were enjoyable companions, and well, I may have ended up with shipping Satoshi with Serena. I mean, they’re cute. Dedenne is the best pokemon in the series thou. Oh, and Greninja/Gekkouga. Aaaah all them pokemon were great!

But pheeeeeeeeew. That’s all I wanted to let out. Tldr; I got hooked on Pokemon and now feel extemely thankful for it. I feel like my anxiety problem is slowly fading away while playing and watching it. I have no regrets, even if I have no to talk it with.

(And now to decide whether I want to make a side blog for pokemon gifs or not.)