rat poison for dinner

dating sangwoo: dingy basement dates, hides you from public cuz he illegal, rat poison for dinner, house smells like blood 24/7, an asshole who doesn’t care about anyone but himself, a big no

dating seungbae: chinese restaurant dates, takes me around for 2 am drives, most legal man ever, dad jokes, a really sweet n humble man, enjoys my bad humour, greets me with rose bouquets, takes me on dates in the day w/o any fear, house smells like lilacs n champagne, gentleman in the streets; hottest daddy in the sheets, loves n cares too hard, the biggest yes


Those lights again over the lake, for the third night in a row. Scully and Will are asleep in the basement, but Mulder can’t sleep, not with the lights. He doesn’t even need to see them arcing in through the basement window, swears he can feel them in his bones.

He knows he shouldn’t go outside – if there are lights, it means they’re looking for someone, and who else is left? – but he wants to do this one thing. There’s so little else any of them can do.

With one hand Mulder pushes a spade into the hard winter earth. In a different world he’d have stepped on it for the leverage, but if he breaks this spade there’s no buying a new one.

The snow is gone but its memory remains; ice crystals in the dirt just six inches below the surface. This seems improbable. The temperature hasn’t dropped below fifty degrees in weeks.

Of course, this is not the most improbable thing that has happened. And the earth has a very long memory.

The vegetables are rotting in the ground. They couldn’t have eaten them anyway, but it stings all the same. Long afternoons bent to the soil, dirt under their fingernails. After so many years hiding in the basement of the Hoover building, Mulder was inordinately proud of his farmer’s tan. Now all of his work has come to nothing: manuscripts untouched for months in his desk drawer, his file cabinet still full of mysteries they’ll never solve, and a garden full of decay.

Mulder thinks about poisoning the soil, about leaving behind one big fuck you to his land’s next inhabitants, but he doesn’t have sufficient information. What they’re made of, these trespassers, the colonists; what would hurt them. For all he knows they eat rat poison for dinner, and anyway Mulder doesn’t have any particular desire to turn rats into collateral damage. It’s hard enough to survive.

Instead, he finishes digging up the potatoes and carrots and piles them near the shed; all of this takes longer now, like most things, but he’s getting used to it. He takes a packet of seeds from his pocket and tucks them into the dirt, almost tenderly. The seeds disappear into the earth. There’s no reason to do this, or anything else, except that after everything you just keep going.

When he’s done, the moon is high and bright overhead. He imagines the land will remember him.


Shit. Nothing Makes Sense, So I wont think About It.