#Maryland sucks

[northduhcodeuh]

Friend asked me to draw the sillies

Maryland will never get over oldbay. Colorado is high and trying to understand what he’s doing(same/j)

[raeathnos]

.

[misseyres]

cussed out a maryland driver and played chappell roan at full volume on a country road with the windows down. balance is restored.

[marylandmagiciansdaily]

Day THE RARE MARYLAND MAGICIANS DAILY USE OF THE DRAWING TABLET ..!!!

[ericlovessharks]

begging our parents to say something more than "good" or "nice" whenever we tell them stuff

[roosterforme]

Aim for the Sky Part 35 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You're conflicted by your own words, unsure if you can stay away from your husband. There's only one person who can tell you the truth about Bradley, but she's the same one who seems to be on a quest to ruin your life.

Warnings: Angst, adult language, body image, DILF Roo, pregnancy, jealousy, mentions of cheating

Length: 3000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

Tramp whimpered at your feet. The muffled sound of the Bronco's door closing sent you to the front window to look out onto the driveway. It was dark, but you could see Bradley's tear-streaked face lit up by the dome light as you choked on a sob. It took everything you had to stand there instead of running to him. 

He was gripping the steering wheel of the blue Bronco, and you waited silently for the engine to start. But it didn't. He barely moved. And you barely moved. But you couldn't step away from the window even as the light inside the Bronco faded into the night. Everything was silent. Your pounding heartbeat was all you could hear as the baby squirmed around in your belly like she knew her father was too far away from her now. Minutes passed, and you sank down onto the couch, but Bradley never started the engine.

You wanted him to come back inside, but you just told him you wouldn't hesitate to take the kids and move back to Maryland with your parents. "What did you do?" you gasped as fresh tears filled your eyes. You couldn't tell if you were being strong or stupid or some combination of the two, but the longer you stared out the window, the more you realized Bradley wasn't leaving you even though you told him to.

Relief washed over you knowing he wasn't running off to Indigo. Maybe there was a way to salvage things. You couldn't take back what you said, and he couldn't take back anything he'd already done with her, but you didn't think you could stop loving him. You didn't think you could separate him from his daughters.

Your emotions were a mess as you eventually left the couch to get ready for bed. After you checked on Rose, finding her sound asleep in her crib without a care in the world, you peeked outside one more time. Bradley was still in the driveway, watching over the Craftsman and everything inside.

You took your broken heart to bed, trying your best to fall asleep through your tears.

-------------------------------

It was cold outside this late in October, but Bradley sucked it up. He was certain you knew he was still sitting in the driveway, and he didn't want to start the engine at three in the morning and startle you. Or make you think he was leaving. He wasn't going anywhere. So he let the cold surround him. 

Maybe you didn't want him in the house with you and Rose at the moment, but it was his responsibility to protect his family. And he wanted to be as close as you'd let him. Between small spurts of sleep, his mind drifted to the idea of you and Rose packing up everything in the house and moving across the country to live with your parents. It left him on the verge of panic each time. He bought the house for you. He had a family because of you. He was living beyond his wildest dreams married to you.

There was no way to convince you he wasn't lying. There was nothing he could say at this point that wouldn't sound like he was trying to cover his own ass. You could talk to Mav or Nat or Jake until they were blue in the face, but if you didn't trust him, it would sound like everyone was covering for him. Because truthfully, only he and Lieutenant Jeffries knew for sure that Bradley had never touched her.

Everything with the Navy took time. Mav was a big help, but a report would need to be written up for formal action. And now Bradley would need to notify someone about the new message Indigo sent with the world's worst timing, but meanwhile he was supposed to carry on like everything was completely normal.

As soon as daylight broke, he rubbed his exhaustion away from his eyes. He wanted to get to base to shower and change into the clean flight suit he kept in his locker, but he had to make sure you knew he spent the whole night in the Bronco first. So Bradley waited until he saw movement inside. Just a quick flick of the living room curtain, but he was sure you saw him. Nevertheless, he sent a text.

I'm leaving for work. If you want to talk, come find me, and I'll clear my schedule. We'll figure this out. We have to, because I can't live without you. I love you.

He didn't expect you to respond right away. He stretched, his body positively aching from sitting in one spot for so long before he started the engine. His stomach growled as he drove, reminding him he didn't get to enjoy what you cooked for dinner last night. He'd been missing dinner too often. It was almost Halloween, and the two of you should have been planning a costume for Rose to wear. He should have been working on an anniversary getaway for November. He'd been fucking up a lot for someone who wasn't aware he was doing it, but he certainly wasn't an adulterer. 

The locker room was empty as he changed out of his wrinkly uniform and slipped under the hot shower stream. Nothing was going to make him feel better if you didn't trust him. Once again, he thought about you throwing all your fancy kitchen gadgets in a box and leaving without a backward glance in his direction. Bradley's hands shook, and he didn't know how he'd make it through the day at this rate.

As he pulled on his flight suit, he thought about going up to your office to wait for you to arrive. But he'd end up on his knees again, begging you to stay with him, and that wasn't what you needed to hear right now. He was exhausted, but he tried to clear his mind and think of some way to convince you he would never do anything to hurt you. But if Indigo already made comments directly to you, it felt like all hope was lost.

The walk to his office was long, but not long enough for inspiration to strike. Maybe Nat could give him some advice. She'd been harping on about girl code the other day. As much as he hated to admit it, Jake might be a helpful ally right now. He was a big fan of yours, and always quick to remind Bradley he'd married way out of his league.

He settled in behind his desk, unable to look away from the wedding photo for a few minutes. You looked perfect that day. You were perfect every day. There was no doubt you'd be perfect without him, but he didn't want you going anywhere unless you took him, too.

"Fuck," Bradley gasped, lungs burning with the effort to hold back his tears. His students would be sitting down to take a practicum exam shortly. He didn't necessarily need to be there, but it would look good if he was. But he'd also have to face Indigo in the classroom. Maverick was still up in Lemoore, and he was the only one who knew Bradley filed a formal complaint.

This was all exhausting. Nausea and fatigue waged war in his body as Bradley stumbled to his feet once again. He needed something to drink. Some cold water. He threw his office door open wide and walked back up the hallway to the small lounge where he grabbed a water bottle and downed it in one go. Panting, he took a second one before slowly heading back the way he came.

He didn't even feel better as he started sweating profusely. He wanted you. He wanted you to let him hold you. He wanted to kiss Rose. 

His office door was just a few feet away when he heard her voice.

"Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw."

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, fingers wrapping around the bottle so aggressively, he was afraid it would explode in his hand. He'd been told to keep his distance for now, but clearly Indigo was none the wiser as she followed him right inside his office.

"Sir," she said, voice bold and unbothered. "I thought we could walk to the classroom together."

Bradley spun and looked at her. He really shouldn't be surprised at this point. He also shouldn't be talking to her alone in his office, but she was standing there expectantly, blinking those eyes up at him.

"Unless you're not ready to head over yet...."

Her words trailed off as she casually reached for the door, fingers grazing the wood.

"Do not close that door," Bradley barked, surprising himself with his angry tone. Indigo's hand dropped to her side, eyes wide, but she took a step closer as he backed up until he hit his desk. He managed to set the water bottle down, chest rising and falling rapidly. He shouldn't be talking to her, but he couldn't help himself as he shook his head. "What is your problem?"

She cocked her head slightly, a hesitant smile on her lips. "Sir?"

Bradley skirted along past his desk as she tracked him. "I don't understand why you're trying to ruin my life," he hissed.

Indigo froze before bursting into delighted laughter that set his teeth on edge. "Ruin your life? I can assure you, Sir, I would like nothing more than to have a very good time with you."

Any warmth remaining in Bradley's body vanished, leaving him sweaty and shivering. "That's not appropriate," he gasped. "You're reporting to me through Top Gun, and I'm married."

She rolled her eyes and muttered, "This was a lot easier last time."

"You've done this before?" Bradley asked, eyes darting to the door and empty hallway beyond, wishing he'd just gone to your office instead. 

"I like older men," Indigo replied sweetly. "Ones with lots of pins on their uniforms. And they've always been agreeable before."

"Unbelievable," Bradley groaned, ready to throw away all of his insignia pins and run away. "Lieutenant Jeffries, I have never laid a finger on you. We've never been alone in here with the door closed, ever."

"But you wanted to. You can admit it," she whispered, reaching once more for the door.

"Are you out of your mind?" Bradley's voice shook, but it was loud enough that she froze again. "You think I would jeopardize my marriage for you? My family? The thought never crossed my mind!"

Indigo licked her lips. "I've seen your wife. She's pregnant again. And she's -"

"She's perfect," Bradley barked, eyes blazing as he glanced at the wedding photo. "Do not talk about her. Ever." He squeezed his eyes closed and squared his shoulders before glaring at Indigo. "Get the fuck out of my office."

He was afraid she wasn't going to listen, the way she stood there and stared at him in surprise. But Bradley had nothing left. His fingers were shaking, and he was sure he was going to vomit. She finally turned and marched from the room with her chin in the air, and Bradley turned to face his desk.

Panic like he never felt before filled his veins. He had no idea what he was supposed to do now as he gripped the edge of his desk and stared down at his boots. His body shook with silent sobs as he tried to catch his breath, but his brain couldn't seem to get past the fact that his life was in absolute ruins.

"Oh, God," he gasped, lifting his head in time to see his office door move a few inches. Before he could fully register what was happening, you popped out from behind it and carefully pushed it closed.

"Sweetheart?" he croaked, examining your tear-streaked cheeks before you stumbled closer to him.

Why were you in his office? You were crying, working your hands in front of your pregnant belly as you whispered, "I'm sorry, Bradley!"

When he held his arms open, you rushed into them, burying your face in his chest as you wailed. He had no idea why you were in his office, but if the end result was getting to hold you tight, he didn't need a reason. As soon as you touched him, he immediately felt better. 

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," you sobbed over and over, body shaking against him. "I was so scared, and I look so awful right now. And I'm just so sorry!"

"Shhh," he coaxed softly, kissing the top of your head before letting his chin rest there. "It's okay."

"No. It's not okay," came your immediate, muffled response, arms tightening around him. "I made you sleep outside. I told you I'd leave with the girls." You looked up at him, tears brimming from your eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't believe you."

Bradley shook his head, bringing his hand up to rest on your cheek. "I'm sorry I put you through this shit. This is so fucked up."

He let you cry, wiping your tears with his thumb as they fell for the longest time. He already felt like he could figure out a way to fix everything as long as you still wanted him. 

Bradley kissed your quivering lips as you started to calm down. "Please never leave me. I'm not going to stop being in love with you. Okay? I just want my girls." With one more kiss, he whispered, "And there's nothing wrong with the way you look. You're perfect."

The smallest smile found your lips. "That's what you told Indigo."

"Baby Girl, that's what I tell everybody," he promised, relieved beyond belief that you witness that miserable exchange. "What are you doing here anyway?" he whispered, keeping you snug against him as you looked up at his face. "Not that I'm complaining, but I wasn't expecting you to want to see me."

"I came to talk to you as soon as I dropped Rose off." You wiped your tears on his flight suit as you added, "When I got here, the door was wide open, so I came inside. Then I heard her voice in the hallway. I panicked and hid behind the door."

"And I couldn't be happier that you did," he whispered.

"She really wanted to close the door."

"She really did."

"I hate her."

"Me, too," he sighed, exhausted from thinking about Indigo. He let his breathing match yours, falling into a comfortable rhythm that he didn't want to let go of yet. "I have an idea. Let's go home."

"Home?"

"Yeah. Let's go get Rose from the nursery and ditch the rest of the day. I just want to go home."

Now you were the one running your hand along his scarred cheek. "You must be exhausted." When he nodded, you said, "Okay. Let's go home, and I'll take care of you."

When you tried to pull away, Bradley kept you close. "No. I'm going to take care of you. I clearly haven't been doing enough of that since I started this position. So that's going to change immediately."

"We can take care of each other," you replied easily, but you were smiling. "I just need to talk to Cat first."

Bradley groaned softly. He was already imagining the three of you at home. He would make lunch while you fed Rose, and then everyone could take a long nap. He just wanted everything to feel normal again. 

"Why do you need Cat first?"

You laced your fingers with his and started to tug him toward the door. "To get the ball rolling on Indigo's spectacular downfall."

"What?" Bradley's eyebrows shot up. "I just inadvertently managed to clear my name, and you already formulated a plan?"

You waved your free hand in the air. "It's like half a plan at best, but it's coming together." You paused. "You know what? I'll just call Cat when we get home. I'm sure we can handle it from there. I really want to snuggle with you, and I'm starving."

Bradley made sure the door locked behind him. "I am in awe of you," he murmured, letting you lead him down the hallway.

"Nobody messes with my husband."

--------------------------------

You felt alive again for the first time in weeks. You were thriving. Bradley never let you out of his sight as he made lunch and burped Rose. He put her down in her crib, wrapped you in his arms, and led you toward the promise of an afternoon nap.

"Wait, Cat's calling me back," you whispered, watching his face fall as he tried to get you to the bedroom. "It'll just take a minute."

"I can barely keep my eyes open," he murmured, kissing your cheek before you backed away. "Just come in when you're done."

You watched him turn to the bedroom, pulling his undershirt over his head as he went. The temptation of his warm body wrapped around yours was almost too much to fight, but when you thought about Indigo, you wanted to punch a hole in the wall. Or her face.

"Hi."

"Where are you?" Cat asked. "I thought I saw you in the parking lot this morning, and now you're magically nowhere to be found."

"I'm at home," you told her quickly. "Hey, how close are you to finishing the new code for the Super Hornet updates?"

There was a beat of silence. "Not that close. We aren't rolling out the updates until the end of the year. It'll ground some of the pilots."

You smiled to yourself. "I want to start doing it sooner."

"Sooner?" she asked, confused. "How much sooner?"

"Tomorrow."

---------------------------------

Hearing that straight from Indigo had to make BG feel so much better! Is this me being nicer? Beginning to mend things? Stay tuned.

PART 36

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@solacestyles

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@shanimallina87

@ccbb2222

@xoxabs88xox

@thedroneranger

@cherrycola27

@fanboyswhore9

@xomrsalliej4787xo

@desert-fern

@horseslovers2016

@mattyskies

@hookslove1592

@blahehblah

@sadpetalsstuff

@local-spidey

@schoollover

@lex-winchester

@nicole01-23

@jessicab1991

@happyrebelruins

@samsgoddess

@bellaireland1981

@sagittarius-flowerchild

@mygyn

@yuckosworld

@daggerspare-standingby

@nessjo

@trickphotography2

@lyn-js

@furiousladyking

@godsfavoritebabe

@bethabear12

@halo-mystic

@sherlockstrangewolf

@theamuz

@khaylin27

@glenpowellluver

[mostlysignssomeportents]

“Carbon neutral” Bitcoin operation founded by coal plant operator wasn’t actually carbon neutral

I'm at DEFCON! TODAY (Aug 9), I'm emceeing the EFF POKER TOURNAMENT (noon at the Horseshoe Poker Room), and appearing on the BRICKED AND ABANDONED panel (5PM, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01). TOMORROW (Aug 10), I'm giving a keynote called "DISENSHITTIFY OR DIE! How hackers can seize the means of computation and build a new, good internet that is hardened against our asshole bosses' insatiable horniness for enshittification" (noon, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01).

Water is wet, and a Bitcoin thing turned out to be a scam. Why am I writing about a Bitcoin scam? Two reasons:

I. It's also a climate scam; and

II. The journalists who uncovered it have a unique business-model.

Here's the scam. Terawulf is a publicly traded company that purports to do "green" Bitcoin mining. Now, cryptocurrency mining is one of the most gratuitously climate-wrecking activities we have. Mining Bitcoin is an environmental crime on par with opening a brunch place that only serves Spotted Owl omelets.

Despite Terawulf's claim to be carbon-neutral, it is not. It plugs into the NY power grid and sucks up farcical quantities of energy produced from fossil fuel sources. The company doesn't buy even buy carbon credits (carbon credits are a scam, but buying carbon credits would at least make its crimes nonfraudulent):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/31/carbon-upsets/#big-tradeoff

Terawulf is a scam from top to bottom. Its NY state permit application promises not to pursue cryptocurrency mining, a thing it was actively trumpeting its plan to do even as it filed that application.

The company has its roots in the very dirtiest kinds of Bitcoin mining. Its top execs (including CEO Paul Prager) were involved with Beowulf Energy LLC, a company that convinced struggling coal plant operators to keep operating in order to fuel Bitcoin mining rigs. There's evidence that top execs at Terawulf, the "carbon neutral" Bitcoin mining op, are also running Beowulf, the coal Bitcoin mining op.

This is a very profitable scam. Prager owns a "small village" in Maryland, with more that 20 structures, including a private gas station for his Ferrari collection (he also has a five bedroom place on Fifth Ave). More than a third of Terawulf's earnings were funneled to Beowulf. Terawulf also leases its facilities from a company that Prager owns 99.9% of, and Terawulf has *showered * that company in its stock.

So here we are, a typical Bitcoin story: scammers lying like hell, wrecking the planet, and getting indecently rich. The guy's even spending his money like an asshole. So far, so normal.

But what's interesting about this story is where it came from: Hunterbrook Media, an investigative news outlet that's funded by a short seller – an investment firm that makes bets that companies' share prices are likely to decline. They stand to make a ton of money if the journalists they hire find fraud in the companies they investigate:

https://hntrbrk.com/terawulf/

It's an amazing source of class disunity among the investment class:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/08/money-talks/#bullshit-walks

As the icing on the cake, Prager and Terawulf are pivoting to AI training. Because of course they are.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/09/terawulf/#hunterbrook

[artifacts-and-arthropods]

Planthopper Parasite Moths: the caterpillars of this family attach themselves to the bodies of planthoppers and then gradually suck the fluids from the host's abdomen; this is one of the few known examples of predatory and/or carnivorous behavior in caterpillars

Moths of the family Epipyropidae are often referred to as planthopper parasite moths, because their larvae are ectoparasites that typically feed on the hemolymph (i.e. "blood") of planthoppers and cicadas. The family contains at least 40 described species, all of which are parasitic or parasitoid.

Predatory and/or carnivorous behavior is rarely seen in caterpillars (or in adult lepidopterans, for that matter) and this family contains some of the few known examples.

Above: Fulgoraecia exigua caterpillar feeding on a planthopper

The caterpillars have hooked claws that allow them to cling to the host's body, and their mandibles are used to penetrate the cuticle that surrounds the abdomen; the caterpillar then inserts a proboscis-like structure into the planthopper's body and feeds on the fluids within. Planthopper parasite caterpillars generally spend 4-6 weeks feeding on their host, often tucked up under the wings.

Above: Fulgoraecia exigua

Early instar nymphs that are preyed upon by these caterpillars rarely survive the process, and the survival rate for more fully-developed nymphs and adult hemipterans is also quite low.

Above: a caterpillar of the species Epipomponia nawai is shown feeding on a cicada (top) and another caterpillar of the species Fulgoraecia exigua is shown feeding on a leafhopper (bottom)

The caterpillars can measure up to 7mm long, which is about half the length of a fingernail, and their bodies are covered in waxy white filaments that make them look like tiny cottonballs. Those features seem to mimic the "fluffy" appearance of many fulgoroid planthopper nymphs, making it easier for the caterpillar to sneak up on its host.

Above: planthopper parasite caterpillars are tiny, often measuring just 3-7mm long

When the caterpillar is ready to pupate, it detaches from its host and then uses a thin strand of silk to abseil down to a leaf or a branch, where it spins a cocoon around its body and enters pupation.

Above: cocoons of Fulgoraecia exigua

Planthopper parasite moths have very distinctive cocoons, with delicate layers of silk that are folded together to form ridges and spikes across the top of the pupal case. Some cocoons have wider, flatter folds of silk that look almost like rose petals.

Above: cocoon made by an unidentified moth from family Epipyropidae

Sources & More Info:

Maryland Biodiversity Project: Planthopper Parasite Moth

Moths of North Carolina: Fulgoraecia exigua

Bug Guide: Family Epipyropidae

Egyptian Journal of Biological Pest Control: Biological Anomalies in the Sugarcane Leafhopper Pyrilla perpusilla Due to Parasitism by Fulgoraecia melanoleuca

Journal of the Lepidopterist's Society: Predatory and Parasitic Lepidoptera

The Lepidoptera: Form, Function, and Diversity: Epipyropidae

Bombay Natural History Society: On the Biology and Morphology of Epipyrops eurybrachydis

Journal of Asia-Pacific Entomology: Behavioural and Phylogeographic Observations on Epipomponia nawai

Species Connect: Carnivorous Butterflies and Moths

[hazbin-but-good]

another hazbin hotel rewrite/redesign?

yup! and i'm so serious about it that i made a whole blog for it. i'm a white queer ex-cath tran doing this as an art and writing exercise, so feedback from other creatives + jewish and/or racialized folks is especially welcome.

i'm putting this post and only this post in the main tags for visibility. also, not gonna link my main, but i do make my own original stuff, and i encourage fans and haters alike to do the same.

anyway, here's a mostly good-faith 1.7k-word essay on the original. i think it's pretty funny and brings up some less talked-about points. correct me on the facts, disagree with my opinions, and ask clarifying questions, but don't come at me with any piss-poor reading comprehension.

the hellaverse is garbage, and here's why

cw: strong language, stronger opinions, intersectional feminist critical discourse analysis

1. vivienne medrano, the person

medrano was born as a well-off white-passing latina (salvadoran-american) in bougieass frederick, maryland. while attending new york's top art school, she got popular on deviantart-tumblr-twitter by being a prolific multifandom fujoshi furry who's more into ornamental character design than storytelling. upon graduation, she leveraged her fanbase and industry connections to make the hazbin and helluva boss pilots, get helluva made for youtube, and get hazbin made for amazon prime.

like every woman online, she gets harassed for no good reason, and as a certified autist, i will defend her right to be dumb, weird, annoying, and bad with words. however, there are legit reasons to criticize her:

racism, misogyny, homophobia, fatphobia, some antisemitism, past transphobia, past ableism

shitty boss, bad friend

cowardly, vindictive, manipulative, thoughtless behavior

skeevy friends

sucks at taking criticism

in short, i think she desperately needs a PR person and someone to clean up her digital footprint.

2. medrano's art

incurious

inauthentic

noncommittal

creatively stagnant

overindulgent, and the indulgence isn't even fun

shallow and childish framed as complex and mature

bland and boring framed as shocking and subversive

to be clear, i'm at peace with the existence of suckass art like this; i just think the money, attention, and praise it gets are unearned and should go to more interesting works, of which there are infinite.

medrano's had the time, money, and social cache to grow as an artist, learn from the best, and take creative risks, but she hasn't. if she truly has nothing more to offer, she should let her collaborators take the wheel, but she doesn't do that either. instead, she keeps getting more and more resources to make the same baby bullshit, and that pisses me off. she could be the nicest person ever, and this fundamental arrogance would still make her art blow.

stop with the pointless guilt: liking medrano's work does not make you stupid or evil. however, if you stay in the kiddie pool of culture, if you refuse to engage with a diversity of art, if the hellaverse is your point of reference for anything media-related, you can't expect to have your opinions on art, media, or culture taken seriously. you have not earned a seat at the table. you gotta hit the books first.

i cannot emphasize enough how much incredible stuff is out there if you're willing to look further than what social media and streaming services put right in front of you. if you come away from this blog having learned about just one new artist or piece of art, i'll be a happy camper.

3. the hellaverse

a. empty and confused

hazbin and helluva's content and marketing has no clear target audience. the subjects are inappropiate for teens, but the execution is too childish for adults, and lemme tell you what i don't mean by that, first.

not inherently inappropriate for teens:

sex and sexuality

violence, including when it intersects with the above

politics and religion

not inherently childish:

animation (any style)

comedy

episodic writing and/or loose continuity

young characters

fun, happiness, optimism, the power of friendship, cuteness, tenderness, sincerity, etc.

what i mean is that these shows are literally about adult characters who fuck, smoke, drink, do drugs, go clubbing, work full-time, manage their own finances, and deal with stuff like bureaucracy, sexual violence, domestic abuse, marriage, divorce, late adoption, and family estrangement.

however, none of these "adult" things are given enough specificity to create drama or comedy. it's all too stock, vague, flat, weirdly sanitized, and thus utterly banal—pure aesthetics on top of bad saturday morning cartoons. it's exactly what i'd expect from a sheltered disney kid who needs to log off and get into their local gay scene ASAP so their only contact with things like poverty, policing, addiction, and sex work stops being facile movies and TV.

if the shows were aware of this and played with it, that could be amazing, but they're not. they give you the mickey mouse version of the world with a straight face and then play looney tunes sound effects to try to make you laugh and sad_violin.mp3 to try to make you cry. now that's funny.

b. old and tired

let's make like americans and pretend that the rest of the world doesn't exist. even within the confines of the USA, home of the hays code, the red scare, and reaganite propaganda, this neopuritan fascist state ruled by 1000 megachurches in a trenchcoat, the indie/underground animation scene has been doing crazier shit for decades. anti-war films in the 60's, bakshi movies in the 70's, the simpsons shorts and r-rated movies in the 80's, adult swim and MTV in the 90's, flash/newgrounds/youtube in the 00's, streaming in the 2010's—so what are we doing in the 2020's with this wet white rice drowned in expired ketchup? i feel crazy making this point because it's obvious if you've watched these things, but if you haven't, you're gonna be like "well, there's gotta be something new here". no! there isn't! in the words of jimmy "the scot" jordan, nothing, nothing, NOTHING!

c. ideological purgatory

actually, there is one thing in these shows i've never seen before: the presbysterianism. shout out some interesting or at least intentional presbysterian art in the comments, because the way these ideas are presented here is not compelling. it just makes the rainbow neoliberalism even more confusing and contradictory.

i guess the big presbysterian things are protestanism, calvinism, and, uh, big church government? presbysterians, get your shit together. get your brand down. catholics have BDSM and vampires, evangelicals have TV and corporatism; what do you have? celtic crosses? no wonder medrano has such uninspired ideas on divinity.

d. queer deficiency

when i look at a piece of art, i ask myself: "what does this give me that i can't get from the hunchback of notre dame (1996)?" if the answer is as limp as "uhh, gay people, i guess", i can probably look for my gay shit elsewhere and rewatch the hunchback of notre dame (1996) in the meantime.

but let's say that you have no standards. you've been waiting for ages for a show about gays by the gays for the gays, and by god you're gonna get it. this is it! here we go! time for some

generic twink obliteration

male sexuality as aggression and dominance displays

WLW (sex and chemistry not included)

a couple straight femdoms

and the stalest sex jokes known to man

...yeah, it's not very queer. and by "queer", i mean "questioning or subverting gender norms (including sexual roles) within a given cultural context regardless of creator identity and intent". i'm not a queer studies scholar so LMK if there's a more specific term for this, but whatever you call it, it's not in the hellaverse much.

there's not even any transness, literal or metaphorical, just ancient drag jokes. i guess the writers thought we would've been too controversial. so much for an indie animation studio that prides itself in the diversity of its staff both above and below the line, bakshi-style. i wonder how medrano, a bisexual woman, would've felt if told that a lesbian main couple in hazbin would be "too controversial".

4. spindlehorse and the vivziepop brand

spindlehorse toons underpays its overworked staff and keeps outsourcing more and more labor to even more overworked freelancers overseas to cut costs. a rainbow sweatshop is still a sweatshop, and just because these practices may be "industry standard" doesn't make them any more ethical.

the studio has also been repeatedly accused by current and former employees and contractors of creating a hostile and abusive workplace. AFAIK, it still has no dedicated HR person, and victims are too afraid of retaliation like blacklisting and online harassment to speak out.

this is exactly the stuff that unions exist to prevent. as i'm writing this, the IATSE (the parent union of TAG, which is the parent union of all US animation unions) is negotiating with entertainment industry executives for better working conditions, and if the execs fuck around like last year, it's strike time again. so watch this space, voice your support, and don't cross any picket lines.

i hope spindlehorse unionizes, but until then and for these reasons, i don't think you should give money to the company.

first of all, all content on amazon-owned platforms is ok to pirate, and all youtube ads are ok to block. everyone involved in making the episodes has (or should have) been paid upfront, so you're not taking the bread out of anyone's mouth.

next, let's look at the succulent offerings of the official vivziepop merch shop:

$10 pins and keychains

$15 sticker packs

$20 mugs and acrylic cutouts

$25 shirts

$30 metal cards (not even tarot)

$40 lounge pants

$50 mini backpacks

random $80 skateboard deck

forgive my latin americanness, but this is all stuff you can get made by a local metalsmith, print/sublimation shop, or just crafty people in your life. it's cheaper, customizable, and better for the environment to skip all the shipping and packaging. also, not painting your own skateboard is poser shit.

the hazbin website also has $15 pins, one $20 keychain, and $6 trading card packs. people are weird about trading cards, so if for some reason you wanna gamble for a mass-produced bit of cardboard, plastic, and tinfoil, at least bulk-order for all the vivziepoppers in your area so it's less of a huge waste. better yet, trace the designs and make infinite bootlegs.

at the end of the day, buying merch is not activism. your bulk order of trading cards will not save any wage slaves from getting evicted from their overpriced studio apartments. however, the shop links you to all the credited artists/designers, and more of your bucks will actually reach them if you buy their designs directly, then turn them into body pillows or life-sized bronze statues or whatever the fuck.

go through the credits of any episode of helluva or hazbin, and you'll find even more creatives you might wanna support. get jinkx monsoon's albums on CD. subscribe to actually good artist, animator, and composer gooseworx. lots of voice actors now have patreon, cameo, or self-hosted pages where you can write better lines for their characters and have them read it. these things may not look as shiny as Official Merch™, but we all need less plastic shit and more culture anyway.

[randomfoggytiger]

"BILL SCULLY"

*-*-*-*-*

The Bill Scully POV series, re-edited to fit canon's timeline. [Ao3]

Many thanks to @baronessblixen, who kept this series going; and to @justice-for-queequeg for the X-Cops prompt.

*-*-*-*-*

-CHAPTER 1-

"Mr. Mulder, I Know Something About You"

The first time Bill heard the name Fox Mulder was the day after his sister and her partner were sucked almost dry and hospitalized in Washington State for nearly two weeks. One fuzzy, panicked call from Tara and one fuzzier, harried call from his mother sketched in the slim details: Dana was on the mend, she’d been investigating a missing loggers’ case with her partner--

“What 'partner'? She’s in the field?”

She had been, for months. He’d forgotten to ask at their father’s funeral, convinced that her height and lack of experience had kept her teaching at Quantico.

“Dana's mentioned him once before, I think. You know how tight-lipped she is about her life.”

“Mom, do I need to come home? Is she….”

“No, Bill. But I’ll call you if she takes a turn for the worse.”

So, Bill stayed on board; and Dana got better, and Tara celebrated over the phone, and Maggie remembered the name: Fox Mulder.

*-*-*-*-*

The second time Bill heard the name Fox Mulder were the days following his sister’s abduction.

His mother talked of little else-- with Dana’s captor dead, any possible leads had died with him. There was nothing now but faith and hope.

“But I know Fox will call as soon as he finds her.”

Fox. His sister, Tara had told him, still called him Mulder. Then again, Tara’s attention was currently wrapped up in calendars and planners and endless negatives. For that matter, his was, too; and what little time he had to think of family he thought of her, alone, counting the rising costs of their countless tries, alone, while he worked as often as he could to cover those costs, alone. And his sister, somewhere, alone; and his mother back in Maryland, alone.

Dana and her former partner’s professional relationship wasn’t a top priority, or even a distant concern.

*-*-*-*-*

The third time Bill heard the name Fox Mulder was after promising his eldest sister that Tara would try her fertility herbs. His wife was curled up on one side, quiet, when Melissa stuck her toes in his other side, slyly smiling.

“Now that that’s out of the way,” she concluded, setting aside the herb pouch and pinning him with her eyes, “why haven’t you given Dana a call? She hasn’t said it, but she’s been expecting one.”

“Don’t start, Missy.” He’d have disengaged, too, but Tara’s head was pressing into his neck, a sure sign she was falling asleep. And sleep was precious these days, what with the hormone shots and regular appointments and never-ending stress. He’d promised to shoulder her troubles for nine more weeks; and whether this was a test or not, Bill Scully had and would never back down from his word.

Melissa, opportunistic woman that she was, had banked on it, waiting for her sister-in-law’s “dozing” tea to kick in before launching the subject. “Billy, you know you want to talk to her. What’s the problem? I mean, she almost… we almost lost her. Why can’t you let whatever you’re holding onto--”

“Miss--” he stopped, voice abruptly, temporarily, startling them both.

“You owe it to her, Bill. You two haven’t talked in months-- no one’s too busy to pick up the phone and call. It’s Dad all over again; but Dad was blind to what it did to us."

“And what about Dana? She's back on her feet and running straight toward her crazy cases and top-secret autopsies. You can’t point a finger at me without three pointing right back at her. At least I try to be there for my family.”

“You weren’t there when she was gone.”

He swallowed, angry and stung. “And who was, Melissa? You?”

Her toes gripped his hip, guilty. “Fox.”

*-*-*-*-*

The fourth time Bill heard Fox Mulder’s name was during his sister’s not-so-secret battle with cancer. His mother called often to vent and cry, unable to share her worries and pain with her only living daughter and unwilling to burden Tara with more stress.

Fox had become a footnote of late, so consumed was he and Dana in their work.

“Mom, how can you let Dana run herself down like that? She should be resting or looking into treatments-- anything rather than chasing after rag magazine cases half across the country!”

“Bill, not everyone can run to sea to escape their problems. Not even you.”

*-*-*-*-*

The fifth time Bill heard Fox Mulder’s name was after he’d met the man-- watched him fill Dana’s head with insane theories about chips and government conspiracies and backed off, awed, when Dana’s cancer miraculously went into remission.

He was roaming the halls, searching for coffee to wash down the remainder of his rage over Fox Mulder’s red eyes and dazed expression when he noticed another government type walk stiffly towards the nurse’s desk, brusquely flash a badge, straighten his stiff spine and stiffer tie, and promptly demand to see “Fox Mulder.”

“I know where he is,” Bill cut in, saving the nurse the hassle but still getting a glare for his trouble. “Bill Scully. How can I help you?”

“Yes-- I was sent to bring him back for questioning; and we’re expected in,” he looked significantly at his watch, “forty minutes. If you would take me to him--”

“Take Mulder where?” Bill snapped around to see Walter Skinner, A.D., striding over, eyebrows drawn and face grim.

“Yes, Sir. Agent Mulder is being called in for--”

“The committee’s been disbanded until further notice, Agent Colton; and until I have those further orders, my agents are not to be bothered or contacted while they are in this hospital. Is that understood?”

Bill watched the other man’s jaw lock, grind, and shift as it worked its stubborn way around “Understood, Sir.” Then Agent Colton turned tail and fled, heels thudding down the tile on their thunderous path to the elevator.

A.D. Skinner wasn’t done yet. “My apologies, Mr. Scully. That agent was out of line; and I'll see to it that your family isn't bothered again.”

It was best to nod and let the A.D. think he was frustrated with the intrusion.

Mulder could have been mid-conversation or on his way out by now. Instead, he would still be on that bench long after the family left. He seemed the type.

*-*-*-*-*

The sixth time Bill heard Fox Mulder’s name was over another phone call, mere months before the birth of his child.

“Bill Scully? You might not remember me, but my name’s Ethan, Ethan Minette, and Dana and I used to date back when, well rather, right after she was recruited by the FBI. She ever mention me? Yes? No? Anyway, not important. Calling about information you might possibly have on, lemme check… Fox? Mulder, yep, Fox Mulder. Dana’s partner? There was a case she was involved in recently, really gruesome, real Frankenstein abomination stuff; and Colton, Tom Colton? You know him? Dana’s friend? Anyway, we keep in touch, we’re related somewhat, you know? And he named you as a hot tip and I was wondering if you…. Yeah, yeah, I can wait.”

He and Tara fought afterward: Tara as big as a house, ready to cave the roof in.

“Dana’s coming for the holidays, Bill! And you two will spend the week in stony silence avoiding each other and, and Mom and I will have to try to keep the peace instead of celebrating our first Christmas as a growing family, and-- and how could you do that, Bill? After all Fox Mulder did for our family?”

Bill was lacking even to his ears; and, after cooler heads prevailed, he dialed Ethan back up and insisted his name be kept out of the article. Ethan talked doubly fast, banging a pen up and down every other word for emphasis as he cajoled and steamed about losing necessary credibility; but, inevitably, gave in.

“I’ll only do this because you’re Dana’s brother and she was a real sweetheart. But if I need to call you in future…?”

“I don’t have any more information.”

Dana skipped most of Christmas, anyway.

*-*-*-*-*

The seventh time Bill heard Fox Mulder’s name was when he flew in for Emily Sim’s hearing.

“I need him as a witness if I’m to have any chance getting custody of Emily,” Dana had stated carefully, meticulously avoiding eye contact. Bill still caught her bewilderment and fear… and joy.

“When’ll he get here?”

“Tonight, tomorrow… he didn’t say when, just that he’d be here.” He caught her smile, too.

“Dana…” Her head snapped up, and he paused. “We’ll be there.”

“Bill, you don’t have to--”

“We’ll be there, Dana.”

And they were.

And so was Fox Mulder.

Bill left with Tara, tired and emotional, and Maggie, displaced and confused, after exchanging silent, cursory greetings with his sister’s partner. While he slowly walked away, both women in tow, he heard a curt “Dana Scully and Fox Mulder” echo behind him.

And, in spite of everything, he sent up a prayer for both.

*-*-*-*-*

-CHAPTER 2-

"You Up For Joining Us?"

Bill had arranged it with Dana ahead of time: Dad’s first mates guarding the perimeters while Charles, Hessa, and the kids stood inflexibly in the middle.

As usual, their mom slipped away from the rules, tying her trembling bereavement to Dana's strength; and Tara drifted closer to him, burrowing tighter into his grip until Bill pulled her against his shoulder.

Charles’s grief hissed out in great huffs of air, Dana’s voice cut the silence with undetectable questions, and their mother's answers wobbled thinly, distant and dismayed.

“Bill, don’t you let go,” Tara whispered, both aware he was the one trembling.

And all Bill could think about was Melissa, taking the long route home over the vast, watery grave of the late Captain Scully.

*-*-*-*-*

The house was quiet: Dana had left immediately after the service to work, face closed and lips sealed; Maggie had slipped from room to room until she shut herself away to cry; and Charles had wrangled his pedigree wife and two sons into the car to revisit old Maryland Scully haunts.

“I should call Melissa,” Bill rasped, rubbing a hand across his eyes, wondering if his father would already have done so. So many “done so”s still to learn.

“I’ll give her a ring if she doesn't check in by five.” Tara plopped a husband-sized mug of childhood memories and cinnamon sticks to his side of the couch and pulled a wife-sized chair up next to him. “Why don’t you put your feet up, Sweetie? I made Mom’s apple cider you love.”

“How do you always know what to do?”

“Because I have you captured between… what did Dana say were the ribs right on top of the heart?”

“I can’t remember.” He sank down next to her, mood softening despite the Charles-shaped headache throbbing between his eyes. “Did you get to talk to her?”

“Mm, no. She was… I think she wanted to be left alone. She had her face on, y’know?”

“Angry? At you? What'd she say?”

“Nothing! She wasn’t... she was, y’know, withdrawn. Quiet. So, I left her alone.”

The couch, Bill realized, was comfortable; and he slipped his dress shoes off to half sit, half recline along the length of it. That, and the drink was good. “There’s something a little extra in this, Honey. What’d you put?”

“Dad’s ashes.”

Both of them snapped up at Charles’s voice, his towering torso and knitted brows appearing in the doorway a second later. “I’m driving Hessa and the kids back to the hotel. We still doing the photo albums?” The pretense was hollow: everyone knew he and the wife would find and excuse and be out before it got too dark.

Bill wondered why his brother still bothered. “Yeah, if Mom’s up for it.”

“Great. See you guys then.” The torso and scowl slid away, light steps tripping over themselves down the hall and out the slammed door after a few customary noises.

“Just couldn’t keep it to himself, could he? Had to spread it to everyone else.”

Tara sighed and reached for one of his cinnamon sticks. Both knew they were hers, anyway.

*-*-*-*-*

A few weeks after the police and the FBI and the press had turned his sister’s apartment upside down, Bill walked in and was nearly crushed by his mother’s fierce hug and flashing, determined eyes.

“Dana will be back soon, and you know how fastidious she is about her apartment. I want this place ready for her when she gets here.”

“Mom--”

“And we won’t argue about it, William Scully, especially when there’s work to be done.”

They worked until the moon streamed through the garishly taped window, sporadically reflecting off of tiny, bloodied specks of glass previously concealed in the carpet.

“Hidden in plain sight,” his mother had muttered; and Bill quickly distracted her with Melissa's spotty news and his and Tara’s five-year plan: a child hopefully by next year, or an incumbent relocation to better technology in California.

He didn’t tell her no one expected Dana to return, and that he and Tara decided to name their first daughter after his lost sister.

*-*-*-*-*

Melissa picked up on his fourth attempt.

“Billy, is something up? Mom called, but I’m usually not at this number--”

“Melissa, Dana’s back.”

“Day’s back? Where’d they find her? Is she okay?”

“She’s in a coma.” The seconds hand ticked louder and louder in his ears. “Look, Melissa, I know you hate hospitals, but Mom needs you there."

“Of course. I’ll join you three as soon as I can. Is Charlie with you? Tara, Hessa?”

“It’s just Mom.”

More silence, then a pitying, “Oh, Bill….”

“Can’t be helped, so keep an eye on them for me, Missy-- and leave the woowoo talk out. Mom has enough on her plate as it is.”

“I’ve got a bus to catch and a flight plan to figure out, so I'll be unreachable for a bit. And don’t call Mom because it’ll be quicker for me to get there. Love you, call you soon.”

“Love you, Miss.”

*-*-*-*-*

Melissa was back in California, whiling the hours away with tea and toffees for Tara until night fell and the latter went to bed. Bill found her stuffed in the corner of their temporary love seat, plucking contemplatively at the cheap threads poking from its arm.

“Burning the midnight oil? That’s more Dana’s style.”

She smiled warmly and leaned over to yank the pathetic thrift store cushion from Bill’s designated indent. “I haven’t had a talk with her like that for years. Now, she’s so…. She used to have such free-flowing energy, but she’s blocked all the paths off into their own, separate loops instead of connecting them back together. Like us." Melissa locked eyes, rebukingly shaking her head at the Scully stubbornness. "We just got her back, but we're all no different than we were right before Dad died.”

“Well, what do you suggest I do? Ditch Tara and fly across the country on the hope that Dana or Charlie will clear their schedules and meet up? I don’t have time to iron out the family problems anymore; and all you’ve gotten them to admit is that Dana wishes she had more time for us, and Charles only remembers we exist once or twice a year."

Melissa slowly nodded, blinking once, twice, in silence.

“Missy? Is there something wrong?”

“Mom had a dream again.”

He scoffed and looked at the ceiling in disbelief. “I don’t want to hear this.”

“It’s important, Bill. Mom had a dream like the one before Dana disappeared, only… she didn’t see who was in danger or why. And she’s frightened to death-- afraid it’ll happen all over again. And even if she were to tell Dana, Day's so closed off she won't listen to her inner voice anymore."

“Men and women put their lives on the line of duty every day, Miss, and nothing bad happens. The nut that took Dana lucked out on a one-in-a-million chance; and it won’t happen again no matter how many guys she puts away. If Dana wants to waste her second chance on the field and her superiors green light her antics, then there’s nothing I or you or Mom or even Charles can do to change her mind.”

Melissa fiddled with her fingers, spacey and distant. “It’s not just that, Billy. I’ve had a feeling lately.” She returned to the present, studying his face for a long moment before clutching, desperately, at his arm. “And it feels permanent.”

Her conviction was both moving and goading. “Then feel this, Missy: a year from now, Mom’ll be having nightmares about the baby crawling around this rat trap apartment until a house on base opens up. Dana will take just enough time off to visit for the holidays, Tara might dye her hair red again to fit into the Scully family Christmas photo, and we’ll all pretend you aren’t handing off hosting duties to your roommate while secretly keeping your niece to yourself.”

Melissa was charmed, if not relieved. “With our luck, it’ll be another boy. Besides, you and Tara want one, anyway.” Elbowing him playfully in the gut, she scooted over and shoved the pillow against his shoulder. Voice softening, she wistfully added, “But if it were a girl, I’d be devoted to her. We Scully women have so few people to look out for us.”

*-*-*-*-*

There was no Christmas, no baby, and no warning; only another somber gathering, one less family member, and a gray, lifeless inscription:

MELISSA

SCULLY

BELOVED SISTER

AND DAUGHTER

1962-1995

*-*-*-*-*

-CHAPTER 3-

"Think He'll Call You Tonight"

Charlie was the one that convinced their father.

“But Dad, Dana wanted a gun, too, and she’s really good at being careful, and she does everything else with us, and we have the money to get one, and it’s a really nice one, and Bill and I’ll keep an eye on her and teach her and make sure she doesn’t shoot anything that you told us not to--”

And whether or not it was his arguments or his enthusiasm that won out, Dana was surprised with a BB gun a couple months shy of her birthday, both boys brimming with pride over their recently emptied pockets.

Charlie saw the snake first; but Bill boldly grabbed it, tossed it into a shorter patch of grass, and took the first shot. The air rang with pings and tiny thuds as the snake absorbed pellet after pellet, writhing in pain and shock; until, finally, it stopped wiggling and lay still, limply waiting for death to claim it. Dana had walked towards their target-- Bill assumed for closer range-- and startled her brothers by weeping over the snake’s dead body in her tiny hands.

The attack of conscience was swift: their youngest sister, who was more prone to outraged anger than tears, broke down; and Charlie, who was more likely to cry than holler, yelled at Bill and ran off into the woods.

Their mother was no less furious than their father though Dana fessed up honorably-- refusing to let her brothers take all the blame. Both she and Bill apologized, took their punishment, and were forbidden from shooting until both parents deemed them more responsible.

Charlie didn’t reappear for hours. After dark everyone was worried; and the house and woods were canvassed until late into the night. It was Melissa’s idea to double back and check his room; and Dana who caught sight of his leg, dove under the bed spread, and grabbed him to her, apologizing over and over.

Bill noticed his brother never quite shook the quake in his hands before a shot.

*-*-*-*-*

Bill was out of the house before his brother reached the rebellious teen years. He was annoyed, nonetheless, when home would ring him or he’d ring home and Melissa would insist on telling Charlie’s latest scrape amidst laughter that cracked a sentence in three different places. Dana would take over and summarize her sister’s spotty narrative; and Maggie would hear the commotion from the hallway and insist on excusing some of his behavior.

Excusing. Bill heard that a lot.

Melissa never let anyone off the hook, including him. “Charlie and Dana have stories on you too, Billy, so I wouldn’t test either of their patience. He’ll be home any minute if you want to hear a few.”

“I’m good, thanks.” And the conversation inherently turned to a new thought experiment in Melissa’s collegiate classes or Dana’s impending graduation and solidifying plans for medical school.

*-*-*-*-*

Tara and he had just gone steady when Bill got Melissa’s letter. Grateful that she’d canceled their night out immediately, he’d hugged his sweetheart goodbye and booked it to the nearest payphone.

“Mom, he just met her; and now he’s going to throw away his future and marry the girl? What kind of sense does that make?”

“Bill--”

“I know you’re scared Mom, and Dad must be furious, what with Melissa dropping out and now Charlie--”

“William Scully, will you calm down--”

“Is that Bill?” That was Charles. “I want to talk to him, Mom.”

“Charlie, don’t make this a bigger deal than it needs to be.”

“He’s already poking his nose in, isn’t he? Huh? Making assumptions about Hessa and me behind our backs-- give it over, Mom, he can say it to my face--”

Bill hung up, unwilling to let the situation spiral out of control.

His father called a couple days later, fresh off the boat and abreast of the particulars. And sharply disappointed. “You’re going to fly over here when your command can spare you, and we’re going to talk through this thoroughly. Don’t ever put your mother in this position again, William.” 

The meeting took place in his parent's new home in Maryland, paint and pine sol and candles warring against each other for supremacy.

Charlie refused to try even one year of college, determined to bind himself to Hessa and break into the stock market with her godfather’s tutelage. “I figure facts and figures are my specialty,” he’d cheekily dismissed, “and where better to put them to use?”

Dana immediately lapped him by throwing out a few facts and figures he hadn’t contemplated; and Charlie, offended, had tried to deflect the uncomfortable moment by focusing on her recent, intimate knowledge of family planning and retirement. That's when Melissa had piped up with a pointed hint towards adolescent secrets their father was still ignorant of; and the focus was naturally shoved firmly back where it belonged.

Bill flew back to Maryland six months later, best man at his brother’s showy wedding, staring at the pew where his father, stone faced, mother, apprehensive, and sisters, irritated, sat. Melissa and Dana thawed for the bride, giving her a congratulatory kiss-- which she lightly returned-- while their mother welcomed Hessa as the newest Scully. But the captain only nodded, and Bill only smiled.

*-*-*-*-*

He and Tara were married, Melissa was somewhere around the world, Dana had dropped medical school for the FBI, and Charles and his two Baybrook-blooded kids were living off of his wife’s investment properties when the Scully patriarch suddenly and unexpectedly died.

Charles hadn’t revisited the past-- let alone his family-- but Bill knew the residual resentment from their father’s withdrawal lingered. Partly because Charlie’s college fund had not gone towards Charles’s investment projects, and partly because Captain Scully only privately acknowledged the marriage after the birth of his first grandchild. 

Given the state of their unsteady relationship, it was shocking that the late captain’s son was the only one who understood his father’s unorthodox cremation. 

“It makes strange sense, though I’ll bet Missy put it in his head.”

Tara, who had been quiet since the burial plans were announced, shakily looked up from her lap. “I think it was me. We were talking about Melissa’s book on Celtic traditions and practices a year or so ago; and I mentioned that I could have seen him being cremated if he were born a couple hundred years ago. I guess--”

They were silent, warring between irrational anger at Tara and higher reason. Bill hugged her to himself, shielding her unnecessarily, as Charles’s stare strayed from his sister-in-law to his father’s urn, thoughtfully distant.

*-*-*-*-*

It was Charlie who called two years later.

“Bill, she’s… she’s dead. Died, uh, thirteen hours ago. And… and, uh, Mom says she understands you won’t make it for the funeral… and.... She didn’t call me, Bill, either, because she thought Melissa’d pull through. And Dana’s back-- Dana was off the grid for a bit. We think the guy that got Melissa was after… anyway, one of us’ll call back with details when we can. …I’m sorry, Bill.”

*-*-*-*-*

A switch had flipped after Melissa’s death: while Bill was at sea, the absent siblings spent more time at home. Charles had-- Tara reported-- became a regular, doubly so a regular philanthropist. He helped Maggie patch up various expenses, recommended his wife’s hairdresser to Dana and covered the difference a few times, and funded Tara’s recuperative trips to and from Maryland and California between grueling trials and pregnancy tests.

“Are you doing okay, Mom?” Bill asked, spending yet another Saint Patrick’s Day on yet another floating hunk of metal.

“Hmm. Melissa was going to throw a party today. Did you know that? She started a new tradition after Dana was returned last year.” Her breath came raggedly over the line. “I miss her, Bill. And your father." 

“Yeah, Mom.”

She paused, then sighed a long, sad sound. "Are you going to be alone for the holiday?”

“Some friends are throwing a celebration later. One of them even looks like Charles, strangely. I’ll see you as soon as I can.”

“I know, Bill. I’ll let the others know you thought of them.”

“Okay, Mom. Bye.”

*-*-*-*-*

Dana’s cancer blindsided all of them.

Maggie let out the secret in tears a few weeks after Dana began and ended her treatment, heated and lost and afraid. “She won’t try chemotherapy anymore because she wants to work-- she just pretends it doesn’t exist and refuses to talk about it. I don’t understand her, Bill. And I don’t know how to tell Charlie because he feels they’ve gotten so close over the last few months. It’ll hurt him; and I don’t want to hurt my baby.”

Bill, so furious he was calm, told her to fly out to Tara. “I know she’ll enjoy having you around, Mom. And maybe Dana will decide to share it with us on her own.”

Dana did not tell anyone else, choosing instead to pretend nothing was wrong: congratulating Bill and Tara on their impending parenthood, sloughing off Maggie's subtle references, and running around thoughtlessly while her health weakened and worsened.

A day before Bill’s arrival, his mother called: Charles had finally been told; and-- at the mention of late-stage cancer-- hadn’t taken it well, venting choice words about being the last to be considered before hanging up. 

Neither he nor Hessa joined them for Dana’s last supper. Despite the desperation of the next few days, he'd remained withdrawn and unreachable.

*-*-*-*-*

“Charles? It’s Bill-- Dana’s in remission. She asked me to give you a call in case you wanted to drop by. We’re calling it a miracle, Charlie. A new beginning, Dana said. If you want.”

For once, Bill was happy her paranoid partner was there to keep his sister company-- anything to distract her from picking up the phone, dialing, and getting bad news on top of good.

*-*-*-*-*

-CHAPTER 4-

"You're Not Here, Dana-- You're a Million Miles Away"

He didn’t know what had gone wrong.

Dana was fine at the airport. She'd been chatting, laughing even, fresh off the plane, debating some feminine topic with their mother as the two wheeled their luggage closer and closer to the exit. Catching his eye, she’d lit up-- like a firecracker, as Melissa used to say-- and even quickened her pace to soak up “a Big Brother Bill hug”-- another Melissa maxim which rubbed off on the rest of the family.

Maggie had deferred the passenger side; and the three of them chit-chatted and caught up on the drive to the base. They’d asked spirited questions about Tara while Bill, per his wife’s specific instructions, refused to give away any hints about how big she’d gotten. “He’s a dad already,” smirked Dana. The teasing and good-natured snipes trailed after them until they turned the last corner.

Everyone had been delighted with each other, Tara had had her fun surprising her guests, and no one had seemed, in his mind, bothered about the sleeping arrangements.

It was the phone call that did it, he realized: Dana had come charging up the stairs, tense and distraught, insisting on driving someplace he knew she’d never been before. Somewhere he’d never been before, either, for that matter.

“Bill-- I had a call, just now. I need to take the car.” In hindsight, she’d been unnaturally pale, nails digging into the stair railing.

He'd taken her, of course. He’d taken her despite how vague her story sounded, waited outside the crime scene until Dana finished poking around, heard her pronouncement-- a voice that sounded like Melissa’s-- then driven her home. She’d remained tight-lipped about what had happened; but that was to be expected: nothing had come from their detour other than a sense of confused embarrassment. They’d both silently moved on from it as soon as possible.

It was after the phone call that she'd begun to withdraw.

*-*-*-*-*

Tara went to bed early: up at four and likely tidying and cleaning until their guests arrived after noon, the day had caught up with her-- so Bill supposed-- after the last of her luxurious dessert disappeared from the plate. That, and his sister had sat quietly through the meal, seeming bruised rather than pleased during his wife’s happy monologue at dinner.

“Bill, is everything okay with Dana?” Tara sighed as he helped maneuver her around the temporarily cramped room. “She’s been awful quiet since you two returned from the crime scene.” 

“I think she’ll be okay. Probably just processing.”

“So I didn’t offend her?”

Bill stopped pulling the quilt back, turning to assess how badly his wife’s feelings had been hurt. “It’s the case, Honey, don’t worry about it. You know how I get about work sometimes--”

“But Bill, this seems different. Maybe she was hurt, somehow, by what I was saying about a family or becoming a mom; or she feels guilty because Melissa’s not here.”

“If it’s more than just the case, Mom’ll get it out of her; and if it’s about us, Mom'll fill us in later. I don't think there's cause for worry, Sweetheart.”

Tara sighed, sat down on the bed, and reluctantly smiled as he bent to take off her comfortable house shoes. “You’re so good to me, Bill. I just want this Christmas to be perfect-- it’s the first since… well, a few firsts since.”

“The past few holidays have been hard on us Scullys. We’re due a really, really good one.”

“Baby here included?”

“I thought he was supposed to arrive after Christmas.” Their son was supposed to be here already. 

“You’d better hope it’s a boy then, Bill Jr., because the Scully women seem to have a mind of their own.”

He nodded, grabbing her empty glass to refill downstairs. “Still thinking of Melissa for the name?” The old game had been exhausted, months ago; but they moved it forward, regardless, in darker moments. 

She smiled, reaching out to catch his arm and pull him closer. “As long as we’re still thinking of Matthew for a boy.”

*-*-*-*-*

Melissa was an inescapable presence this Christmas. She lingered like a benevolent ghost, lounging on the sofa from the corner of his eye or twinkling companionably from the photographs displayed around the house.

The creaking floorboard, however, was a reminder that Dana, not Melissa, was up and wandering. It was after midnight at least, but she was probably still on East Coast time, Bill assumed; or, of course, she was taking a private call and would be flying out when it was light. Try as he might, the thought that his remaining sister would be called back to work with Mulder-- away from her family, over the holidays, after a miraculous cancer remission-- made his blood boil.

He waited up after the car drove off, arguing himself out of calling Ethan Minette back to retract his retraction.

Dana had never been good at sneaking out; and he listened to her tiptoe back in before sunrise, settle in the dining room, and stay there as the minutes, then hours, ticked by.

The morning newspaper thudded against the front door, the sun began to rise, Bill slid down before his military wife or mother could wake and start the day.

“Dana?”

*-*-*-*-*

He knew disappointment should be second-nature by now with Dana and promises she couldn’t keep. Likely, the sting was keener because Melissa, for as flaky as she’d been, had never pretended or promised to be someone she wasn’t: she coasted in and out of their lives whenever the mood struck but always with a tenderness to their fixed positions. Even Charles didn’t hide who he was or what he’d decided behind a false front. His littlest sister, meanwhile, passed herself off as stalwart and dependable before jerking left and ditching medical school, the FBI mainstream, and familial obligations.

“Alright,” he’d agreed. “Lunch!” And she’d tightly smiled; and left.

Although this was her work and her business, it was quickly becoming the family's problem: Tara, puzzled by this impossible situation, did her best to distract Maggie by hostessing her around; and Maggie, tight lipped whenever Dana’s name came up, tried to talk over ruffled feelings and assure everyone her daughter would be there for the Christmas party, of course, so nice to meet friends of Tara’s, they were such nice people, reminded me of the Stotes family we knew in ‘75, remember them, Bill?

It was the Scullys' first Christmas after so much grief and miraculous second chances-- his and Tara’s as much as Dana’s-- and still, Dana flaked.

“It’s work, Honey. You know how that is,” Tara reassured, taking on the previous night's role of comforter. “God and country come first in your jobs.”

It wasn’t country Dana was putting first. Or God.

Bill kept these thoughts to himself, let Tara pull back the covers for him tonight. He even smiled when she promised to refill his empty glass of water after New Year’s.

“After New Year’s,” he agreed.

*-*-*-*-*

Dana left with Detective Kresge before Bill finished an insignificant morning errand.

“She didn’t even say hello to you or Tara, just left? I thought she wanted this vacation, Mom.”

“Dana does, Bill. She’s just… going through a hard time right now.”

“And she doesn’t want to share that with us? Just wants to sleep here most nights and leave in the morning before I can even say ‘hello’ or ‘goodbye’?”

And it had come tumbling out. Dana and Maggie, huddled at the table mere hours ago, denying and insisting about PCR tests and a long-lost Scully daughter.

“I know Melissa, Bill-- she would’ve never had a child without telling me. Dana is believing in this possibility because she sees that little girl as a chance that was… taken away from her. And,” she paused, gripping her arms and steeling her voice, “I know my babies. I know myself. There were so many small things after your father passed…. Sometimes, I’d see him from the corner of my eye, smiling at me; or I’d hear his voice late at night, announcing he’d suddenly arrived back from deployment.”

“But, Mom--”

“Yes, I know they weren’t real; but there are things that feel real, and your sister is struggling with them right now. This Christmas has been hard, Bill, as much as we do our best to make it a beautiful time for you and Tara and the baby. Dana has more than the loss of her father and her sister to wrestle with.”

*-*-*-*-*

The day passed in preparation for the evening’s party, more decorations and more food and more people filling up the space before Bill could take a moment to relax. An innocent remark about his late father flew completely over his sister’s head; and, tired of walking on eggshells, he asked her to help him in the kitchen.

Careful Billy, you meddler, Melissa used to tease. Perhaps that was her version of wisdom; and perhaps he should have remembered it before his directness came across as accusation, slipping from one point of irritation to the next without tact or grace.

You know Dana hates how direct we are, Billy: it shoves her into a corner that she can’t escape from.

It’s never stopped you, he'd said.

Yeah, well, why do you think she doesn’t ask me for advice very often? she'd replied, poking him companionably.

Bill mumbled their back and forth, alone, with somber fondness.

*-*-*-*-*

He’d been given the picture shortly after Melissa became a more permanent fixture in their lives.

“It’s a good one, isn’t it? Had it taken before… you know.”

They’d been sitting in his rattrap apartment listening to Tara prattle to one of her girlfriends about how happy she was to unpack the last of their things-- relaxed and hearty and if not happy then something close to it. Their little sister’s abduction and return had unsettled them, unsettled him; and her quick recovery and dogged insistence on going back to work soon, too soon, rankled. But Bill had finally given in and called up Dana at Melissa’s insistence-- the wound, though it remained, was healing.

“I never understood why you left for so long without at least calling more than once in a while.”

“Bill, I just… I needed to resettle after Dad died. You all were there for Mom, even Charlie; but I….” She shrugged, changing the topic by pointing at the photograph. “My friend took that right before I had to jump in the car to go. She said, ‘Think of a beautiful memory and I’ll capture it forever’; and the most beautiful thing I could think of was the smile you flashed me after I threw an orange right between Harry Pinklewhit’s eyes.”

He’d laughed in spite of her non-answer; and their conversation drew Tara in, who’d also laughed at nine-year-old Melissa’s incredible throwing arm.

Bill didn’t feel like smiling when he’d handed over that photograph to Dana, the question of Melissa's legacy laid to rest in the replica of his sisters' girlhood bedroom. He and Tara, his mother, and Melissa had been where Dana now stood-- defying the inevitability of loss. Painful as it may be, the facts would give her an opportunity to grieve and move on.

Standing in the doorway as Dana, rebellion and determination in her eyes, slid past him with the social worker, Bill wondered when-- or if-- she would ever accept it.

*-*-*-*-*

The three had resolved not to question his sister further. If she was pursuing adoption, then a decision would be finalized either way; and in the end, this Christmas was about the four of them.

“Five”, Bill amended; and Tara had teared up and given him a big hug.

Determined to have a good time on Christmas morning, even if the youngest Scully might get up and walk out on a moment’s notice, they’d flocked in, woken Dana, and pounced on the presents before she’d completely defogged-- a strategy unintentionally spearheaded by Tara. Seizing the opportunity, Bill swept along beside her, kneeling down to hand over the biggest present she'd been drooling over for the past month. His mother gravitated to Dana, snuggling up next to her on the couch; and teamwork or group effort or separate but uniting plots seemed to successfully keep his sister from bolting.

Until he’d gleefully stumbled to the door and inadvertently shepherded in Dana’s latest twist in the case.

“According to this… I… am Emily’s mother.”

And what could anyone say to that?

*-*-*-*-*

-CHAPTER 5-

“You're Only Going to End Up Hurting Yourself”

The first time Bill Scully saw Dana’s child was after the hearing.

Maggie showed him Emily’s picture in passing-- though when or how she’d gotten it, he hadn't known-- mumbling, “I said she doesn’t look like Melissa; but she does, doesn’t she, Bill?” Mulder’s car drove up then; and his mother dashed off to put the photo back.

While Dana and her partner spilled out and wove around each other-- indescribably in-sync shadows-- Bill thought, Yes, she does look like you, Melissa-- more like you than Dana.

*-*-*-*-*

He allowed Mulder to stay past polite visiting hours, maintaining a silent, though stern, distance. Because of this man's testimony, Dana stood a chance. Her daughter stood a chance.

“Bill, I’m so tired,” Tara whispered, massaging her drooping head with both hands. She looked up, eyes clouded with confusion and grief-- for Dana, for this little girl, for their first Christmas as a growing family. “I just want to get some sleep.”

His own headache seemed to radiate from the top of his skull to the slope of his shoulders: everything tensed, everything ached. Wearily standing, he nodded. “Then let’s get you to bed, Honey.”

“He won’t think it’s rude?”

“I don’t think the normal standards apply to him, Tara. It’s late, anyway.”

They lumbered to the staircase, fatigued, when his sister poked through the doorway. “You guys okay?”

Of course they weren’t. His sister was murdered. His other sister had an unidentifiable chip in her neck. His brother had only recently started speaking to him-- “A gift, for bygones” the Christmas box had read. His wife’s hard-won holiday was shot. His baby was due two weeks ago. His little sister had a daughter that wasn't hers. His mother was almost sick with worry. The pain never stops.

“Could you take Tara’s other arm so we can…?”

And Dana did, like he knew she would: a need to be of use. Perhaps as penance, for everything.

*-*-*-*-*

He should have expected Dana and Mulder would vanish in the night.

He woke a fitful hour later to the surprise of an eerily quiet house; and was still more surprised that the two of them had not simply dropped into a deep sleep on the couch rather than… wherever they’d gone. He didn’t know which outlook was more grim: the thought she’d followed her partner back to his motel or the suspicion that they were both chasing down another lead in the Sims’ case.

It was after eight when the phone rang, about the time his mother would be up and about.

“Hello? Um, it’s Dana… Mom, if you can pick up the phone--”

“Dana? It’s Bill.”

He heard her long sigh through the wire, wondered how many times she’d watched the clock to increase her odds of avoiding him. “Bill. Hi.”

“Where are you, Dana?”

“I’m… at the hospital. Emily’s sick.”

The pain never stops. “She is? How sick-- what happened?"

“I don’t know. She has a rare disorder that was being treated before her parents’ murder. We don’t… we’re working on a thorough diagnosis right now so we can cure her.”

“Do you want us to be there with you?”

“No. No, I, uh, think it’s best that you and Mom and Tara keep your distance, for now. Until we know something.”

“Is her condition communicable?”

“Bill…. It’s safer if you three stay away.”

“Dana.”

“...Yes?”

“We’ll pray for her.”

*-*-*-*-*

Maggie intended to call Dana after lunch, but by eleven o’clock the three of them had checked into labor and delivery. By four, Dana still hadn’t answered her phone; and by five they were transferred to a private room.

“Mom, leave it!” Bill yelled, his wife’s excruciating grip sapping away the last reserves of his patience; but it was Tara’s pleading “Mom,” that drew her back.

It was late when his sister reconnected; and, with labor stalled and an epidural in, he nodded-- with his wife's go-ahead-- at Maggie, who hurried to wherever the Sim girl's ward was and back in under forty minutes.

Matthew was over six hours old before Dana called again. From his periphery, Bill watched his mother grab the phone and dodge into the hall as Tara shifted slightly in her sleep. His all-consuming focus, however, was on the quiet baby in his arms-- staring at his son’s tiny, clenching fists; wondering if his baby hairs would rust like his sisters’ or darken like his own.

He didn’t glance up when Maggie reentered and approached; but he snapped to attention when her quivering exhale broke the silence.

Tears were streaming down her red cheeks, black makeup smearing in small splotches around her eyes.

“Bill….”

Emily was gone.

*-*-*-*-*

Dana poured her grief into meticulous planning. Despite wanting to do more, the family was only allowed to assist with sorting paperwork and dialing up Bill's priest for the funeral service.

Between baby Matthew’s homecoming, Tara’s recovery, new parenthood, and necessary arrangements, it took over a week before Bill realized Mulder no longer came to the house.

*-*-*-*-*

The first time he saw Dana's child in person was at her wake.

She was Melissa-blonde-- the red not yet prominent enough to shift her from strawberry to flaming-- and Dana chubby. Her pretty little dress still smelled new, its blue perfectly complementing the small, gold cross necklace draped across her neck.

Bill stood silently by as the funeral director lowered the coffin lid, refusing to think about the fact he’d never gotten to look into his niece's eyes.

*-*-*-*-*

New flights were booked two days before Emily’s funeral; and two days after, his mother and sister were packing for their return trip back to D.C.

“D.C.? Don’t you want to spend time with Mom in Maryland?”

Dana had paused and straightened to her full height. “No. My extended leave is almost up. Besides, I need to get back to work.”

“Back to work? You want to go back to work after everything?”

“Bill,” she snapped; then deflated, slumping onto the bed. “I can’t have this discussion right now.”

“Dana… we almost lost you, we’ve lost Melissa-- now Emily’s buried in my church cemetery. When will it be enough?”

“Bill, please. Don’t.”

She was going to cry. With the lack of sleep, the unreality of the past few weeks, and the infuriating nature of this impossible situation, even he might cry.

As if on cue, Matthew’s wails and Tara’s animated shushes floated down from the master bedroom, by turns swiftly grieved and swiftly soothed. Bill stood, half-in and half-out of Dana's door, trying to fathom the overwhelming protective surge that coursed like fire under his skin. In a split second, something ripped or erected or split apart-- hard to define, but powerful in its finality.

Turning to walk away, he added, “Fine. But tell Mom not to call me when you’re in trouble again, Dana-- I won’t lose my child, too.”

*-*-*-*-*

-CHAPTER 6-

"Creating This Whole Scenario to Fulfill a Dream"

He'd crunched the numbers again three weeks after Dana left, woken in the darkest hours of the morning by nightmares of his sister’s likenesses swallowed up in cold little graves.

Tara and Matthew found him at the table later, head in his hands and papers strewn about in anger.

"Bill...." She stopped, drew to his side, dribbled tears onto his hair.

"We were supposed to have a little Melissa.” He groaned, thumbing his eyelids.  

"We could always--" Tara suggested weakly, stopping short when Bill grunted violently.

"None of them will be like her.” Dana’s her. “With Missy’s smile. Or hair. Or face.” 

"I know, Honey. I know."

*-*-*-*-*

Bill stopped asking questions.

On Sundays, he stood before a God that impossibly created human life in under a month. On every fourth Sunday, he stood before Emily’s headstone and read Sim over and over until his eyes burned.

*-*-*-*-*

Tara-- lovely, exhausted, but determined Tara-- shoved Matthew at him and disappeared into the attic the day she hit eight weeks postpartum. Reappearing twenty minutes later sweaty, winded, and just as determined, she lugged Emily Sim's box of belongings in her wake, politely demanding her husband unpack it.

Emily had more drawings than toys: incomprehensible sketches in crayon or marker or even ink were stacked thickly in unassuming animal folders, one a face, another a misspelled object. Emily, Seven Months or Emily, Age Two decorated the bottom right of most pictures in careful cursive. Bill found he couldn't begrudge her adopted mother this, at least.

There were only two photo albums-- the misplaced Scully having been an only child-- and most photographs captured scattered holidays, birthdays, and yet another trip to the hospital.

It was Bill who discovered the tape first, resurrecting Emily Sings Us Her Song from layers of packing like a holy relic. He dragged Matthew's bassinet next to the couch and attacked the VHS system with a vengeance. Tara just managed to lay their son down properly when he flipped the remote around and pressed play.

*-*-*-*-*

Emily was on her second chorus of "The Mice Ate the Cake While the Rat Was Away" when Bill felt Tara press close. He lifted an arm up, squeezed her closer, and secured her tight to the spot northeast of his heart.

"What is it?" she asked, her hand rubbing circles wherever it flitted and landed. They both knew he was shaking.

"She's--" Bill admitted in relief, "--she's nothing like either of them, Honey. Melissa was watchful; and Dana was serious. She's too... solemn."

His wife nodded slowly. "And sad."

They watched Emily pause her drawing, look over her shoulder, and loop the chorus once more.

"And sad."

*-*-*-*-*

-CHAPTER 7-

"Because the FBI Has Nothing to Hide"

Charles hadn't bothered to call or catch up since New Years; nevertheless, the phone went off an hour after Matthew's head finally hit the pillow.

"Bill, you catching the COPS episode tonight?"

Bill, wrist-deep in receipt sorting, was not.

"Dana and her partner are on the air." And Charlie laughed and laughed, tears mingling with his wheezes while Bill yelled "What?" and stumbled from the kitchen to the couch.

Agent Mulder. He should have known. "Catch... catch him?" Dana's partner mumbled, pointing diffidently at a sketch of.... No.

Bill's stream of consciousness must have broken a new record because Charlie was now guffawing and Tara was whispering violently from the other room. Eyes glued to his sister's awkward relay of their superior’s directive, he barely registered either. 

"'Nothing to hide'?" he exploded. "Wasn't Skinner the assistant director at the--" Bill caught the word back before the moment soured over past cancers and absences. "Why's he-- why's Dana still participating in this--"

"C'mon, Mulder, do the werewolf stance again!" Loud slaps echoed through the wire: Charlie was either smacking his thigh or the wall in unbridled ecstasy. "She hid behind the EMT door, Bill, you should have seen it."

Mulder did much worse: release a litany-- an irrepressible ramble-- on the technicalities of werewolves. Bill, Christianity lost in rage, bellowed, "Oh, for--"

"Bill!" Tara hissed, head shooting through the doorway. He jolted, mouthed a sorry, and miserably watched her eyebrows scrunch skywards in recognition. "Hey, isn’t that Dana on the tv?" 

"Always wanted to be a cop when I was younger," his brother drawled, voice touched with regret. "Just couldn't trust 'em after their behavior during my truancy period."

"And you thought Wall Street was a more honest profession?" Bill scoffed. The anger of losing a hundred-dollar sure investment-- how many years ago was that? Too many-- would burn until his dying day.

"Can it, Bill."

But Charles said it like he used to; and they hung up friends.

*-*-*-*-*

-CHAPTER 8-

"I've Already Lost One Sister to This Quest You're On"

It would be easy to miss anyone amidst the tidal wave of Saturday morning shoppers. Head down, leaning over a folder, Fox Mulder looked like every other slim, dark-haired American male knocking back a burger and soda.

Bill, eagle-eyed and resentful, picked him out from across the food court.

Mulder hadn't noticed his approach; and, not one to pass up an opportunity, Bill slapped a food tray on the table loud enough to startle. He was pleased when Mulder twisted upright with shock and a touch of outrage pinched in the corners of his mouth.

“Mr. Mulder.”

“Bill.”

A few years ago, Dana's partner would have hunched defensively, posturing against oncoming judgment. Now, he seemed roughened, gazing warily out from under distrustful forehead lines and disheveled, sharply cut hair. His sleeves were too large; and he pushed them further up his forearm as his eyes carved unblinkingly into Bill's. 

“Dana with you?”

“Yeah.”

Of course she was. When wasn’t she.

Tara had run into her in the deli aisle. From his wife’s tactful “two salads, two sandwiches, and two cups of dessert”, it didn’t take a math degree to deduce his sister was still traveling in pairs. Bill figured if he found one of them, he’d attract the other.

Hence, the impromptu lunch meet.

Mulder watched, without disguise, while he pulled the cart close and sat in the only available chair; then, shrugging, took another bite of the thickly wrapped, thickly layered burger Dana most certainly hadn't wasted money on.

“On a case?”

“Yes.”

“Staying long?”

“We have a flight out this afternoon.”

Of course.

Ripping off a poptart wrapper, Bill grunted. “Was she planning to stop by, or was that too out of your way?”

He watched Mulder’s jaw clench, unhinge. “Why don’t you ask her?”

“I’d have to see her first.”

“You saw her at Christmas.”

“And then work came up.” He leveled a glare across the table, refused to back down when it was leveled back.

“Not every Christmas, Bill.”

“Yeah. Just the big ones.”

Mulder’s chair scraped backward, its raucous jerk spinning a few heads. Bill figured he had about five seconds before his chance to see Dana turned tail and stormed off.

“Mr. Mulder.” As expected, the other man politely paused mid-sweep, hand poised around a hill of crumbs. “I’m not here to argue. I just want to see her.”

To his credit, Dana’s partner digested his words, and sat-- albeit stiffly, with clear intent to ignore.

In silence, they waited.

And waited.

“She said she’d be awhile,” Mulder disclosed, working his way through a mound of fries.

“She usually doesn’t take this long.” Pivoting in his chair, Bill scanned the room. Even if she were close, her head wouldn’t clear the shoulders crowding together.

“She does when it’ll be awhile.”

“Mr. Mulder, I know her. Dana’s up and out the house in under an hour, back from an errand in under two. Always has been.”

“When she has to be. Scully usually prefers to take her time.”

There was no mistaking the challenge in that ambiguous statement; but Bill swallowed his response and counted it for glory.

“She loved these as a kid,” he abruptly confessed, pointing at the unfinished half of his poptart. “We’d fight over the brown sugar ones. When she was really little, Dana’d get mad and try to argue it wasn’t fair I got the bigger piece because I was older. So, Mom gave her have one all to herself. That cured her. Dana’s always been sensitive to junk food. Makes sense why she became a doctor.”

Mulder was still, posture slowly unwinding as he balled up the food trash and nodded once.

“Charles stole a couple cookies from the jar one time and needed an accomplice to help finish them. He begged her; but she didn’t want to feel 'sugar sick' later, so refused. After he was punished, Melissa caught Dana crying about it in her room.”

“Why?”

“If you don’t know the answer after seven years with her, Mr. Mulder, you never will.” It was a cheap shot, Bill owned, but earned.

His opponent flinched but didn’t waver. “She felt she’d let him down.”

“She always was a little Mother Teresa.”

Mulder tilted forward, elbows planted on top of his reading material. “Is that what you think she does? Make her choices based on the weak and wounded? Find a charity case and become its bleeding heart?”

“I think you underestimate her nature.” Plowing over Mulder's snort, he insisted, “You buy her unbeatable act because it allows you drag her across the country no matter how much pain she's in. Dana would rather die than admit defeat. And I think you feed her inclination to go above and beyond so that it won't become a solo act, chasing your little...."

It was too hard to keep anger alive, the recollection of darker times grim and sobering.

"Little green aliens," Mulder finished. “If that’s what you believe, then you don’t know your sister, either.”

When he stood this time, both knew Fox Mulder wasn’t coming back. But he stayed a moment, contemplating, before reaching out to briefly touch Bill's shoulder. "But... you can, Bill. You can know her."

Without another word, he tossed his trash, offered a parting nod, and walked away, head disappearing above the crowd as he meandered further and further off.

And Bill sat, and waited, and wondered.

*-*-*-*-*

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

Tagging: @today-in-fic.

[mydarlingclaudia]

there’s always a piece of you

note : divider is from @/cafekitsune. uhhh idrk how to feel about this one I just kinda wanted to write angst so this probably sucks and I know it's ooc whoopsies

wc : 1.3k

desc : you've been dead for a few months now, Leon still can't get over it. established relationship, angst, hurt no comfort (I think? correct me if I'm wrong), not proofread, Leon contemplates suicide and is also reliant on alcohol, gn!reader, I kind of flip-floped between vendetta!Leon and re6!Leon so idrk you pick

There were plenty of things that happened to Leon that made his life miserable, one of them was losing you. It was no one's fault, you got sick, you had an expiration date, and Leon did everything he could to try and help you get better, but it didn't work. Leon didn't regret spending a bunch of his money trying to make your sickness go away, he just wished it would've worked, that you'd still be here with him.

Maybe not right this second, though. Maybe he doesn't want you in the car with him while he's speeding down the road, half-past one in the morning and half-past drunk.

He thinks too much, drinking doesn't help him stop thinking, like, at all, he doesn't know why he expects the outcome to be different whenever he pours himself some whiskey, but if he crashes his car then he has something to blame it on. He'd already gotten too many lectures from Claire and Chris about how he should take better care of himself, that things weren't going to stay as bad as they are right now, but things had been shitty for Leon for so long that this just added to the list of reasons on why he should drink himself to death.

You and Leon had your ups and down, everyone did, but he still doesn't believe you ever really knew how much you helped him. Knowing he had someone at home waiting for him made his job a bit easier, and knowing you were his and that he was the one who put that ring on your finger made him feel like there was something more to his life than being a weapon for the government. Leon was your husband, had been your husband, still is. He wished more than anything that he had spent more time with you, that his job didn't have to be the center of his life while you were forced to be secondary, he couldn't quit, not while he was still able-bodied, but he promised you that one day he'd have his final day in the DSO and that he'd take you on vacation without having it interrupted.

Leon was able to take you on vacation for a week to Greece, but even when the two of you came back home, he wanted to keep taking you beautiful places while he was still able to. There was still paperwork he had to do, a few less missions but he still had to do his job, you understood. He hated it, though. He wanted you to yell at him about how he should be at home with you, spending as much time as he possibly could with you. But you never yelled at him about it even though he knew it upset you, you said there was no use in arguing, he’d be there when you needed him.

He shouldn’t keep dwelling on this, you’ve been dead for five months now, but he can't get himself to focus on anything else. Leon didn't know why ghosts weren't real. If there could be zombies wandering the streets as well as dozens of other creatures that only Hell could spit out, why weren't there ghosts? Leon would take you being alive over you being a ghost any day, but if a ghost was the best he could settle for, then that's what he would accept. But he was yet to get any messages on the wall written in blood or find your belongings in places where they weren't before, not that you had to be a ghost to haunt him.

All the windows in his car are rolled all the way down, Leon's not listening to the radio or any music, he's been on all these roads before, but he still doesn't really know where he's going. He left D.C. around eight p.m. to go to a bar in Maryland, he had left the bar maybe half an hour ago and was driving through the woods, he didn’t have any plans on going back into D.C. just yet. Leon wasn’t the best driver to begin with, being drunk definitely didn’t make him any better, be he’d rather drive himself home or to the middle of nowhere than call someone to take him home.

He liked calling you, though.

Of course, you never picked up, he just liked calling so he could hear your voice on the recorded message for your missed calls. Sometimes he’d actually talk, others he’d just keep driving down the road while the silence on your end of the line dragged on.

Leon sighs softly and bites the inside of his cheek as he takes one hand off the wheel to dig in his back pocket for his phone. He steals glances between the road and his phone as he unlocks it and opens your contact, waiting patiently as it begins ringing. Leon clears his throat slightly and takes his other hand off the wheel to run his hand through his sweaty hair as he waits for your voice recording to switch on before grabbing hold of the wheel again.

He opens his mouth to talk once the ringing stops, but he doesn’t get the chance to say anything before he hears someone else on the other end.

“Hello? Who is this?” The tired voice of a woman makes his breath catch in his throat, he takes his foot off the gas and slams down on the brake, the tires of his car make a horrible screeching noise as he swerves to the side. Leon thinks he must've finally gone crazy, there couldn't have been another voice on the end of the line that was supposed to belong to you.

The woman speaks up again as Leon's car finally comes to a stop, he hadn't hit anything, but there are swervey skid marks that go down the road for a couple dozen feet. Leon breathes shakily into his phone, his foot still pressed down on the brake as he puts his car in park and leans back against his seat.

"I- fuck, I'm sorry." Leon began, his throat feeling even dryer than it already was. "Go back to bed, o-or whatever you were doing before I called. Just- goddammit." He quickly hangs up the phone and tosses it down onto the passenger seat. Leon runs his hands down his face, he can feel his chest tightening up like his lungs are about to pop inside his ribs, the stinging sensation in his eyes and throat only worsens.

When had they put your number back into use? That poor girl would probably block his number and he'd lose that little bit of your voice forever. Leon could go through his phone to find videos of you or just anything where he could hear your voice, but he figured he should wait until he remembered to work his phone more than trying to call you.

Day by day, it feels like he's losing you even more. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to get rid of your things, your clothes are still in his closet, your shampoo was still in the shower, God, even your medication was still in the medicine cabinet. But no matter how many of your things remained in his home, you're still gone.

Leon was supposed to die before you, he'd imagined it hundreds of times in his head, you knew it, too. All of this could have been avoided if he just killed himself after Raccoon City or had died on one of his missions before meeting you, maybe it would have been better for him if he had never sat next to you on that train and started talking too much.

There's nothing he can do about it now except weep and get so drunk that he could still hear you talking to him, not that he didn't imagine you laying back down in bed or lounging on the couch when he was sober. Maybe he'll see you again sooner rather than later, there wasn't really anyone who was around enough to stop him. All he knew was that his life was never really his after 1998, and without you in it, maybe it was time for it to come to an end.

[icaruspendragon]

sometimes i just get so overwhelmed by the love i feel. i have the most wonderful friends. and it’s because of the internet. because of fandom. these are people i didn’t know existed a year and a half ago and now we take turns flying across the country to see each other. the best friend i’ve ever had lives 843 miles away from me and i didn’t know she existed until may 19th 2022. and now i couldn’t imagine my life without her. we have matching tattoos. since meeting in person for the first time just over a year ago we haven’t gone more than two months without seeing each other. my love has taken me to washington dc and new jersey and new york and pennsylvania and massachusetts and maryland. like yeah it kinda sucks that all my friends live several hundred miles away and in a different time zone but like holy shit. i really am the luckiest son of a bitch to be given a love so big it spans across the country.

i think friendships that started on the internet are so special because you’re not friends with those people because of proximity or circumstance. you’re friends with them because you want to be. because they see you. the real you. and they love it. i think one of the greatest injustices of my short little life is that i had to go almost 25 years without knowing these people existed. i wish i had known them sooner. but good god am i so lucky i get to spend the rest of my days loving and being loved by them.

[laswells-ashtray]

An american to answer your american questions!!!

Do you guys have like inter-state beef? Do people from Oregon have beef with the New Jersey folks or are you above that?

Depends on the state. Obvi west virginia and virginia have beef bc civil war, i think va and maryland too? New Jersey and Pennsylvania have issues. Idk much else about the rest of em

Is Johnny Cash as cool to you guys or is that an outside of the US thing?

I am the worlds biggest stan of John Cash, not only is he an americana icon, i believe hes also the pinnacle of the southern goth/yallternitive movement (Man In Black -Johnny Cash tells u his political views and theyre peak)

What's the deal with Pepto Bismol, why is it that colour?!

Nobody knows and im too afraid to try it

The fuck is the deal with Wendy's? Fuck is a Pop Eye's?

The baconator is good at wendys, but other than that i mostly avoid them. Love me a frosty from there too! Ive never been to a popeyes

Is Sprite Cranberry good?

Extremely! Ginger Ale Cranberry is better imo

Why do you keep putting Amy Schumer in movies? It sucks.

Idk, i dont like her either she really isnt funny...

Do they actually sell weapons just in public stores?

Y E S

Woohoo, colours.

Yeah, Cash was sick and conservatives seem to miss a lot of the politics in his songs due to their own selective hearing.

THE FUCKING BACONATOR?! BACON-ATOR?!

God, America is a trip.

[scramjettracy]

Scottie, you are the best big brother (well biggest brother I suppose) and I know you and Virgil will be taking excellent care of the sick fish (or is he a squid?). Please give him a hug: I also get bad migraines and need a lot of meds and they suck big time. So painful >.<

Please also tell us your favourite crustacean!

Shall do!

Ok I’m not going to lie crustaceans kinda freak me out - they mostly into the Unknown but might be plotting against you category. Also many of them are kinda pinchy.

However if I had to choose, it would have to be the Maryland Blue Crab which has an excellent aesthetic.

Thundercrab One!

[lilithschosen]

Brat 64? 👀

bratty bottom Rio my love ♥️♥️♥️♥️

64. "explain what you did, if you don't finish before you cum, you don't get to finish again for the rest of the night"

"I've warned you how many times now?" Agatha asks as she holds Rio's face into the carpet of their bedroom. "I know you know our rules, babygirl."

Rio huffs a breath, blowing the messed up hair out of her eyes as she wiggles against Agatha's hold. "You were gone! I was horny!"

"Wrong answer."

Agatha rips the underwear from Rio's hips, stopping them at her knees as she shoves two fingers into her without warning. Rio yelps, hips dropping down at the sudden movement only for Agatha to force her back up.

"Explain to me what you did, in detail," she begins, curling her fingers down as she slides them out of Rio's cunt, "If you don't finish before you cum, you don't get to cum for the rest of the night."

Rio whines initially but it morphs into a strangled moan as Agatha pushes back into her, her knuckles pressing into her entrance.

"I was-," she tries to start, but Agatha draws another moan from her instead. "I was rubbing my clit the way you do. It felt so good."

Agatha squeezes her arm around Rio's hips as she thrusts into her faster, "Keep going."

Rio sucks in air through her teeth as she continues. "I was trying to sleep, I couldn't be without you. I tried grinding on your pillow since it smelled like your shampoo but it didn't help."

"Little slut so lost without me for a week, huh?" Agatha barks a laugh, tugging her fingers out of Rio. She spits onto her soaked core, smacking her ass cheek with a wet hand before entering her again. "Keep going, tell daddy all of it."

Rio babbles incoherently, the sting from the slap making her ache as Agatha restarts her brutal pace.

"I was so cl- close and I thought I'd feel y- you," she stutters, her breathing shallow as she feels her orgasm building, "So I rubbed my clit, those tight circles you do so well. But it didn't help. I couldn't cum."

"Poor baby."

Agatha fucks her with everything she has, the way she wanted to the moment she came home from the work trip. She thought about it every night she fell asleep in that shitty motel in Maryland.

"Fuck," Rio chokes out, slamming the carpet underneath her with a closed fist as she fights off her orgasm, "I sunk two fingers into me, I was so wet. I could've cum if you didn't get in."

Noticing she was holding back, Agatha smirks and slips a third finger into Rio and scissors all three of them.

Rio crashes, dropping fully into Agatha's arm as she cums. Agatha continues fucking her, just as fast as before, as Rio rides out her orgasm. She looks down, catching sight of Rio's head turned, eyes shut and begins to slow once she twitches and blinks one eye at a time.

She smiles, slipping her fingers out of Rio as the woman frowns at her realization.

"I was almost done!"

"Almost doesn't cut it, hon," Agatha states, "I'm going to ruin you."

[thestraggletag]

Finally some obvious blues: Massachusetts, DC and Maryland. Virginia, Ohio and NH looking good and Georgia less bad but still sucks. Florida can kiss my ass, as usual.