#ficlet ig

[choralmeres]

Toys for William and Rocks for Mulder

msr. william au. pg. 340 words.

It started when they were buying toys for William. Scully had long assumed that Mulder was actually looking at something else for him; food, clothing, all sorts of other things that baby William needed. 

Turns out that he was looking at rocks. Pet Rocks- that actually had a cardboard holder with holes in it, and straw inside.

“Scullyyy, can we buy this rock?” He had asked one day. 

“Mulder- they’re rocks.” 

He looked at her with a particularly large grin.

“I know they’re rocks. But they’re so cute- and grey!” 

Scully was confused. Since when has Mulder been interested in rocks of all things? 

“Mulder, we’re here to buy toys for William, and not Rocks for Mulder. And besides, you can find a rock and a box in the backyard- you can even stuff grass in it too.” 

“It doesn’t have to be just for Mulder,” he replied, ignoring the stuffing-grass-in-a-random-box-from-the-backyard statement. “We can get one for you and one for William too!”

“That’s not my point-”

Mulder then flipped the box over to the back and peered into the small clear window. Apparently there was a window in the cardboard as well. 

“But Scully, look, if you turn it like this, it looks like a ufo- right there!” 

Although Scully could very clearly see what Mulder meant, she shook her head. 

“No, I don’t see the ufo right there.” 

“Then can’t we buy it and then bring it home so we can check?” 

Those puppy eyes were pleading with her- and it didn’t seem like she had any other argument that would work against a very adamant Mulder.

“Fine, Mulder, you can buy one rock. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to finish shopping for other things rather than rocks.” Scully said somewhat testily. She’d admit that the very large grin that reappeared on his face was worth it. 

Little did she know, Mulder bought three rocks instead of one; and that they were happily leaning on his very cluttered desk- often joined by an even happier Mulder.

-

tagging @today-in-fic

[the-voltage-diaries]

Euphony. - Jun Araki.

a/n: i wrote the first part when i was in that state where u tread between being awake enough to somewhat know whats happening and asleep enough to allow the gravity to roll your head down with it. so forgive for any shit found hereafter.

Blood courses through his veins like magma. It smoulders beneath his skin, threatening to set him ablaze. Sweat drips down his forehead like raindrops racing across the expanse of a window, but he doesn’t find it too bothersome.

‘It’ll reduce the fever,’ he reasons with himself, ignoring the intensity with which the heat desires to erupt to the surface, akin to lava. Dazed retinas scan his empty apartment, looking for the woman who he couldn’t envision his life without, even if he tried. He knows he should probably call her and let her know... and yet, he doesn’t.

His gut wrenches out a mildly sound reason of the extent of the strings of worry she’d find herself entangled in, and in his delirium he doesn’t hear the front door open.

For a second when his woody eyes meet hers, he believes himself to be living through the dream desperately running through the contours of his mind and he coughs out a curse, attempting to fill the deafening quiet with a self-depreciating laugh.

With a whisper of his name comes the realisation that none of this is truly a dream, a hallucination his mind pieced together to find an escape from the loneliness raising his head with each passing second until it was looking him straight in the eye, unafraid. A pull on his shoulder confirms the speculation a part of him still refused to believe. She is here; she really is right here - beside him - exactly where he wanted her to be.

Her questioning eyes, requesting him to let her be the one to ferry him across the lake of his raging fever are met with an immediate refusal. ‘Don’t want you getting sick,’ comes out a barely audible mumble which he, in his heart, believes to be a perfectly coherent sentence.

But a sole glance at the unyielding furrow of her concerned brow indicates the unrivalled outcome of the situation he’s dealt with.

‘Sing me a lullaby,’ he groans at last, succumbing to her unspoken demands.

//

I could listen to you forever.

The berceuse spills from her lips once his shoulders settle into the crook of her knees; soft, tranquil, serene. A soft touch of fingertips running through his dark hair, disappearing - only to return moments later - accompanies the soft notes of her voice as it wafts through to him, pulling him closer to its placid depths.

‘You sound like an angel, you know,’ he confesses, eyes closing. He’s slowly succumbing to slumber, unbothered by the notion of the love of his life seeing him in his undoubtedly bedraggled state. And it’s not his condition that is to blame. It’s how used-to he has grown to her balmy, benign presence.

Rooted deep in the touch that absolved him of his fears, the eyes that chose to guide him to her with unparalleled conviction, the soul of the one who embraced his blemishes and made them her own is a sense of trust - of belief - that brings him such comfort.

‘It’s because you are one,’ he thinks and, although he doesn’t say the words out loud, he swears he sees her smile.