Familiar (15/?)
Roads began to populate their path just after noon. First one—a narrow, rutted thing bordered by hedgerows—then another, wider and more worn, with travelers heading in the same direction. That was the first sign.
Then came the smoke.
Not woodsmoke, but the sharp, layered tang of a settlement: coal, animals, metal. The kind of scent that clung to everything and didn’t belong to the forest. By mid-afternoon, they were passing signs carved into posts, the occasional milestone with faded letters, and an increasing number of people.
Dana had tucked her hair beneath her hood and pulled her cloak tighter as they passed a man selling dried apples from a cart and two women pushing a wheelbarrow full of wool. She hadn’t needed to say anything to Fox. He’d already vanished into the underbrush.
Executive Producer of www.VoiceofTV.com
Lover of Bones, Parks and Rec, Friends, Gymnastics, and life.
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Familiar (12/?)
It was pissing rain. The kind of downpour that made the browning leaves on the trees overhead droop and curl under the weight of the constant onslaught. Dana was soaked through, cold even in her new wool cloak, and miserable beyond belief.
Beside her, the fox looked slightly less worse for wear as the water ran off his thick coat in stream-like rivulets.
They had been walking for over a day now in an aimless direction. It was time, Dana thought, to come up with some kind of plan. If the townspeople pursued her—which she thought likely due to Alexander’s scorching anger—they had probably long since given up. The label of ‘witch’ had likely not followed her this far from her village.
There was, however, nowhere at present to go. No towns were nearby that she could see, no bells ringing in the distance, not even another crofter’s cottage where she could wait out the weather.
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Familiar 10/?
She’d come back to the fire the night before, quiet and pensive. Distant. She settled down to sleep on the other side of the fire from him with nothing but a muttered goodnight.
He was worried that he’d offended or scared her with his admission that one of the few things he knew to be true was that the two of them were tied together somehow. Of that he was absolutely certain. He didn’t know how or why, but it was one of the few things he carried with him when he was both a man and a fox; they were tied to each other. Bound to each other.
The first night when he changed into a man and there she was, standing on the steps of the small cottage and looking up at the sky, he felt a connection to her, taut as a bowstring. Like a whip cracked around a branch, coling tight–a gyre of the strongest fiber tying them together.
(via slippinmickeys)
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loony4d asked:
Funfetti
Love this series
Quonochontaug family vacation and finding a puppy
The call of a gull, the low rumble of surf, the screen door whacking into weathered shaker siding. It felt like 1973 all over again. If he looked in the loft, Mulder was half-convinced he’d find Samantha up there, twirling her braid in her fingers and reading Charlotte Sometimes.
“William!” Scully hollered from the deck, hand hovering over her brow to block the glare. “You need sunscreen!”
From closer to the roar of the waves, Mulder heard their son shout something back, and Scully wandered back into the cottage, a sour look on her face.
Mulder sidled up to her and pulled her in for a low body hug, leaning forward to collect a kiss.
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Funfetti prompt: how did Mulder propose?
My sincere apologies to whoever asked for this prompt. I wrote down the prompt, but neglected to write down the name of who asked for it and it’s been a couple of weeks now. Please call yourself out in the tags or in the comments on AO3 and I’ll rectify my mistake!He is buried in the cradle of her hips, a briny haven, deep as the Vineyard Sound; a place he has only been a handful of times.
Scully, nine weeks out from a natural birth in a dusty day bed in Georgia, makes a groaning, satisfied sound, her thumb hooked into his cheek. He crimps her knuckle delicately with his teeth, feels a surge of affection for his partner. Tenderness. It is an echo of what he feels for his son, sleeping several feet away, his mother’s cupid bow lips in a soft, round face.
“Marry me,” he says into the flesh of her chest, swaying and heavy with milk.
The copper cap of her hair is draped over one eye, and the other pins him briefly.
“What?” she says breathily. “No.”
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A couple of months ago on Discord, several people were super kind and supportive when I threw out a couple of questions about releasing fic. They encouraged me to post the fics set in the Funfetti Universe (SO GLAD I named it that, womp womp) as its own story on AO3 and @calimanc asked for a prompt: Thanksgiving play at school with Mulder complaining about history being whitewashed while Scully is recording and being like “shut up and watch your son.” Something happens with Addams Family Values vibes.
I knew I’d have a minute to write today, so I loaded the old prompts onto AO3 last night, and sat down today and cranked this one out.
Thanksgiving Pageant
It was cute. He had to admit it was cute. The little black outfit with an old white handkerchief looped over his son’s little shoulders.
Scully had sat at their kitchen table with Elmer’s glue and construction paper, doing her best not to swear as she held together two gummy pieces of black paper that would serve as the headband of William’s Pilgrim hat in the school’s Fall Show. William, oblivious to his mother’s consternation, rehearsed his lines with halting earnestness.
“We were so thankful to learn how to grow food in this land,” the boy said.
“In this new land,” Scully corrected him. “‘We were so thankful to learn how to grow food in this new land.’”
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Santa’s Reindeer will be well taken care of tonight 😉🦌🎅🏼🎄
💖 good to know everyone is ready
(via freckleslikestars)
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If you’ve been waiting to read The Unseelie Court in its entirety, you can do so now!
But mostly I’m reposting so you can all see this stunning fic poster from @rosenkranz-does-things!
It is…SO GORGEOUS!
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The Unseelie Court (16/16)
Scully immediately turned to Mulder who rose woozily to his feet, his hand looking small in Aeon’s massive paw.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
He turned his body experimentally, wincing, and brought a hand to his side.
“I think I may have a bruised rib,” he said on a truncated breath.
“Oh, Mulder,” Scully said, rubbing a hand up and down his arm, the fleecy material of his pullover soft in her fingers.
Her heart was coming down from her swivet, her head still swirling with surprise and fear, but she found Mulder’s gaze centered her and stilled the bits of her that were still shaky.
Aeon grunted and made his way for the door.
Mulder called out. “Wait!”
Scully could hear her own preoccupations echoing in his voice. Rolled and manipulated and used in the machinations of higher beings, they felt owed some kind of denouement.
Aeon turned back to him.
“Is that it?” Mulder asked. “Is it…is it done?”
“It’s done.”
“But, what…” Mulder shot Scully a baffled, helpless look.
The fuck just happened, which Scully also wanted to know.
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The Unseelie Court (15/16)
Without knowing exactly why she did it, Scully slipped the magnolia leaf back into her pocket.
Aeon hadn’t moved from where he stood near her, but Avery started walking around the autopsy bay in exploration, flippantly lifting the lids to various jars and sliding open drawers. Scully watched him warily, as a gazelle watches a lion from the other side of a watering hole.
Mulder was moving uncomfortably, trying to loosen himself from the vines that bound him. His eyes met hers for a moment and he licked his lips nervously. Maybe if she distracted Avery long enough, Mulder would be able to free himself.
Eventually, Avery stopped his slow rotation of the room.
“Not a sandwich. Not even a lukewarm coffee. Who works like this?” he complained.
“It’s a sterile room,” Scully said, her voice relatively deadpan.
Avery sighed dramatically. “People don’t pay tribute like they used to.”
“Is that what happened?” Scully asked, flitting her eyes briefly to Aeon, to Mulder. “Daly didn’t pay you tribute? Is that why you took him?”
Avery cracked his neck, and pulled at the collar of his uniform shirt.
“Daly was different,” he said. “Interesting.”
“Interesting how?” Scully wanted to know.
The fairy shook his head and several green leaves fell out of his hair and onto the floor.
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The Unseelie Court (14/16)
Scully reached into her pocket and removed the magnolia leaf she’d pulled out of Daly Carmichael’s mouth.
“I believe this belongs to you,” she said.
Aeon made a noncommittal grunt and walked up to the autopsy bay doors.
“Care to step into my office?” he said.
Scully, very physically aware of the weight of the gun on her hip, nodded and preceded him inside. The light of the autopsy bay was low, and every stainless steel surface dull. In contrast, Aeon seemed to shine, his dark countenance practically luminescent.
“You’re not an autopsy technician,” Scully said, an understatement.
“I’m whatever I want to be.”
“Are you a—fairy?” Scully asked, the question sounding ridiculous coming out of her mouth.
Aeon threw back his head and laughed, full-throated and deep. Scully could feel the sound in her chest.
“A ridiculous moniker,” he said.
He had neither confirmed nor denied it.
“Aeon Greene’s a hell of a moniker, too,” Scully said. “Were you trying to be subtle?”
Aeon stopped laughing and gave her a severe look.
“Names are powerful things.”
“Is this your real one?” She imagined him snapping his fingers and populating the digital world with information. One minute Mulder could find no record of his existence, and the next he was a grunt for free enterprise like the rest of them, with an address and a tax record and parking tickets.
“I have many real ones.”
An uncomfortable sensation crept over Scully as she got the distinct impression that she was being outflanked.
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The Unseelie Court (13/16)
The Adrian County morgue parking lot was a rectangle of crumbling asphalt with enough room for six cars, though there was only one other in it at present. Scully sat in the driver’s seat, wondering if this move had been the right one.
She had called Mulder’s apartment from her mother’s, though he hadn’t answered, which had been, she’d decided, for the best. She’d left him an abridged message, letting him know that she’d be a few hours later than she expected, but that she’d have information from the Daly Carmichael case to share with him when she got there.
At least, she hoped she would. She looked down at her open laptop at the bloodwork results from the state crime lab. There was still nothing that pointed to cause of death, but there were a few unusual chemicals found in Daly Carmichael’s blood that didn’t add up. And she had decided to come down to Adrian County on her own to address the problem. A fact that she knew Mulder would be less than pleased with.
It wasn’t just that Skinner had told her to keep him out of Adrian County—at least, it wasn’t all that. Mulder wasn’t the most gifted tactician, not when enthusiasm or worry informed his choices. And anyway, the enemy Mulder thought they were dealing with wasn’t who Mulder thought he was. For the sake of everyone’s safety and career, it was best if Scully handled this particular confrontation on her own. As sure as Mulder had been about cases in the past when he’d turned out to be right, Scully was certain about at least one thing about this one: she would be—at least relatively—safe.
She closed her laptop, slid it into her bag, and headed for the morgue.
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The Unseelie Court (12/16)
As the clock drifted closer to 5:00 pm, the air in their office became a little thinner, a little less fraught. They had both come down from the excitement in Skinner’s office and had finally settled into a comfortable silence. One that Mulder eventually mustered the courage to break.
“Do you want to come over tonight?” he asked, feeling somewhat sheepish. He could think of nothing better than spending a Friday evening with Scully, of waking up late, whiling away the day in bed for the whole of the weekend.
Scully smiled at him. “I wish I could,” she said. “But I promised my mom I’d head up to Baltimore tonight. She committed to bringing the baked goods to St. Agatha’s on Sunday and I promised I’d help her bake.”
Mulder’s heart fell and it must have shown in his face.
“I might be able to get out of services if I tell her I have to work,” she said. “Maybe I can get back into town tomorrow afternoon.”
That would still give them an uninterrupted 24 hours.
“I’ll make it worth your while.”
“I’ll remember you said that.”
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The Unseelie Court (11/16)
Mulder perused his office bookshelf, pulling down several books and stacking them on his desktop. The morning sun shone in through the skylight, dusty beams cutting through the air at a slant.
Scully had stayed the night at his apartment but had left early in the morning to shower and dress at home. To his great surprise and elation, when he suggested that he could clear out a few drawers and some closet space for her to keep things at his place, she thought it was a good idea and offered to do the same for him at her own home.
It was with this same ebullient mood that Mulder cross-referenced the information he’d found online the night before with folkloric texts both new and old.
When Scully walked in with two cups of coffee and a smile, the first thing he did was thank his lucky stars, and the second thing he did was swing his first edition Brynswyn Folkloric Compendium around so she could see it.
“Here,” he said, pointing to the spot on the page where he wanted her attention. He took a sip of the coffee she’d brought and nodded his thanks.
“What am I looking at?” she asked. She was leaning forward over the desk, bewitching as anything in his books.
“The information I found last night on the Unseelie courtier coincides with several passages from both Brynswyn and an Eirennach translation of Fair Folk mythos curated by the University of Pennsylvania.”
Scully looked at him blankly.
“Both are considered to be among the top authorities of hibernian folklore.”
