My brother shared another great DnD story with me.
So the adventurers had picked up a girl who’d caught cold, and as she was coughing some guy on the street offered her candy. Naturally, as they had been well trained by their parents, they refused. The guy apologized and clarified. “My name is Nicola Ricola,” he explained, “and these are my newly invented cough drops.”
Since he’s just starting his business, he needs money, so he asks the adventuring team to help him raid an ancient city jampacked with treasure. Once, a long time ago, a king demanded he be buried in a huge pyramid + enormous city complex. He got a bunch of slaves to start building, but died partway through construction. They kept working, but the force of his greed was so great that even when they died they got up and kept working. So there’s this ancient city being constantly expanded and repaired by an army of dead. And of course it’s jampacked with loot.
So they raid the place, and as they’re headed out Nicola mentions in an aside that he’s glad that curse wasn’t true. They pressure him, but he just says something is supposed to happen to anyone who steals the treasure, but they’re fine.
A while later, he contacts them again asking for protection duty. Something has been killing off other members of the expedition. They take shelter in a room and then hear something banging down the hallway toward them. The door flies open, and the king’s sarcophagus pounds into the room. It deflects all their attacks with its evil magic, until Nicola flings a cough drop at it. Then it turns and bounces away again, never to be seen again. Because nothing stops a coffin like Ricola.
I just have to make my peace with the fact that my brother is a better DM than I will ever be.
Imagine Lyra being raised at Hogwarts instead of Jordan College tho
The professors having to deal with a toddler Lyra, wandering about the castle’s corridors, discovering the room of requirement at the age of six
McGonagall teaching her little magic tricks and then regretting her life choices when the little girl uses them to cause riot
being friends with all the ghosts in the castle, having tea parties with them, but having nightmares about the Bloody Baron and running away every time she sees him
aligning herself with Peeves only to cause hell being tricked by him and getting revenge, destroying one classroom or two in the process
Being Undesirable Number One in Filch’s list at the age of eight.
Having owls for friends and always visiting them in the owlery tower, always having Pan as a little owl in those occasions.
Having afternoon tea every day with Hagrid in his hut
Hagrid being the father figure she never had and loving him to bits and fighting first years that dare make fun of him (this starting at the age of 6, of course)
playing with Pan on the roofs of the castle (no one really knowing how the heck she gets up there, but it probably has something to do with the owls, those smart birds)
at the age of nine, starts going alone to hogsmeade and playing with the kids there, organizing wars and games and being a wild leader among them, causing riot in the streets, stealing candies from Honeydukes.
spending entire summer afternoons by the lake with the giant squid
getting lost in the woods, only to be rescued by hagrid and spend months having nightmares about it.
pretending a lovers portrait on the wall is actually a portrait of her parents, and the two lovers going along with it, always talking to her when she talks to them.
being not allowed to enter the library bc she keeps going to the forbidden section and opening books that should not be opened.
being the one helping professor flitwick to prepare the Christmas tree and absolutely loving it
“Okay, I’m gonna tell you something deep and dark and personal now. Ready? Good. I killed someone. I was 14. He was this… He beat me up. So I’m walking on the street eating a candy bar, 'cause by then I already ate my feelings at a professional level, and I saw him crossing over. And there was this bus coming. I barely thought the thought. Bam. I knew immediately what I’d done, that it was me.”
I have heard you cry until your lungs rattle like the snake announcing itself in the desert, I have listened to the sound your heart makes when it shatters at sunset and takes all night to stitch itself back together again with fraying string. No more.
I have sat where you now sit at the kitchen table, staring at the plate in front of you and wondering if this is how each man has seen you. Your mouth doesn’t water but your eyes begin to. I have crossed my legs tighter, as you do. You ask yourself what defines an animal - if meat is only meat when we say so. No more.
I have been with you as you walk down the street, the night announcing itself in the laughs and yells from the bars and the keys between your fingers. You tell yourself you would feel better with more protection, even though by now you have built up so many walls you can call yourself a mansion. No more.
I have waited for a call by my phone for hours, as you have. I have stared at the ceiling for one hour too long, paced the length of my house for two hours, wondering for three hours straight why I am not worth the ten seconds that it takes to send a message. No more.
You are not the dry-heaves from your stomach that beg you to pull yourself together. You are more. You are not the dessert or the dinner, you are not served on a silver platter, ordered from a menu. You are more. You are not street-candy, you are not “hey baby”. You are more. You are not an empty building, or darkened alley. You are more. You are not counted in the minutes he has chosen to care for you. You are more.
To the girl who swears she has never been enough,
You are more.
For fun, you walk down Main Street of Old Placerville. You see a candy shop. You go in. “Don’t go to the other candy shop,” says the man at the counter. You exit and see, across the street, another candy shop. You cross the street. You go in. “Don’t go to the other candy shop,” says the man at the counter. You exit. You don’t go to either candy shop anymore. You keep walking. You step into the used books shop. Where did the entrance go? There is a mannequin in the window. It blinks.
You take the highway east of Sacramento. On the way to your destination, there are cows. So many cows. You roll up the windows. You take the highway west of Sacramento. On the way to your destination, there are still cows. So many cows. You keep the windows rolled up. You take the highway south of Sacramento. On the way to
your destination, there are more cows. So many cows. You turn off the A/C. You take the highway north of Sacramento. You don’t come back.
“It’s raining,"someone says. "Is it?” You look outside. You get dressed. You open the door. It is no longer raining. When was the last time you have felt water on your skin?
Tired of cows, you take the back roads to the college. On the way, you pass a dilapidated farmhouse, stark against the bright green grass surrounding it. You think it is beautiful. On another trip, you go a different way, to a different town. You pass a dilapidated farmhouse on the side of the road. You think it is eerie. For the next few weeks, every day you will pass and notice an increasing number of dilapidated farmhouses. Eventually you cease to notice.
It is snowing in the foothills. The news travels quickly, like a hyena pack. It is snowing in the foothills! School administrators are ruffled, wondering what to do. Children and teenagers flock outside and reach to drag their fingers along the frosty white grass. There is no snow.
Folsom Lake is dry. Families and explorers travel from miles around. They take their cameras and their hiking boots. “Excavate Mormon Island,” they say. The lakebed is parched. “Find treasure.” You murmur a question of concern. Isn’t the water running out? Should we be worried? No one hears you.
In Gold Country, you used to pan the rivers for gold. Now, you scan the golden hills for water.
In your white, conservative town, you see a sign advertising a Tea Party. You show up to the meeting. There is no tea. It is not a party. Everyone stares at you.
In Old Sacramento, you enter Evangeline’s Costume Mansion. The walls tell the stories of the criminals who have lived and died here. You get in the elevator. You pass the mannequins. You pass the displays of swords. You pass the corsets and headdresses. You have hit the third floor. The elevator keeps going. You are not sure where.
The road up north leads through a hundred boasted charming small towns. They offer home-baked pie. They offer fresh apple cider. They offer postcards that advertise the right to bear arms. A chill runs down your spine. The mutton-chopped baker smiles at you.
Facebook statuses ring like pealing church bells. ‘Did you feel the earthquake?’ 'How about that earthquake!’ Reports of Richter scale ratings blur on your screen. You check the news. The earthquake was in your town. You didn’t notice.
On the coast, you travel north to Humboldt County. The trees smell strange. The people smell strange. There are stairs everywhere. It is cold, and the pupils of everyone you meet are dilated. “We have a street fair,” they say. “Support local craftsmanship.”
Fog skims the streets of Stockton. The fog clouds here do not hang in the air. They move, like snakes. They slither onto the soccer field at night. They arrange a buffer around your vehicle. You cannot see. Are those children playing in the silvery darkness there? Shapes are moving, but you do not hear a sound. You crawl slowly down the road and hope those glowing eyes are headlights.
Your friends suggest you meet in William Lands Park. You show up to William Lands Park. Your friends are not there. Children run, screaming, to a tiny theme park in the middle of the grass. You are not allowed in. You are too old for magic, they tell you. Where are your friends? Where in William Lands Park? Where did the zoo go? Where did you go?
You take a day trip to San Francisco. Your GPS leads you to a street full of pastel Victorian homes. The navigation leads straight up. You drive alongside a cable car. You keep going up. The road gets steeper. You keep going up. A truck rig hangs heavily in front of you, looming, threatening to tick backwards. You keep going up. The water bottle at your feet rolls under you. You cannot see the top of the hill for the fog. The navigation presses you forward. You keep going up. Your grip on the steering wheel tightens. You keep going up. You keep going up. You keep going up.
There is a strawberry stand at the side of the road. You pull over and purchase a basket for two dollars. You take it home. The strawberries are juicy. The television warns of a drought. You lick your lips absentmindedly, unaware that they are growing redder. You recall your neighbor’s strawberry garden. You take another bite. Your teeth are stained like blood.
This is the third piece in the ‘Is that my shirt?’ series I am working on. As requested by @partijunkie this one focused on Castiel.
There was nothing quite like getting caught in the rain with your girlfriend. It made you feel like you were in a movie the moment right before the love interests shared their first kiss with one another. At least it would if Castiel was into that sort of thing. Which he wasn’t.
Despite him not being into that kind of thing, Castiel had still found himself running down the street with Candy as water poured from the sky. By the time they had reached his apartment they were both completely soaked through, the cold water leaving goosebumps on their skin as they entered the warm building. Candy had stood in the entrance of his apartment, wringing out the excess water in her shirt onto his floor while Castiel did the same to his red hair. With every squeezing movement, more water pooled onto the floor, as the time it was going to take to clean up increased.
Genre: historical China AU, angst, historical!au, China Line
Summary: The winds were changing and the civilians were no longer happy with your brother as Emperor. Many said that the Mandate of Heaven was now in the hands of another and rebellion groups grew larger day by day. With all this going on, you still found the time to worry about who was on the other end of your red string of fate.(Important terms)
The streets were crowded with activity and people bustled
about with only themselves on their own minds. The conversations were conveyed
in loud shouts between neighboring stores and quieter nobles busied themselves
by looking at the interesting trinkets. Women dressed alluringly in fancy and
colorful fabrics stood at one end of the street, their thin silk handkerchiefs
brushing against entranced men, slowly pulling them into the large building. Among
the bustling activity were two attractive young men.
GOT7 as Dads react to: Going ‘Trick Or Treating’ with your 3 year old daughter
Mark; Super chill dad Mark would have no problem taking his little lady out trick or treating - holding her hand as he walks her to all the different houses in your neighbourhood and gleefully smiling to himself at how cute she looks when she toddles along beside him trying to keep up with him (he has already slowed down bless him) saying “Let’s see how much candy you and Daddy can get, and we can give some to Mummy when we get home too!” also making silly faces at her just to hear her adorable little laugh c:
Jaebum; Jaebum’s little girl would have him wrapped so tightly around her little finger he wouldn’t be able to say no. If she wants him to dress up as a princess with her for Halloween, you bet your damn ass that Jaebum would have to oblige. Jaebum would carry his toddler in his arms to each house, juggling her and the bag of goodies while saying “Are you gonna share your sweeties with Daddy? Give Dada a bite, ah~ah~” begging with his mouth wide open while your little girl giggles at his silly faces and shoves pieces of candy into his mouth.
Jackson; I don’t know who would be more excited; Jackson or your three year old, as the two of them hop and skip in between houses in search of candy - a lot of singing and squealing going on in their conversations, but also Jackson making sure that no harm would come to her as he holds her in close, always being aware of any fireworks going off in case she gets scared. “Hold on to Daddy’s hand, let’s go!” as he steers her to the inner part of the path to protect her from any passing cars on the street.
Jinyoung; Another Dad that would have his little girl perched on his hip as they both ring the doorbell of each house, always reminding her to say “Thank you” to each person and then thanking them himself. He would shower your toddler in compliments over her choice of Halloween costume, saying while pinching her cheeks “Look at your pretty outfit! Aigoo, next time can you pick mine out too? Let’s go as a matching pair next year - maybe we can bring Mummy along too, wouldn’t that be fun?” while she giggles and gets excited about all three of you going out together.
Youngjae; Youngjae would be running to try and keep with your little girl as she leads him by the hand to all the houses with her pumpkin pot swinging from side to side. Youngjae’s daughter would be fearless in a sense that she wouldn’t be phased by all the other kids in their scary costumes, but Youngjae would find himself having several heart-attacks along the way, trying to persuade her like “Daddy knows where Mummy keeps the secret stash of sweeties at home! If we leave now, I’ll let you have ALL of them!”
BamBam; Would be hella into it. He’d get matching costumes for him and his baby girl and walk that sidewalk like a damn catwalk, holding on to her hand tightly while having silly conversations with each other. The people of the houses would open their doors to be greeted by an excited father and daughter screaming “Trick Or Treat!!” holding out BOTH their bags as BamBam ‘aint gonna miss out on candy either. Back at home while inspecting their findings, he’d be like “Lemme see what you got! Awww, I’ll swap you some of mine for some of yours!”
Yugyeom; Would be the type of Dad to dress up as some sort of donkey or horse so he could give his baby girl a piggy-back ride up and down the street while collecting candy. He’d make her giggle while he trots, bouncing her on his shoulders and neighing like a pony. When they get back and show you what they got, Yugyeom and your daughter would then build a fort out of pillows and sheets before all three of you watch a Disney movie before bed. “Now we can eat our candy and watch a movie! Let’s share some with Mummy okay? That’s my good girl~”
Summary: You are hired as a makeup artist for BigHit working with BTS. You are older than all of them, yet, despite your best efforts, you find yourself slowing falling in love with the youngest member.
gonna tell you something deep and dark and personal now. Ready? Good.
I killed someone. I was 14. He was this… He beat me up. So I’m
walking on the street eating a candy bar, 'cause by then I already ate my
feelings at a professional level, and I saw him crossing over. And
there was this bus coming. I barely thought the thought. Bam. I
knew immediately what I’d done, that it was me. My nose literally started bleeding. Logan Kinear died instantly and I ruined my favorite button-down. And that is the story of how I discovered that I was telekinetic.”
Summary: A Credence Barebone imagine (Credence x Reader) Christmas Eve Special!
Note: This is the 21st part to this imagine so make sure you check out the others! I hope you like and reblog it. There also will most likely be a grammar mistake so bare with me. Anyway… I hope you enjoy!
Date published: March 16, 2017
Warnings: mentions of abuse, and WAY too much cuteness to handle
Your eyes opened slowly. They were heavy and tired. It took you a minute to remember everything that had happened the night before. You were laying on your back and there was something heavy on top of you. You lifted your head up to see Credence’s head laying on your stomach, his arm wrapped around your waist. You smiled, laying your head back down. You put your hands on his head, gently playing with his hair. It had grown a bit since you had met him. It wasn’t so perfect and straight.
After a few minutes he started to wake up. When he realized where he was and what he was doing he sat up quickly, and scooted over. “Sorry.” “It’s fine.” You smiled, looking over at him. After laying there for a while, you moved over and laid your head on his chest. “So I was thinking, today I want to show you around Portland.” You said, wrapping your arm around him. “Yeah” He said. “And then we can come back and bake Christmas cookies!” You said excitedly.
After you both woke up a bit and started to hear people awake downstairs, you decided to get up. You opened the door and turned to Credence standing behind you. “Merry Christmas Eve!” You said excitedly, remembering what day it was.
You both walked downstairs, your hands were loosely intertwined. You both weren’t as embarrassed as you were before. “Oh my goodness, Credence.” Your mother said after you both walked into the room. “We were worried sick.” She walked over and carefully hugged him. He awkwardly stood there, his arms pinned to his aides as she hugged him. You smiled looking beside you at the sight. She let go and noticed your intertwined hands. “So, you guys are okay?” She asked, walking back to what she was doing. “Yeah, we’re good.” You smiled, looking up at Credence. “Today I’m going to show Credence around Portland.” You told your mom. “And then when we get back we’re going to make Christmas cookies.” “That sounds nice!” She said.
After you and Credence ate breakfast you went upstairs to get ready for the day. You got your clothes from your suitcase and went to the bathroom to change. After you changed, you left the bathroom and went out into the hallway. You opened your door. “Oh my gosh, I’m sorry.” You yelled, pulling the door cracked, standing back in the hall. You had walked in on Credence changing into his shirt. But you had noticed something. “Credence.” You said in a worried voice. “Your back.” You stood in front of the slightly cracked door, your hand resting on the knob. You stared at the door, feeling tears well up in your eyes. “C-Can I come in?” You peaked in a little to see him nod. You slowly pushed the door open and walked in, closing the door behind you. You walked slowly toward him. He stood uncomfortably, holding his shirt in his hands. Tears ran down your cheeks at the sight of his back. It was red and scarred. “Credence.” You whispered. “I didn’t know.” He bowed his head. You reached out your hand and touched arm. He flinched a little at your touch. “Can I?-” You started. He turned a little so his side faced you. You covered your mouth with your hand. There were lashes from his own belt. Some were older and white, some were pink and some were more visible. You lightly ran your fingers down the scars. He pulled away, uncomfortably. You sighed, bowing your head. “Credence, I’m so sorry.” He stood still, his head shaking a bit, like we did when he was hurt. You stood in front of him and placed your hand on his cheek. “I deserved it.” He said so quietly. “No, Credence. No, you didn’t.” You placed your other hand on his cheek, holding his face. “Don’t say that. No one deserves to be treated that way.” You looked deeply into his sad eyes. “Especially you.” You wiped away his tears with your thumb. “You’re so strong. You know that?” You smiled at him, trying to help him feel better. You pulled his head to yours, resting your foreheads together. “I love you so much, Credence.” You told him. “I-I love you too.” He said, lunging into a hug. He held you so tight.
After you hugged him for quite a while you let go. You both stood there for a minute, wiping away tears and sniffling. You bit your lip, thinking. “Give me your belt.” You said, not looking him in the eye. His head shot up, and with a worried look in his eye he began unbuckle his belt. You held out your hand and he gave it to you. You then walked over to the trash bin and threw it in. “You don’t need that hanging over you.” You said, walking back to him. “We can get you a new one if you want, but you’re not keeping that.” He lunged into a hug again, burying his face in your neck. “Thank you.” His voice was muffled from your hug. “Anytime.” You hugged his bare back hard, but you were still so gentle and kind. Credence felt a little uncomfortable not having a shirt on. You could tell to, so you were very considerate not to make things more uncomfortable. You didn’t rub his back, you hugged him with your hands in tight fists, still hugging tight.
You both went down the stairs, all ready for the day. At this point everyone was awake. “Good morning, (Y/N).” Jack said. “Glad to hear you’re back, Credence.” He nodded at him. Credence slightly smiled. “Thanks, Jack.” You said, a little shocked that he really cared. “We all are.” Your mother said, smiling. You looked around the room at your family. All friendly faces that you missed terribly. Your eyes caught Aunt Florence’s for a second, but she quickly looked down. You felt a little bit of anger rise in you. “I’m off to show Credence around Portland.” You told everyone. “Okay. Be safe, you two!” Said your mother. You went to the closet, put on your coats, and went out into the cold air.
You showed Credence your old school and the candy store you used to love as a kid. Credence’s eyes lit up at all of the different candies. You couldn’t help but chuckle at his childlike reaction. “Pick out anything you want.” You told him excitedly. “Really?” He said. You nodded, smiling widely. You both ended up getting candy canes. You walked down the wet streets licking the candy.
You came up to the ocean. Credence’s eyes were big with amazement. He had never seen something so huge. Even the biggest buildings in New York were nothing compared to the ocean. You came up next to Credence, hooking your arm in his and laying your head on his shoulder. “We should come back in the summer, when it’s warm.” You said, staring out into the blue sea. “I would like that.” He smiled, looking down at you. He then rested his head on yours and placed his hand on top of your hand. It then began to snow. The flakes fell magically around you. “We should head back.” You said. You walked back, holding hands the whole way.
The warmth welcomed you into the house. It was snowing quite a bit harder now. You shook the snow off your coats and hung them up in the closet. The house was warm and cozy. You walked into the living area to see everyone. “Hey! You’re back!” Walter exclaimed. “Did you have fun?” “Yeah. It was great to see everything again.” You said. “Hey, mom? Credence and I are going to make Christmas cookies.” “Okay.” She smiled, looking up from her book.
“My grandmother’s recipe is the best.” You said, pulling out a paper with the recipe on it. You began pulling out the ingredients. After it was mixed into the dough you and Credence rolled in out on the counter. You went over to the record player and put on a Christmas record. You walked back to the counter and stood next to Credence. You began to move your shoulders to the beat and nudged his arm, smiling. He laughed at you as you danced. “Come on!” You exclaimed. He shook his head shyly. You took his floury hand in yours and pulled him into the middle of the kitchen. You swayed back and forth to the music. Holding both of his hands, you moved them around, trying to get him to dance. He laughed, embarrassingly, his face turning red. You laughed and pulled him into a hug. “I’m glad you’re here.” You whispered in his ear. He hugged you with his arms, his hands extended because he didn’t want to get flour on your dress. But at your words he gave up and held you tighter. You were doing the same, but too hugged him tighter. After you pulled away you both laughed, noticing the flour all over yourselves. You went back to cutting out the cookies.
While you waited for the cookies to cook you sat in the living room with your family. You had brushed off as much flour as you could, but it was still slightly visible. You and Credence sat on the same couch as you did before. His hands rested in his lap and you placed your hand on the inside of his arm, gently stroking it with your thumb. “Who’s excited for Christmas?” Your mother asked, excitedly. “Me!” Everyone exclaimed. “Don’t forget that we have more family coming tomorrow afternoon.” She told you all. You looked over at Credence. He seemed to have a nervous look in his eyes. You squeezed his arm a little tighter, giving him comfort.
The cookies were finally ready, so you got them out of the oven to cool. After they were ready you began to decorate them with icing and sprinkles. The music blared as you and Credence decorated the cookies. You both laughed at the mess you were making. Sprinkles and icing were everywhere and you had flour all on your faces and clothes. Your mother came into the kitchen. “What’s so funny?” She smiled. Her eyes widened at the mess. “We’ll clean in up, mom.” You laughed. “Wait one second!” She said, running out of the room. She came back a few seconds later, holding a camera. “Get together!” She said, holding it up to take a picture. You scooted closer to Credence and smiled at the camera. Credence’s smile was priceless. It was a huge no teeth smile. His eyes squinted from the smile and he leaned in to you, putting his arm around you.
After you decorated all of the cookies and ate way too many, you cleaned up the kitchen. You were both a mess so you decided to take showers.
After you were both clean and in your cozy pajamas, you sat on the couch in front of the fireplace. With wet messy hair, you sat feet to feet under a warm blanket. The rest of your family sat around the living room chatting. You talked about your days and past Christmases. But no one ever mentioned how Credence had run away or how you had gone out with Will. You were thankful because you didn’t want to talk about it ever again. You felt bad enough. While everyone talked you took a moment to notice how adorable Credence was. Just sitting there, hair wet and messy, in his pajamas, seemingly happy. You smiled and laid your head against the back of the couch, admiring him.
Everyone else had gone up to bed except you, Credence and your mom. “When you get that picture made I want a copy.” You told your mom. “I’ll be sure send it to you.” She said. You talked a little more than she said, “I’m going to head up to bed.” She stood up and leaned over to kiss you on the forehead. “Good night, sweetie.” On her way out of the room she touched Credence’s shoulder, gently patting it. “Good night, Credence.” She said. You saw him slightly flinch at her touch. She didn’t notice, but you did. She left the room and went upstairs. Credence stared, sadly at his hands. “Why am I like this?” He whispered. “Credence, you have to be patient with yourself.” You said, leaning forward. “You’re getting so much better.” You tried to make him look at you. He looked down at his scarred hands, biting his lip. You scooted forward, holding his hands in yours. You gently rubbed your thumbs over his beaten palms. You felt tears burn in your eyes, remembering all that he had been through. You took his hands and held them up to your cheeks. “I want you to be happy.” You whispered. He looked up at you. His eyes were glossed over with tears, as he gave you a small smile. He pulled you closer to him as he leaned forward, brushing his lips against yours. You looked into his eyes and smiled, going back in for a better kiss. You felt butterflies swarm around your stomach at the feeling of his lips on yours. Credence felt nervous and comfortable and happy and a million other emotions.
You pulled away and looked into his eyes. “Come here.” You said, grabbing his hand, pulling him over to the Christmas tree. You sat down in front of it and Credence did the same. “I want to give you your gift!” You excitedly said. “But it’s not Christmas yet.” He said. “I don’t care. I can’t wait!” You reached under the tree and pulled out two medium sized presents. You handed them to him. He looked down at them, hesitant to open them. “What’s wrong?” You asked. “I didn’t get you anything.” He said, head bowed. “Credence, you being here, you loving me is more than enough.” You told him. He sat there for a second then lunged forward, hugging your neck. It caught you off guard, so you almost fell over. You got your balance and hugged him around his back. He finally let go and sat back down. “Alright, come one!” You said, putting the presents in his hands. He smiled at you and started to tear through the paper. You had gotten him a notebook and some pencils. “You had said that you liked to draw.” You said. “I-I love them.” He looked up at you, smiling. “Good, I’m so glad.” He went back in for another hug. “I love you, (Y/N).” He whispered in your ear. You smiled wide and said, “I love you too, Credence.”
drabble; pg; msr/friendship; humor/crack; pre-Quagmire; “you know how I feel about kennels” I wish we had seen this conversation.
Had you told Mulder, just one hour ago, that Dana Katherine Scully might find herself drowning in conspiracy theory and running her mouth off like one of his favorite zine writers, the one who hangs out by the IMF building on 19th street and passes out candy with his rants on the New World Order, well. He’d be inclined to the world a drink. Right after concealing his erection.
But this sucks.
“I’ve been doing some research, Mulder, and it worries me,” Scully tells him, ushering him into her apartment and sitting him down on the couch. That gives him pause. He just asked her to pack up a bag and get ready… so… what… is the hold up…
When Queequeg starts nipping at his ankles, a sense of doom settles over him. That dog should be with someone else right about now, with Maggie or a sitter or at a…
“There’s a group of animal behaviorists doing a study in Germany that have made significant findings regarding the after-effects of keeping dogs in kennels,” she says in a rush, reaching down to collect her mutt. She gently scolds him and puts him in her bedroom, shutting the door behind her. Mulder wants to call her out, tell her you can’t fix a dog’s behavior by petting him and coddling him and saying, in the sweetest voice he’s ever heard from her, good boy such a good boy, but… that doesn’t exactly work in his favor, either.
She goes on like this for over an hour.
“Depression. Dogs can be depressed. Did you know that? I mean I chose to take this responsibility on and I can’t do it half-assed.”
“The files are a responsibility, too,” Mulder reminds her, glaring at her bedroom door.
“You are absolutely right on that. Do not question my loyalty to seeking the truth and doing our jobs. But it’s weekend and… did you get this approved? Were you able to rush that 302?”
Mulder doesn’t even deem that with a response. When are they ever able to rush a 302? Scully moves on and starts talking about dog stress, whatever that is, the statistics of abuse and neglect in the average American kennel
Is this what it’s like listening to him? He doubts it. He is right. He isn’t paranoid. This is paranoid. There are plenty of good, reputable kennels in the D.C. area. She lives in Georgetown, for chrissake, there are fifty students jogging right by her door every morning who’d kill for a little weed money.
But she doesn’t relent. She apologizes to him and pets his hair before leaving the room to check on Queequeg. Good boy, he thinks viciously, pulling his jacket back on and heading back home. He doesn’t slam the door or storm down the hallway.
And a seed isn’t planted, most certainly not. He doesn’t begin to hate Queequeg. That people eating monster. With a stupid name. And bad manners.