#cancer disparities.
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cancer-researcher · 9 days ago
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orcelito · 1 year ago
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the weird thing about when someone dies is that they're never truly dead in my head. when i think about my grandpa, my grandma, my uncle, i dont think of them as dead. i think of them as just... gone for a while. some longer than others. i think about my cat sammy and my cat cassy and i feel like i could still look over and see them there beside me. i can see the way sammy would always cuddle right up to me and lay his head on my shoulder. i can see the way cassy would swivel his head at me when he wanted pets.
they're all dead. they're all gone. but i feel like i could see them again, just like old times. all i need to do is give them a call.
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aanews69 · 4 months ago
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**Why Black Women Face DEADLIER Breast Cancer Odds**: Delve into the staggering world of breast cancer disparities, where black women face a 40% higher morta...
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mirletaliz · 7 months ago
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loudlylovingreview · 7 months ago
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Michelle D. Holmes, MD: What accounts for the racial disparity in breast cancer survival? 
Studies show that the lack of Black doctors may contribute to the disparity.  Black women are 42 percent more likely than White women to die from breast cancer disease at every age. This is despite Black women having approximately the same incidence of breast cancer as White women, although higher in women under age 45 and lower over that age.  Some of this disparity comes from higher incidence…
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patientvoicesmatter · 1 year ago
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Too Much to Qualify, Not Enough to Live:
The Financial Challenges of Low-Middle Income Chronically Ill Individuals
Imagine navigating life's challenges with the weight of a chronic illness, where every step is a battle against not only the medical condition but also the financial strain it imposes. This is the reality for lower-middle-income individuals living with chronic illnesses in an at-risk population. They face unique challenges, teetering between disqualification for government assistance and the burden of managing substantial healthcare costs. As social workers, addressing their needs is vital in a society where such populations are often overlooked. To understand these challenges better, it is essential to understand the demographics of this group.
Social workers play a critical role in helping this financially strained population access government aid and healthcare, particularly in developing countries, where the World Bank classifies countries with a GNI per capita between $1,136-$4,465 as lower-middle-income countries (World Bank Country and Lending Groups, 2023). Mao et al. (2017) found that 5% of multi-chronic disease patients, mostly low-income patients, account for half of the healthcare costs. The significance of social workers' involvement in assisting these individuals is shown in this study, which focuses on the significant role they play in managing complex requirements, particularly in addressing the multifaceted financial difficulties that frequently hinder access to aid and medical care for this group.
Needs of Lower-Middle Income Chronically Ill Population
The authors of "Healthcare Needs and Difficulties of Low-Income People with Multiple Chronic Illnesses" (Lee, James, and Hunleth, 2020) draw attention to the significant healthcare challenges faced by those with multiple chronic illnesses who are low-income. They noted that these individuals often experience difficulties in accessing healthcare services and point to the need for timely and effective care. According to Mao et al. (2017), people with multiple chronic diseases, who are predominantly low-income, account for half of healthcare costs. These individuals often face additional challenges, such as poverty, mental health issues, homelessness, and social isolation, which can further complicate the delivery of care.
Those with chronic diseases who are ineligible for Medicaid due to their lower-middle income earning between $55,500 and $111,000 per year according to the U.S. The Census Bureau, 2023(Keisler-Starkey, 2023), can struggle to afford healthcare. Social workers can help guide these patients to programs such as Medicaid, PAPs, and SNAP, and promote affordable healthcare options to address the high cost of insurance. It is crucial to make healthcare more accessible and affordable for those who need it, particularly for those with lower incomes.
Chronic diseases can cause emotional distress, which must be managed. Social workers must provide counseling and support groups to help patients with depression and anxiety. They must also ensure their access to mental health resources. For instance, social workers can help COPD patients with anxiety about medication costs by connecting them to mental health services.
Chronic illnesses have a high mortality rate, and social workers working in hospice care can provide essential support to people in their care. According to the World Health Organization, chronic diseases account for 70% of the global deaths (Schmidt, 2016). The quality of life associated with the end-of-life process is affected by multiple factors including the patient's age and duration of illness (Callahan, 2017). The primary objective of hospice care is to maintain the quality of life of both patients and their caregivers. While it is impossible to fully understand the experience of dying, hospice social workers can gain valuable insights into the developmental challenges and needs of those dying. With this knowledge, hospice social workers can help patients grow as they confront mortality (Callahan, 2017).
Social Work Settings.
Social workers play a crucial role in assisting lower-middle income individuals with chronic illnesses. These settings present unique challenges and opportunities for interventions. In hospitals and clinics, social workers guide patients through complex medical systems, especially those in the lower-middle-income bracket, who find healthcare costs burdensome. Lee et al. (2020) shows their role in managing healthcare intricacies, including waiting periods, as patients develop strategies to cope. Social workers also ensure that individuals with chronic illnesses receive home-based care, allowing access to necessary resources for the comfort of their homes. In today's digital age, community centers offer social connections complemented by online support groups and telehealth services.
Advocacy in workplaces is another vital role, as social workers promote accommodation and educate employers about the needs of individuals with chronic illnesses. They navigate the legal system in legal and advocacy offices, advocate for students with chronic illnesses in educational settings, and provide counseling and support groups in mental health agencies.
Nonprofit organizations rely on social workers to help lower-middle-income individuals with chronic illnesses access resources and navigate the healthcare systems. However, the eligibility criteria for social programs can be controversial, with debates about access and sustainability. Social workers play a crucial role in connecting people to resources and healthcare systems and addressing complex issues while aiding those in need. The debates surrounding social programs for chronically ill lower-middle-class individuals involve healthcare policies, finances, and values, including government involvement, fairness, and individual/collective responsibility.
Social Worker Roles
Social workers play a crucial role in assisting patients with lower-middle-income chronic illnesses. Zastrow and Hessenauer (2016) extensively discuss these roles in their textbook. Social workers can be advocates of and play a crucial role in aiding chronically ill individuals. They defend patients' rights, assist in accessing medical care, devise treatment strategies, and ensure patient rights. They guide clients through government support programs, such as Medicaid, Medicare, SNAP, and housing vouchers. Social workers aid in legal cases, such as SSDI and SSI, manage paperwork, and promote fairness in workplaces and schools. They help patients with chronic illnesses access healthcare, government schemes, legal aid, and education or employment. They help with disability benefits. In end-of-life settings, they work as advocates for hospice care.
Hospice social workers (Callahan 2017) are essential members of interdisciplinary teams that provide holistic care. They focus on psychosocial care, whereas certified hospice chaplains provide spiritual care. However, hospice social workers must also ensure that patients have access to the spiritual care that they desire. Hospice social workers can provide spiritual support by creating a spiritually sensitive therapeutic relationship and by referring to or delivering spiritual care. Addressing spiritual needs can be difficult, especially when they are unclear or change during death. Timely response is essential; therefore, hospice social workers must be spiritually sensitive and coordinate with the interdisciplinary team to ensure quality spiritual care (Callahan, 2017).
Betty, a patient of hematologist Dr. Smith, had her symptoms dismissed as anxiety by a previous doctor. Seeking answers, she turned to Elisha, a social worker advocate. Elisha presented research on Betty's symptoms to Dr. Smith, persuading him to conduct tests. These tests revealed a rare genetic mutation, enabling the prompt treatment and validation of Betty's concerns. Social workers play a crucial role in providing home-based care to individuals with chronic illnesses, ensuring that they have access to the necessary resources while enjoying the comfort of their own homes. Community centers also offer a sense of social connection to combat isolation, particularly in the digital age when online support groups and telehealth services are invaluable in reaching and assisting this population.
Social workers advocate workplace accommodations for individuals with chronic illnesses and educate employers about their needs, while also working in legal and advocacy offices to assist them in navigating the legal system. In educational settings, social workers support low- to middle-income students with chronic illnesses by advocating necessary accommodations, discussing resource allocation, and promoting fair educational opportunities. In mental health agencies, social workers provide essential support to individuals dealing with chronic mental and physical illnesses through counseling and support groups. However, financing and resource allocation debates may arise, particularly for lower-middle-income individuals with chronic illnesses who fall between government aid eligibility and the ability to afford these services.
Social workers are researchers with strong research skills and experience serving vulnerable populations. They evaluate programs, assess initiatives, and identify community needs. For example, they may conduct research support programs for lower-middle-income people with chronic illnesses. These studies sought to improve resource allocation, identify areas for improvement, and create new solutions to enhance end-of-life care and support.
Glenda is a renowned social work researcher who evaluates hospice program services and interventions. Her research has enabled the program to improve its approach by providing optimal care and support to patients and families. Glenda's research meets the needs of those who face end-of-life issues. The multifaceted nature of social work provides care and support to lower-middle-income individuals with chronic illnesses, ensuring that they live meaningful lives.
Knowledge and Skills
Social workers are crucial in assisting lower-middle-income individuals with chronic illnesses. Knowledge, skills, and empathy is also essential. They need a deep understanding of chronic diseases, healthcare systems, financial aid programs, and skills in case management, counseling, and leading support groups. They are skilled in evaluating client needs, creating customized intervention plans, and assisting clients in securing financial resources, such as Medicaid, Medicare, disability benefits, and charity aid. This expertise enables them to address financial issues related to chronic diseases.  Their empathetic manner promotes trust and open dialogue, which are crucial for effective problem-solving. Lower-middle-income individuals face challenges in navigating the complex U.S. healthcare system, especially when dealing with chronic illnesses (Lee et al., 2020). Long waits, complex assessments, and bureaucratic hurdles worsened by funding cuts and strict work requirements make healthcare access crucial to streamline (Lee et al., 2020). Medicaid, CHIP, and pharmaceutical PAPs offer crucial financial aid.
“Generalist social work practice is a comprehensive approach to social work with individuals, groups, families, organizations, and communities. The CSWE requires bachelor's and master's programs to teach this practice. Generalist practitioners use a strength-based approach, engaging, assessing, brokering services, advocating, counselling, educating, and organizing to solve problems. Generalist social workers evaluate service outcomes to improve service quality and promote community and organizational development. The NASW Code of Ethics guides their practice, which seeks to improve the well-being of individuals, families, groups, communities, and organizations” (Zastrow & Hessenauer, 2016).
Strategies and Programs
Lower-middle-income individuals with chronic illnesses require diverse strategies and programs to address their multifaceted needs (Lee et al., 2020). Navigating the U.S. healthcare system often involves unavoidable waiting periods, especially for those without insurance or resources (Lee et al., 2020). The process entails state and federal evaluations, income assessments, work ability evaluations, consideration of illness severity, and citizenship verification, among others (Lee et al., 2020). Ongoing funding cuts and stricter work requirements have compounded the difficulties faced by this population (Lee et al., 2020).
Accessing healthcare through social welfare programs often involves long wait times, particularly in medicaid-accepting or sliding-fee facilities (Lee et al., 2020). This underscores the need for more efficient access to healthcare. Nevertheless, Medicaid and the Children's Health Insurance Program (CHIP) play essential roles in financially supporting lower-middle-income individuals with chronic illnesses (Lee et al., 2020). Pharmaceutical companies also contribute by implementing patient-assistance programs that bridge affordability gaps.
One notable example is the patient-centered medical home (PCMH) model, in which social workers collaborate closely with healthcare professionals. Research has confirmed the high effectiveness of PCMHs in managing chronic conditions (Hong et al., 2018). PCMH-certified practices excel in care coordination through case managers, quality care reports, and reminders for preventive and follow-up care. These findings demonstrate the promising potential of PCMH features, particularly in healthcare settings for chronic illnesses. Advocacy is vital for progress, aiming to secure more funding and healthcare access for at-risk, lower-middle-income individuals with chronic illnesses. Nonprofits, such as the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI), advocate for improved mental health services, reduced care disparities, and policy changes. Programs such as the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP) address nutritional needs, ensuring proper nourishment for lower-middle-income individuals with chronic illnesses (Center on Budget and Policy Priorities, 2022).  
The combination of these strategies and programs aims to enhance healthcare access, reduce costs, improve care coordination, and provide culturally sensitive care, ultimately enhancing the quality of life of lower-middle-income individuals with chronic illnesses (Hong et al., 2018). This section summarizes the insights gained, paving the way for effective social work intervention. Financial aid, affordable care, emotional support, and mental health resources are crucial for patients with low-to middle-income chronic diseases. Social workers play a vital role in advocating for these resources, recognizing unique challenges and resilience, and equipping themselves with the skills necessary for effective support.
My experience drives me to champion resilient, often unnoticed, low-income, and chronically ill people. They require financial aid, accessible healthcare, emotional support, and mental health resources to prosper. Your support is crucial. Social workers are crucial for advocating individuals and connecting them to resources. Acknowledging these challenges is the key to empowering social workers. My personal journey motivated me to champion this cause and urge everyone to support this vulnerable group. Their stories inspired us to redefine resilience and prosperity amid challenges.
References
Callahan, A. M. (2017). Spiritual needs. Spirituality and Hospice Social Work, 55–71. https://doi.org/10.7312/columbia/9780231171731.003.0004
Center on Budget and Policy Priorities. (2022, June 9). Policy basics: The Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP). https://www.cbpp.org/research/food-assistance/the-supplemental-nutrition-assistance-program-snap
Hong, Y.-R., Huo, J., & Mainous, A. G. (2018). Care Coordination Management in patient-centered medical home: Analysis of the 2015 medical organizations survey. Journal of General Internal Medicine, 33(7), 1004–1006. https://doi.org/10.1007/s11606-018-4439-1
Keisler-Starkey, K. (2023, September 14). Health insurance coverage in the United States: 2022. Census.gov. https://www.census.gov/library/publications/2023/demo/p60-281.html
Lee, A. A., James, A. S., & Hunleth, J. M. (2020). Waiting for care: Chronic illness and health system uncertainties in the United States. Social Science & Medicine, 264, 113296. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.socscimed.2020.113296
Mao, A. Y., Willard-Grace, R., Dubbin, L., Aronson, L., Fernandez, A., Burke, N. J., Finch, J., & Davis, E. (2017). Perspectives of low-income chronically ill patients on complex care management. Families, Systems, & Health, 35(4), 399–408. https://doi.org/10.1037/fsh0000260
Schmidt, H. (2016, April 13). Chronic disease prevention and health promotion. National Center for Biotechnology Information. https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/28590691/
World Bank Country and Lending Groups. (2023, June 24). World Bank Country and lending groups . World Bank Country and Lending Groups – World Bank Data Help Desk. https://datahelpdesk.worldbank.org/knowledgebase/articles/906519-world-bank-country-and-lending-groups#:~:text=For%20the%20current%202024%20fiscal,those%20with%20a%20GNI%20per
Zastrow, C., & Hessenauer, S. (2016). An Introduction to the Profession of Social Work and Social Welfare (12th ed.). Cengage Learning.
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ecomehdi · 1 year ago
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Unveiling the Truth: Breast Cancer Overdiagnosis Among Women Over
Understanding Breast Cancer Overdiagnosis: A Comprehensive Insight Breast cancer stands as a significant concern for women across all age groups, with increased prominence as women reach their 70s and beyond. Recent years have witnessed mounting evidence of breast cancer overdiagnosis within this demographic, sparking critical debates about the efficacy and appropriateness of screening…
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md-fm · 2 years ago
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Disparities Persist Despite an Increase in Lung Cancer Screening Rates
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rodspurethoughts · 2 years ago
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US Cancer Death Rates Decline, But Disparities Persist: Study
New study by American Cancer Society shows decline in US cancer death rates, but disparities based on race and ethnicity persist. #cancer #healthdisparities
New ACS research led by Dr. Farhad Islami A recent study by the American Cancer Society (ACS) shows a decline in overall cancer death rates in the past 25 years across all congressional districts in the United States. The data revealed that most districts experienced a 20%-45% decline among males and a 10%-40% decline among females. However, disparities in cancer death rates based on race and…
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heywoodsays · 2 years ago
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cancer-researcher · 3 months ago
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cynautica · 10 months ago
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i remembered i can just make stuff up (stream sketches + scrapped designs)
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uhhhh quick fire for the second image from left to right juvenile vessel - old world cable maintenance - artistic diplomat vessel
Headcanons below the cut:
(Im not kidding word counter marked this as a 5 minute reading time open at your own risk)
While the sentiment of the architect network as "a thousand strings in a melody, not one louder than the rest" is a poetic interpretation of the network, it is not necessarily reflective of the precursors society as a whole.
At its peak, the species span billions of planets with billions on billions of individuals, all with their own degrees of autonomy and divergence. If each architect is equal in its power, than it is equal in its power to choose. Even if the soul of an architect, its very essence and its personality, is designed so perfectly that its primary desire is the perpetuation of order and advancement (two inherently divergent concepts), faults occur. Breakages occur. Pockets, cultural subsets, faded transmissions, and any other element of lost insight be it archaic or modern, lends itself to the impossibility of an entirely homogeneous society.
Whether a hive minded society reflects the only means to perfection is debatable, but its important to remember that our main portal in to the precursor world is Al-an, a known prodigy born and raised in to a society that has done nothing but benefit him. His view of his people is intrinsically skewed. He has never had a reason to see beyond the propaganda, nor question his directives. They have never once failed him.
But what of the little guys? The constructed failures so to speak. Those destined to be cast in to the bowels of poisonous cobalt mines and those who's birth purpose is to be irradiated and isolated for the greater good of the collective. Those who's genes prompted sub-standard intelligence who will never be seen as truly important. Their needs must be cast aside by design for the greater good of the collective. By design they must be ignored, their thoughts not relevant to the forwarding of progress.
Because there is true power disparity there is a true hierarchy.
Aware of this, the precursors devised a system of checks and balances to ensure that scientific progress remains at the forefront, rather than the accumulation of power by any individual.
As with all things though, power inevitably seeks to maintain and grow like a cancer.
One such exertion of power comes in the form of a "hive master". These unique individuals require precise expensive machinery in order to be produced, and as such are very rare. The vessels they require are likewise uniquely suited to only these hive masters and their unique ability to sway the voices and personality of any individual connected to the network. They themselves are invisible, completely undetectable except in physical form. Their unique telepathic abilities only work when paired with these vessels. They have no voice nor will of their own and are said to represent architect society on its most basal level.
Given their difficult to produce nature established personalities are very often used in place of new seed combinations. Personalities most suited for repurposing as a hive master include those who are most senior, intelligent, and aligned wholly with societal goals.
They are typically only found on heavily populated planets with more than a few thousand individuals. There they go undetected, like the sound of wind lost in a sea of voices, whose squall directs its very rampage. They are also enlisted for many unique duties on populous planets, such as the refactoring of corrupted individuals and silencing cultural sub-sets.
The average architect probably isn't even aware of the existence of a hive master unless their profession lies in the refactoring and diplomatic processes.
Despite the cultural drive for a monotonous and orderly society, artistic expression is common and encouraged in some sects. All architects possess the desire to express themselves, similarly to humans. Some do this simply with their inbuilt biolights that vary naturally with the individual, while others (less commonly) modify their vessel or design new and unique ones for themselves.
A vessel after all is a costly investment you cant just change like the season, its built to last you a couple thousand years. It's only natural that some seek to don something unique.
This behavior is sometimes detested by more traditional architects, but is not universally frowned upon.
Diplomats are actually encouraged to take on more artistically designed vessels. Often with their respective species' artistic values in mind. They've found greater success with alliances when they don't look like massive sticks in the mud.
Subsets of culture also at times develop unique vessels. Such as an order-over-progress movement that developed on the fringes of the network and preferred pie-bald esque vessels. Alternatively in the past as wars waged between the architects the opposing sides often don differing forms to show their allegiances. In more recent history, a wave of white-clad vigilantes advocated for a complete reset of the old-world collective.
Aside from artistic and affiliation vessels, mainstream precursor society also used a series of varying vessels to reflect personal occupation. Some of the most notable included the warrior vessel, who by design met the largest accommodations of standard architecture for the purposes of intimidation and physical altercations. Al-an's vessel likewise is very common as a heavier-built variant meant to face harsh outer worlds such as 4546B. On base, more light and energy efficient vessels make the dominant force where defense isn't a huge priority.
Microvessels such as those seen above in grey are fairly uncommon despite their energy efficiency. They are most efficient on old world planets that have been in development for hundreds of thousands of years, where the march of time means that not all builders past and present were on the same wavelength and as such small and precise forms mean that construction can be completed with minimal risk to crowded infrastructure.
Another unique and uncommon vessel is that of a juvenile grow-out vessel. These are seldom customized beyond survival needs, and are designed to acclimate a freshly generated architect to the physical world. Like a living vessel, they grow with the individual starting from broodling all the way until young adulthood. They tend to be a bit clumsy and lack the ability to interface with most technology. Always running a blue biolight, these vessels to not require a lot of energy to function physically. A juvenile architect must prove its maturity before it is allowed to graduate in to an adult vessel. This change-out phase is a diplomatic process and one can sometimes wait many years before being approved in to maturity.
The treatment of a new architect varies quite significantly depending on their birthplace and genotype. High performing juveniles are singled out very quickly for better education. Despite the rarity of surviving children in architect society they are not given much importance. A single broodmother may be the ward of up to fifty broodlings, each of which given little attention in favor of allowing them to develop social skills among themselves. Despite architect's seeming infinite power to control resources, broodling mortality is surprisingly high.
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liminalweirdo · 1 month ago
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"A researcher said that the findings show that white people tend to care less about Covid and its impact when they believe it is “not a white people problem.
Covid has ravaged Black communities since it began to spread in the U.S. The illness and its economic fallout have affected Black people more than others through everything from health and unemployment to education. Meanwhile, experts have consistently asserted that the negative impact is due not to biology, but to systemic racism. A fall study led by researchers with the National Cancer Institute found that Covid deaths among Black, Latino and Native Americans were up to four times higher than in white populations."
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xf-cases-solved · 13 days ago
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ayyyy, @numinousmysteries, guess who it is! it's me, your secret santa for the @poangpals gift exchange, here to gift you words that are kinda angsty, kinda hurt/comfort-y, and kinda (or more than kinda) horny. i've written a lot of cancer arc lately and was like "hmm, maybe i should branch out..." BUT, when i saw your ideal episode was "memento mori but they bang at the end," i was like, "okay, well, obviously this was meant to be." so that is what i have brought you! a post-memento mori fic where they bang at the end! thank you for everything you bring to this community. you're a baller and i hope you enjoy your gift <3 -diz Title: Memento Vivere Word count: ~6500 (bc i can't shut the fuck up to save my life) Rating: Explicit Here's the link to ao3, or save yourself a click and read below!
***
Memento Vivere
She is in the middle of grimacing at her own reflection in the small compact mirror she found at the bottom of her overnight bag when Mulder shows up at her hospital room, keys jangling in his hand as he hovers in the doorway, neither outside nor inside, like he's uncertain about what kind of proximity he's allowed this morning. Like she's a skittish cat he's trying to win over. And what grates at her isn't his tenuous disposition—it's that it's completely warranted, and it's so jarring to be known so well.
She knows that he knows that she bared her heart to him last night, and is now grappling with mortification. She's never been good with emotions. In college, she could do a walk of shame with her head held high, but when a lover would voice their affection for her she would suddenly become incapable of looking them in the eye. Her heart is in a lockbox and sometimes she goes so long without opening it she almost forgets the combination, and when she does manage to pop it open she gets frantic, wanting to immediately slam it shut.
"You about ready to go?" Mulder asks casually. Too casually. He's assessing her like he would a suspect, adjusting his tone to meet her mood and make himself more approachable, and she wants to snap at him for profiling her, but she won't. She can't. Not without confirming his analysis of her, and she doesn't need to open the spine of her book any wider when he can already read her with such clarity.
In her writings—the filled pages already torn from the notebook and shredded into pieces in the wire trash bin next to her bed—she had thought she was divulging the secrets of her heart to him. It occurs to her only now, as he watches her from across the room with a purposefully mild expression, that while he may not know her every thought, he is the only other person who knows the combination to the lockbox in her chest. He could open it at any time, but he doesn't. He could reach inside her and hold her beating heart in his cupped hands, learning every detail and committing it to memory, but he would never take from her anything that wasn't freely given. His respect is almost more overwhelming than anything, because it's a reminder that if he weren't an honorable man he could ruin her. He has access to her nuke, and she can do nothing but trust that he won't hit the button.
"Yeah, just a second," she replies—casual. 
She slips the compact mirror back inside her bag and gets to her feet. She tries to summon the woman inside her who walks down the hallways of the Hoover Building—confident, assertive, and unaffected by stares or assumptions—but it's difficult without her body armor. Even though she only had one infusion of the chemo, her body still feels frail and hungover, like the day after a bad twenty-four hour flu, and she's wearing flats with her yoga pants and sweater, highlighting the height disparity between the two of them in a way her heels usually help to mitigate. There wasn't a hair dryer to use after her shower, so the natural curls she usually irons out are taking over, absurdly making her feel disorderly and sloppy. And she's not wearing makeup, and it's not the dark circles around her eyes or even the mole above her lip that she's self-conscious about—it's the freckles that spatter across her cheeks and nose. Well put together women don't have freckles, and she's sure he's going to interpret her vulnerabilities on her sun-kissed skin like the soggy tea leaves at the bottom of a china cup. 
The worst part of dying, she's starting to think, is the discovery that her walls that felt sturdy like concrete are actually made of straw, and there's nothing like an illness to come sweeping through to blow your house down.
On the way out of the hospital they pass the room Penny died in. She looks away from the door, and Mulder looks at her. In a blink-and-you-miss-it moment he reaches over and squeezes her hand. 
They don't say anything. 
Scully thinks his choice of silence says more than words ever could.
*
When she wakes up on her couch she isn't sure if it was the nightmare that roused her, or the relentless throbbing in her head.
The ride back home from Allentown had been uncomfortable in every sense of the word. Mulder had rambled theories at her—about Dr. Scanlon and MUFON and government agendas—until her lack of engagement made the conversation eventually dissolve, first into him nervously chattering about the most ridiculous X-Files cases he could think of and, when that didn't work either, into nothing, a pall falling over them as she shifted restlessly in her seat, unable to find a position that didn't feel ill-fitting like a shirt that she couldn't untwist. They didn't once speak the word cancer.
She hadn't meant to fall asleep after he dropped her off, but ten minutes into some daytime talk show and she was suddenly dead to the world, and judging by the low light that surrounds her, she has slept all the way from early afternoon well into dusk. The TV still flickers at her, now playing the evening news, and she's sure that there aren't going to be any headlines about manufactured brain tumors and shady oncologists who betray their Hippocratic oath by purposefully poisoning women who look to them for salvation. The types of horrors she witnesses rarely make the news. Not with all the facts attached, at least.
She pushes herself up with a groan. Her head really hurts, and although her first instinct is to attribute it to the mass in her sinus cavity, when she reaches up to swipe under her nose there are no remnants of dried blood, and the dryness of her tongue and hollowness of her belly makes her think that the rhythmic throbbing in her skull is probably because she can't remember the last time she had a glass of water or a single bite of food. 
She goes about the motions of getting together what she supposes is technically dinner, even though she forgot to proceed it with breakfast or lunch, and when she gets it all together—a hearty meal of half a banana, a slice of buttered toast, three ibuprofen, and a tall glass of ice water—she settles back down on the couch and assesses the other ache she'd awoken with.
The nightmare is formless in her memory, lacking a cohesive plotline now that she's in the waking world, but nevertheless, the emotions it stirred up inside her are visceral. There is a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach, bottomless as the abyss. It's a type of fear that grips her from the inside, putting her adrenal gland into a chokehold and activating her fight or flight, except she can't fight her own mind anymore than she can flee it. 
This is how she knows, even without the details, that her dream was about dying.
These types of dreams have been coming to her more frequently nowadays, starting the night Leonard Betts spoke five chilling words to her in the back of an ambulance. She's had friends who have been pregnant, and they would often tell her about the constant dreams they would have on the subject throughout the entire nine months. In a way, she figures, it's a similar concept; she and her friends all have had dreams about what their body is growing inside them—the notable difference of course being that they grew something into life, and she's growing something that takes it away. 
Tomorrow she is going to have to start making phone calls. Make appointments and discuss treatment options and try not to get discouraged when the options are limited. When she first told Mulder about the cancer, he had been so insistent, saying, "There must be some people who receive treatment for this," and at the time she hadn't been able to bring herself to tell him that she wasn't sure she was going to be one of them. The odds were, and are, so heavily stacked against her, and as a medical doctor she is very aware that sometimes quality of life outweighs the quantity of it. Her experience in Allentown hasn't really endeared her toward the idea either, if she's being honest, and not because of Scanlon, or even because of Penny, but because she had not felt sick at all, up until she tried to treat the illness, and then suddenly she'd been in hell. 
But while she may be uncomfortable with how much of herself she bared to him last night, she knows that she made promises that she can't take back. She is loyal to a fault, and she gave both him and herself her word that she would continue to live as long as she could, and so she will. 
She's just not convinced much of her life in the upcoming days and weeks and months and maybe even years will feel much like living. In fact, she's pretty worried—down to the very depths of her subconscious, if her dreams are any indication—that she's going to feel like she's dying.
They say doctors make the worst patients. Sometimes that's because of stubbornness. Sometimes it's because they know exactly what to expect.
She finishes her meager meal and drinks down the last of her water. She slips an ice cube into her mouth and bites down on it, shattering it into pieces. The enamel of her teeth has always been sensitive to temperature, but instead of being off-put by the pain that spikes through to her jawbone when the ice touches her nerves, she revels in it. Her head, while somewhat improved, is still aching, and she finds herself appreciating that as well. She finds she is grateful for the signs her body is giving her to tell her it's still here, and maybe that's the trick. Maybe to get through this she has to go into it with a respect for the pain. This only hurts because I am alive, she'll have to train herself to think. 
She can do that. She's certainly stubborn enough. 
She wishes it didn't all have to be about pain, though. She doesn't want to forget that a body can feel good things too.
Ice crunches between her teeth, shocking her like a root canal, while she thinks about the signs of life that are enjoyable. Warmth. Comfort. Pleasure.
Pleasure.
On the TV, the news anchors are tying up their reports that are lacking things they don't even realize are missing. In her mouth her internal temperature warms the ice water, and the ebbing of the pain is a brief moment of gratification that acts as a sampling of what endorphins can do. 
Tomorrow she is going to have to make plans to put herself in a varying, yet indefinite state of pain, and she will have to learn to appreciate it in order to remember how to be alive. 
Tonight, however, she could remind herself in a different way.
It is a terrible idea.
It's an idea she has had a million times before and has stamped down just as often.
Ten minutes later and she's out her front door and getting into the driver's side of her car. Muscle memory guides her down the streets toward Alexandria, while she spends the whole drive telling herself to turn back.
She doesn't.
*
"Hey," Mulder says in surprise, eye widening slightly at the sight of her standing at his door. He's got on a white tank top and dark grey sweatpants, looking nothing like the federal agent he usually does. Instead of seeing a professional, albeit a tad bit crazy, government official, she sees her friend in the way that is much easier to ignore when he's wearing a suit and an ugly patterned tie. Like this, he exudes masculine energy, and her eyes are immediately drawn to the slopes and curves of his muscular shoulders and biceps. There is hair peeking out on his chest where the neckline of his shirt dips low. He hasn't shaved for at least a day, an even stubble shadowing his cheeks and jaw. She drops her gaze to the floor before he can catch her roaming eyes, and she sees his feet are bare. For some reason that's the most intimate part of it all, and the reality of what she's come here to do hits her like a freight train and she flushes with what must be a particularly spectacular shade of red.
In contrast, she's feeling a lot like she did this morning, like a soldier out of uniform. She's wearing the same pair of yoga pants, and under her coat she has on a faded souvenir t-shirt her parents gave her after an anniversary trip to the Outer Banks well over five years ago. It occurs to her only now that she'd left in such a rush that she hadn't even bothered with a bra, and she becomes instantly aware of the oversized shirt brushing directly against her breasts.
At least she wore boots with a heel this time, but in reality it's not doing much to level the playing field. Mulder's six-foot frame still dwarfs her completely, and while she normally feels like a peer in his presence—like a respected intellectual whose gender is totally irrelevant—tonight she is feeling a lot like she did the first time she entered a university science lecture and found herself surrounded almost entirely by men. The difference is that back then she had felt, ridiculously, embarrassed by her femininity, hyper-aware of every questioning stare, asking the same question: What is she doing here?
But like with most things, Mulder—simply by virtue of being Mulder—challenges her way of thinking. While she has long since stopped viewing her womanhood as a flaw, she is always viscerally aware when the people around her view it as one, and over time that has bred resentment. Standing here before him, though, she holds no animosity toward the difference in their sexes. Like the way her science complements his reckless belief, so too, in this moment, does her feminine ying balance his masculine yang. 
She doesn't even worry about the freckles on her makeupless face. 
"Scully?" He sounds concerned, and she realizes she's been standing here in silence after appearing at his apartment unannounced, and the last time they saw each other it had ended with her muttering a curt goodbye as she all but bolted from his car to escape the suffocation of her own self-imposed belief that emotional vulnerability was akin to disgrace.
But what Mulder isn't privy to yet is that the shame from this morning about being so transparent has been wholly replaced by the need of a dying woman to be reminded of the good parts of being alive. Scully is ready to be bare, by every definition, and she can only hope that he'll let her. 
Refusing to give in to cowardice, she forces herself to look up from the floor to meet his eye. 
"Can I come in?" she asks.
"Yeah, of course." He angles himself to place a hand on the small of her back, ushering her inside, and even through her coat and shirt the contact burns like the ice touching her enamel. She kicks off her boots, sinking back down to her natural five foot two—three, if the height gauge at the doctor's office chooses to be generous—and lets him take her coat and hang it up, before leading them both over to the couch. He plops down, leaving a purposeful vacancy beside him, and looks up at her expectantly, but she doesn't sit. Cocking his head, he asks, "Are you all right? Why are you here? If you needed something you know you could have called me and I would have come to you. I know you only went through one day of treatment, but I'm sure it had to have taken a toll on your—"
"I'm fine," she insists, cutting him off. She doesn't say it harshly, but she doesn't leave room for him to argue against it either, even though she can tell he desperately wants to. Instead, he chooses to heed her command, and presses his lips closed, waiting for her to tell him why she's standing here when earlier today they drove over three hours and she had barely said a word the entire time.
It's possible she didn't think this far ahead. More than that—it's possible she hasn't thought this through at all. 
But she's committed now, and she's starting to feel feral, her needs centered around primitive instincts. It is in every species' nature to fight for survival at any cost, but she is burdened with a human's intellect that can allow her to deny herself continued survival if doing so also means prolonged suffering. If she is to keep her promise—if she is to fight for her life with treatments that make her feel sicker than the disease they're targeting—then she has to go into it with a memory that reminds her why it's worth it to stay alive.
She walks over to his desk and leans against it, mindlessly thumbing through documents strewn carelessly across the top. There are pieces from casefiles, and pages photocopied from obscure books on phenomena she'd never believe. There are scratch pieces of paper with notes scribbled on them, written in a shorthand that she's sure only makes sense to him. There are newspaper clippings and articles torn from tabloid magazines he would call source material, and she would call a scam. She doesn't read any of it, but she keeps her eyes trained on them as she considers her next steps.
Gaze pinned on a faded picture of some kind of creature that has clearly come off a printer that was running low on ink, she finally says, "I want to ask you for a favor, but I should warn you that it's a bit unorthodox."
"Unorthodox, huh? I dunno, Scully, I'm a pretty conventional guy, I'm not sure I can handle anything out of the ordinary."
A smile tugs at the corner of her lips. How does he do that? she wonders. How does he know how to calm her when he doesn't even know that she's feeling frantic in the first place? 
That you should know my heart, look into it, finding there the memory and experience that belong to you. That are you. 
Those were words she had written only days before, placed inside a journal that was meant to be a confessional, but again, she should have known better. What use is there in inviting someone into your heart when they're already there?
She stops fiddling with the contents of his desk and looks over at him. He's regarding her with an expression of concern that on a different day she would construe as pity and detest, but right now she has the capacity to accept that he's looking at her like that, not because she's weak, but because he cares. Because he's worried. Because he wants her to live.
"Last night, when you said you read some of what I wrote... how much did you read exactly?"
Mulder rubs the nape of his neck and shrugs.
"A bit," he says, which she takes to mean "all of it." She can picture him, after confirming she was safe, sneaking into her hospital room and sitting on her bed, skimming each page, and then going back through a second time to take it in more fully. It should feel like an invasion of privacy, but instead her impulse is to huff a small laugh. She tries so hard to hide from him, and yet he finds her every time.
"So you know about the treatment. What it feels like." He nods slowly, like he's trying to piece together what she's getting at and hasn't quite formed a cohesive picture yet. She sighs.
"Tomorrow I'm going to set up a meeting with Skinner and take him up on his offer in getting into contact with an oncologist. We can still pursue the case—that is, if any new evidence presents itself to give us any new leads—but in the meantime, I need to figure out what treatment options are available to me. Time is of the essence in these sorts of situations." 
Mulder nods again, still waiting for the clarifying piece of the puzzle.
"Mulder, without talking it over with a specialist, I can't know for certain what treatment route they're going to have me take, but with my medical background I can make an educated enough guess to safely say that, whatever it is, it's not going to be pleasant."
"Any help you need, Scully, you know I'm just a phone call away. And don't worry about work. If you have to take leave that's fine. What matters most is that you get yourself health—"
"I know. I know that, but that's not what I came here to talk to you about."
"... Okay." He gives a small shake of his head. "What then? What's the favor?"
Scully draws her lower lip between her teeth. 
"I need your help," she says slowly, "in reminding myself that my body can do more than feel pain. That it's more than just a vessel to get me from one place to another... I need you to help me remember why it's worth saving."
"I don't..." he starts, but his sentence trails off as she makes her approach over to him with a purposeful gait. She goes to stand between his legs and he opens them wider to give her space like the action is automatic. He tilts his head back to look dumbly up at her, and the change in dynamic—her above and him below—makes her feel some type of way low in her belly. 
She reaches out and cups his face, tracing the line of his cheekbone with her thumb, and she sees his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. She thinks the picture may be becoming clear to him now.
"Scully—"
"You can tell me to leave," she cuts him off. "You can say no and I won't hold it against you. We don't ever have to talk about it again. But if you're willing..."
Mulder gives a breathy, disbelieving laugh.
"Scully, trust me, it's not a matter of whether or not I'm willing, but look at what all you've been through in the past couple days. I don't think you're thinking rationally, and I don't want to take advantage—"
"Not thinking rationally? Me?" She smiles a little as she pulls her hand back, making a point to drag her fingers slowly across his skin on the way, and she doesn't think she imagines him leaning into her touch. "Mulder, I appreciate your concern, but why don't you let me decide what I do and don't want to do."
"Scully..."
"Do you trust me?"
He lets out a frustrated sigh.
"Of course I do."
She takes hold of both of his wrists, and when she tugs his arms out to settle his hands on her hips she's met with slight resistance, but she knows it's just for show. She's not weak, but he's got plenty of strength to get away from her if he really wanted to. Instead, the pads of his fingers press into her pelvic bone, even after she's dropped her hold on his wrists.
"Then trust me when I say this is what I need from you," she says. She smirks and adds, "I told you it was unorthodox." 
"You weren't kidding," he mutters, and fuck, his eyes are boring into hers so intensely she nearly shudders. 
Sweatpants are not exactly ideal when it comes to maintaining modesty in sensitive situations, and Scully's effect on him does not go unnoticed. Her eyes dart down to the significant bulge between his thighs, and then back up to his face where he gives a bashful half-grin accompanied with a one-shouldered shrug, as if to say "can you blame me?"
"I won't hold it against you," she tells him again, "but I do want this."
"Fuck," Mulder breathes. He shuts his eyes for a beat, like he's trying to compose himself, and then blinks them back open, embers of an impending fire starting to glow behind his dilating pupils. "This is a bad idea," he tells her, stating it more like a fact than as a deterrent. 
"Maybe," she agrees.
"We have to work together tomorrow. And the day after that. And after that one, too. You don't think this will... change things?"
"Not if we don't let it." 
"You really think it's that simple?"
She considers the question. Considers whether or not she can learn what it's like to have him explore her body tonight, and then pretend like she didn't come morning.
"We're two consenting adults," she says, evading the question. "Has the thought of doing this really never crossed your mind?"
"That... That feels like a leading question."
"Would it make you feel better if I said that it has definitely crossed mine?"
"Jesus, Scully," he breathes, shifting in his seat and clutching her hips so tight that she won't be surprised if later she finds finger-shaped bruises on her skin, reminiscent of dusted prints at a crime scene.
"It's just sex, Mulder," but even as she says it, she knows it's a lie.
He knows it too, judging by the muscle twitching in his clenched jaw as he holds her eyes with a steady look.
"Is it?" he asks evenly, and they both know the answer is no.
No. Of course not. Sex could never be "just" anything between them, but the reason why is a topic they've come to an unspoken agreement to never acknowledge aloud. But Scully isn't stupid. She knows that the way electricity behaves between them—constantly thrumming and sparking, in tense situations as well as banal—isn't normal. Four years ago she dropped her robe in front of him in a candle lit hotel room, and she hasn't stopped feeling his gaze on her lower back since; the tender way his eyes roved over her delusive mosquito bites is as permanent a tattoo as the blood red ouroboros that has only recently lost its scabs.
The term "something more" is a vague and fanciful concept she would sooner dismiss as nothing but a perpetuation of commercialized romance, if she herself wasn't subjected to it on a near daily basis. Since day number one there has been an elusive "something more" surrounding them, fighting for their attention, even as they so ardently deny its existence.
So no, it isn't just sex, but Scully also didn't come here to give voice to the elephant that follows them from room to room. To put it plainly, she came here so he could fuck the will to live back into her body, and she refuses to lose sight of her mission.
So in lieu of a response—because she can't animate any elephants, but neither can she lie to a man who treats truth like the core tenet to his religion—she instead throws caution to the wind, swoops in, and kisses him. 
Ice touches enamel. She wants it to burn.
Whatever reservations or protests he may have been fighting against must not be too hard to cast aside, because his response to her is instant, tilting his head to slot their lips together and kissing back so forcefully their teeth clack together. But even that doesn't, or maybe can't slow them down.
Mulder's hands move from her hips to her ass, and in a single swift movement he lifts her onto his lap. He swallows her surprised gasp as she straddles his thighs, his hard cock brushing her center, the layers of their clothing teasing her relentlessly when right now she needs skin-on-skin more than she needs air.
Mulder seems to be of the same mind, because one second she's sitting astride him fully clothed, and in the next he has somehow stripped her of her shirt, tossing it carelessly onto the floor. Returning the favor, she peels his off too, feeling like a kid at Christmas unwrapping the box she knows contains the best present under the tree.
Scully tries to recapture his lips, but he stills her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. He then leans back to get a good, long look at her.
"God, Scully," he whispers reverently, eyes trained on her chest. He reaches out to touch her, and when he does her breasts fit perfectly in his hands. Tentatively, and with such profound focus you'd think he was attempting to split an atom, he pinches her left nipple and rolls it experimentally between his index finger and thumb. It's such a simple touch, but it goes straight to her leaking cunt, and when she moans Mulder's attention darts back up to her face, the embers behind his eyes now a full-fledged forest fire, blazing a warpath through the trees. He makes it a point not to break her gaze when he leans in and takes the same nipple into his mouth.
"Mmm," she hums, letting her head loll back. He sucks the nub of her nipple taut, and involuntarily she bucks her hips in response. 
Mulder mumbles something incoherent against her breast, and when she asks for clarification, he pulls away with an obscene pop and then nuzzles his face in the crook of her neck, saying, "You're everything."
Everything. Like he ran through the full gamut of adjectives and found himself wanting. Like she is so many things at once that there isn't a single word that encompasses the breadth of her worth to him. 
You're everything.
It's the most overwhelming compliment she has ever received, because she wants, more than anything, to live up to it, and yet she's not even sure if she is going to be able to simply live, period. She's not sure when her greatest fear became failing him. It might have been the first time he ever challenged her. When she stood in front of his projector, veiled by the illuminated slides he'd already prepared for her arrival, as he quizzed her on chemistry, and causes of death, and the supposed limits of science in a vast and complex universe. She had wanted to prove herself to him then, and then just never stopped. 
The truth of his influence over her is too much to handle right now, so she decides to kiss him again—an act that is quickly becoming her new favorite strategy for deflection—and then buries her fingers in his hair. She oscillates her hips in slow circles, taunting them both with light but consistent pressure on his cock. She feels him twitch in anticipation for her, and her pulse throbs in her cunt in turn.
"I want you," she whispers against his lips, but he shakes his head.
"No," he murmurs. "No, not yet."
Before she can ask him for clarification, he's lifting her up with a firm grip on the backs of her thighs, and then proceeds to lay her down lengthwise on the couch.
There's a manic energy wafting off of him in waves, and yet, in total contrast, the way he slides her leggings and panties down and off her legs is so purposeful and leisurely that she has the absurd thought that nobody has ever undressed her with such respect before.
When he kisses her soundly on the mouth and then begins making a trek down her body with his lips and tongue and an occasional nip of his teeth, she feels—for the first time since she stepped foot inside his apartment with this ludacris idea—a pang of apprehension.
For the most part, she isn't a self-conscious person. Once she got past the awkwardness of adolescence, she's had a fairly healthy relationship with her self-image. But that said, Mulder's intended destination is obvious, and she's had enough sexual partners turn their nose up at the suggestion that for a moment she worries he's only doing it because he thinks she expects it of him.
But then he settles himself in between her thighs and peers up at her with a hunger better fit for a man so far into starvation he's about to succumb to it, and she realizes then that while he may be able to read all the words on her every page, it is not a one-sided transparency. If ever there were to be a scholar on the topic of Fox William Mulder, she would be the one.
The apprehension, already fleeting in the first place, dissipates entirely, and she lets her legs fall open in invitation.
There is no hesitancy in his acceptance. He uses two fingers to part her labia, and then starts off by dragging the flat of his tongue from her soaking entrance up to her swollen clit in one long stroke, and that alone has her crying out, unconcerned about how she sounds or how thin the walls might be. 
Never a man to miss important details, it's unsurprising the speed at which he masters the intricacies of her body. She knows he's paying attention to every miniscule shift in her body language by the way he adjusts the pressure and speed and direction of his mouth and tongue. When he slips one finger inside her, quickly following it up with a second, and pulses a come hither motion as he sucks on her aching clit she wants to sob. He eats cunt with the devotion of a holy man, and he makes her feel deserving of being worshipped.
This is why it's worth it to live. Because for every twinge and ache and pain her body is capable of, it is equally capable of so much good feeling that it could constitute a religious experience. That while there are always going to be moments of suffering, there are also going to be moments of pleasure, and to truly live you have to accept the full spectrum of what it means to possess a human body.
When the coiling heat in her cunt finally boils over, and she arches her back and cries out Mulder's name while a rapturous climax works through her, suspending time and space, she thinks to herself, over and over like a mantra—like a promise: This is what I'm fighting for. This is what I'm fighting for. This. Is what. I am fighting for.
When she comes back to herself enough to spring into action, she is barely conscious of her own movements, acting more on primal instinct as she yanks Mulder up and kisses him sloppily, licking into his mouth and tasting herself on his tongue as she manages to flip them so that he's lying on his back, panting up at her with blown pupils and parted lips. 
She gets his sweatpants and boxers pulled down past his knees, and he kicks them the rest of the way off. He curses when she takes hold of him and guides him to her entrance, unable to wait to be filled by him any longer. 
He's so big, and even with the slickness from her orgasm she has to take him in slowly, letting her cunt adjust to the stretch of him. 
"There's so much of you," she groans, rocking her hips, slipping him in further inch by inch. He's holding onto her hips again, gripping her like she's a life preserver as he clenches his jaw, clearly trying his utmost not to thrust into her before she's ready for it.
"You feel... Jesus, Scully, there aren't words to describe how you feel," he says, strained between gritted teeth, and she's so thankful for him. For his patience. For his attention. For the "something more" between them that she doesn't dare give a name to, even in the privacy of her own mind.
When she finally takes him to the hilt, it feels like an accomplishment. Skewered between her legs on his massive cock, she has the same sense of satisfaction she gets when she pins him into a corner during a debate. Already he has infiltrated almost every aspect of her life, and now he's inside her body as well, and she understands what he meant before, because it's everything. He's everything.
She tells him so, and that's more than he can handle. After the words spill from her lips, he thrusts up into her, making her shout, but on the next thrust she meets him in a counter-rhythm, driving him impossibly deeper inside her. The apartment is full of the sounds and smells of sex as she begins to ride him in earnest. She plays with her own tits, and he watches her, rapt with attention, and when his breathing starts to hollow, he puts a hand between her legs and lets her rub her clit against him.
"Yes," she moans, riding him harder, shocked that he has her teetering on the edge again so soon. "God, yes. Mulder, I—I'm going to—" 
She completes her sentence nonverbally, falling over the edge once more, and this time Mulder follows her. He's chanting nonsense syllables that are probably supposed to be her name, as she clenches around him and milks his cock dry, letting him fill her fully and completely. She wants to feel his spend leaking out of her later. She wants to feel bruised when she walks. She wants to remember every last second of tonight—even if they never speak of it again—because she is going to need the memories in order to face what's waiting for her come tomorrow.
When they've both returned to Earth, they stay joined together in silence for just a little longer, searching each other's faces, possibly for signs of regret, or maybe just for the sake of looking. He pushes a strand of her hair behind her ear and she lets her eyes flutter shut, leaning into the touch. Between her legs he's starting to soften. Her unorthodox favor has been fulfilled, and reality is hurtling back to them at speed.
"Thank you," she says, not opening her eyes. 
He doesn't respond for a few beats, and then he says, "It's worth it, Scully. Remember it's worth it." 
She nods. 
It's so easy, she thinks, to be aware of her own mortality. To remember that she will die.
She vows now that, in the face of every upcoming obstacle, she will remind herself, often, that she can also live.
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mirletaliz · 7 months ago
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iminthetunnels · 2 months ago
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why do ppl insist ur gunna give ur child an “eating disorder” for calling out companies that knowingly use pesticides and modified food ingredients. why is it so bad to call out shameful corporations that are knowingly killing us. it’s not even a conspiracy, it’s a well known fact that most of these modified ingredients cause inflammation, allergens, cancer, and other severe health issues. especially gut issues that most children suffer from.
like it blows my mind that you’ll get told you’re “paranoid” or gunna “give ur child an eating disorder” if i inform him that certain foods are harmful. that saying that’s like “no foods are harmful! or scary!” and it’s like??? yes they absolutely are. i’m not gunna make up for the fact that people are shameful abt their feeding practices with their children.
it actually blows my mind that instead of being on board and advocating for affordable healthy food, you’ll sit there and yell “it’s all i can afford, what are the people suppose to do if it’s all i can afford” then you budget, and you advocate. yelling “who has the time to research all this” replace scrolling with reading, even if it’s 15 minutes a day. i’m not attacking anyone or being “mean” im literally just helping u to understand how easy it is.
i am poor as poor can be. i live off 2k a year, literally. and little to no child support. i live off government supplementation and do my absolute best to make sure my son gets the best possible foods there is. point blank. its all about advocating and putting in proper complaints. every 3 months i write to WIC and speak to several of their workers to put in proper complaints, as a certified nutritionist, a mother, a basic person, i have every right to do so. we shouldn’t be settling for bottom of the barrel just because we are poor and need help. we actually are the ones who need the most help. poorer families are more likely to live in areas that aren’t the healthiest, more likely to have other health obstacles to look out for. the best we can do is prioritize our foods. without health, we have nothing, we aren’t anything. there’s a multitude of studies around how our gut is connected to our brains and how it functions in conjunction with each other. if you want to start feeling better, even in the slightest, you absolutely need to be eating properly.
we need to start fighting for the rights to healthier food options, it’s absolutely dire and should be priority. we talk a lot about children, lower income families, racial disparities, disabilities, and where to start FIRST is the FOOD!!!
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