#Dana!! How are you?

[corvidayyy]

had to get this out of my head

[windwenn]

Big jackets (everybody cheers)

[stargatelov3r]

I love characters that think they can't allow themselves to love or be loved

just to have someone stride into their life to turn that concept upside down

[sforzesco]

something. about. the horror of being sent on an impossible (death) quest and obligations and hospitality politics. the trauma of not having a home, and then the trauma of being in a house that becomes actively hostile to you, one that would swallow you whole and spit out your bones if you step out of line. all of this is conditional, your existence continues to be something men want gone.

it's about going back as far as I can with the perseus narrative because there's always a version of a myth that exists behind the one that survives. the missing pieces are clearly defined, but the oldest recorded version of it isn't there! and there's probably something older before that!! but it's doomed to forever be an unfilled space, clearly defined by an outline of something that was there and continues to be there in it's absence.

and love. it's also about love. even when you had nothing, you had love.

on the opposite side of the spectrum, this is Not About Ovid Or Roman-Renaissance Reception, Depictions And Discourses On The Perseus Narrative.

edit: to add to the above, while it's not about Ovid, because I'm specifically trying to peel things back to the oldest version of this story, Ovid is fine. alterations on the Perseus myth that give more attention Medusa predate Ovid by several centuries. this comic is also not about those, either! there are many versions of this story from the ancient world. there is not one singular True or Better version, they're all saying something.

Perseus, Daniel Ogden

Anthology of Classical Myth: Primary Sources in Translation, edited & translated by Stephen M Trzaskoma, R. Scott Smith, Stephen Brunet

[daynascullys]

@pscentral event 36: take three — your url ✧ daynascullys

happy birthday, Dana Katherine Scully! ♡ — February 23, 1964

(insp)

[scullyscatholicguilt]

Something I love about season one msr are the different ways Mulder and Scully express their budding desire for friendship and closeness with the other.

Mulder clearly enjoys her company and wants to spend more time with her as companions, not just co-workers. He takes every opportunity to ask her to accompany him on “friend” activities: seeing tourist attractions, sports games, etc...

Scully is fascinated by Mulder’s inner world and hidden personal life. It makes her a little envious to see others who know that side of him, or know him in ways that she doesn’t yet…

[its-kinda-snowy]

Plotting to deceive, inveigle, and obfuscate if I'm being honest :/

[typewriter-worries]

There must be a line where I begin and you end

Doris Dana, from a letter to Gabriela Mistral (@liriostigre) | If Beale Street Could Talk dir. Barry Jenkins (@timotaychalamet) | Letters to Milena, Franz Kafka | If Beale Street Could Talk dir. Barry Jenkins | This Is How You Lose the Time War, Amal El-Mohtar & Max Gladstone | Shadow, Raleigh Ritchie

[astralzeraphias]

“he was mentally ill. this monster was a- was a sick fantasy. a product of his dementia.”

“…i saw it too. does that make me disturbed? demented? does… that make me sick too?”

[ovenproofowl]

bad blood is one hell of an episode. it literally opens with mulder straight-up murdering a regular teenager via stake-through-the-heart and he and scully are like pretty sure the FBI is going to be sued and they're going to be doing some serious jail time. except both of them remember the story differently. scully's story is predictably logical and straight-forward. the killer was drugging his victims before bleeding them out, mimicking a vampire attack by wearing fake fangs (which are proven to be fake. this is crucial. this kid was wearing plastic fangs when mulder stabbed him. in the chest. with a wooden stake.) what is also crucial is that mulder was a victim of this murderer's attack and so he was tripping hard when scully intercepts the killer. mulder - whilst tripping balls - is convinced that the killer has glowing eyes and flew across the room before running out the door. and so - whilst tripping balls - he gives chase and ends up stabbing the kid through the heart with a wooden stake.

and of course this is the x files and so while scully and mulder are arguing over who gave who the hardest time in their percieved series of events, it turns out that mulder was right. the kid was a vampire and the stake didn't actually kill him. the fangs were fake because he was copying the sorts of vampires that you see in books and on tv. he was a real vampire.

and it's not just the kid. there are bunches of vampires, including the sheriff. the whole town are just. vampires. the lot of 'em. and the second they're found out, they just up and leave without a trace.

sometimes the extent to which mulder turns out to be right in this show is borderline ludicrous, it's amazing, I love it. but what was even better was that the biggest point of contention between scully and mulder's stories wasn't even the vampire thing, it was whether or not the sheriff was actually hot.

[radiocity]

The L Word: Lookbook ↳ 2.01, Life, Loss, Leaving

[leavingautumn13]

ham-to-ham combat

[i have commissions open now]

[lyss-butterscotch]

We interrupt this RW program to bring you a message:

*Deep inhale* AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

<- watched the owl house finale

[t1koy-roll]

The Denizens of Nueva York

[this-very-moment]

This little thing has been rattling around in my head for, um, about 25 years. I finally wrote it down.

Eponymous

Post all things | msr

She wakes with a start, breathless and confused. The glow of the fish tank in the otherwise dark room quickly clues her in, and she relaxes, letting her head fall back down onto the soft leather. Her senses come back online, gradually, and she registers the scratchy Aztec blanket (when?), and the unmistakable smell of musky deodorant that lingers in the crevices of his space. Fat rain drops tap intermittently against the window, the beginning of something bigger not yet arrived. But the rain is outside, and she is most definitely inside, here. She breathes deeply as she lays there for some seconds, fragments of their last conversation running through her mind. How long had she been asleep? Minutes? Hours? Years?

She rises from the couch and looks around, no sign of him in the immediate surroundings. She catches sight of the front door. The instinct to leave, to run, is there, of course, but tonight it’s uncharacteristically quiet, and she easily brushes it aside. This is it. She’s sure now.

She turns the corner and sees a soft glow emanating from his bedroom. She walks slowly, but deliberately, toward it, stopping at the threshold. He comes into view then, sitting atop the duvet, back propped up against the headboard. A book sits in his lap, some esoterica she recalls him mentioning one morning before she’d had enough coffee to pay attention. He’s without a shirt, wearing only pajama pants and, god help her, his glasses. Her breath catches at the sight of him. Her heart is beating fast, hard.

He senses her presence then, finally, and looks up, towards her. His expression is a familiar one, a unique mixture of smugness and reverence. The same one he wears when he’s finally figured it out, cracked the case. He isn’t surprised to see her standing there, but he doesn’t take it for granted either. He sits up straighter and closes his book. When he finally speaks, his voice comes out gravelly, longingly, decisively.

“Scully.”

She continues forward and sits on the edge of the bed, next to him, and their shoulders touch. He palms her cheek, and she leans into his hand, his touch. She looks up at him, and finds his eyes searching hers. Her face is serious and she gives a tiny nod.

“I’m here.” she whispers, the conclusion of an almost wordless conversation that’s been going on for months. Years, really, if she’s being honest.

“Good. Me too.” he answers huskily, a sparkle in his eyes, and an ever so slight upward pull of his lips. He was never one to hide his feelings.

He leans in to kiss her then, and she melts into him. They are tentative at first, and then quickly hungry, gulping each other down as the last of her thoughts escape her mind. They pull apart to catch their breath, and he slowly peels off the many layers of her clothing. Her head falls back as he does so, and she allows the sensations, the truth of it, to wash over her. It all feels so good, so right. This isn’t the first time they’ve done this, and she’s certain now that it will be far from the last.

They don’t notice the sound of the rain picking up outside.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61967653

[flockdog]

in the furry timeline, watching the x-files pilot

[ID: 2 screenshots of the X files, drawn on top of to make mulder and scully anthros. scully is a red and white spaniel dog with a speckled muzzle, and mulder is a red fox. in the first image, scully is wearing a grey blazer with blue tartan, her cross necklace, and a dark blue shirt underneath. she has her head slightly inclined, with a flat expression, and mulder sits in a chair in front of a lot of photos on a light screen on top of a machine the describer can't identify. he is wearing a collared shirt with faint thick stripes. they are both in mulder's office. in the bottom left "the X-files (bullet) pilot" is written in yellow. end ID]