#because spooky mulder is just a name

[gregmarriage]

need me a relationship like mulder and scully. i say wild and crazy things, but you respect and admire my beliefs and my passion. also, you think i’m cute

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

things we learn about mulder in s1

he wanted to be an astronaut when he was young, and stayed up all night when he was 14 to watch his hero do a walk in space

he's scared to death of fire because his friend's house burned down when he was a kid

he went to oxford 10 years before the start of s1, where he dated phoebe and they, at the very least, made out on arthur conan doyle's grave (but it's implied they went all the way)

he is a fan of like. all of the sports. i cannot keep up with them all, but he sure can

he had his first case at the age of 28, where an agent died because he wouldn't take a risky shot

(and he remembers everything about the man who died- his kids, their ages, what they do for fun- all of it haunts him)

((he also, at the trial for the man who killed the agent, screamed that he "should die like an animal, you son of a bitch"- so much for cool and composed spooky mulder))

he always falls asleep on his couch to the point where i don't even know if this man has a bed

before being moved to the x-files, he worked for 3 years at the behavioral science unit, where he profiled serial killers

(also literally no one wants him on the x files they just keep him around because he is too dangerous to fire lmao)

he will go out of his way to make any kids involved a case he's assigned to feel comfortable and/or laugh as a break from the Heavy Moments (probably because he remembers being questioned while very young and how awful it felt)

he believes that siblings have a psychic connection (heartbreaking when you remember his sister disappeared when he was 12 and he only has access to the memories due to hypnosis)

he refused to let his parents call him by his first name and only went by "mulder", even as a child

[dbmars]

NOW ON A03...

The H-Files, Episode 1 Part 1

Relive everything you loved about the pilot of the X-Files but better now that it's Hannibal as Scully and Will as Mulder... "Spooky Graham"...!

The aliens may be responsible for Will's empathy powers, and Mischa was abducted...

If I get a decent response/support I'll finish the episode and maybe write some more!

No time like the present. I make my way back through the violent crime section, and downstairs, revisiting the secretary. She directs me to an elevator that sinks me down to the first sub-basement level. The doors open and I move through the cinder block hallway that smells of industrial floor cleaner and wet ceiling tiles. At the end of the hallway, past shelves of case file boxes, is an office door cracked open. The placard reads GRAHAM. I can hear shuffling within, the movement of a chair. My nose wrinkles against cheap aftershave and stale coffee.

        I knock. I knock again. “Sorry, nobody down here but the FBI’s most unwanted,” comes a wry voice. 

        I push the door open, revealing a small, windowless room packed with filing cabinets and shelves of still more files and paperwork. Despite what must be the vast amount of material crammed into the space, it is remarkably tidy, stacks neatly organized, lines clean. The bulletin board above the desk, however, is a mess of photos and handwritten notes. My eye is immediately drawn to a large poster of a science-fiction style flying disc, emblazoned with the phrase “I WANT TO BELIEVE.” 

        They don’t look like inverted bowls. More like saucers, thin and fragile, somehow meant to support an even more fragile teacup. 

        Against my will, my mind shows me the images that have haunted me most of my life – my mother’s teacup shattering against the floor, the white light filling every window of our hunting lodge, my sister’s screams, the whining, mechanical hum of the silver beast that descended from the heavens. My mother’s terrified shrieking as I raced out to save my sister, only to be rendered weightless, floating in searing blindness, and borne away. 

        I slam that door in the memory palace and attach another lock to it. They seem to rust and break at the most inopportune times.

         Agent Will Graham is bent over a light box, examining a series of slides. He, too, seems to forego the typical FBI uniform of dark suits and white shirts with uninteresting ties. He looks more like a rumpled professor or domesticated outdoorsman in brown pants and a green collared shirt that could just as easily be worn for yard work. His hair is curly, untidy in places, and he wears a layer of scattered stubble. When he turns to me, Will Graham lowers his tortoiseshell glasses down from his head. Fascinating. Nearsighted? 

        I give him my best introduction smile, oozing friendliness and ease. “Agent Graham. My name is Hannibal Lecter.” I approach and offer a hand. He shakes it very briefly, and a shadow flickers over his expression as I hold on just a little too long for his comfort. “I’ve been assigned to work with you.” 

         He glances at my eyes for a fraction of a second before turning his head, putting the frames of his glasses between us as a barrier. “Nice to, ah, suddenly be so highly regarded,” he says, all barbed irony. Rude. He turns in his seat and fiddles with the slides, deliberately disengaging. Ruder still. “So, who’d you piss off to get stuck with this detail, Lecter?” 

    He knows full well why I am here, it seems. Rather, why I’ve been sent. But they could have sent anyone. I was not chosen at random. There are multiple chess pieces moving at the same time on a three-dimensional board, and I have control of the queens. I am here because I seek truth. Because I cannot trust my memories – they might be nothing but a traumatized child’s nightmares, a wounded brain trying to explain what happened the night the world went away. Will Graham may very well be the lantern to light my way.

         “As it happens, I’ve heard a lot about you,” I say pleasantly as he gets up from his desk chair and opens a tidy file cabinet drawer, thumbing through the immaculate plastic tabs. I wonder if his drawers at home are kept just as meticulously. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

         “Really? I was, ah, under the impression you were sent here… to spy on me.” He opens the file and glances through a few typewritten pages before returning it to its proper place. I let my eyes wander over him as he stands in profile. I’d jump at the chance to spy on him. Voyeurism is one of my favorite parts of my process - to see without being seen. To stalk. I imagine him moving through his assuredly modest home, stretching, scratching his head, sleepy. Ready for bed in, oh, a pair of dull boxer shorts. I think of him illuminated by the light of his refrigerator as he searches for a little something before bed, uplit by its unholy glow as I watch him through the window.

            Interesting. My body is responding sexually to the image. I wipe it away as though I’d drawn it in steam on a mirror. “Agent Graham, if you have any doubts about my credentials or qualifications-”

            “-you’re a medical doctor and you’re teaching at the academy.” He interrupts me. Rude. Instead of imagining my knife piercing his skin, I picture him on his knees, waiting to make it up to me. Again, I force the image to dissolve. “You did your undergraduate degree in physics, while, ah, concurrently double majoring in psychology and art history with a focus on Renaissance Italy.” He selects another file from the cabinet and slides the drawer shut. “I dunno about your artsy stuff, but your senior thesis was ‘Einstein’s Twin Paradox: A New Interpretation’. Now, there’s a credential: rewriting Einstein.” 

            I successfully mask my surprise that he’s so familiar with my work. “Did you happen to read it?”

            He returns to his desk chair and compares something in the file to a slide. I glance over at his computer screen as he bends over to retrieve a dropped report from the file. I make out the words force, abduction, and light before he rights himself. “Yeah. I liked it,” he says, still not looking at me directly, the rims of his glasses in the way. “It’s just that in, ah… in my line of work – the laws of physics rarely seem to apply.” He adjusts another slide, then turns on the projector, flashing a washed-out image on the blank bit of cinder block wall kept clear, it seems, for this purpose. He has a curve to his lips on one side that strikes me as impudent. I want to wipe it off his face, one way or another.

            “Not fond of eye contact, are you?” I say, an attempt to derail and destabilize. 

            Now he swivels in his chair and looks directly at me. His eyes are like the ocean between islands in Greece. “Eyes are distracting. You see too much. You don’t see enough. And it’s hard to focus when you’re thinking those whites are really white, or they must have hepatitis, or is that a burst vein?”

            I can’t help but smile, returning his gaze steadily. 

            “So… yeah. I try to avoid eyes whenever possible. It’s even easier in the dark.” Agent Graham steps behind me and switches off the lights. The windowless cell is lit now only by the projected image – a young woman, lifeless on the ground. Ah. I had wondered when we’d discuss murder. While Will Graham is apparently very aware of my career and accomplishments, he doesn’t know of my finest work as the Chesapeake Ripper. Perhaps, someday, he will. 

            Will leans his hips against his desk, crossing his arms over his midsection. It catches the loose fabric of his shirt, drawing it against the bow of his back. Distracted again. I refocus on the image he’s elected to show me. “Maybe you can give your medical opinion, though,” he says. “Oregon female. Age twenty-one. No explainable cause of death. Nothing in the autopsy.” He switches slides, showing me a close-up shot of the young woman’s lower back, marred by two livid red welts. According to the ruler nearby for scale, they are roughly the size of an American dime. “Two distinct marks, however, are found on her lower back. Can you ID these marks… Dr. Lecter?”

            I move closer to the projected image. Despite not liking eye contact, I can feel him watching me. Perhaps he has some voyeuristic tendencies as well. “Needle punctures, perhaps. An animal bite. Electrocution is a possibility.” 

            When he switches slides again, I hide my surprise. It is not the body from another angle, but a diagram showing a chemical compound. 

            “How’s your chemistry? This is the substance found in the surrounding tissue.”

            I study the image, my brain humming steadily. I do love a challenge, and I find them so rarely. “It’s inorganic. Perhaps a synthetic protein.”

            “Hell if I know,” Agent Graham says. 

            “That’s surprising. You must have had your fair share of chemistry studying entomology. Your monograph on determining time of death based on insect activity required a high level of understanding to compose, I’m sure.” 

            “By all means, be sure,” he snarks, but the subtle pink staining his cheekbones tells me he’s pleased I’m familiar with his work as well. “I’ve never seen it, either. But here it’s found again, in Sturgis, South Dakota.” He switches slides, this one depicting a large man in a motorcycle club vest with the same two raised welts on his back. He switches again, showing me another male body with the same marks in the same place, spanning the thoracolumbar fascia and the internal oblique muscles. “And again, in Shamrock, Texas.”

            A true mystery. This is delightful. I haven’t had an afternoon so pleasant since I murdered the man sent to evaluate me by my life insurance agency and stretched his corpse across two rows of bus seats. “Do you have a theory?” 

            “I have, ah… plenty of theories,” he dismisses, joining me in front of the projected image, the dead man’s outline juxtaposed over him, throwing the kind of light that both obscures and reveals. His forehead bears a gentle shimmer of perspiration, and I can smell more of him now, the scent beneath the cheap aftershave – dogs, fresh splits of pine, machine oil, and something sweet I’d need more time and a closer proximity to identify. He doesn’t look at me, turning his head to the side a few degrees to let the slide’s light catch on the lenses of his glasses instead. “What has me stumped is why Bureau policy is to label these cases as unexplained phenomena and ignore them.” 

            I can sense the rumble of anger beneath his sardonic tone, taut with frustration. 

            “So, Dr. Lecter, do you believe in the existence of… extraterrestrials?” He says it with a wry twist that might be a kind of bitter smile. I tilt my head. “As a scientist,” he prompts, leaving me to lean against the edge of his desk again. 

            “Logically, I’d have to say no.” I do strive to tell the truth in my own way. Logically, I shouldn’t. But I am here because I need his help with the illogical – to determine, once and for all, if something happened to me, or I happened. “Given the distances needed to travel from the far reaches of space, the energy requirements would exceed–”

            He interrupts, shaking his head. “Conventional wisdom. That girl in Oregon – she’s the fourth member of her graduating class to die under mysterious circumstances. When convention and-and science offer no answers, might we not consider the, ah, the fantastic as a plausibility?” 

            He tested me at first, showing me the chemical compound and the crime scene photos. Now, he wants to make the boundaries clear. Impudent. Wants to get a rise out of me, surely, to define the methods of interaction. 

            My answer is mild, clinical, the kind of voice I’d use if I’d chosen to become a psychiatrist. “The girl is dead. Death occurs for a reason.” Sometimes, I am that reason. “If it was natural causes, then it’s plausible something was missed in the postmortem. If she was murdered, it’s plausible there was a sloppy investigation. What I find fantastic is your willingness to sidestep human error and search for answers beyond the realm of science. The answers are there, I’m sure. You just have to know where to look.” I raise an eyebrow to add in the sentence I won’t let my mouth say. Apparently, you don’t know where to look. Or you want me to think you don’t know where to look. 

            Agent Graham looks at me now, a brief glance up through his side-lit lenses. His left eye is illuminated as well, making it unearthly blue and leaving the other subdued, its subtle green and brown tones shimmering through the dominant color. He smiles, the most genuine expression I’ve seen yet, and I’m momentarily distracted by his beauty. It’s like visiting the Louvre, making one’s way quickly to see a great work before a crowd forms, and catching sight of an exquisite but uncelebrated painting in a forgotten side gallery that makes one lose all sense of purpose, the internal compass spinning and spinning. 

            “And that’s why they put the I in FBI.” He breaks away and sinks back into his desk chair, rolling over to the glowing blue screen of his computer monitor. “See you bright and early then, Dr. Lecter. We leave for the, ah, the very plausible state of Oregon at 8 am.” 

            I can’t help but smile back, a beam of pleasure, as he turns away from me and begins clacking at the keys. “Until then, Will.”

            I’ve taken a risk, demanding a first name basis. He makes no comment, waves a hand over his shoulder.

            I take my leave and hurry home to pack. 

[spooky-jordan]

Hi! I just got into the X Files (currently at S1E16) and I decided to check out S6E6 (How The Ghosts Stole Christmas) for the Halloween spookiness. I'm wondering how you feel about this episode, and if you agree with the ghosts' hot takes on Mulder and Scully's dynamic.

PS: I refuse to believe it's a Christmas episode. The location-shifting mindscrews and the gore (the floorboard scene and the gunshot wounds) alone makes this episode so harrowing to me. But it's such a great episode! Especially when Lyda comments that both Mulder and Scully are attractive. I cackled out loud when I heard that.

- 🌵

How the Ghosts Stole Christmas is one of my favourite episodes of the series so thanks for asking me this!!!

I mean, where to begin? I love the entire episode from start to finish - Mulder calling Scully on Christmas Eve to come and go ghost hunting with him (NOT for a case, just for funsies) is just so adorable and also a little sad. I love when Scully tries to get out of it to go be with her family, and she asks him doesn’t he have anywhere to be? And it’s just ugh 😩 it’s such a sad moment because we know that in fact, he does not. I’m mindful of saying too much because you’ve not seen the whole show, but yeah I dunno. I just think the entire conceit of the episode is equally funny and tragic.

I looove all the comedy. I love Mulder trying to spook Scully, Scully trying to rationalise her fear. One of my favourite moments is when they find the bodies under the floorboards and Scully realises the woman is wearing her clothes and Mulder just says “how embarrassing” - Duchovny’s delivery makes me cackle.

I think the ghost’s assessments of Mulder & Scully are definitely somewhat accurate - I mean, obviously we know that Mulder didn’t bring her out there because he subconsciously wanted to commit a murder/suicide 😂 but at this point in the series, their feelings for each other are definitely more than just platonic, and we’ve seen evidence for this in the episodes leading up to it and the first movie. I think the guy ghost (whose name escapes me) basically hit the nail on the head with some of what he says about Mulder - specifically his loneliness. Obviously the ghosts are trying to exacerbate these feelings to get them to kill each other, but I think they touched on something that was definitely already there. Mulder is a lonely guy. What else does he have but Scully and his X-Files? 💔

The resolution of the episode is great - Duchovny’s acting playing the ghost impersonating Mulder is so great, I love when Duchovny gets to play unhinged Mulder. The scene when they think they’ve both been shot and are just crawling around on the floor like a couple of slugs leaving imaginary blood trails behind them makes me cackle every time. And the moment of realisation when it clicks, Mulder understanding that they’ve been tricked, knowing he’d never have shot Scully and vice versa, and the shot of them running away from the house together into the fog. UGH. I love it all.

And then of course we get that beautiful final scene. Scully choosing to turn up at Mulder’s to exchange Christmas gifts, because she realises that’s where she wants to be. It’s just 😘 perfection. It’s a super fun, silly episode with a lot of poignant shit to say about Mulder and Scully and where they are at that point in their relationship. I love it a lot a lot!

[thursdayinspace]

Hi! :)

What are your top 10 MSR moments?

A comment you made yesterday made me curious.

oh man, how to choose? I don't know if I even can name a top 10. i did something similar a little while ago but it changes all the time and also I might be forgetting some . . . let's see. these are not in order. they're just all favorites. and I'm going to go with only moments where both are actually present.

the amor fati "my constant, my touchstone" speech + the forehead kiss. it is such a declaration of love. telling her, basically, that she's The One. no matter what happens. so many moments summarized in those few words: "you saved me," "my one in five billion," "now I can only trust you," etc.

the hallway speech in ftf. I mean. he tells her she's the most important person in his life. just . . . yeah. excuse me while I die a little from feelings.

I'm just going to cheat and roll all the kisses into one moment -- I could write a separate post about each one.

the baseball scene, I mean, come on, the two of them just having fun together, laughing, being cute?

combining two irresistible moments into one: when she tells him she wants to go back to washington to work from there, and he lets her walk away with her dignity intact by telling her that hey, more experienced agents have fallen apart on cases like this, and if she needs to talk he's there, but yeah, working from washington is actually a really good idea, she should do that! and then after they find her, she can let herself fall apart in front of him because he's already shown that he respects her. he offered himself as a safe place already and respected it when she wanted to handle things her own way. that episode is so pivotal to the development of their partnership and friendship.

in anasazi, when he thanks her for taking care of him. he sounds like he doesn't quite know how to say it, but it's important to him. he's not used to being taken care of like that, he's not used to being loved quite like that. what she does is pretty insane, shooting him in the shoulder and taking him on that crazily long drive afterwards while he's unconscious. she risks so much for him, with no ulterior motive.

"i wouldn't put myself on the line for anyone but you." when has he ever been that important to anyone? kind of goes with the moment above. he's not respected by his peers. people call him spooky. they laugh at his work and his beliefs. and here is this smart woman who could have a brilliant career, but she's willing to risk it all to work with him. and she doesn't even believe his theories. she just respects him, and *likes* him. she wants to be by his side. and he wants her around so much. how does that have to feel, to hear that not only is he respected, he's *wanted*?

"maybe i did want to be out there with you" from htgsc. after being told by the ghost that most people would rather stick their fingers in a wall socket than spend a minute with him. and here she is telling him that it's not true. she chooses him. she wants to spend time with him.

the two of them in plus one cuddled up on that bed/couch in the middle of the night. he's holding her and she's asking questions, testing the water, not sure where they stand anymore. she is still so afraid but she loves him. and he doesn't push. he is just *there*. he makes it so very clear that he will always be there. i have a lot of feelings about the quiet, patient way mulder loves in the revival. he will be what she needs, he just wants to be there for her and wants to be allowed to make her happy.

in detour, "i don't want to wrestle" and their whole conversation where they jump from funny to serious to funny just like that, just two good friends having a conversation. his head in her lap is cute and all, but i love the way they just *are* together. they're comfortable with each other.

there are so many more. i wanted to pick a hospital scene but there are too many. the ending of je souhaite is missing. milagro. the scene in the rain from the pilot. the phone call in sleepless "i'm surprised i put up with you so long." the various hugs and forehead kisses. but those are the ten that stood out to me right now. the list is neither good nor complete. this is difficult!

thoughts and opinions? does anyone else have a top ten? or top 500?

[b1ue-harvest]

First Name Basis

FOX MULDER X GN READER

Author’s Note: OMG it’s been so long since I have written anything on here and I think it’s finally time to get back into it I’ve been obsessed with the X Files recently and had this cute idea late last night Enjoy!

You had known Mulder for about one month now after being assigned to the X files and had grown accustomed to his wild theories, sarcastic comments, and the dingy basement where the two of you had spent hours talking and pouring over case files. In the rare moments of calm, he had begun to open up to you about his past and his childhood. He told you how he believed his sister was abducted by aliens and how he had never forgiven himself for what happened. You knew so many personal things about him, but one day you realized something... you didn’t even know his first name.   

You opened the door to the basement and saw Mulder was sitting at his desk, chewing on the end of his pen and reading. He looked up as the door opened and you walked in. 

“Morning,” he said as you made your way to the chair sitting opposite him. 

As you sat down, you said, “What’s your name?”

He paused and lifted an eyebrow at you. “Well, considering you’ve been here a month already, I thought you would have figured it out by now.”

You smirked. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. What’s your first name? You know mine. It’s only fair I should know yours. Do you not like it or something?”  

“Not really,” he huffed and took a sip from his coffee mug.

“Why not?” 

He shrugged. “Just don’t. That’s all. Why do you care all of a sudden?”

“Because,” you started, “I thought we were friends. Friends tell each other stuff. I know plenty about you already, but I don’t know this.”

He sighed and put his book down. The light from the table lamp hit his eyes at just the right angle, turning them blue, green, and brown all at the same time. You had always thought he had such pretty eyes, the way they changed color depending on the day, how they always sparkled when he talked about things he was passionate about. You could stare into them all the time if you could.

“Fox,” he said softly. “My name is Fox.” 

You nodded. “Fox Mulder. Well, it certainly isn’t boring.”

He chuckled. “Believe me, I wish I had a boring name. It’s better than ‘Spooky’ though, so I’ll take it.” 

You wandered around to his side of the desk and put a hand on his shoulder. “I think it’s a lovely name. Thank you for telling me.” 

Fox gazed up at you with those sultry eyes. Your heart skipped a beat and your cheeks threatened to turn pink. For a moment you thought you were going to do something you’d regret, something that would ruin your relationship, and you thought you saw the same thought flash across his face too, just for an instant. But, just like that it was gone. He went back to his book and you began organizing paperwork, but a glimmer of hope beamed through your mind. Perhaps, one day you could do something about it. 

[oohnotvery]

Wherever Is Your Heart (Chapter 1)

PART I

Scully

It’s been a long time since Scully has felt this drunk. She hadn’t meant for it to happen, but the Bureau’s annual holiday party has been more fun and the champagne more free-flowing than she had anticipated. Plus, something about the way people are staring at her ass in this dress is giving her a boost of confidence she didn’t know she needed.  

She’s never quite lacked confidence in the way she looks, but lately, she’s cared far more about who’s looking. For most of her career, she’s operated under the assumption that despite the affection and camaraderie that they share, nothing would ever heat up between her and Mulder. Falling in love and jumping into bed together are too risky for a partnership like theirs.

But the attraction and chemistry and the he likes me/he likes me not that bubble just under the surface of their professional relationship have started to rise. Lately, in those quiet moments between cases—on long drives, while writing reports, when walking down the street with matching coffees—she’s been catching him staring. It’s happened often enough that it’s changed her calculation just slightly, tipping the scales in favor of he likes me. He hasn’t tried anything, exactly, but she doesn’t think she’s reading him wrong. Those long, lingering glances seem to be filled with a certain yearning that she’s never before noticed in his eyes.

So on nights like this, when she’s allowed to be as feminine, as divine, as lovely as possible, she takes the chance. Because maybe tonight’s the night that Mulder will finally make his move.

She knows she looks good. In her line of work, it is a rare thing to get to throw on a slinky black satin dress and a swipe of Dior’s famous Christmas-red lipstick. It is unusual to show as much skin as she is showing tonight, her full back exposed down to her sacrum, her breasts spilling out of the corseted top. It is special to be noticed—and not just for being Mrs. Spooky. 

But it’s ten p.m., and Mulder hasn’t bothered to show, that bastard. Even after she harassed him, harangued him, threatened him, bothered him, enticed him . . . he doesn’t turn up. 

In a haze of wine and whiskey, she decides she won’t let this night go to waste. She will revel in her beauty, her womanhood, her want. She will let loose and have fun. She will flirt and be flirted with. If Mulder isn’t going to make an effort, she won’t deny herself her own pleasure.

And so she drinks, letting first A.D. Skinner and then a stranger from accounting take her for a spin on the dance floor. Twinkly, starry lights swing from the ballroom’s chandeliers and light her skin with a warm glow. She basks in the attention of men she has never met filling up her wine glasses, of a handsome new special agent bringing her a bubbly sip of champagne.

“Agent Jacobs,” the man says by way of introduction, his bright blue eyes striking against his jet-black hair. He presses the flute into her fingers and smiles sweetly. Her lips lift into a satisfied grin as the sparkly feeling of champagne trips down her throat.

“Dana,” she replies coquettishly, already ready to give this stranger a chance at being on a first-name basis.

“Tyler,” he replies with an even wider smile, and she feels his hand warm the dip in her spine. “Care for a dance?”

His face tips close to hers and she feels the scratchy material of his wool suit scritch temptingly against her arm. She instantly wants to bury her face in it.

“Mhmm,” is all she can muster as alcohol drips through her system.

Time floats by without notice. One minute she is swinging with Tyler to a festive, upbeat song, her heels slipping and sliding gleefully against the floor; and the next, he is pressing her into his chest, gripping her hand tightly to his heart, whispering naughty, exciting things in her ear as a crooner sings an old-school melody.

“Let me take you home, Dana,” he whispers, his stubble raking deliciously across the soft skin of her cheek. There is nothing more intoxicating than a man who wants her back.

With half-lidded eyes, she begins to nod, because she wants to be touched, wants to be loved, and who better than this handsome man she’s never met, this man who’s paying her all the attention in the world, who’s making her feel wanted, special, adored?

Tyler grips the back of her head and she feels his lips pressing into the crown of her hair, and it feels so good to be treated like this, to be touched like this. She melts.

And then she feels fingers at her elbow, a gentle tug, a few quiet words, and Mulder comes into view.

His smile is warm but concerned, his expression tender but firm.

“Come on, party girl,” he murmurs in her ear, his arm draping possessively around her shoulders. “I’ll take you home.”

She blinks dopily up at him.

Oh, yes. Oh, yes. How could she have forgotten? Mulder. Mulder is going to take her home. Mulder, with his patient eyes and kind smile and delicious jawline. Mulder, with his heart only for mysteries and monsters. Mulder, with his brilliant mind and kissable lips.

Mulder wants to take her home.

“Mulder,” she says with a growing smile, all thoughts of Tyler forgotten, “you made it.”

He cocks his head at her and she runs her hands up his arms.

“Steady there,” he whispers conspiratorially, and when Tyler tries to butt in and explain himself, Mulder just tugs Scully into a private corner.

In some far-off recess of her mind, she hears Tyler calling after her that they should get drinks soon. With eyes only for Mulder, she doesn’t even acknowledge him.

In the corner of the ballroom, Mulder places a hand on her shoulder and with his other hand, tips her chin up to meet his eyes. He’s going to kiss her. She just knows it. She feels her eyelids growing heavy with want.

“You want to go home with that guy?” he asks, his brows furrowed.

She opens her mouth to reply, but the words come out garbled.

“Scully,” Mulder tries again, squeezing her shoulder a little. “Dana, Dana look at me.” Her eyes lift lazily to his. He’s so beautiful in his black Armani suit. She tells him so. His lips quirk into a quick smile. “Dana Scully,” he asks slowly, his face the picture of seriousness, “do you want to go home with Agent Jacobs?”

She shakes her head naughtily. “I want to go home with you,” she whines, tugging him closer by his bowtie. “Take me home with you.”

He chuffs a little laugh and nods. “Okay, Scully, then let’s go.”

She feels her knees buckle slightly at his words. He’s going to take her home. Finally. This is finally happening.

She doesn’t remember how they get back home, or why they’re at her home instead of his. It doesn’t matter. She stumbles through the door and turns to face him. His features are masked in the dim light of her apartment but she can see that he’s smiling slightly, almost like he’s enjoying seeing her like this. Well then. She has a lot more to show him.

“Come,” she says with a tug of his hand, and she drags him into her. When he bumps into her chest, she stretches her arms up over his shoulders and slings them around his neck, pulling him down for a hug.

He hugs her back but it’s only for a minute before he’s gently prying her arms off.

“Kiss me,” she hears herself say, but she’s not embarrassed because he brought her home. He took her away from Tyler for just this reason, to bring her home.

His eyes grow dark for a minute and then he’s laughing nervously and she hears him making excuses.

“I want you so bad,” she whispers as her hands fall to his belt. He yelps when she sloppily tugs at his trousers and her hands pass over his groin. “I want to taste you,” she slurs, dropping to her knees and pressing her face into his thighs.

“Oh—Scully, Scully,” he’s repeating over and over, and she feels his hands tugging at her biceps, first gently and then more roughly, until she’s being forced off the ground and held firmly at arms-length.

“Scully,” he says with a stern look, “you’re drunk,” he tells her, but she knows that. It doesn’t make any difference. I still want you, all the time, even when I’m sober. She may say that out loud, but she isn’t sure.

She feels him turning her around and marching her to her bedroom, lifting her in his arms when she refuses to walk. This is it. This is the moment. He’s going to throw her onto the bed and ravage her. She trembles a little with excitement but instead, he lays her down gently, then makes quick work of her shoes. He doesn’t even touch her beautiful dress or her heaving breasts.

“Touch me,” she whines again, pulling at the hem of her dress until it rides up to her waist. She’s wearing the tiniest G-string she owns and she watches as his eyes flit over her thighs quickly before red colors his cheeks.

“Scully. Jesus, stop,” he says firmly, yanking her dress back down.

A sour mood fills the room as she tries to read his expression. For years, she has catalogued every Mulder expression he’s ever made—profiler Mulder, investigator Mulder, comforter Mulder, Agent Mulder—but this . . . this one she doesn’t know. It’s something like exasperation and amusement and horror, all wrapped into one. Her alcohol-addled brain doesn’t know what to do with it.

He leaves the bedroom without a word and she closes her eyes for a moment, reveling in the spin of the room around her. When he comes back, he is carrying water, coffee, and aspirin, which he forces her to take before he will let her close her eyes again.

“I’ll be on the couch if you get sick,” she hears him telling her, and she feels a hand in her hair, petting her like she’s a dog.

“No,” she wants to say, “stay with me.” But her words are caught in the back of her throat, trapped there by alcohol and the heaviness of slumber.

She falls in and out of a restless sleep. When she gets sick, she barely makes it to the toilet, and she feels Mulder rushing in to hold her hair. Her dress twists around her waist as she retches on her knees.

Brushed teeth and a glass of water later, she is back in bed, but now she is fully awake. She knows she can’t be drunk anymore. Alcohol doesn’t last that long in the system, right? Something smart in the back of her brain tries to explain otherwise, to tell her that the effects of alcohol actually linger for quite some time, and certainly don’t disappear after two hours. But she traps that part of her intelligence away.

Convinced that she’s no longer drunk, she decides to try again.

Fumbling out of bed, she trips to the couch, where Mulder is staring listlessly at the T.V., his suit jacket thrown over the back of the chair, his Oxford shirt unbuttoned and untucked. He glances at her questioningly.

“You okay?” he asks, and she knows he wants her too. She felt it in the way he took her away from Tyler—so possessively.

She nods and hitches up her skirt, then throws her knee across his waist and straddles him. His eyes widen in shock and she grinds down on his lap.

“Fuck me,” she says as flirtatiously as possible, hoping her makeup still looks good, hoping she still smells nice. She drapes her arms across his shoulders and tangles her hands in his hair. This is how she always imagined it. Riding him like this without abandon.

His hands grip at her waist and yes, he wants this too.

But he’s holding her back from him, he’s telling her she’s drunk. But doesn’t he know that she’s not drunk anymore? She shakes her head and ignores the way the room spins when she does. She grinds down on him again and he holds her off again, pushing her from his lap. She loses her balance and starts to careen to the floor but he steadies her with strong arms at her back.

“I love you,” she tells him, because it’s true but also because maybe that will do the trick.

His eyes flit between hers for a long moment and she wonders if he’s making up his mind. “I love you,” she repeats more quietly.

“Scully,” he whispers, standing and lifting her with him. “Let’s get you back to bed.” Pain seems to cross his face and she frowns, shaking her head.

“No, no,” she pleads, “no.”

He nods more firmly, taking her by the arm and half-dragging, half-carrying her to her room.

“I’m going back to the couch, okay?” he tells her as he settles her back into bed, and she feels tears leaking traitorously down her cheeks. He brushes a thumb under her eyelids and more tears start to fall.

“You’ll be okay,” he tells her, before pressing a kiss to her forehead and leaving the room.

She cries herself to sleep.

[scullysexual]

It Happened One Night (4/?)

Scully is an escort who is hired by Mulder because he is going through a divorce and may lose his kid. It was supposed to be one night, they were never supposed to meet again, yet fate has other plans for them.

.:.:.:.:.:.

I don't even know where the other chapters are on this site so if you want to read from the beginning you'll have to go to ao3 for it. I can't promise that it won't be another year for the next chapter because this fic terrifies me if im honest but I'll try (and ignore everything else in the process) Also I know nothing about the FBI so that's that. Enjoy.

ao3 | @today-in-fic

Four.

“Dana!” A familiar voice calls out to her in the auditorium.

Dana looks up to see Ellen waving at her amidst the sea of seats. She brushes past a congregation of people, making her way towards her friend and sitting down beside her. As the only two females this year, Dana and Ellen had bonded immediately, a friendship forming not so soon after. It didn’t make sense otherwise.

“Did you check your emails?” Ellen asks her.

“No. Emily wouldn’t go to school so I didn’t have time to check. Why?”

“Agent Banks is sick,” Ellen says with a roll of her eyes. “So we’re getting a cover until he comes back.”

That doesn’t surprise Dana- the man was about 90 years old anyway.

“Did it say who?”

“I didn’t get that far but I heard the guys say it’s someone called Spooky. Do you have any idea?”

Dana shrugs but based on that nickname she didn’t have high hopes about them. In any case at least she could count on no arguments for the time being; Agent Banks liked to pick on her especially.

“Anyway, where were you on Saturday?” Ellen asks, moving on. “Me and Candice waited for you but you didn’t show. What happened to being more social?”

Dana internally groans. That was this Saturday. Dana had completely forgotten about her plans with Ellen, she was too busy having the best orgasm of her life that night. Of course Ellen didn’t know about that.

“Emily…Emily wasn’t feeling well,” she lies. Dana hated using her daughter as an excuse but she couldn’t exactly tell her the truth.

“Right,” says Ellen, not sounding completely convinced. “I think it’s about time we got you a babysitter.”

“Yeah, I’ll look into one…” Dana half agrees but only to move away from the topic.

Voices in the auditorium quieten down as everyone finds their seats and gets comfortable. The door to the side opens and there’s a murmur of voices and gasps. Dana isn’t paying attention, too busy arranging her pens in the colour of the rainbow. It’s only when she feels Ellen tap her arm and buzz excitedly, “It’s him. He’s Spooky. Dana, look…” Does Dana look up to see what the commotion was about.

And honestly, she wished she hadn’t.

In fact, at that moment, she wished she wasn’t in the academy at all.

Because the person who was making her classmates and friend coo with excitement was the very person who had given her a fantastic orgasm the night before.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

It amazed Mulder just how neutral he could become when a thousand thoughts and feelings where running through his body. Confusion, surprise, excitement, happiness, and even anger all swirled within him at once and yet his face betrayed none of it. He was stoic, slightly rumpled from having his usual bout of no sleep and unprepared to actually teach a class full of future FBI agents, but still standing nonetheless when all he wanted to do was leave and never come back.

Somehow the universe was in his favour and somehow it wasn’t. In a sea of indistinguishable males she stood out like the perfect ruby. There was no denying who she was. He’d bet his gun and badge that when he looked at the roster he’d see her name in there. The woman he hadn’t stopped thinking about since Saturday night. Just why did it have to be here of all places.

Mulder tries to ignore it, ignore her, to focus on the male portion of the room but his eyes are drawn to her, seeing red hair in his peripheral standing out against all the grey. He fumbles through his slides, tries to focus on what he is actually here to do, to explain profiling, but his brain is a jumbled mess and of course he fucks up the date of imprisonment of a serial killer he helped to catch in front of everyone, in front of her, just like a buffoon…

He thinks he got away with it, thinks nobody noticed but a voice speaks up from the right-hand corner, loud and clear, unmistakably her.

“1989,” she says with an emphasis on the wrong number. “Ian Lucas Gates was imprisoned in 1989, he committed his first murder in 1987.”

“Perhaps you’d like to come up and teach the class then, Agent Scully, seeing as you know everything.”

It was an outburst. An unnecessary outburst that has Mulder biting his tongue and wishing to take it all back. The rest of the class murmurs amongst themselves, looking wearily from one person to the next. Mulder chances a glance at Scully who stares back at him with a glare that could kill him on the spot if it had the power to.

“Perhaps I will, Agent Mulder, seeing as I know more than you,” she counters.

Someone coughs to disguise a laugh as Scully waits for his reply. The room was stifling with tension and he doesn’t miss the way the woman next to her is continuously looking back and forth between them.

This isn’t the time, Mulder thinks. He switches off the projector and looks at the time, thankful for the class to almost be over.

“Collect your work sheets on the way out,” he says to them knowing they wouldn’t begrudge a 10 minute early dismissal.

They raise to their feet in a matter of seconds, chairs scraping back, bags being collected, a small chatter starting to form. Mulder turns his back to them all, fussing with some papers on the desk for something to do, mortified at himself for snapping at her like that. It was a mess. A big mess. And he had four weeks of this shit.

Scully and her other only female classmate are the last to leave. He should let them leave and next time he’ll do a better job at pretending he doesn’t know her.

But he does know her. More than probably anyone else in the room does and it’s that that wins out.

“Scully,” he gently calls. She stops in her tracks, as does her friend. “A word. Please?”

Her friend looks at them with suspicion.

“It’s fine,” says Dana. “I’ll catch up with you.” Once the other woman is gone Scully turns. The anger on her face almost knocks him down, he wasn’t expecting it. Meekly, he makes his way to the door, closing and locking it. Once it’s just the two of them all pretences drop.

“What the fuck was that?” she bites, referencing their little moment. “And why are you here?”

“Why am I here? Why are you here?” He wasn’t going to start with this. He wanted to go in slowly. He’s found her! In the worst possible place but he’s still found her and he finds himself giddy over the realisation. He softens slightly. “You said you were studying science.”

But Scully was still angry. “Well I can’t exactly say I’m training to be an FBI agent, can I? Besides, I didn’t see you being honest about this.”

He shakes his head. “I thought you already knew.”

“No, I—” She starts to go red and looks away and it dawns on Mulder just what has gone wrong here.

“You didn’t do your homework before we met…” he says.

She sighs still looking away from him. “Charlotte said there was nothing to worry about.”

“Who the fuck is Charlotte?”

“Kind of like my manager, sort of…She runs the…” she reddens even more. “Agency. When I told her I didn’t have time to look into you she did and she said nothing about you being FBI so…”

“I think you need to fire her, or…or move onto to another agency because she sucks. You’re lucky it was me.”

Scully scoffs. “Oh am I?”

“Yes. Because if it was anyone else here you’d be out, Scully. Do you understand that?”

She says nothing but the anger lessens slightly.

“So what came first, the agency or the academy?”

“They sort of…happened at the same time.”

“Why?”

The anger that had lessened ever so slightly comes back full force.

“Why should I tell you? You think just because you got to fuck me one night that you suddenly get to know the ins and outs of my life? You can get to fuck, many men have had that privilege and I don’t see them questioning my choices so why should you get to?”

Mulder sighs. This conversation was a rollercoaster and not going exactly how he planned, what little planning he’d done in the first place.

“You’re all I’ve thought about for two days,” he admits.

“Well now you’re just being fucking weird.”

Mulder sighs again. “I’m being serious. I’ve been wanting to find you since then but not through the agency and not by paying $300 to pretend.” He reaches out to grab her hand then thinks better of it, lacing his own hands together to keep them from touching hers. “That night was different for you, too, right?”

Scully shifts on her feet, crossing her arms, saying nothing.

“I’m just trying to protect you, Scully. I’ve seen your work and out of all of them you have the biggest chance here. I don’t want to see it ruined.”

“So why are you being a dick about it?”

“I’m sorry, it’s just…I care about you and, shit…I’m your instructor.” He wipes his hands over his face.

“You really feel that way?” she asks.

“Oh yeah.”

She moves closer to him, reaching out to take his hand. His heart gets stuck somewhere up his throat, his stomach doing somersaults. What are you doing? he wants to ask her.

“It’s just for 4 weeks, right? You being here?” He nods not daring to speak. “And then you go off to…whichever department you belong to.” He nods again. “So we can wait.” She isn’t looking at him. “And reassess in 4 weeks?”

“We’ll reassess in 4 weeks,” Mulder croaks, throat dry.

“Okay.” She squeezes his hand before dropping it. “I need to go pick up my daughter now.”

She starts backing away, making her way towards the door. She’s almost out of it when he calls for her again.

“Scully? I’m sorry for what happened in class. I shouldn’t have attacked you like that.”

She leans against the door, smiling and Mulder is so happy to see that smile again.

“I’m used to it. Agent Banks grills me all the time in here.”

Mulder makes a face. “Agent Banks is your instructor here?”

“Unfortunately. And I think he hates women.”

“Oh unfortunately he does. But from what I hear the man is on his deathbed so…”

She smiles again. “I won’t say what I was going to say.” She looks at him again, softer this time, like she did that night. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mulder.”

“See you tomorrow.”

He still smiling to himself when she’s gone, finally basking in the giddiness of seeing her again. Four weeks. He just needs to survive these four weeks and then maybe…

The door opens again and it’s her, muttering a string of sorries as she reaches for a work sheet before disappearing once more. The door clicks shut and she is gone.

Until tomorrow.

[carefulfears]

do you have a headcanon of when mulder caught feelings for scully? i’m on the same page w you that scully has had it bad since day one, but i can never make up my mind about mulder

yeah i’ve always said that i think he was aware of the connection between them since her abduction, but i think specifically 3.

ascension is very frantic, it’s rooted in so much trauma and desperation. very few moments are about scully, as a person, really. it’s about getting there in time. it’s about rewriting history. it’s about failure, and standing alone in the end.

in 3, he is surrounded in her absence. her badge. her file, marked with her name. her necklace, which he slips around his own neck, carries with him.

dana scully was farrrrr gone from day one, humming against him in the rain and telling her friends how cute he is, but mulder is more single-minded.

he’s so very fond of her, in the beginning. he knocks on her door to invite her on his run, when he knows she’s just supposed to be discrediting him. he lowers himself beneath her every time he has bad news or a vulnerable conversation. he says “dana,” softly, and checks in on how she’s doing. he believes she’ll be head of the bureau someday.

so much of that is just who he is (trusting, passionate, kind), and she’s the only person who has ever valued that, taken him seriously.

but he’s also internalizing who she is, the consistency and the curiosity and the quiet intensity.

that moment in the rain, before she laughs, before she asks where they’re going and follows: he says “you think i’m crazy,” and turns away. it’s the first time in the series (and remains rare) where you can see that there is a weight to it all. he plays into being “spooky mulder,” but part of him is really disappointed to think that this new partner won’t believe him either.

she thinks about what he said, and she meets him on his level. she questions it, she combats it, she adds to it.

when they both burst out laughing, it’s in pure joy and excitement. it’s the moment that spurs the rest of their lives.

that means a lot to him, to be listened to. to be held to a standard, not just dismissed.

but mulder only knows how to conceptualize love in absence, in the search, so when he’s left listening to her scream: he knows. it feels like the worst thing that could ever happen, because it feels like his closest person disappearing, and that’s the experience he’s most familiar with and enmeshed in.

i believe there’s a script note in ascension that mentions that he’s doubting if he had failed his “closest friend.” it’s the loss being so great, so unbearable, that makes it unavoidable.

(thinking of him smiling at diana, telling her, “i’ve done alright without you.”)

i see a lot of people describe msr as a “fell first/fell harder” trope, but i think most things just hit mulder harder. it’s their natures.

but by the time he hangs her cross around his neck, by the time he abandons the truth to sit and hold her hand, he knows.

[all-eyes-lead-to-the-truth]

All Eyes Lead to the Truth | Unrequited (4x16)

The Bureau’s briefing tent, pitched just outside of the crowded Vietnam War Memorial, bustles with agents and military personnel. The roar of excited veterans around them rises as the tent’s flap bursts open and Agent Mulder enters.

Special Agent Kent Hill is not a nosy man. But when the man nicknamed Spooky strides across the tent with purpose, Hill ignores his fellow agents strategizing beside him to watch Agent Mulder relay information to his partner. His very pretty, very short partner. 

Hill frowns, recalling how A.D. Skinner had assigned each agent into individual sectors to guard General Bloch against the ex-POW Teager. Hill is stuck in Sec-3: the smallest and arguably less populated sector, while Agent Scully is assigned to Sec-4: the largest, most occupied sector that will prove difficult to navigate with her short stature. Hill had stupidly mumbled that aloud as the group scattered, only to get a sharp glare from Agent Mulder that could cut glass. 

General Bloch suddenly slams the telephone down on the table next to Hill and stomps over to A.D. Skinner. “Look, I can’t wait around here any longer. I’m delivering a keynote speech in five minutes.”

“You might want to reconsider,” his A.D. suggests, and Hill agrees. They’ve already failed to prevent two generals from looking like Swiss cheese, and standing on stage in front of thousands of professionally trained shooters is a terrible idea. 

“He won't reconsider,” Agent Mulder shoots back. “Not going out there would be an admission of guilt.”

Hill’s eyes practically pop out of his head. No one can say Spooky doesn’t have balls. 

General Bloch stiffens. “It's your job to protect me still, isn't it?” 

“That's what we're trying to do,” his boss insists.

“Then do your job,” the general sneers as he flees the tent.

“General!” A.D. Skinner scoffs, seemingly as frustrated as the rest of his agents trying to keep at least one general alive. “All right, people, listen up because we don't have much time here! You all know your responsibilities. You have your sectors and your assignments. If Teager’s here, I want to know immediately.”

Hill watches their A.D. race after the general and runs a hand down his five o’clock shadow, catching Agents Mulder and Scully out of the corner of his eye as they move toward one another like magnets. 

He’s seen the two of them together before. Has watched them stand much too close and touch much too often, observed their odd connection from afar. But Hill can’t seem to get enough of how soft they speak to each other, how intense they look at one another, how they stand a hair's breadth apart like it’s nothing.

“Mulder,” Agent Scully tugs at his suit sleeve. “You really think this is a setup?”

Hill slides in his earpiece, watching as their eyes lock. His wife would call it eavesdropping, but as he steps closer, tilting his head just right to better hear their hushed voices, Hill simply calls it satisfying a long-standing curiosity. 

“That’s what I was told, and I believe it.”

“So are you going to tell me where you got this information?” Agent Scully huffs.

Her partner shrugs. “A source.”

“Who?” She arches a brow, runs her tongue across her teeth. “Or is that classified like the rest of this case?”

Agent Mulder has the decency to look chagrined. 

“Of course not,” his voice dips along with his head. “But I’d rather not say her name here.”

“Her?” Agent Scully folds her arms across her chest, her jaw working as she lets the silence ooze like molasses. Hill knows he’s openly gawking at this point, but doesn’t care. Their body language reminds him of his wife’s daytime drama shows. 

“Teager is here, Scully, hiding in plain sight,” Agent Mulder deflects, and Hill doesn’t blame him. He can see the man’s sweat stippling across his brow from here. “We’ll work together and you’ll catch this guy. Simple,” he says with a sly smirk. 

Agent Scully rolls her eyes. “Mulder, nothing about working with you is simple.”

An unbidden snort bursts through Hill’s nostrils at that. Both agents unfold their arms and tandemly take a step apart. 

Hill clears his throat. “Looks like you’re in the sector next to me, Agent Scully-” 

“Scully,” she interjects.

“Huh?”

“Just Scully is fine.” She nods toward her partner. “And him, just Mulder.”

Hill smirks. “Same here, even my wife calls me Hill.” They smile and he feels himself blush. “We’d better get out there, Scully. It’s starting.”

Hill stops at the tent’s door while holding the flap open for Scully to exit next and sees Mulder grasp her hand within his. She stares up at him, and after a moment, squeezes his hand right back. 

Several minutes and multiple attempts to apprehend Teager fly by. Hill shoves his way through the throng of veterans slowly moving toward the stage, trying to chase down a goddamn ghost. 

“Don’t take your eyes off him, Scully,” Mulder warns. That’s easier said than done. The guy is there one second and gone the next. 

Hill adjusts his earpiece as the crowd cheers.

General Bloch continues speaking, riling up the masses. It’s loud and nearly impossible to track anyone. Hill spots a red flash of Scully’s hair and runs up to where she stands, looking as confused as he feels. 

“I can't see him anywhere,” Hill tells her, just as General Bloch gets ushered from the stage. 

The agents follow, guns drawn, and the next several seconds happen in a blink of an eye: Teager’s hiding in the general’s car, shooting as everyone ducks and dives along the dirt. Mulder yells and Hill jumps in front of the moving car, firing off four shots that jar his bones. 

Teager flops out of the door, blood spurting from his mouth. Hill scrunches his eyes shut, guilt seeping in as the suspect takes his last breath. 

Teager, Nathaniel J. Sergeant, Green Beret detachment B-11, is dead.

Read the Rest of All Eyes Lead to the Truth on Archive of Our Own!

@monikafilefan

[sbpstudios]

i wanna talk about some October appropriate story concepts that have been knocking around in my brain between other things. nothing has names yet and i haven't done much doodling but it's in a crock pot in my brain.

the basic idea came to me when thinking about medias like monster high and monster prom. those monster mash stories. i thought "i love this stuff! i wanna Do That." and i ended up with like, a main cast i wanna have us follow with other ghouls showing up as supporting cast.

the main cast i imagine will be made up of-

the daughter of one of those agent mulder type guys. the sort that's like "aliens, cryptids and ghosts could be real. the world is already so fucking weird.". neither the girl or her dad are spooky in of themselves but they sure do fuck around and find out.

the daughter of a retired slasher killer (in the model of someone like Jason Voorhees <3). you can tell she's her father's daughter in build and vibe, built like a brick shit house and with a resting "snap you in half like a stick" face. they're both kinda out of touch with people since they mostly stick to their cabin in the woods. but with the daughter getting some actual friends that's slowly starting to change somewhat.

the daughter of a monster hunter. girl has been raised too do the Family Business since the day she could follow her dad's orders. they live in a- pretty much bunker in the woods where her dad has been putting her through training from hell for years. she does NOT start off the nicest but the whole point of her is that one CAN unlearn what they've been taught by family. they just need the opportunity to take that first step.

a witch girl who's stepdad has been trying and failing to connect with her. largely because she does not like the fact that her family is trying to replace her old dad who's no longer with us. girl is this close too going off to do necromancy but in the mean time she's really fucking around and finding out. in true magic bitch fashion.

and then finally, an escaped lab rat of a girl. the lab was going under and she was given an out. i haven't settled on if she's currently living with an ex employee who wasn't one of the lab coats testing on her, who just took pity on her. or if she's been hiding out with someone completely unrelated to the lab who couldn't bring themself to leave her without a roof over her head. but regardless, much of her vibe is just- learning how to be a Person, and the lasting echos of her time in the lab. and the person who sponsored her making wanting his product back...

and that's like, our main cast! i went for more- Human kinds of spooky gals for this because aaa- i wanted too. but we'll get stuff like werewolves and what not in the supporting cast! the world is spookier then you think after all!

[coffee-obsessed-writer]

From Monsters Under the Rug to Aliens in the Sky: This Is How I Found Myself Through Science Fiction

The town where I grew up was stereotypical small town U.S.A. No more than 3 square miles encompassed the entire town. We didn't even have our own high school or busses; you either walked to school, rode your bike or got a ride from mom. When someone had a baby or got married, you could be fairly certain that everyone would know about it within an hour or two, or be part of the celebration. It meant block parties, town-wide celebrations on Main Street, riding bikes to the lake to swim in the summer or ice skate in the winter. It was some real Mayberry kind of livin'.

To me, small-town life meant intense scrutiny, invasion of privacy, and ridicule, but that was because I was the "weird" kid. I tried to participate in sports and even tried out for cheerleading because I thought it might make me more like all the other kids. But, I was wrong. It just made me feel more out of place. I would have rather found a quiet place under a big shady tree to sit and read or write and talk to my imaginary friends. Real friends were scarce, and those that did hang around me did so more to see what the weird kid did for fun, not because they enjoyed my company.

One of the most vivid memories of those years happened in third grade. My teacher, Mrs. Thompson, had presented us with a contest hosted by the local bookstore that was open to the whole school, grades Kindergarten through eighth grade. We were tasked with writing a short story, any kind of story we could create, and the winner was given a $10 gift card to the store (in 1987, that was like having a fortune to spend), as well as having our story on display in the store.

My story entitled, "The Thing Under the Rug" won the prize, as well as looks from the other kids and townspeople that read it. I was a ten-year-old writing horror, and that didn't go over well in Mayberry.

Fast forward several years, to when my family moved out of that town and to a larger one that not only had its own high school but had TWO high schools! I thought myself and my weirdness would be more accepted since the population of the school there was more than four times that of my elementary school. Nope, wrong again. I was just as ridiculed and singled out there for my unusual style, drawings, and stories, as I was back in third grade, writing my award-winning tale of terror involving a thing under a rug.

There was a lot of isolation, tears, and feelings that there was something wrong with me because I didn't want to talk about what my peers did or do the thing they wanted to do. What I didn't realize, was that I was about to meet the friend I had been waiting for my entire life. His name was Fox Mulder.

No, unfortunately, Fox wasn't a real person, but the main character on a new show called, 'The X-Files'. He was a young, determined F.B.I. agent in pursuit of the truth about the disappearance of his sister, aliens and government conspiracies. His partner, the stubborn, level-headed Dana Scully eventually became a friend too, because she showed me that you can disagree with what someone believes, but still respect them enough to hear them out, and at least hold palaver about it.

Mulder and Scully, as well as the show itself, became a big part of my life right from the pilot. Mulder's peers called him "Spooky Mulder" and cast him down to the basement with a file cabinet of cases that were filled with crackpot accounts and alien abduction stories. I could relate to that in my own way. They would disparage him and laugh at him at every turn. I could relate to that too. But Scully, she was there for him even when they didn't agree. That was something I wanted to be able to relate to.

As the first couple seasons aired, a funny thing started to happen. I learned a lot about myself, the most important of which, was that I didn't care what my peers thought about me anymore. I was done feeling bad about myself because I didn't like shopping and makeup. I enjoyed oddities. I read Edgar Allen Poe and Stephen King. My favorite movie was 'The Exorcist'. I liked reading about ghosts. I believed in monsters under the bed and in the existence of aliens.

On a much deeper level, I had already begun to question the religion I was raised in; never having felt like it fit for me. Dana Scully also struggled with her faith throughout the series, and even though the circumstances were obviously much different, I took solace in knowing that it's not a bad thing to ask questions. Regardless, if it is about lights in the sky or the cross you wear around your neck.

It prompted me to start writing more and writing material that I truly loved and believed in. I dove deeper into finding myself as an artist, as I watched these two characters also dive deeper into uncovering truths about themselves. 'The X-Files' opened a door that I didn't know existed, and when I walked through it, I discovered a community of people, albeit very small, that was like me. They were the misfits, the cast-offs, the ones who questioned everything.

Having this show in my life, and by extension, this group of people, allowed me to slowly crawl out of my shell and be more social. We held weekly dinner nights to get together to watch the show, all the way up to the series finale. When the revival aired last January, you better believe we got together online, since we are now scattered throughout the country, to talk about it and watch together.

Load video

I love who I am now. I am a mom, a writer, a ghost hunter, T.V. binge watcher, alien truther and an X-Phile for life. I can only hope that as my kids grow up, they never fear to ask questions, and always stay true to themselves. Should they ever veer away from that, I guess I will have to introduce them to my good friends, Fox and Dana. After all, they are now only a DVD away.

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s3 episode 4 thoughts

here we are!!! i actually turned off auto caps on my phone for this; that’s how serious this blog is getting. don't worry, i'll probably remember to turn it back on before i send an important email.

i haven’t seen an ep in a few days and i feel like it has been 80 years. the last episode wasn’t the greatest, so our time apart feels even longer.

this episode is about a guy named clyde. clyde bruckman is a hell of a name. i’m expecting a real cowboy. a guy who knows his way around a horse. he probably spits chew in a certain fashion. we shall see if i’m correct.

(editor's note: op found that clyde was not a cowboy, but something just as special... a friend <3)

we open with a man reading a magazine article on predictions, written by a celebrity psychic. we later learn that this fellow doing the reading is, in fact, clyde bruckman. and elvis being dead but buddy holly being alive has got to be one of the greatest theories i’ve ever heard. i WILL incorporate this into my belief system.

allegedly, buddy holly is going to open at a big music festival. and this is how i learn that lollapalooza was a thing even before chappell roan visited... but we all know that when she steps on that stage in a few short weeks it will blow anything secretly alive buddy holly could have cooked up in his wildest dreams. "the night the music died" <- crazy thing to say about a time before miss roan was even born. anyway...

bruckman ran into someone in the street. feels like a chekov’s gun moment but who knows.

hint: it was!

now the clumsy man is at the psychic. and he says he saw his own future and he seem himself doing things that are “out of character”. now that's suspicious~

OH??? clumsy man just killed the fortune teller and says she should have seen this coming. HUH???? clumsy murder man needs to be punished …our psychics deserve federal protection. 

we are at the scene of a murder. a different murder, because this one did NOT take place in the psychic's room. “they say the eyes capture the last thing a murder victim sees” “so what do they say about the entrails?” “yuck” LMAO i giggled a little….

they’re talking about some guy in vague terms, that he’s “unorthodox” and “a kook”, and then mulder walks in and it looks like they’re talking about him but the investigator says “who the hell are you” HAHAHA that got me as well

so the murderer left behind the eyeballs and scully says that they made a profile for the killer and i’m thinking yaaaaay they worked together <3 i love that spooky mulder, the well-established profiling expert, is willing to collaborate. but with her only.

and also the house is filled with porcelain dolls 

mulder knowing the professional name for the people who read tea leaves… unfortunately i love him so bad.

THEN the real star of the show rolls up. it’s the psychic from the cover of the magazine we saw clyde reading earlier. CROWDED w paparazzi. he's got a vague european accent going on here. hold up is that jon favreau in the background. i received no clarification on if that was him or not.

psychic is describing a guy who could be literally anyone “white man with facial hair… or not” “tattoo somewhere on his body” wow king of specifics. it's like he's in the room with us. /s

the agents are watching him do this and share a glance and i want it on a poster it’s sooo cute <3

celebrity psychic says he lost the vision from negative energy and then gets right up in the agent’s faces. they handle it pretty well, all things considered. because i would be telling him to back tf up. 

he asks mulder to LEAVE!!!! he has been diagnosed with negative energy. she leans in and says “i can’t take you anywhere” LMAOOOO so he stands outside and then the psychic says that skeptics like mulder make him sick. yeah i laughed!!! so what!

description of our guy: “white male, 17-34, with or without a beard, maybe a tattoo, who is impotent” <- wow.

back to the clyde cam. he's selling insurance. telling some guy that he is going to die in a car crash. well this is an effective life insurance sales policy. or not, because he doesn’t close the deal!! sure would have worked on me.

back home, he takes out some moldy cabbage that looks like a guy’s head into the trash. takes out his neighbor’s trash as well, and sees a vision of the dog eating her remains. (sabrina brier voice) oh!!!

(wait i just realized i reference that video all the time and have never cited my sources. if you are unfamiliar with the legendary "oh!" moment please click here)

back to the plot at hand.

clyde asks if his neighbor has enough dog food. thoughtful man. BUT he sees a body in the trash!

this episode is making me giggle <- don't remember what prompted that note but it was true.

clyde, who reported the murder, says that he knew the eyes were cut out, but she was found face down... so. how do you know that. site your sources. “well it just figures”, he says, and it absolutely, and i cannot emphasize this enough, does not

they bring him to… a murder scene. dun dun dun!

he thinks they're pranking him and asks to see their identification again (sees mulder’s badge) “i’m supposed to believe that’s a real name?” yeah get him again for me.

he sees blood at the crime scene and throws up which... yeah. that’s pretty messed up. he emerges from throwing up and starts saying and doing the same things as the earlier psychic. but then he starts getting... a bit more specific. allegedly, the woman was having sex with the killer before she met her end.

“well then, what’s wrong?” “sometimes, it just seems that everyone’s having sex except for me” LMAOOOOOOOOO clyde you are too real

scully looks soooo confused and i love it

all of a sudden, he sees one of the many dolls as a bloated corpse head, and announces where they’ll find the body then… hands the doll to mulder. which is not the first time we have seen him holding a doll. it is an interesting visual. what are they trying to tell us??

scully isn’t buying it. why does clyde know all this stuff? “i don’t believe he’s the killer”, says mulder, and she responds with, “i don’t believe he’s psychic” yeah that’s the dynamic i love. and she is sooooo pretty. 

mulder goes to the dude’s house and he knows exactly what is going on. but then clyde seems shocked it's him so we are getting mixed messages here.

he asks mulder if he wants to know how he’s going to die, and mulder says yes after stuttering a little and i’m like WOAH where is this going… but clyde responds with “no you don’t”, which, okay yeah, i don’t think i could handle that either

(he goes on to try and sell mulder insurance)

clyde says the future is inevitable. or if he does get involved… what if there is the whole butterfly effect thing? and then he immediately agrees to going along with the investigation. king of not having an answer. the indecisive representation we deserve.

mulder you’re so pretttttyy... look at him watching clyde touch some brass frogs and base conclusions off of them.

scully arrived at the door as mulder has his head FLAT ON THE TABLE lmaoooo 

so, it appears that clyde can ONLY tell how people are going to die. nothing else. now is that useful to this investigation? it's arguable. maybe they can find an angle.

clyde says that the scrap of fabric he’s holding comes from mulder’s new york knick’s t shirt (which was a thing that happened in 1x13 when he was testing that other psychic!!!! ohhhh i remember! do not think i forgot!! and i was confused as to why he would have a knick’s shirt if he was from new england... perhaps he knows no loyalty to geography when it comes to sport)

but mulder denies that it is his shirt anyway, so.

they found keychains on the bodies, and clyde is going on about all the personal information of whoever owned said keychains. it turns out he just sold the guy an insurance policy a few months ago lmaooo... but he knows he was murdered! the death power strikes again.

scully is driving. clyde is in the passenger seat. mulder is sticking his head in between them, asking how he receives his psychic transmissions. it's funny. he wants to know how being a psychic works! so is it like, visions, or dreams or something?

he then implies that mulder will die by autoerotic asphyxiation <- HELLO????? he looks at scully after receiving this news. as if she can possibly defend him against such an accusation.

they’re in the forest looking for a body and clyde explains he knew “the big bopper” was going to die.

scully says she doesn’t believe in that stuff, and even if she did, she wouldn’t believe that story. damn, just really going for his throat, huh. he seems to believe her indignation is over the fact that he liked the big bopper better than buddy holly and he defends himself.

they try to get the car out and mulder’s suit gets all dirty (this is sad to me, a mulder suit enjoyer) but gasp!!! the car is RIGHT OVER THE BODY. that has to be bad for finding evidence. so he did know exactly where it was!!!!

they have a thread from the scene, and have presented it to clyde. “but don’t you have crime labs that analyze these things for you?” he asks scully “yes. yes we do” (pointed glare at mulder) LMAOOOO but he says it takes time!!! and they still haven't analyzed the other thread. so please please please just give your powers a go.

he doesn’t want to help out, but mulder says he wants some insurance. on the fiber, not actual life insurance :( clyde was so excited to tell him the benefits of general mutual!!!

clyde is describing mulder being stalked by the killer sometime in the future, and all of a sudden scully’s up and asking him for more details like she believes it. awww. it’s sweet in a way. does she believe in psychics? no. is she still gonna take detailed notes when one says mulder is in any slight danger? yeah. and don't worry about that seeming to contradict her belief system. she is complicated beyond simple characterizations of skeptic or believer.

he seems to think that the killer will slit mulder’s throat at the investigation, but he doesn’t want to tell him. he DOES tell him that he will step on a pie before whatever happens to him, happens to him.

thank you to the subtitles for clarifying that clyde was imitating johnny carson because they reference would have been lost on me. i know, i’m uncultured, i’m sorry. i’ll google it though. okay, as i thought, he was a late night host. see? we get an exchange of knowledge on this blog, i learn about johnny carson's way of pronouncing the word "killer" and you can use sabrina brier's "oh" in conversation now.

it seems the killer sent clyde a letter saying he’ll kill him. and he’ll be dead before they can get him help :( noooo i like mr bruckman!!! :(

back to the killer. he’s getting a tarot reading and says he’s looking for a guy he’s gonna kill. the man doing the tarot reading smiles nervously, because what do you say in such a situation.

they seem to have bought clyde a pie after his earlier ramblings on the subject, and he kindly asks scully if she wants some, but she denies because she must study background checks instead of relying upon visions. he asks if she is jealous. a good banter between them.

back at the tarot place, the reader mentions a woman. MAYBE A REDHEAD...? stay away from her…

clyde is going on about seeing himself in bed with scully. HELLO??? “it’s just a very special moment neither of us will ever forget” huh. laughs nervously. what the fuck. is she gonna find him dead or do we need to call HR.

(cries editing this, now that i know how the episode ends)

it seems the tarot card guy is about to get murdered. but back at the hotel room with clyde and scully, they’re playing cards and she’s talking about moby dick and macbeth misinterpreting prophecies...

but despite the denial, SHE ASKS HIM HOW SHE DIES??? he says “you don’t” and that is exactly what i like to hear <3

she seemed really serious about it too, like she didn’t want to admit that she was curious, initially deflecting. oh best believe i WILL psychoanalyze that.

LMAOOO okay so this is the episode where mulder says the “chantilly lace” line and she makes that face. he's referring to another thread found at a murder scene, but i saw it in a gif and i have been thinking about it since then.

she slaps his chest with the file and says good luck as he goes to babysit the old man psychic. it was very affectionate. do it again.

mulder is in bed. it’s sleepover time with the old man. “you’re not one of those people that turns everything into a sexual symbol, are you?”, clyde asks, seemingly self-conscious about revealing his recurring dream. mulder says no, but i’m unconvinced.

anyway, he talks about seeing himself dead, and how his body fades away. we see a cgi decomposing body and it’s quite gnarly. maybe it's clay? and all his skin faded away and he becomes bones. kinda gross tbh. but he says he feels at peace.

there’s been another murder, so another guy is gonna babysit our clyde, and i’m thinking noooo don’t trust this other guy!!

scully says she feels bad, that clyde has convinced himself he is a psychic and it’s taken all the joy out of his life :(

okay, the guy babysitting him seems to be telling him jokes. clyde says he won’t die of lung cancer so he lights up. and i'm thinking, buddy, he did not rule out emphysema.

hang on. that is a lighter we have seen before. in the hands of old lady who shall be eaten by dogs. now is this a mass produced object or are we about to witness the end of clyde!!!!

“don’t open that door for anybody”, says the babysitter, and clyde then immediately proceeds to do so. and who is it knocking but the psychic killer delivering their room service!!!

killer is asking clyde why he does these things and it’s “because you’re a homicidal maniac” well that would explain it! and then he stabs the babysitter. but clyde has delayed his fate by telling the murder he doesn’t kill him now. seems he believes him. clever thinking.

scully realizes that the killer is the bellhop at the hotel after seeing some more lace. which mulder describes as “woman’s intuition” yea <3

back at the hotel. mulder is in the kitchen. he sees the killer with the knife. it is all going down as clyde described it. now if there really is a pie do NOT BE DISTRACTED. OH there is a pie. and he knows he has to turn around, so he turns THE OTHER WAY. noooo!!!!!

they get in a struggle!!! mulder’s bleeding, and scully gets off the elevator just in time. she shoots the murderer. no hesitation on taking a life, she will kill a motherfucker for mulder. i love that about her. 

and scully only got there because she took the wrong elevator!!! more pondering on the meaning of fate!!!!!

i love when one of these bitches is on the floor in pain and the other comes over and comforts them. i think i need that in my life just once. it would heal me.

but the question is: where is bruckman?

they go to find him and they only find a dog tied to the door?? and a letter to scully. it’s the dog from before, the neighbor's pet. the letter from clyde says to take care of his neighbor's remains. and he asks if she wants a dog, and that you can’t blame him for the dog’s actions. so they go into the room.

BUT IT IS BRUCKMAN THAT IS DEAD IN THERE. it looks he took pills and suffocated himself. scully looks so so so so so sad.

AND OMG!!! SHE IS HOLDING HIS HAND WHILE HE IS IN BED AND CRYING. JUST LIKE HE SAID WOULD HAPPEN. WAIT THIS IS SO SAD. 

so that must be why he say a head in a bag at the start of the episode, it was his own death... and the killer was right, he did get to clyde before he was caught, he just didn't attack him. huh. funny how prophecies play out.

cutscene to her on the couch WITH THE DOG IN HER LAP. and an ad from the earlier eastern european psychic is on the tv. she throws the phone at him.

A DOG!!! a dog. okay, a lot to think about, but first and foremost we have scully with a dog <3 and it sits in her lap while she watches TV. and it MAY have tasted human flesh, which i feel is a hard thing to get past, but clearly she has done it. she has done the emotional labor of knowing that fuzzball knows what human meat feels like. and she has faith that this dog will not do the same to her. that is an awful lot of trust for a new dog. but we do know she loves animals. so perhaps she trusts the puppy.

i always pictured her with a big ol mutt from the pound. but a little dog can be just as good of a friend. and it WAS a rescue. that is important!

okay. back to the episode at hand, dog aside. even though it is a BIG deal to me and i'm honestly being so brave by not going on a monologue about what scully having a dog means to me. this episode was definitely comedic, and like the earlier comedic episode, i liked it a lot! but the ending made me so sad :( it was a pretty abrupt tone shift. 

still. the episode was SO good. i kept pausing every few seconds to write things down because they made me laugh or otherwise intrigued me (thinking of scully playing cards and explaining macbeth. or chantilly lace line. or "i can't take you anywhere". i will try not to think of mulder's potential death by choking himself for my own sanity)

and i liked clyde a lot. we get a lot of one time characters who we will never see again and so it’s good when those characters make an impact in the short amount of time we share with them. 

and i’m always gonna take a light-hearted episode, as light-hearted as a show where serial killing is a daily occurrence can be. it does go to show though that there wasn’t always a consistent tone throughout the story. and i do find that interesting. i am part of a generation where we typically get 6 hour long episodes of a tv show per season, and they’re so condensed there is very little time for exploration with genre or tone. in general, i have loathed this about modern television; the death of the filler episode has been lamented by people far more eloquent than myself.

the only thing i dislike about this format- doing a silly episode- is that if the next episode ends up being really dark it’s like, woah man, the whimsy, where did it go? last season we got humbug, which was SO fresh and funny, and then within the first 3 minutes of the next episode, a baby was killed by a train. so i lowkey got whiplash. but then again, i watched those episodes back to back, so maybe having a week between them seeing them air as they hit TV would have softened the blow. feel free to chime in with your theories on the nature of genre and how pacing of episode viewing effects that experience.

overall, a very good episode. i rank it up with humbug as one of my favorites, which is again funny, because i love the extreme angst and the silly. i paused to take so many notes because i liked so many things that i think i should someday rewatch it again and get a smoother experience haha

[vampirewalterskinner]

All AUs are Scully x Skinner x Mulder and most likely explicit due to sexual content.

AU descriptions under the read more!

Cannibalism

What it says on the tin.

Not connected to canon, takes place a decade or so after a zombie outbreak, the zombies won. Evolution through human sciences in attempts to end the apocalypse and adaptions to the virus has made zombies calm and human like and live in a world they created much like their human societal origins. They work, have families and friends, laugh and cry—even have pets. The only difference is that anyone without the zombie genetic makeup is essentially seen as food. Walter is a wealthy, admired, and powerful man and heavily involved in the government. The food source part of the government, that is. Purchasing humans is legal the same way buying a cow would be, there are rules and regulations but it can be done. Walter sees two pretty humans at a market, resilient and troublesome, and can’t help himself, buys Dana and Fox without a single thought. Despite how delicious they smell, he promises not to eat them. He finds their obstinate nature amusing. A small part of himself, a piece he keeps locked away because it had no place in this new world, remembers life before the virus and misses it.

No healthy romances here, folks. Walter is off because the virus so he’s a little fucked up, but he’s not going to force Dana or Fox into anything nor use them. He’s just a little creepy and obsessive. Horror and gore, tho, bc cannibalism.

Cryptid Seekers

Not canon compliant. Civilian AU where the three have hobbies involved in the spooky things that go bump in the night.

The three met on a Bigfoot search. After watching each other work, seeing experience and intelligence (unlike the other fools they were with) for two days they share emails. A weeks of communication go by and they agree get together on weekends to seek the truth about every supernatural creature, cryptid, and phenomena in the book. They become close friends and know everything about each other—except where they live and first names. They call each other by last names only. While knowledgable on everything, they have their favorites. Mulder specializes in legends, basically a walking encyclopedia of whatever they’re after that week. Scully specializes in witchcraft/magic (whether she believes in it or not is unknown). Walter specializes in tools and technology used to survey/find what they’re looking for—found footage is his obsession.

Involves lots of camping and mushy, budding romances with a nice dash of horror. Lots of Walter feeling like a third wheel and wondering wtf is wrong with him for getting a crush on people who are ten years younger than him.

Taxidermy

Mulder a taxidermist and Scully an arthropod pinner/mounter. Mulder’s work mainly concentrates on mutations but he loves to play with his own artistic choices and create impossible but incredibly realistic creatures. Sometimes he brings a supernatural creature to life with his depictions, using witness descriptions as his guidelines. Scully isn’t quite as artistic (although still art!) with her work as Mulder, choosing to focus on the science behind her little arthropods. Insects and spiders are her main objective. Most of her displays have information of the subject neatly written beside them, sketches of their inner workings, or simply naming parts of the body. Her most popular work, however, are little “living” displays to show how the critters existed in day to day life. The two run their own businesses—funnily enough, right next to each other—and became fast friends when they met. They both speak of a man who visits their stores often. Tall and handsome. Older, with rounded glasses. He never purchases anything, his eyes always searching the store with a quiet wonder and his hands stiff at his sides, as if afraid to cause damage. They manage to pry a few words from him but he always avoids their eyes. Polite, but flighty. Mulder manages to trap the man long enough to get a name. Walter Skinner, a man who was too afraid to take his artistic endeavors further than a time consuming hobby and a great admirer of the two young artists and their achievements.

The tamest au. Slice of life. The least likely to involve sex. Lots of taxidermy talk.

[spookyshipperfics]

The Finer Things (Chapter 1)

Find it: a03 / Fandom: The X-Files / Rating: Explicit

Part of the Do You Like Scary Movies? series

Tagging @today-in-fic

What is it About? Scully and Mulder are sent undercover onboard a luxury train to investigate the presence of a suspicious and undocumented train car. Playing a wealthy married couple is tricky, but they run into even bigger issues when an unwelcomed agent gets sent in for backup.

Read a Sample: You’ll want to pack predominantly dressy casual, but formal wear will also be required.

Skinner’s advice still bounced around Mulder’s skull. What did dressy casual even mean? For a man who wore a suit and tie nearly every day, he worried the slacks and collared shirts shoved in his suitcase weren’t up to code. The rental car suddenly felt hot, and he cracked the window.

Mulder had been told a lot over the last two days. He and Scully would be riding the Dusty Mountaineer, a train that twisted and wound through the Rocky Mountains of Colorado before opening to the deserts of Utah and, finally, Nevada. It was five days of luxury meets majesty, or at least that’s what the brochure promised. And while that all sounded fine and dandy, they weren’t going for leisure.

The Dusty Mountaineer’s last few trips had included a mysterious train car unaccounted for in any brochures or official travel documents. The FBI suspected some sort of smuggling operation—firearms, drugs, chemicals—but whispers of strange creatures being transported to a testing site in Nevada warranted a knock on the Spookys’ basement door. After all, Mulder had recklessly jumped onto a train only a few years ago for similar reasons.

This train ride would be different, though. For starters, he and Scully would be going undercover as a married couple… again. Goodbye, Rob and Laura Petrie. Hello, Pete and Chrissy Curtis. Who would’ve thought that with all this chaos, the contents of his wardrobe would be what broke him?

“Scully,” he said, glancing at her in the passenger’s seat, where she leafed through documents containing information about their cover stories. “What do you consider dressy casual?”

He didn’t need to look at her to know she rolled her eyes. The sigh of annoyance confirmed it. “Mulder, if the items you brought are anything like what you’re wearing now, you’ll be just fine.”

His shoulders relaxed in his sports coat. He felt considerably better about the fitted white T-shirt and khakis beneath it. “You think?”

“I do,” she responded dryly, and Mulder couldn’t help but sneak another peek at her. Outfitted in a light blue dress that was much more form-fitting than anything he’d ever seen her in, it was difficult to bring his attention back to the road. He did, though, trying to ignore the memory of her smooth thighs peaking from beneath the fabric.

“What do you do for work?” Scully’s voice drifted into his ear, jolting him back to reality.

“What?”

“What do you do for work?” she repeated.

The fluttering papers in her hand reminded him why they were here in Colorado. He had more important things to worry about than how soft Scully’s thighs looked. He was a goddamn FBI agent about to go undercover for five days. Maybe that’s what was really making him nervous. It wasn’t the definition of dressy casual; it was pretending to be married to Scully. It had been easier in Arcadia. He hadn’t really known what to expect. He didn’t realize how much he’d enjoy touching her or calling her pet names.

“Well, dear,” he began, “I’m a community college professor specializing in conspiracy literature and theories, but I also teach history because that’s what pays the bills.”

“Good,” she remarked.

Deciding to go for the extra credit, he continued, “You teach pre-med at the same college. That’s, of course, how we met. What was it now? Seven years ago?”

“Six,” she corrected. “Just like in real life.”

“I know. I know,” Mulder assured her. He knew exactly how long ago they’d met. Scully had changed his life when she’d walked through his basement door. Something like that you didn’t forget. “I’m thinking of making that part of my schtick. You know, the whole forgetful husband trope. I’m bad with anniversary dates. I forget to pick up milk on the way home.”

“That tracks,” she said, and this time, he could hear the smile in her voice. “Birthdays aren’t a strong suit of yours, either.”

“Not a strong suit of Pete Curtis,” he countered. “I want to be clear that this is strictly a character choice.”

Any snarky rebuttal Scully might have tossed back at him was left unsaid. Instead, she let out an excited “wow.” After rounding the last bend, the Dusty Mountaineer came into view. The fifteen-car train was a shiny black and decorated with elaborate gold accents and lettering.

“It looks like something out of an Agatha Christie novel,” Scully remarked.

Mulder nodded. “Let’s just hope this story doesn’t play out like one of hers. I could do with a little less murder.”

The Dusty Mountaineer’s narrow hallways were wood paneled, the floors a floral carpet. It was a bit like stepping into a time capsule. There were no TVs or other technological entertainment, and even the staff were outfitted in clothes of a different era.

“Dinner is served at six. Our dress code requires passengers to dress appropriately when not in their rooms. Formal attire is required for the cocktail party on Friday night.” Jamie, the crew member assigned to walk them to their lodging, continued rattling off rules and detailing the agenda before stopping at a cabin on the far end of the first sleeper car. “This is you, Mr. and Mrs. Curtis.”

Despite everything Mulder had seen thus far, he still wasn’t quite prepared when Jamie pulled open the door. His eyes swept across the cabin and widened. The wood paneling continued inside their room, which contained a full-sized bed, a small table for two, and a sofa. Cubbies and hidden closets allowed for tidy storage. A shelf holding complimentary champagne and glasses hovered above the table.

It was a far cry from the derelict accommodations they were used to. The Bureau had splurged only because people thinking they had money could work in their favor. If the stupid rich couple was caught in an area of the train they shouldn’t be, they could chalk it up to entitlement. Money clogging their brains.

Still, being allowed to even exist in this old-timey glamour sent a secret thrill up Mulder’s spine. He automatically reached for Scully’s hand. The need to conceal the action as part of their cover had him practically shouting over Jamie, who had barely finished explaining how to convert the sofa into a cot. “This is great, isn’t it, honey?”

“It’s beautiful,” Scully responded, and he could tell by the way her eyes glistened that she meant it.

Running on a diet of caffeine and adrenaline, they took advantage of the three-course dinner and complimentary champagne. Upon returning to their cabin, Mulder offered Scully the en suite bathroom first. He took the opportunity to change into sweatpants and a T-shirt.

Scully emerged in silk pajamas a few minutes later, a cloud of minty toothpaste and something floral—lotion maybe—trailing behind her. Mulder followed her gaze to the far end of the cabin, where the full-sized bed loomed. He realized then that this wasn’t like Arcadia at all. There was no downstairs couch to retreat to at night.

Find the rest on a03

[baronessblixen]

Saw your tags! I admit the angle about Bill knowing abt Scully's past relationships might be a stretch; but I find it interesting that from the get-go he intuits that Scully follows leadership "blindly" (as he sees it); and that she tends to "lose" herself in whatever "role" she's trying to fill before he even met Mulder or thoroughly assessed the situation. And it's no secret she and her father had pet names for each other, so it'd be easy for him to add 2 and 2 to get 4.

I can see him knowing about Jack Willis at least-- maybe not enough to care, but enough to know she was publicly dating and celebrating birthdays with him. Daniel's an if; but he was a big enough turn in Scully's life that she transferred out from under him and caused a big stink when recruited to the FBI. And Bill pegged Scully (not altogether rightly) as being a second mate to Mulder's insane quest, quietly judging the whole situation at Maggie's party.

I guess it wouldn't surprise me if preS1 and S1 Scully kept her family more in the loop, not having distanced herself because of her experiences: openly talking about her cute partner to Ellen, filling in Mulder on her own personal life, talking about her brothers casually in Roland's episode. I think reticence came later: before her abduction. she spoke her mind (little girl yelling at her brother and calling Mulder "Spooky" with her other peers before assignment, for instance.)

But I'm open to having my mind changed, of course~. ;))))

They don't seem particularly close to me and it's probably just a headcanon of mine, but I'm not sure how often they see each other. So I imagine Scully telling her mother - and before she died, her sister - things and then Maggie Scully slips that information into conversations with her other children. I wish we'd seen more of that whole family dynamic. Bill does seem a bit like he's trying to fill his father's shoes and be the head of the family after his death. So of course him not knowing something about one of his siblings would bother him.

Maybe he thinks she follows leadership blindly is because he doesn't understand what she does for work and he only sees her follow Mulder. Probably much like she used to follow their dad around and maybe even him when she was young. Do we know if their dad only had a nickname for her? Maybe each of them had a nickname.

I can't see Scully give Daniel as a reason why she's accepting the position at the FBI. I'm not sure the show intended it like that either. I think she and Melissa talk about it in a flashback and they're just talking about it being a challenge.

Totally agree that she probably kept them more in the loop pre her abduction. Especially pre-season 1. and can you blame her? What can she talk about? There isn't much. The only other person who fully gets it is Mulder. It's all very interesting and I really wish we could have had more of their family dynamics.