#i want a tiny mulder and scully to put in it lol

[everoutoftouch]

[carefulfears]

hey babes :) i'd love to hear your input if you're so inclined: to this day i chew on the question how and who mulder would be after the show's finale. what would be his natural progression, a way to grow and be content? fatherhood sure, but would he ever be just that - not a seeker, finder, investigator ...? it's "all he's ever known" and scully's "put it in a book" in iwtb rings hollow to me, like a reduction; folding that complicated person into a tiny box, neat like that abhorrent house of hers in the revival. do either of them really know what's best for the other? duchovny said they'll always be out there searching, it's their purpose. many fans would disagree, would see them domesticated, give them their happy ending; how would that look for either of them? and how for them together? any thoughts? :)

hey baby. i was scrolling my jackson tag looking for revival posts i've written in the past that may help me collect my thoughts on this, and found an old tag that just said "they have to be monster hunting or baby raising they can't just hang out," which seems so fitting lol. and i do love this about them...that they always want to be searching, or building, and how it turns into creating. it turns into desire, even for things that don't make sense.

mulder is always motivated by something very clear, something defined in the very beginning, "nothing else matters to me." and scully is always clearly defined by faith in it, "i didn't believe you, but i followed you." and one of the difficulties of this model is that it can't stay forever. it's like duchovny joking that he thought signing on for the pilot would be easy, that logistically the show would never last, because you can't search forever. you can't hide forever. eventually, there have to be answers. there have to be findings, there have to be conclusions.

and i think that's where they run into that trouble you're describing circa2008 ("this is who i am. it's who i have always been. it's who i was before i met you. it's what i do. it's everything i know." / "so write it down. put it in a book.") and the way that it's almost...cruel. "put it in a book" is a little mean. "it's who i was before i met you." is a little threatening. i don't think scully has ever looked so purely exhausted as she does throughout this film, and she ends up staying in the end.

and it's scary because they're not searching, they're not creating. they're not allowed to. when he starts up again, obsessively looking for the missing fbi agents, she tries to knock him back by invoking his sister. how she's dead and he can't find her and she has been through "too many years" watching him try. (a little mean, a little scary, a little threatening).

he can't find his sister, that investigation is long over, and he's not allowed to look for their son. which he describes in that movie to her as "an emptiness." my latest frustration around here is this indignance that scully would never leave, she's too "ride or die," she's a doctor, she's loyal. it feels extremely unkind to expect her to suffocate in a haunted house, a situation that we have no idea the lengths of except for the few days we saw, because she's dutiful. because she's starbuck.

and he can't put it in a book. fans want the same exact thing that they argue over in that scene. they want the "happy ending" and domesticity that you reference, and they explain by saying he could write. he could teach. he could stay home with the baby. you ask if mulder and scully know what's best for each other, and i think when they do it scares them. they don't want to say it out loud. other times, they don't know what to do with each other any more than i know what to put on them, by writing this. they know that they want to be searching. building. creating. but they don't always have something to look for, and it's hard to build from a haunted house with empty rooms.

there's this moment in the last finale that always rings incredibly sad to me, when mulder is racing around looking for jackson, and scully is anxious back at the house on the phone, saying "find him." and mulder says "i'm gonna find him. i am tired of looking at him on video."

and he sounds pissed off, like a dad with a teenager in trouble (running away with lottery money?? lol), but it's that last line that just guts me. it really makes you remember that we saw this kid as a baby throughout season 9, scully spent the first year of his life with him, she even got to talk to him at the gas station. mulder got infant photos. emails. security footage.

and in founder's mutation when scully asks if mulder thinks about him, he says "i feel like i've had to put that behind me." scully says that she hates herself.

there's this one moment of show-stopping relief in the finale when mulder makes it to jackson. and he says "i know it must seem strange to you. but i've been looking for you forever."

he was supposed to stop, supposed to put it all behind him, but that's not how mulder works. and even in the end, they haven't quite made it. they have what amount to maybe shaky beginnings.

i don't know what it looks like in the "after," if they are able to go home and build something, the way i'd like them to. the duchovny quote you reference is "there is no such thing as that story ever ending. those characters are forever searching. that's what they do. even if we're not watching them, they're out there."

and i think that's hopeful. i think that's nature. i think that's light in dark places, like chris carter says.

[elephantlovemedleys]

satine/christian for the fandom asks?

buckle up and get ready cause this is gonna be a long way down 😎

• when I started shipping it if I did: i insantly felt their chemistry the moment they started dancing together at the rouge, and clearly she thought he was the duke at first because of some misunderstanding that she saw with tolouse when zidler was talking to her about it. and obviously when we first see christian at the elephant and satine thinks he’s up there to go sleep with her, their banter from the getgo is really hilarious too cause christian is sort of clueless and awkward at first and she's just doing her job and tries to get off at his "poetry" but then he starts to belt into song, his voice and his words light up the city, and her world too.

the elephant love medley is definitely when i think i truly started to feel their connection, it's literally a conversation told through song about their own perceptions of love and what they think could become of them once they give in, and when they finally kiss, it's one that sparks up and sends fireworks blasting up the night sky (i mean literally speaking! lol) .

BUT i will say, it was this moment right here that i felt something in my heart twinged in what i think i can describe as a state of melting away, cause gosh just look at them...........

AND THIS OTHER TINY MOMENT LIKE THAT FOREHEAD KISS IS EVERYTHING TO ME

• my thoughts: honest to god i am being real when i say the very last time i found myself feeling this certain level AMOUNT OF CRAZY towards a ship was eight years ago, and it was with mulder/scully (the x files). admittedly i haven't been too shippy with things in recent times unless they're one of my older recurring fixations that i love going back to, and before i got totally into christian/satine, it was jamie & claire (outlander) when i watched the show two years ago that started bringing back this kind of energy in which i realised i can definitely still find and enjoy certain pairings that definitely meet my own personal preferences of what i consider are OTP levels of qualifications to me. and good lord don't even get me started on how fantastic, unbeatable, and palpable the chemistry is between nicole kidman and ewan mcgregor, it's through their performances and how they deliver it that makes you feel all sorts of emotions from the giddiest of them all to the most heartwrenching.

• What makes me happy about them: the fact that for both christian and satine, it's actually the first time they've both fallen in love. christian early in the movie says he's never been in love, despite wanting to write about it, and for satine, she admits that she can't fall in love and it's due to the means of what she does with her job, but eventually she breaks this rule, and ultimately finds herself caught and drowning in a love she never knew she could ever experience and for christian, he gets the sense that wow this is how loving someone and being in love is like. he is incredibly enamoured by her, and we see satine at one of her most vulnerable instances when she's with him, they enjoy being in each other's company, and they see the good in each other. satine knew what christian's talents were capable of, and christian saw how satine was worthy of shining in the spotlight and her dreams of wanting to be an actress. with him writing the play and her being the lead, it gives them both chances to show what they're great at as individuals too!

and from what i know, there's a part where christian has a poem for satine that didn't make it to the movie's final cut and it goes something like "my heart aches every hour of every day / and only when i'm with you does the pain go away" ❤️

• What makes me sad about them: it's how they almost had it all. they were very close, towards the end when the duke was finally out of the picture, and they were able to reconcile and proclaim their undying love for one another despite what they had to put themselves under because of things that were getting in the way, the show was successful and it did so well and they were happy about it, until one inevitable force (her illness) destroyed any hope of finally running away and spending the rest of their lives together.

• things done in fanfic that annoys me: i think the only thing that annoys me pertaining to this is how you can no longer view or access a lot of the fics about them that were written during the early 2000's cause i know there were definitely some gems written that time especially when the movie had just come out and i would have loved to see what these people wrote before!

• things I look for in fanfic: anything that depicts them in domestic bliss (i am a sucker for these things), or situations where they comfort one another. literally anything that shows how they are so utterly filled with love and the happiness that surrounds them both because it's genuinely what they deserved.

• Who l'd be comfortable them ending up with, if not each: NO ONE IT WILL ALWAYS BE THEM IN THE END ONLY EACH OTHER !!!!

• My happily ever after for them: satine is completely cured from consumption, she's able to fly away, and makes it big time as an actress and christian is a successful playwright. they both end up married, living in london and through the course of several years have three daughters and two cats (girldad! christian is something so personal to me, he'd be the dad who'd tell endless bedtime stories and satine would be the mom who loves dressing her girls up and taking them to parks), and the greatest thing about this is their children would grow up in a household that's filled with many music, laughs, kindness, and most importantly love.

• who is the big spoon/little spoon: christian is definitely a hugger, they're just so comfortable around each other that she can slip into his arms during a lazy afternoon or he can wrap her around his waist whilst joking around during a walk. plus whenever he's got something to write on his typewriter he doesn't mind when she wants to sit in his lap and they'd squeeze in whatever space they have in a chair.

• what is their favorite non-sexual activity: singing and dancing together (obviously) <3 practicing and reciting lines from plays, leaving each other notes when one has to go somewhere or gets up earlier than the other but also cuddling by the balcony.

[deathsbestgirl]

quagmire part two

@waiting-for-the-day here be nonsense

she agrees with him and she's funny.

scully is crazy. she thinks there's some non-human creature out their eating people and she just takes her little dog for a walk. she's fine, she's got her gun.

and queequeg is even worse!! these two and their no fear. this tiny little pup who should be afraid of the world goes running into the woods for a second time and this time gets EATEN. poor scully lol

but now we're getting to the best scenes, my favorites.

like when scully comes back, no queequeg in tow, mulder is still fixated as she's sitting in shock.

this man says "i'm sorry about queequeg" then rambles on about the pictures as if scully didn't just watch her dog eaten lmao and she's trying to listen to him, they still have a case & a pile of dead bodies they don't want growing but she comprehended nothing.

"i kind of faded out"

"can you drive a boat?"

(he really hated queequeg lmao)

AND HERE WE GO. the boat.

okay i love this scene soooo much. the part on the boat is so underrated.

that little line about expectation & hope, seek and ye shall find. i think mikaela already said it best:

(read the whole post: https://www.tumblr.com/waiting-for-the-day/722583454298079232/in-quagmire-after-the-boat-crashes-when-theyre)

earlier, scully played along with him talking about other sea monsters. here she's showing off some sailing skills *and* telling him a nice little anecdote about "here be monsters" — right up his ally as he's pouring over the map trying to tell her where to go.

(literally these little moments of sharing her childhood & nerdery, being his (best) friend, giving him those moments he didn't get to have as a kid, using it to bond with him, to show how she listens & cares and she's just like him really)

the jokes they make are so nerdy and it's a core part of their relationship. they both just store information in their brains in the hope they'll be able to whip it out to impress the other, or make them laugh.

~too bad we're not fishing~ ~we are fishing~

~here be monsters~ ~i have a map of nyc just like that~

and one of my favorite things about scully: when she doesn't know something, mulder must have the answers! ~what is that? what is that mulder?~ ~here be monsters, scully~ (and he does know this time, he just doesn't know what kind of monster they're actually going to find)

making jokes when their boat is about to sink with them on it. i love them. so unserious.

scully yelling mayday and mulder stopping her like honey we have to get out of here now please put on your life jacket — NO FEAR which is extra funny because she's about to give a speech about ~respect nature because it has no respect for you~

(oh the quips. "there goes our $500 deposit" and ~i say we swim~ ~swim? ...in which direction?!~)

cotr really has so much. it becomes a little breaking point for scully. at the beginning she was annoyed with mulder and she didn't understand why he was even interested in the case, and then when she sees the big blue sign she's exasperated. it also isn't a typical case he goes for. so yes, he's interested in big blue, not entirely out of the realm of possibility. but she can't figure out why, because what does this really have to do with his sister? what everything usually goes back to for him. she's been mulling this over since the episode started.

and now!! they're stuck on a rock in the middle of the lake and they have no idea if anyone heard their call & is coming. and he's still all ~that's big blue!~

scully: mulder, sometimes i just can't figure them out.

like she really really wants to understand him. she's always trying to understand him. big blue has her stumped.

and then they're interrupted by the DUCK and the humor is back

she's like ~how dare you joke about cannabalism it's real to me~

and ugh my favorite thing. mulder was too focused earlier to give space for scully losing queequeg. but he gets another opening here,. he has no idea what to do (and he really hated that dog). however there's one thing he can do and it's let her talk.

he asks why the name queequeg and she talks about moby dick and her dad and starbuck and it's so sweet & relatable (i have one cat named newspaper because my dad was always reading the paper — we had piles of them & i still have one he kept when obama became president — and another cat named saturn because he had a saturn & he loved that car & ya know, because space lol) and it's another way they open up to each other & bond & they're just best friends. this is a best friends conversation for sure. (and maybe dipping into how deep their relationship goes)

and then !!! scully has a revelation.

[scully finishes the line with him and they are both trying to impress each other here idc what anyone says. scully has that book memorized and mulder probably read it once, maybe twice and has been *waiting* to share this little tidbit with her for years!!!]

anyway. this whole conversation has been simmering. scully has been confused & frustrated, but she believes in mulder & she cares about him & she's going to follow him until they find the truth he's seeking. she's there for the journey, with all its circle & endless lines & aberrations. they've been making jokes & quips, giving each other small moments of levity to ease the tension surrounding them. all of it so they can get to the crux of it and that's what's happening on this rock.

she compares him to ahab "everything takes on a warped significance to fit your megalomaniacal cosmology" and "scully are you coming onto me?" (the way she ignores his ~flirting 90% of the time kills me, she's ~so funny) and "trying to do so will only leave you dead along with everyone else you bring with you" and god he's so serious & unserious, he can't have this conversation (which i think is something he really fears after scully's abduction, before it was just him, only he could be hurt or killed. that's not how it is now) without humor, so he talks about wanting a peg leg. "i'm not being flippant" and "and that's not flippant?"

(and nobody believes he wouldn't be hobbling around on a peg leg still doing exactly what he's doing now. the delusion that he could be content just living.)

and then farraday comes to save (ruin) the day "hope i'm not interrupting anything" how much did this man hear 🤣

they tell him about the boat sinking and when he asks, scully claims "it was my fault" instead of trying to explain to this non-believer that it was possibly big blue. god i love her.

and then the sheriff finds them, tells them about search. mulder tells him they need to search striker's cove but he doesn't listen til scully in her very judicious way says "Sheriff, Agent Mulder and I would appreciate it if you could spare two or three of your men to assist us here." and he agrees. scully's face:

and then farraday is attacked and he didn't see it (surprise surprise) and mulder is the first person to see what's attacking people and he's so sad it's an alligator which he kills (like he's soooo cute. he wants it to be big blue so bad but if it was he would have had to kill it and then he would have cried!!!)

and another underrated scene:

scully can see he's disappointed. he didn't find the big white whale he wanted, but he solved the case and saved more people from dying/attacks. she thinks he should be proud of the work he did.

scully finally gets it now. mulder wants something tangible too. he wants to keep hoping, he wants to believe. and he found hope in big blue's existence and he just wanted to experience something being real, with evidence & proof. (go read mikaela's post!! she says it perfectly)

and scully will always do everything to keep his hope & belief alive, to protect it. because it's precious. it's one of the most beautiful & special things about him. and it's this wonderful, quiet moment between two best friends who don't always get each other but they always try. they always listen. they stay by each other's side. for better or worse. the new ahab & starbuck.

(the way mulder has a natural skepticism he fights with thome & the desire to believe. i think he's afraid not to. the way scully has an innate ability to believe but it frightens her and so she fights it with skepticism)

[baronessblixen]

Scully loves Fall. From the red trees, to the leaves over the ground, to the sound of rain on the window. This afternoon her and Mulder take William to a stroll, under a light drizzle. The streets of DC are blurred by fog but the red leaves all over the park put a spark of color in the grey. She finds it beautiful. Scully smiles down at Will, her tiny, yellow raincoat-clad baby. As she crouches down next to him she realizes something. A, that he’s holding a snail, B, that three others are strolling over his hood and his left sleeve. « Mulder, did you do that ? She asks lightly, taking one of the snails off. Mulder shrugs with a grin : « you gotta teach him the beauty of nature, Scully. Hey Will, did you know that snails are hermaphrodite, it means they can choose if they want to be boy or girl… » « Mulder, he’s 2 ! » Scully scolds. But Will seems happy with his snails. He shows one to his parents and declare « this one a boy. His name is Will. » Mulder smiles smugly at Scully, and as they leave, she doesn’t resist sticking the snail she is holding in her hand to the back of Mulder’s neck.

Am I too early for fictober lol 🍁

This is so cute, anon! I love it 😍 Will and his snails, awww. Adorable.

It may not be Fictober yet but maybe Fictember? 😅

[mulderist]

DEVIL AT MY DOORSTEP

Post-Orison Hurt/comfort || MSR, UST || Scully POV || Moderate violence || AO3 link

A/N: This fic was originally written way back in 2001 when I was in college. It was my first post-episode fic and I posted it to FF.net back in the day. I unearthed it 3 years ago and gave it some extremely heavy edits because it’s that ridiculous and dramatic (lol). I then nervously posted the revised version to AO3.

@today-in-fic

"If you want to pack some things we can get outta here," Mulder said as he walked into my bedroom. I pulled open a dresser drawer revealing my copy of the Holy Bible. I felt the strong weight of guilt in my hand as I lifted it out. Mulder noticed the book. "You can't judge yourself," he tried to reassure me. I walked over to my bed and carefully sat my beaten body down.

"Maybe I don't have to." I told him.

"The Bible allows for vengeance."

"But the law doesn't."

"The way I see it," Mulder began as he leaned toward me, "he didn't give you a choice. And my report will reflect that, in case you're worried. Donnie Pfaster would have surely killed again if given the chance."

"He was evil Mulder. I'm sure about that without a doubt. But there's one thing that I'm not sure of," I said softly.

"What's that?"

"Who was at work in me? Or what? What made me - what made me pull the trigger?"

"You mean if it was God?"

"I mean - what if it wasn't?" There was a beat of silence and I could sense that Mulder wanted to say something. Instead I felt his hand gently slide across my upper back. I looked up at him and could see the concern written on his face.

"I'll finish up out there," he said. Then he moved past me and back towards the bedroom door, pulling it behind him.

I slowly stood and went to my dresser to find some clothes. I tossed an outfit on the bed and stripped off my pajamas leaving them in a heap on the floor. As I absentmindedly packed an overnight bag I took a look around my bedroom. The bookcase I had pulled over on Pfaster to slow him down resulted in a disjointed cascade of books and broken trinkets. There were stains of crimson blood, more than likely my own, which dotted the once clean carpet. The thought that blood was shed in my bedroom made me swallow hard. I scanned over my bed to the wall where my mirror once hung. All that remained were jagged pieces of glass and the remnants of the frame. More pieces scattered the floor. I closed my eyes briefly attempting to block out the events that had occurred. Then a shudder shook me back into reality and I turned to leave my room.

The police had finally cleared out leaving an unsettling calm in the apartment. I was grateful Mulder took it upon himself to answer their questions. As I walked to the living room I could still smell a faint scent of lit matches combined with the dying fragrance of my candles, though they had been extinguished for some time now. I stopped after I crossed the thresh hold and looked down at the large burgundy stain on the rug. Very faint markings of a chalk outline could still be seen on the floor. I saw Mulder sitting on the end of my couch with his elbows on his knees, hands folded. He rose when he realized I was in the room. I said softly,

"Let's go."

Mulder nodded and followed me out the door, locking it behind us. Once we got outside he took my bag and popped the trunk to place it inside. I took my place in the passenger seat and winced slightly as I reached across to grab the seat belt. My eyelids felt like lead weights and I couldn't help but let them close as I leaned my head back against the headrest. I heard Mulder get in the car and start the engine. He tried to make conversation on the ride to his apartment but I think after a short while he realized I didn't want to talk just yet. He knew me well. The remainder of the drive was in silence. Even after Mulder parked the car we still said nothing. It wasn't until we had stepped inside his apartment that he uttered,

"I can put some coffee on." I glanced up at him and nodded with a heavy sigh.

"I think I want to take a shower."

"Sure," he replied, sounding slightly wounded, "It'll be ready once you're done."

Jesus, why are we doing this awkward small talk? He handed me my overnight bag and before I went down the hall I squeezed his hand. After I closed the bathroom door behind me I put my bag on the floor then turned on the water for the shower. As it warmed up I slowly shed my clothes and inspected myself to see if there were any injuries I might have missed. I turned slightly and saw the initial stages of bruising setting in on my upper back. My naked figure in the mirror was unsettling. I had never seen myself look so vulnerable. I turned away from the defeated reflection and pulled aside the shower curtain, stepping into the warm waterfall.

Steam began to swirl around in the tiny room, creating an eerie fog. The slight burn of the water began to relax me as it massaged my tired frame. I self-consciously crossed my arms over my breasts and placed my hands on my shoulders. I then ran a hand over my wet hair. "Ah, dammit," I hissed. My index finger found a remaining chip of glass hiding at the back of my head. A speck of blood oozed from where I was pricked. That's when I noticed my fingernails. There was a fine line of scarlet caked under them.

Blood.

Blood that was not mine. My hands showed traces of the struggle in my apartment. I flexed and tightened my right hand noticing how awkward and stiff the movement was. Sprain, edema, contusion, hematoma: bland clinical terms I knew all too well. I took the bar of soap off its dish and began working it into a lather. As the suds formed on my arms, I tried to wash away the gritty feeling, the sense of guilt, and the memory of Donnie Pfaster.

Pfaster. His cryptic face clawed its way to the surface though I tried desperately to suppress it. His was the face of pure evil, a vision of a demon that shook me to my core. When I took the case I tried to prove to myself that it didn't bother me. I had gone through the counseling sessions during and after Minneapolis. Bouts of anxiety would return every once and a while, flashes of terrible things usually triggered after a particularly difficult assignment. Subconsciously I knew I was kidding myself when I thought I had overcome what happened.

For a fleeting moment, time seemed to melt away as I stood there breathing in the heavy steam. Water pushed the soapy residue from my body and I saw a light red trail spiral down the drain. I closed my eyes for a moment but couldn't shake the chaos that happened in my apartment. Pfaster was in my home - the devil at my doorstep. I angrily grabbed a bottle of shampoo and squeezed some of it into my hand. As I massaged the gel into my hair the familiar scent wound around in the air and my mood softened. Then my thoughts turned to Mulder. He told me not to look any further and I followed his advice. I don't know how he ended up in my living room with his gun drawn, ready to do what I was shockingly more capable of doing. He always managed to find me – to save me. I was still in shock when he rushed over and held me close. I just stood there, motionless, letting my weapon slip from my fingers. Every time I ended up in his arms I had this overwhelming feeling that I'm safe and it's a sensation I never want to lose. As I rinsed my hair I did what I feared most.

I lost control.

The water felt tepid as it mixed with the scalding tears in my eyes. I brought my hands to my face as if to conceal the pain and anger from myself. Oh God I thought. Everything was rushing at me too fast; horrible sounds and smells returned shocking my senses. I lost the comforting warmth that had enveloped me. Stability failed and I placed my left hand against the cool tile wall. My knees softened and with a hand over my mouth, I tried to muffle my crying. My shoulders lurched as I sobbed and I moved my hip closer to the wall for support. Water raced down my bruised back. My arms slid across my stomach and I held on, trying to shield myself from the terrible thoughts flashing in my mind. I leaned a shoulder into the wall almost as if I expected it to open up and embrace me.

"Mulder…"

I didn't realize I had said it aloud. It's not the first time I've called out to him but it felt different as I stood in his shower. I needed to say his name. I needed to know he was on the other side of that door. I needed to allow myself this one fleeting moment of vulnerability and begin to accept the unacceptable. As my sobs slowed one was caught in my throat. I hated how I sounded when I was upset and more often than not tried desperately to express sorrow in silence. Over the roar of the water I exhaled deeply and wiped my eyes. My hands found their way to my shoulders once again and I breathed in the last few clouds of steam. Then I turned off the faucet, pushed aside the shower curtain and stepped out onto the waiting bathmat. I pulled a towel off the hook and gently dried off, finding comfort in that familiar scent once again.

I got dressed and combed my hair then walked out to Mulder's living room. There was a lone mug on the coffee table. I happened upon him lying down on the couch, eyes closed. I moved closer and noticed that his brow was furrowed. I touched his shoulder causing him to stir.

"Mmm, sorry I must have dozed off. Did the shower help? " he said while he sat upright and ran a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, I think so. I feel a little more human." I joined him in the space he had cleared. He stretched then reached for the mug and took a long swallow. I leaned back against the couch.

"I can pour you a cup if you'd like," I heard him say. My fingers began to fiddle with a tender spot on my left hand.

"No thanks." I know Mulder could tell I had been crying, puffiness under the eyes was not easy to conceal. I could feel my cheeks flush and I licked my lips as I searched for something to say.

"I'm sorry, Mulder. I'm still having difficulty finding the words right now and I can't stand this awkward small talk."

He shook his head after swallowing a sip of coffee. "You know I can see it on your face. And this awkward small talk wouldn't be so awkward if you would just let me in. It's like I told you earlier, I've never seen something give you this much of a head trip before."

"I have to be able to accept this on my own terms, Mulder." That tasted bitter. "I've been trying to forget for five years. I just can't do this right now." I got off the couch and started to head for his bedroom. After pushing the door slightly behind me, I turned down the sheets and slowly crawled into the large bed. I gingerly placed my head upon Mulder's pillow and felt the smoothness against my skin. Every muscle in my body struggled to unwind. Before I closed my eyes I noticed a shadow move in front of the door.

"I'll be fine." I muttered under my breath.

The last thing I heard was the click from the door being closed.

I awoke in the dark to a stinging sensation in the side of my head. My mouth was sore and I could taste blood. There was a taunt strip of cloth tied tightly around my head causing my cheeks to hurt. My hands were bound behind my back and my bare feet were tied together. I weakly struggled to shift positions, fighting the pain in my temple. Once my eyes focused I slowly maneuvered myself near the light source coming from the crack underneath the door. Where the hell am I? I couldn't see anything in the room aside from the hardwood floor. I attempted to sit back up and tried to figure out how I got here. Adrenaline had kicked in now and I started thinking of a way to escape. Then I saw a shadow sweep across the floor. Suddenly the door pulled open. I shot back against a nearby wall in a lame attempt to protect myself. I looked at the figure in the doorway and it didn't look human. The figure bent down, grabbed my ankles, and dragged me on the floor out of the closet into the empty room. I writhed and twisted in its grip. A dim light from somewhere else in the dilapidated house illuminated the figure just enough so I could distinguish human hands as they removed the tie from my ankles. The man reached over and forcefully pulled me up by my shoulders to my feet. Our eyes met for a split second as I stood and in that moment I felt malevolence swarm over my body. His pushed me in front of him and a smile snaked across his lips.

His hand roughly clung to my bare shoulder as he shoved me down a hallway. Everything in the sparsely lit house looked the same, bare and unremarkable. There was a warm glow coming from one of the rooms on the left and he led me in that direction. It was a master bedroom. Once inside I was shoved towards the bathroom. I saw an oversized bathtub nestled in the back under a window. There was a double sink to the right and the white porcelain toilet resided next to it with a towel bar hanging low over the tank. Candles covered just about every surface to provide mood lighting for whatever diabolical plans he had in mind. He moved me over to the sink and untied my hands for a moment, only to tie them to the towel bar. I saw the horrible smirk form on his face as he stepped back to look at his work.

"It'll all be over soon." And with that he left the bathroom. My mind yelled at me to escape. I pulled violently at the bar, foolishly hoping that I could pull it off the wall and run. Then I leaned my head down to meet my hands and try to loosen the gag. As I feverishly worked I heard a thud from the other room. I stopped for just a second and listened and to my horror I saw the man pull Mulder's body into the doorway and toss him on the floor.

No!

"Mulder! What have you done to him?!" I yelled against the gag. The man lunged at me and struck me across the face. Then he snatched my jaw and pressed the flat side of a knife against my cheek.

"Don't worry Girly-Girl. I have plans for him too." I fought the tears welling in my eyes. He moved away from me and went toward the bathtub, reaching for the faucet to turn on the water. I tried to free my hands from the towel bar while he was distracted. My fingers squeezed together and with a tug I was loose then I quickly removed the cloth from around my mouth. I looked out into the other room and saw Mulder stir but just as I did Pfaster noticed I had gotten one step closer to escape and took measures to slow me down. With a flash of metal his knife came quickly across my right hand. I tried to grab it; tried to disarm him for even a moment. He caught my arm and plunged the blade in-between my ribs. I screamed. He attacked me again, this time hitting my upper arm. I took all the strength I could muster and kicked Pfaster in the gut sending him back towards the bathtub. I cried out over the roar of the water and fell to the floor just missing the edge of the sink. I started to crawl in a prone position to the door and out into the bedroom, blood soaking rapidly through my tank top. I had to get to Mulder. He was lying face down on the floor and I could tell he was injured or God knows what else.

"S-Scully.." he muttered as he lifted his head revealing a gash on his cheek. My injured hand reached out for his, finding his fingertips and holding as tight as I could.

"Mulder, please…" I pleaded. "I need you to get up. I can't –" Pfaster was on his feet now. He turned around sharply and quickly ran out to seize my leg. I kicked him in the shin but he still managed to pull me in his direction. I cried out for Mulder as I was dragged back into the bathroom. Pfaster brought my arms above my head and held them together while straddling me. My right arm went numb from the stab wounds and blood started to seep into the bathmat as my body was pressed onto the tile. I winced as he tightened his hold on me, pulling my injured arm more than needed.

"You know," he began once he caught his breath, "I didn't think I'd finally catch the one that got away. That red hair never left my mind. I wasn't going to stop until I found you." My lips moved as I tried to form words, but no sound escaped. He stood and yanked me up off the floor. I could barely fight against him and that's what frightened me the most. I was running out of time. Still with a grip on my shoulders he turned off the water to the bathtub.

"Let her go, Pfaster," said Mulder from the doorway, his voice sounded dark. Pfaster pressed a hand over my mouth before I could put a voice to my suffering. The taste on my lips was nauseating.

"You're not going to take her from me. Not again," said Pfaster. Then he brought his face close to me and smelt my hair making my skin crawl. Then he dropped me in the tub, holding me under. I kicked and thrashed as hard as I could but I was growing weaker. I heard Mulder yell.

Two shots rang out.

The frigid cold water sent a shockwave through my body and stung my wounds. It hurt to move. It hurt to think. I could feel my body shutting down. All of my energy started to fade and I physically couldn't struggle anymore. I couldn't move. My breath slowed as I stared at the ceiling. The lights from the remaining candles flickered back and forth across the walls.

My life started to slip away.

Then I saw Mulder's face above me as he climbed into the tub. He reached in and quickly picked me up from under my arms then shifted my weight so he could slide his right arm under my knees. As he lifted my limp wounded body out of the bathtub I closed my eyes and heard him say "I'm sorry, Scully. God I'm so sorry." He carried me out of the bathroom, leaving the body of Donnie Pfaster behind.

Mulder knelt down with me on the floor of the barren bedroom, holding me tight in his arms. I coughed and sputtered, expelling the bathwater. He pulled out his cell phone and I knew he was calling for an ambulance. "Yes this Agent Mulder with the FBI, I have an agent down!" He gave some more information then tossed the phone aside. One hand pressed firmly on my side, adding compression to the oozing stab wound. "Help is on the way. Just hang on." My eyelids fluttered and I said his name.

"Scully, talk to me. Come on."

"What happened to you?" I asked weakly.

"That bastard cold-cocked me once I made it upstairs. He must have already had you tied-up in the bathroom. God, I should have shot him as soon as I saw him."

"I can't Mulder…" I said with a shiver.

"No. No. You have to stay with me, Scully" he said with a wavering voice.

"I can't feel …I don't…I'm sorry," My words were nonsensical as I tried to focus on him. My fingers grazed his shirt before I lost consciousness.

Mulder began CPR.

His lips felt so warm against mine as he forced air into my mouth. I felt the wetness of his cheek as he leaned in to deliver each breath. I was so numb I barely felt the chest compressions. His hands were soaked in my blood. Desperation crossed Mulder's face after he gave two more sets of compressions and saw no change.

"Dammit Scully, come on! You can't leave me!" I heard him say as he pressed on my chest. His composure was gone as he tried frantically to revive me. Mulder choked out a sob as he clutched me to his chest. He rocked back and forth then let out a primal, gut-wrenching scream.

A siren was heard howling down the street. Red lights flashed in through the window and danced along the ceiling as the ambulance pulled up. The paramedics flung open the door to the house and called in inside. It didn't take them long to find us. They rushed in and took me from Mulder so they could begin their work. He slid back a little and sat with his head in his hands. The EMTs readied the defibrillator to restart my heart. One of the medics cut open my shirt and stuck pads on my bare chest to prepare me before using the paddles. Then a paramedic called,

"Clear!"

I cried out and woke with a start; my hands pushed me into an awkward upright position on the bed. Disoriented at first and head spinning, I started to piece together where I was. The layout of the room became more familiar as my senses came into focus with the morning light. My weight shifted to my left elbow and as I rubbed my eyes I heard the bedroom door open, Mulder said my name as he entered. I sat up and he joined me on the bed. The wave of tension broke and quickly I leaned forward to wrap my arms tightly around his neck.

"I had a bad dream," I said softly, feeling my lip start to tremble as I pulled him closer. I felt like a child that needed to be consoled.

"Tell me," he whispered.

"I was in a house, like when I was taken before." My throat felt dry causing my voice to falter. "Pfaster dragged me into a room lined with candles and was intent on finishing what he started. You were there too but you couldn't - There was so much blood, Mulder," I pulled away from him and drew in a breath to try and regain some sense of composure. "It all just felt so real. " I shook my head and ran a hand over my hair leaving it to rest behind my neck. We sat there for a moment, no words between us. At one point he tenderly kissed the top of my head. Finally he said,

"I was hesitant to tell you, but I heard that song as I was getting ready for bed last night."

"Really?" I asked.

"Yeah," he looked down and motioned to take my hand, "I tried to call you but you didn't pick up. I guess you could call it divine intervention."

"That was playing in my apartment. He was playing that damn song…" Mulder leaned in and embraced me.

This time I buried my head in his chest and unwillingly started to hear the opening notes of the song fade in once again. My eyes closed and my hands pressed harder against Mulder's back, pulling him closer.

With those phantom tones I was replaying what had happened mere hours ago. The panic of knowing Pfaster was in my home, the anger that drove each blow I threw at him, the fear when he had me pinned down and screaming out for help.

Don't let go.

The tempo sent me reeling back to Minneapolis. That house. That closet. The feel of the rope around my wrists. Falling down those stairs and feeling paralyzed by fear. What was going to happen to me? Would I ever see Mulder again?

Hold on to me.

The rhythm began to fade and I felt the mist in my eyes. I pushed back for a brief moment and looked at Mulder as he brushed away tear that found its way to my cheek.

"Stay with me," I whispered. He nodded and I moved over, allowing him to slip into bed alongside me.

"It's alright. I'm here." He kissed the nape of my neck knowing there wasn't much else he could do but hold me. And that's all I really wanted him to do. At that point I didn't care that I had broken down. I had never wanted him closer to me than in that moment.

I was so tired. My body ached and eventually my sobs began to subside. The air was no longer caught in my throat. I began to listen to the cadence of Mulder's breath and I wasn't sure if he was still awake. My inhale met with his. Once he noticed my breathing began to slow he slid his hand from under mine. Fingertips found a strand of hair and placed it behind my ear. I could feel the sunlight coming through the bedroom window.

"Thank you," I uttered, my voice raspy and heavy with exhaustion.

"Rest. I'm not going anywhere." I struggled to shift positions and turned over to face him. My hand found his cheek and I moved closer, sharing his breath. The hint of smile tugged at his mouth. Ever so slightly my lips parted and I felt warmth as his lips met mine. Soft and tender.

At last I was able to begin to forget.

[ghostbustermelanieking]

snippets from an msr historical au

cleaning out my 2019 fic closet lol. this is excerpts of a historical au i did, based on a short au prompt i wrote in june here. it takes place in 1850s new york where scully and emily are irish immigrants who befriend mulder when he offers to tutor emily. i wrote these snippets months ago and it'll probably go unfinished, but i liked it too much to not share. so here is my scattered sense of world building. 

---

Melissa had been the one to suggest the name. She had been there in the birthing room, the only one left after her mother had traveled to America with Bill and her father was gone and Charlie was in England. Daniel had been elsewhere, of course, it wasn't proper for husbands to be in the birthing room, and he upheld tradition stronger than she did, so it was Melissa and her friend the midwife, Melissa holding her hand, Melissa handing her the squalling babe. She had passed out from the pain and felt a rush of relief when she woke up again; she had feared she wouldn't wake up again after it was all over. She knew many women who had never met their children. Melissa had brought the baby back, the tiny child with their mother's eyes and a patch of bright hair, and Dana had filled with relief. If she had no one else in this marriage, which had long grown sour, she would have her daughter. 

Melissa had suggested Emily because she loved Wuthering Heights, recently republished under the true name of its author. "It's a beautiful name, Dana, and perhaps, if she's lucky, she'll receive even an ounce of the creativity that comes with it," she had said, clutching the tiny hand in hers. "What a wonderful thing that would be." 

That had been enough to convince her. Emily Margaret, she'd said, for her mother, far away in the heartlands of a country she would never see, and for her stepdaughter, who hated her fiercely, though she didn't live with them anymore. The girl hated her, for taking the place of her mother, but Dana saw it as a chance to make peace with the both of them. It did not work, though; Maggie had not had any interest in her sister, or in her stepmother, and Dana had long given up trying. Given up on the whole family, her husband included: he took little interest in her or his daughter, and when he did, it was in a possessive sort of manner that made her skin crawl. The medical lessons she'd received as a young woman were long gone, and he saw her only as the keeper of the house and of his child. He wanted more, but she refused. 

When he'd died on the voyage over, a small, shameful part of her had been relieved. She would not have to pretend to love him anymore, to feel the same way as she had all those years before. But she had feared so greatly for her daughter, that the illness would take one of them, too. She knew life would be hard without a husband, as was the cruel and unfair way of the world (her mother had told her as a little girl as she braided her hair), but it would be impossible for Emily without her. She would end up alone in some horrible orphanage, neglected and abandoned. And Dana could not imagine life without her daughter now, imagine being alone in the city she'd heard so much about. She could not go out west alone, and she could not survive alone. She remembered lying in her small, cold, hard bunk, holding Emily's small figure close, her lips to her hot forehead and murmuring a prayer. And God had heard her prayers. Her daughter had lived, and she looked more and more like Melissa every day. 

Emily often has questions about this, the family she will never know. When the two of them are lying in their bed, behind the makeshifts wall John had built to separate their tiny space from the rest of the equally tiny apartment (he and Barbara sleep in a bed on the other side, adjacent to the stove, and their boy Luke sleeps in a pallet on the floor), she will whisper questions about her father, her half sister, her aunt and her uncles and her grandparents. But it is often Daniel and Maggie, the family she will never know. "Did they love me?" she whispers. "Was Papa kind? Was Maggie beautiful?"

Dana offers some truths and some falsehoods, knowing she will never see either of them again, and therefore her stories will never be contradicted. Yes, Maggie was beautiful, although she mostly remembers a girl not ten years younger than her calling her a whore and a witch and a false mother. Yes, they loved her. No, Emily will never know her sister, because though she did love Emily (although Dana does not know if this is true), she did not feel the same for Dana. There is a picture that Daniel had made before they went, of Maggie, her hair combed nearly and gathered up, wearing her best dress, her cheeks thin, and Emily sitting on her lap, her face twisted with displeasure at having to sit still for quite so long. Emily loves to look at it, and of the faded portrait of the two of them on their wedding day, though Dana does not feel the same. But she allows Emily these frivolities. She cannot give her much more than that. 

---

She meets him by accident one Sunday, her one and only day off from the factory. She and Emily go to Mass every Sunday, of course, and then she spends much of the day helping Barbara to clean, cook, do the laundry (she always does hers and Emily's, at least; though Barbara has the time in the day to do it, she will not accept the favor). She takes a rest, sometimes, or she spends time with Emily, playing jacks or cards (Luke Doggett taught her to gamble, and she cannot shake the habit), or with the worn rag doll she and Melissa had made for her in Ireland, or reading to her. Her favorite is a newer one by a man named Melville. Dana relishes the time alone with her daughter, as she is often too tired to do anything like this after work. She has meant to teach Emily to read and write herself, considering that she's too young to start school yet, and John claims that most children already know a bit before they begin school, but she's barely had the time to teach her more than a few words. Sometimes on Sundays, they have a brief lesson, but there is so little time in the week. 

One Sunday, after Dana has hung the laundry, and scrubbed the floor, and washed the dishes, she decides to go and find Emily, thinking they can read another chapter of Melville, perhaps. (She likes the book, she will admit; it reminds her of her father and his stories of the sea.) She expects to find Emily on the tail of Luke and his friends—they are much older than her, but her lonely girl still follows her around like he is the brother she'll never have—but Luke claims he has not seen her. She finds her, finally, on the steps of the building, an old reader Luke had kept open on her lap, squinting furiously at the page. A man is sitting beside her, pointing out the words on the page, speaking in a calm and patient voice. Dana recognizes the man immediately as their neighbor, Mr. Mulder, a schoolteacher who she has spoken to in the hall before. She's seen him occasionally playing with the young boys in the building, or talking with the men and women about books, plays, politics, scientific discoveries. She'd had a particular long discussion with him once on the effects of anesthesia in medicine, which Daniel had commented on several times.

"Emily," she says, and Emily scrambles to her feet and runs to her side, beaming with excitement. "Mama, this is Mr. Mulder, the schoolteacher," she says in a rush, tugging at her skirt. "He saw me trying to read and he offered to help!" 

"He did?" She strokes the top of her daughter's head, messy from where she's taken it out of her braids, stealing a look at the man. 

"My apologies, Miss Scully," Mr. Mulder offers, getting to his feet. "I didn't mean to intrude… I only wanted to help, if I could."

"It's not an intrusion," Dana says, but she is still wary. "I have been trying to teach her, but I often cannot find the time, and she's so desperate to learn. She's still too young for school yet." And privately, Dana worries about what Emily will go through when she enters school, considering the anger New Yorkers have for immigrants. There is a Catholic school she's looking at, simply because it seems like the best option, but it still is too easy to worry. 

"Mama," Emily whispers, tugging her skirt again as if she finds her embarrassing. 

Mr. Mulder smiles a bit. "Your daughter is very intelligent. She should have no trouble catching up."

"I'm six years old," Emily informs Mr. Mulder, her back automatically straightening as if to look older. "In a year's time, Mama says she can put me in school."

"I'm sure you're very excited," Mr. Mulder says, without even a hint of indulgence in his voice. Emily nods, a little shyly. Mr. Mulder seems to be thinking a bit on the subject, but he speaks soon after. "Perhaps if your mother permits it," he says, speaking as much to Dana as to Emily, "I could tutor you in my spare time. Teach you your letters and give you a head start on reading."

Emily's eyes light up, shyness forgotten, and she tugs pleadingly on Dana's skirt. "That would be wonderful!" she breathes. "Please, Mama, can't I do it?"

"I don't know, Em… I wouldn't want to impose on Mr. Mulder's time." The man certainly seems smart enough to educate her daughter, but it seems too large a favor to ask of a complete stranger. It is also worth noting that she doesn't know the man very well outside of polite conversations in the hallway. She offers Mr. Mulder an apologetic smile. 

"It's not an imposition at all," he says. "I would be glad to do it."

Dana bites her lower lip, her hand on her daughter's boney shoulder. "I-I could not afford to pay you anything," she says softly, although that may be obvious. None of them are wealthy—that is why they live here. But she may be a step down from the rest, staying in the corner of a friend's apartment with a screen instead of a wall, using her meager earnings to buy unsubstantial meals and pay a portion of the rent. If she had the money, she would get Emily and herself their own place, but she's got something of a disadvantage in that area. There isn't much she can do to rectify it. 

Mr. Mulder shakes his head immediately. "No money is required," he says, his voice full of sincerity. "I would be glad to do it as a favor."

"I could not ask that of you…" she tries, but he halts her protests quickly. "Do not worry about it," he says. "When I was younger, my little sister was not allowed to go to school as I was, and she wanted to learn as badly as Emily. I tried to teach her, but I wasn't very good at it." He offers a rueful little smile. "I would be glad to be able to give someone else the opportunity where I couldn't give it to her."

Emily tugs at her skirt again and whispers, "Please." 

Dana chews her lower lip again and sighs. "If you are absolutely sure it would not be a problem, Mr. Mulder," she says. "I know Emily would appreciate that very much." 

Overjoyed, Emily bounces up and down on her toes with excitement. Mr. Mulder smiles at the both of them widely. "I can assure you it won't be a problem, Miss Scully," he tells her. "It will be my pleasure."

---

They practice reading each night, at least for a little while. Even when Dana is so tired she can scarcely keep her eyes open, they spend a few minutes going over Mr. Mulder's lessons, if nothing else. Emily has always been a fast learner, and within a couple of months, she is able to stumble through a page or two of Moby-Dick. Dana is incredibly proud. She can remember her own lessons in reading and other forms of education: her father had taught her often when she was younger, alongside Billy and Melissa, but the lessons had more or less stopped at a certain point. Past that, she had more or less taught herself with books of her father's, watching Bill and her father as they worked, more books still from Daniel's vast library. She never wanted that lapse in education for her daughter; it may be inevitable at some point, but she'll do what she can to prevent it. 

Emily seems to adore Mr. Mulder as much as she does the lessons. "He is funny, Mama," she tells her in the second week, after she's retrieved her and thanked Mr. Mulder profusely. "And kind, just like John is. Much kinder than the other men in the building. Luke says he's the best schoolteacher he's ever had, and he's very smart and fair to the other children."

"He sounds very nice," says Dana, swinging their hands between them. 

"He is." She looks up at her with Missy's eyes. "Was Papa like that?" she asks. 

Her voice is so high and innocent, it makes Dana want to cry. No, she thinks, biting her lower lip. She says out loud, "I-I could not say, Em. I don't know Mr. Mulder well enough to make a comparison between him and your father."

Emily nods, her face serious. She looks down at her shoes, almost self-consciously. "I would like to believe that Papa was like Mr. Mulder," she says softly, and Dana squeezes her daughter's hand tightly. "I-I imagine him reading to me some nights, and helping me read. Y-you could take turns. And he could buy me pretty things, perhaps, and teach me all that he knows, like John does for Luke. Do you think he would have, Mama?"

"I know he would have," says Dana. It may be a bit of a lie, but that hardly seems to matter as much as her daughter's happiness. 

---

Mulder had done it, originally, because Emily Scully reminded her of his sister. He'd seen her as often as the other children in the apartment building, sometimes hovering after Luke Doggett the way that Samantha had followed him. But more often, he'd seen her by herself, playing alone on the front steps with a ragged doll in hand, or trying desperately to read, hunched over a ragged old reader and struggling out loud to sound out words, dress muddy, pigtails unraveling. And he had thought of Samantha, sneaking reading lessons in the back of their immaculate library, trying to climb up a tree and ripping a hole in her stockings. It had been enough to cause him to offer up free tutoring, on an impulse, remembering his sister and how frustrated she used to get whenever he would leave for school and she would have to stay home. He hadn't been lying about that. 

But a part of it was because of his admiration for her mother, Miss Dana Scully, who he'd seen in the halls often beforehand. She is beautiful, and intelligent, and there is something about her that simply draws Mulder to her, in a way he cannot explain. He is sure it won't go anywhere past friendship—Emily has reported that her father died only a few years before, on their trip over from Ireland, and Mulder himself has never particularly expected to be married—but he still enjoys any opportunity to spend time in her company. Particularly the talks they have when she drops by to retrieve Emily after shifts at the factory; they often last long, while they discuss books or plays or scientific theories, anything of the sort. Sometimes, he will ask Emily and Miss Scully to stay and share in his supper, sparse as it is; other times, Miss Scully will invite him to share leftovers of John Doggett's, or whatever cooking she has done herself. Sometimes, he fears he is bothering her, but other times, it seems as if she might like him a bit, too. He cannot tell for sure. 

He tells himself it does not matter. He is here mostly to save money, so that he can travel. He hears there is opportunity in the west, but he would be fooling himself if he cited that as the reason. It does not matter to him where he ends up; all that matters is that he finds his sister and brings her home, after all of these years. 

But still, he enjoys tutoring Emily. She's a bright young girl, a quick learner, and sweet. He does not know anything of her father aside from his death, but she still undeniably resembles her mother in every way he can see. He teaches her a bit of mathematics after she's gained some talent in reading and writing, and she enjoys that immensely. She has a load of questions for him every time she sees him: about stars, about history, about how things work and why they happen and where places are. Sometimes, Miss Scully will answer her before he can even open his mouth, blushing a little after and looking at him as if to see if he minds. He never does.

---

She shows up at his door after midnight, her face white, shaking. Emily at her side, curled into her with a blanket wrapped around her shoulder, her face hidden in Miss Scully's skirt, crying softly. For a second, Mulder doesn't know what to do, what to say. "Miss Scully, is… is everything okay?" he stammers, clutching his door in one hand. He sees a sudden splotch of red on her dress, alarming and bright. "Are you hurt?" he stammers. 

She's shaking her head. "No, no, Mr. Mulder, it's not that, it's just…" She swallows hard, her eyes wide and helpless. "I-I need you to take care of Emily. I need to leave her here. Please."

Emily seems to clutch Miss Scully's skirt harder at that, shaking her head and crying more frantically. She mumbles something that sounds a bit like, "Don't leave me, Mama, don't leave me."

Mulder takes a sharp breath and opens the door wider. "Come in, come in," he says, and Miss Scully does, stroking Emily's mussed hair with quivering fingers. "W-what has happened, Miss Scully? Perhaps I can help."

Miss Scully clenches her chin and shakes her head, her face turned down towards her daughter. "I-I cannot… I do not have time for this, Mr. Mulder. I… Please. Please, Mr. Mulder, I have to leave, they will be coming for me."

"Who?" On an impulse, he reaches out and takes her free hand. It is cold and soft, and as he draws it closer, he sees the same glimpses of red, red crescents under her fingernails. "Who is it, Miss Scully? Who is coming for you?"

Emily's sobs are heart wrenching, even muffled by Miss Scully's skirt. Miss Scully looks to be on the verge of tears herself. She does not pull her hand away. "The… the police," she whispers. 

"The police?" Mulder's mind tightens in fear as he remembers something suddenly, something he has often forgotten: the Irish are not well liked here. He wonders if these prejudices have somehow found the Scullys. "What has happened?"

Miss Scully bites her lower lip before lifting her chin so that her clear, blue eyes meet his. "There… there was a fight at a bar," she says tentatively. "John's son was involved, and so he intervened, and was injured. They followed him home. I… intervened, and I… harmed a man in an attempt to protect the Doggetts and my daughter." Her chin quivers once, steadies. She presses a hand over her daughter's head, spreading her fingers over her scalp. "He's dead," she whispers. "And he… he was police. So they'll be coming for me, to arrest me, and I… I will not find mercy here. I have learned that much."

His mind racing, he stammers, "But that… that is not murder, Miss Scully… that is self defense. A-any jury would see that."

She laughs bitterly. "But who can prove it? Emily did not see, and Barbara and John had already slipped down the fire escape. The only witnesses are the men who would have me arrested. And I will be convicted. Americans do not have any sympathy for women of my background." She swallows again, her pale white throat, a bruise blooming underneath her jaw. The sight of it makes Mulder furious. He is still clutching her limp hand. "S-so I am begging you, please take my daughter," she whispers. "She adores you. Take her, a-and take the money I have saved, and you can send her west, to my brother's house… I have to go. If they catch me, I can't let them get her. And if I escape…"

"Please, Mama, please don't go," Emily whimpers, drawing back, her cheeks smeared her tears. "Don't leave me alone, Mama, please."

"I have to, sweetheart." Miss Scully leans down to kiss her daughter's hair. Mulder can see her tears falling, glistening in the candlelight. "I must. But you will be safe here…"

"I cannot do this," says Mulder, speaking abruptly, almost without thinking. 

Miss Scully's eyes widen with horror, and she pulls back her hand as she looks up at him. "You… you will not help me?" she whispers furiously. "After everything, I-I thought you cared for my daughter… cared for me, as a friend…"

"N-no, Miss Scully, y-you misunderstand," he stammers, his eyes wide. "I will protect Emily, of course I will protect Emily, but I… I will not leave you to be arrested."

Her eyes widen in surprise. "You are foolish to offer this," she whispers. "If they catch me… you cannot hide me here, Mr. Mulder."

"I cannot," he agrees. "But I can get you out of the city. You and your daughter both." His mind is racing, full of ideas. "I-I have friends I trust, a house I could take you to tonight. And tomorrow, we-we could go to my mother's house, in Massachusetts, for the time being. The two of you could stay there until… until we figure out a way to get you to your brother's."

Miss Scully is quiet, her eyes wide. Emily, leaning into her mother, is looking between the two of them curiously, like she is hopeful that this will happen. "You will be safe," Mulder adds. "Both of you. I promise you that."

"I could not ask that of you, Mr. Mulder," Miss Scully whispers. "It is too much."

"It's not." Mulder thinks of the money, put aside to search for Samantha. Enough for three train tickets north at least, if not a little left over after to fund a trip to wherever Miss Scully's brother is. A part of him is reluctant to spend the money he has been saving for so long—part of him feels like he is abandoning his sister, his family—but the rest of him is remembering Samantha at seven, at eight, more caring and compassionate than anyone in his family. She rescued animals (kittens, baby birds, piglets from the barn), knitted things with their mother to send to the local orphanage, shared her food with the servants on occasion and stole food from the pantry for the family down the road who never had enough food. She would want him to help them; he can still picture her wide, teary eyes, her weepy voice prodding him to help them, help them, Fox. And he wants to. He looks at Dana Scully and her daughter, the best companions he's found in the past few months, and he knows immediately that he must help them. He has no choice. 

"I have money," he says out loud. "I can get you out of the city. I can help you. Both of you."

"Please, Mama, you must come with us. We can't leave you all alone." Emily hugs her mother hard around the waist, sniffling loudly. "I need you, Mama, please."

Miss Scully looks to her daughter, and then back to Mulder. Her eyes are still wide with fear. She sighs a little, tensely, and whispers, "I'll need to pack some things. My savings…" 

"If you tell me what you need, I'll go and get it. You should not have to go back there."

Miss Scully rattles off a list in a quivering voice: clothes for the both of them, a knife that her father gave her, her bundle of coins underneath the bed. Emily tugs on his sleeve and adds softly, "And my dolly, please. And the picture of my sister Maggie, and of Mama's family. There's two of them."

Mulder slips out of his apartment and into theirs and finds it all, bundling it into a ragged carpet bag. He grabs their coats, too, and the family Bible under the bed, and a pistol he finds in John Doggett's part of the apartment. He tucks the pistol into his waistband and goes back to his apartment, where he finds the girls sitting on his bed, Emily curled up asleep in her mother's lap. "There is no need to wake her," he says when he sees Miss Scully moving to do just that. "I can carry her. It may be easier if she is asleep." 

She nods, taking the carpet bag from his hands. "I… I cannot begin to thank you, Mr. Mulder," she whispers, shifting Emily off of her lap and standing. 

He's begun to gather his own things, shoving his feet into his boots, retrieving his own savings. He puts a few books he cannot bear to part with into his bag, and a drawing he's held onto for years now, a portrait his father commissioned of Samantha. Photography was not in fashion when he and his sister were growing up, and so this drawing is the only memory he has as to what she looked like. "There is no need for thanks."

"You've done too much for us," Miss Scully whispers. She's put on her coat, and Emily's coat, and now she is tying a piece of cloth over her head—he assumes, to hide her bright hair. Her voice, soft as it's been all night, sounds a little different, as if she's trying to sand off the edges of the accent, attempting to sound different. "I… will find a way someday to repay you."

"It is not at all necessary." He shoulders his bag, grabs his hat and pulls it onto his head, before leaning down and scooping up Emily. She is a bit tall to be carried, but much lighter than he expected, barely weighing anything in his arms. She stays asleep, her coat and the blanket hanging off of her lightly. He shifts her in his arms and turns back to Miss Scully. "Shall we go?"

Miss Scully nods, her fingers rushing to button her coat. She grabs her carpet bag, clutching it to her chest, and trails out of the apartment after him. 

 ---

She was twenty-one the first time she was married, at the end of the famine that had plagued her teenage years. She remembered being frightened, if only a little bit. She'd met Daniel a few times beforehand, and though at the time he'd seemed kind and honorable, she found it bizarre that his young daughter was only seven years younger than her. Practically the right age enough to court her younger brother. She hadn't wanted it for herself, it was the last thing she'd wanted in a way, and yet she could not protest. She could feel her mother watching Melissa as she helped her to get ready, and knew she was thinking about the disappointment Melissa had given her by refusing to marry, even driving away potential suitors. Her sister was going to have the life she wanted, and Dana was going to take her place as the honorable daughter, the one who did what she was supposed to do and did not argue. She wasn't marrying Daniel Waterston for herself, but for her father, because it was what he wanted, and she could not stand to let him or her mother down. Her father walked her down the aisle, and she wore the veil her mother had worn when she'd gotten married, and she'd wished to be somewhere else. 

Now here she is again, in front of an altar with a man, but her father is dead, and she hasn't seen her mother or sister in years, and her daughter sleeps in the room upstairs, and she is twenty-eight and grimy and dressed in a dress that is too large for her because her own dress has bloodstains on it. She does not feel like a bride. The only good difference, she thinks, is that she knows her husband-to-be better than she perhaps ever knew Daniel. She knows he is intelligent and kind, and willing to protect herself and her daughter. And no matter the reason for this impromptu, inconvenient marriage, she is glad for at least that. 

Mr. Mulder is holding her hands, so gently in his, and he's not quite meeting her eyes, but she can still see kindness in his face. She doesn't quite have the courage to look at him, either, and so she looks down at her boots. Mr. Frohike, their witness, stands in the corner. The preacher, a friend of Mr. Frohike, stands before them without asking questions. He simply opens the Bible and says the words, all the right ones. Dana and Mr. Mulder say what they are meant to, too, and then it is done. They do not kiss, not even chastely. There is no music or flowers or white dresses. Dana could not care less. 

Just before the ceremony, Mr. Mulder leaned down to whisper in her ear, saying, "I promise you I will be a gentleman, Miss Scully. This marriage is for the safety of you and your daughter. It doesn’t have to mean a thing." 

She blushed immediately, heat rising on her cheeks, and looked to the ground. "I cannot thank you enough, Mr. Mulder," she had said softly. "And you need not worry. I trust you." 

When she looked back at him, he was smiling. "Perhaps we should do away with the formalities, Miss Scully."

"Perhaps," she had agreed, a bit amused. "I won't be a Miss anymore, after all." She offered him a small smile back, still unbelieving that he was helping her so much, that he was willing to hide and marry a murderess. A man she barely knew. "Shall I call you Fox?" she asks. 

Mr. Mulder had flinched, just a bit, and shook his head. "Perhaps… just Mulder, if you do not mind. I have never liked my first name, and most people I know call me Mulder."

It's unusual, but it's no more unusual than the rest of this situation. Dana smiles and nods. "Well, you may call me Dana or Scully, I suppose," she said lightly, unsure of why except that he has always called her Miss Scully, like she has always called him Mr. Mulder. "Whichever appeals to you."

"Which appeals to you more, Miss Scully?" he'd asked, teasing, and then the preacher had been ready, and now here they are. 

Once, she had believed she would never get married again. Now, she is married, and she has no idea whether or not it counts. 

Mr. Mulder—Mulder—keeps hold of her hand as they go back upstairs to Emily. It's the first time anyone has held her hand in years, and she is surprised by how nice it feels, his warm and callused fingers wrapped around hers. Daniel's hands had been cool, his touch unyielding, his voice the same faux-polite sound it always was as he talked to everyone but her. Mulder's hands are gentle, holding her hand carefully—not as if it is fragile and may break, but as if it is something precious, something he cares for. She knows this is not quite the case, it cannot be, but it is nice to pretend, for just a moment, that this is a true marriage, that she and Mulder love each other as a husband and wife should. 

[admiralty-xfd]

Hi, excuse me, I adore you. I absolutely LOVE your chapter in "First Time For Everything" where you explored Gibson 'hearing' Mulder miss Scully in the bunker SO my prompt is - you know that scene from early season 8 where Scully has to kill the shapeshifter and then breaks down and bawls in Doggett's arms? - Gibson was standing so still and looked shook while staring at Scully and I want to hear your take on what he could 'hear' from Scully in that moment. Lol this is so long, I'm the worst lol

I adore YOU, Nicole. And I hope I did it justice :)

(And here is the chapter she’s referring to if you’re interested.)

Confusion is the first thing Gibson hears.

The man with blue eyes holds Agent Scully tightly, and his thoughts don’t know where to go. They are only fragments; no beginning and no end, just bits and pieces of things he cannot or will not understand. The lengths his mind go to now to justify what he’s seen are far more incredible than anything he’s actually witnessed.

Confusion is tricky for a mind reader. It’s hard to know what the person truly feels, and where they will land.

Fear is much easier. This is what he hears from Agent Scully. At first he thinks she’s afraid of the bounty hunter, or of having almost killed her friend. Or maybe that she’ll never see her partner again. These are the things that anyone would assume watching her now.

But then, as happens on occasion, he hears a very specific thought.

How can I do this, Mulder? How will I protect our child without you? I can’t keep anyone safe. I can’t even keep Gibson safe.

For a moment he feels incredibly guilty for saying what he did before, for putting that responsibility on her. She’s always been kind to him, always. Even back when he first met her she had a softness about her, a warmth. She was interested and curious about him but that’s exactly how he knew she was a good person; she was always more concerned for his well being than anything he could possibly teach her.

Our child. What child? Does she have a child with Agent Mulder?

He knew these two were in love with each other from the day he met them. It was impossible not to know. And Gibson understands love in a way no one else can. He hears all the things people do not say; the things they are dying to say but don’t, for whatever reason. And there are always lots of reasons.

He heard it from Agent Mulder when he first met him, the silent plea he repeated to himself.

Scully can’t know, she can’t know about Diana… fuck… how am I going to explain this… she’s never going to forgive me…

Gibson didn’t know who any of them were at the time, but he hadn’t needed to in order to piece everything together.

That fucking bee… why didn’t I try again sooner… why didn’t I tell Scully the truth…

The bee part was unclear, but it hadn’t been for long. When he’d been alone with Agent Scully that particular event had been explained with alarming detail. He tried not to listen, he really tried. But it was all she could think about.

The blue eyed agent is screaming for help as the rest of the agents trickle out of the room. Agent Scully says with her mouth “I’m fine Agent Doggett, I’m fine,” but with her mind I am not fine. I will never be fine until I find him.

It’s easier to focus now with just the two agents in the room. He hears the fear again, and the terror. He wants it to stop. Agent Scully is a nice person, and she doesn’t deserve this. He steels himself, knowing she is not fine, knowing Agent Doggett should not leave her alone. The fear, the confusion. Two voices now. He can deal with two voices.

But then her left hand moves to her abdomen. Agent Doggett doesn’t see, but Gibson does.

And he hears another voice.

It isn’t words, it’s more of a feeling, a soothing presence that seems to calm Agent Scully. She takes deep breaths, and he can tell Agent Doggett thinks he’s calming her down but it isn’t him, it’s something else. It’s someone else.

Suddenly he understands. He’s hearing her child. Mulder’s child.

“Go, help Skinner,” Agent Scully says to Agent Doggett. He helps her to her feet and with further insistence she’s fine, although Agent Doggett knows better, he begrudgingly acquiesces and leaves them alone in the room.

Gibson knows his abilities are unique to humans. Although he’s able to distinguish that which is human from that which is alien it hasn’t changed the fact that he’s always felt so, so alone. But as he looks at Agent Scully now, her hand hovering over the child he’s now aware exists, he feels less so. He’s never been able to communicate with a baby before and immediately knows this child is different, special.

Just like him.

He touches her arm. “Agent Scully?” She looks at him as if she’s noticing him there for the first time.

“Gibson… are you all right?” Her lip trembles and he can tell she’s trying to keep it together but her brain is on fire with emotion. He nods, trying to put her at ease.

“I’m so sorry, Gibson… I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe.��

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry I said what I did. You did the best you could.” He looks at her meaningfully. “And I know you will for your kid, too.”

She looks up at him, taken aback. “How do you…?”

“I can hear it. Right now.”

She lets out a tiny gasp and moves her hand protectively to her stomach again. “What… do you hear?”

“Just a feeling. It’s hard to describe. Safety. Comfort.”

Her eyes well up and she nods ever so slightly. She looks so, so sad, and he can hear her gratitude for telling her this. But he also hears other, more complex thoughts swirling around her brain; thoughts of despair, of heartache. Of love.

Mulder.

“He’s looking for you too, you know,” Gibson says softly. It’s all he can give her right now: hope.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s what I heard. It’s how I know for sure it was him up there.”

Scully blinks. “What did you hear?”

Gibson shrugs. “Just your name. Just Scully.”

She smiles. He doesn’t remember ever seeing her smile before, and he’s happy to be the one to have made it happen.

“Thank you, Gibson.”

She takes his arm and he leads her out of this room, the alien bounty hunter having dissolved into nothingness by now. Back to reality. But the fear is gone now. Certainty is what he hears from Agent Scully; not doubt, not hesitation. But utter certainty that her partner is alive, somewhere out there.

And she will find him.

[sigritandtheelves]

You told me you don't believe in canon, can I ask why? I am really curious, and I don't mind a long detailed answer ( lol). Also what are your thoughts on the difference between canon divergent and AU?

Crisis on Infinite Truths, or, Why I Don’t Believe in Canon (And Neither Should You)

Thanks for this ask, friend. I’ve thought about this quite a bit, especially when I see occasional comments about what or when events “really” happened, or people saying that they don’t like AU (by which they often mean any canon divergence). So here’s my little manifesto on why I think adherence to canon is pointless (and painful).

The world of the X-Files contradicts itself. Constantly.

Mulder and Scully met in March, 1992 (Pilot). But in December, 1993, they’d known each other only a few months. Scully was missing for four weeks. No wait, Duane Barry clearly takes place in August, and she was returned in November so that’s three months!  Samantha’s middle name is Teena—no, Anne! Margaret Scully gave Dana her cross necklace for her birthday… or was it for Christmas?

Anyone who’s ever tried to piece together a coherent timeline for this show knows that there are constant, frustrating contradictions, and numerous impossibilities—but not the good kind that Mulder likes to investigate. We pick and choose these minor points to accept or deny all the time without worrying about betraying canon. Why, then, do some remain committed to the idea of a “true” storyline (canon), even after major contradictions in story, not to mention the betrayals and cruelties of our Clueless Creator? It’s a matter of personal preference and one’s own relationship to the show, but here’s why I don’t believe in canon.

The smaller discrepancies listed above (just a tiny sampling) appear early in what I think of as the main timeline of seasons 1-7, but the contradictions that began to appear afterward were truly egregious: major changes in the mythology and characterization that were incompatible with earlier seasons, and which were sometimes later retconned by the show itself (Supersoldiers? Never happened. Colonization in 2012, “The date is set!”? Nup.). The plot became desperate (for ratings and to intensify its drama), cruel (to both Mulder and Scully in its violences and unjustified, poorly handled traumas), dictated by real-world constraints (Duchovny’s absence), and utterly nonsensical (the Smoking Man appears to be an otherworldly demon? He dies how many times?). I mostly hang with canon in the first seven seasons, but after that, I feel absolutely no obligation to this nonsense. Season ten was so painful and so offensive in so many ways—I won’t ever go near most of that season. I don’t think any fan should feel obligated to believe in one “true” timeline, especially when it seems written into the show that there are multiple possibilities and versions of truth.

My orientation toward canon, and I think that of many fanfic writers, is based on this multiplicity: we pick narrative elements that are grounded in what’s given or represented in the show itself. We reframe and retell. We offer something new. I’m going to draw, just briefly, on the work that I do academically, and talk about hermeneutics. Writing fanfiction is a transformative act of interpretation. By necessity, all of it is canon-divergent to some extent, because canon (like any primary text) contains no “true” interpretation. There is no single and correct reading, no singular meaning beyond what we, as readers and viewers, bring to it. A text is worth what we make of it and nothing more. Isn’t that incredibly liberating?

Why are some people so committed to the idea of canon?

When I first returned to writing fanfic, I had an epic goal in mind—I wanted to trace the relationship development between Mulder and Scully through all of the years of the show. I failed very early on because the project quickly felt both impossible and unnecessary. Most fic that is “canon compliant” emphasizes a particular piece of the timeline in order to parse out the distinct emotional and psychological nuances of a single arc. We zero in on one place to make sense of it (hermeneutics) and then tell our stories that offer more than the original. Already, we diverge from canon.

Rather than an account of the whole series, my idea became an effort to understand and reframe the reproduction arc, beginning in season five. It became the “Bearings” series of four stories, which attempted to be faithful to canonical events as much as possible. But even then, it diverged after the beginning of season eight because the things that happen in that season do not make sense in the arc of the rest of the show. I could find absolutely no justification for Mulder’s “death” based on what we know of the alien plot. Supersoldiers? They get written out of the show after season nine! They don’t make sense in relation to anything else we know about the aliens, and they never appear again. Screw supersoldiers, and screw the nonsensical mytharc of seasons eight and nine. I rewrote it in the final part.

People focus on the canonical because they want there to be coherence and consistency—they want a true truth that is grounded in the show’s representation. I say: let go of that. It is impossible both because the writing contradicts itself, literally, over and over again, and because many of the events that do become consistent (Scully gave up William? Really, we’re sticking with that one because no one in Hollywood knows how to write children?) are so fundamentally wrong in relation to what we know of the characters.

There is no dogma, there is no truth, there is no single and correct canon. We have pieces. Let’s make beautiful things with them.

Through all of a narrative’s divergent possibilities, we choose our elements.

We know that the arc of this overall story was not planned. There’s no show bible, no “truth” that was ever out there, in the end. What we have instead are truths (plural) and infinite possibilities: factoids, events, feelings, characters. Personally, I have a few things that I hold as true across most versions of the stories that I like to tell, and some of that borrows from post-season-seven events, even as I tend to rewrite canon after that point: Mulder and Scully tried IVF, but it didn’t work. Afterward, they had two children together (at a reasonable human age for conceiving children). They find their way (in all ‘verses) to the unremarkable house. They keep fighting the good fight and are as tough as nails—but they always love the absolute hell out of each other and their kids. These are the elements that I often choose to keep, and the rest I can play around with. Others do great things with other bits and pieces, and I like to experiment with angsty vignettes, too. I dig a good break-up fic, for example. Even an on-the-run fic: I love those, too. There are interesting, nuanced, painful, and beautiful things that can be done with what 1013 gave us—but not with everything it gave us and nothing else.

What’s the difference between AU and Canon Divergence?

This is a difference that gets conflated all the time, and I’m just as guilty of this mix-up as anyone else, because of the way the term AU gets used these days. It’s not a huge deal; I’m not really into taxonomizing and hair-splitting. But I do think story metadata is useful for finding what you’re looking for, so maybe we should clarify what these things mean. AU stands for Alternate Universe, and initially, that’s what this term was used to designate: a fundamental difference in worlds. Let’s put Mulder and Scully in the Wild West, or the 1950s, or in space, and see how their story changes or stays the same. I love these stories, as many do, because they maintain essential elements from the world of the show (characterization, certain plot points, family relations, approximations of life-defining events), but allow readers and writers to speculate about how things might have played out, were the world not as it is.

Canon divergence is different, and also is pretty self explanatory. This is the world of the X-Files, but here’s how things would play out if just this one thing (or these five) happened differently: Melissa didn’t die in Paper Clip; Scully and Mulder kept and raised William; Mulder finds Samantha alive at the end of Closure; etc. These stories are great because they allow for imaginative speculation, but keep us in a world we’re familiar with. But again, all fanfiction involves creative speculation. All of it diverges from what we actually saw. These just diverge a little more widely. They speculate a little bit harder, maybe.

The difference between canon divergence and AU gets fuzzy in spaces like pre-XF, because it’s kind of an AU—a world that takes place before the timeline of the show, and therefore makes major changes before there’s such thing as “canon” (see—we using scare quotes now). It seems like hair-splitting to argue for one or the other, but AU probably makes the most sense, unless you’re going to incorporate major elements of the canonical storyline too.

So that’s pretty much all I have to say. Sorry for the long-windedness, but I’d love to chat more about it.

[blackcoffeeandteardrops]

“It’s three in the morning.” - txf

Lol so I know this fic took me far too long to post, BUT it’s below the cut. And also AO3. Maybe not what you were going for, but you know how I feel about otp and their kids, both of whom Mulder fathered.

The night they brought their daughter home, neither Mulder or Scully got much sleep. Between the midnight feeding and waking every few hours for one reason or another, both of her parents would manage to almost fall asleep before she inevitably needed them again. The next few weeks followed much of the same pattern with Mulder and Scully taking turns to get up with her.

On occasion, they’d be half asleep and stumble into the hallway to find William standingby the door of his room bleary eyed, and the sight would startle them. He’d lived under their roof for the majority of Scully’s pregnancy, but the fact he was still there and not a product of their wishful imaginations caught them by surprise.

“Was I like this?” he asked one night, leaning against the doorway of his room as Scully paced the hallway, cradling the little girl.

“A little,” Scully conceded, fighting the lump she felt growing in her throat. They’d talked about his time with them some, but tiptoed around more of the fine tuned details. Before she could contemplate the idea much further, the baby curled her tiny fist against Scully’s chest and let out another cry. “I don’t remember it being this loud. Olivia, honey, it’s okay,” she said, pausing near where William stood, rocking the infant in her arms. It helped a little, but she was still clearly disgruntled in the way babies tended to be at times.

“Hey, Livvie, let mom get some sleep, why don’t you?” William said, laughing softly as he reached out to cup the back of his sister’s head. He gently ruffled what little hair she had and looked up at Scully through his lashes. “I could take her for a little while if you wanted.”

“It’s fine,” Scully replied. It wasn’t the first time he’d slipped up and referred to her as mom, but each time had been so subtle, rushed in with everything else in a way that made her wonder if he even realized he’d said it. Whether it was her gentle rocking her or relaxing under her brother’s touch, Olivia had settled down, her eyelids growing heavier by the second, a sure sign that sleep was likely imminent. “See? Sometimes babies just want to be held. Sorry she woke you.”

“It’s okay,�� William replied, lowering his gaze to the ground, already reaching to shut his bedroom door. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

The following night was uneventful as was the one after that. So much so that Mulder joked before they went to bed that she’d broken the spell of late nights. It was a statement he’d regret however as the monitor next to the bed crackled to life and the sound of their daughter’s cries woke them both from sleep.

Scully burrowed her head into Mulder’s chest, suppressing the groan the sounds elicited. As grateful as she was for Olivia–and, for that matter, William–it didn’t make waking up in the middle of the night any easier. “This is your fault, you know.”

Mulder sighed, craning his neck as he read the time on the bedside alarm clock. “It’s three a.m.,” he said, stifling a lawn as he stared up at the ceiling. He ran a hand down Scully’s back, giving her side a gentle squeeze as he moved to sit up in bed. “I’ll go get her.”

Scully nodded, closing her eyes only to snap them open again, reaching across the bed to grab his arm. “Mulder, wait,” she said, mirroring his position as she pushed the blankets back. The crying sounding from the baby monitor had stopped, replaced now by a low murmuring she couldn’t quite make out. “What is that?”

Together, they threw back the blanket and as a solid unit crossed the hallway, unprepared for the sight they’d encounter. The door to Olivia’s room was open just slightly, but it was enough for them to get a glimpse inside. Next to her crib was a rocking chair, and in it sat William, rocking his baby sister. His head was bent forward, and while his mouth was moving, they could barely make out the words. The baby, despite emitting soft cries, appeared comfortable in her brother’s embrace.

“Scully,” Mulder whispered, reaching out instinctively for her hand. He grasped it in his, watching the scene play out before them.

“I know,” Scully replied, giving his hand a squeeze. Whatever she’d been expecting upon hearing the noises from Olivia’s room, it hadn’t been what she was seeing. Granted, it wasn’t the first time William had held her, but for the majority of her pregnancy he’d seemed rather untouched by it. He’d ask questions on occasion, and thanks to Mulder’s guest lecturing at a class had actually been the one to drive Scully to the hospital when she went into labor, but had seemed hesitant in way to get attached to the new addition to the family.

“Come on, kid,” William said, gently rocking the chair as he adjusted the baby in his arms. If he knew his parents were watching, he gave no indication of it. “When you get to be older, you’ll love sleep. I promise.”

Scully looked on and smiled, stifling a laugh behind her hand. She leaned her head against Mulder’s shoulder and closed her eyes for a moment, sighing as Mulder pressed a kiss to the top of her head. It seemed strange, in a way, that they were able to bask in the comfort of this new reality, in light of everything they’d faced to get here. Still, she thought a bit selfishly, if anyone deserved happiness after terrible circumstances, it was them.

Beside her, Mulder shifted his feet, causing the floorboards to creak.

William looked up, staring through the inky darkness at them. In the dim glow of the nightlight (a spaceship, despite Scully’s insisting it didn’t go with the theme of the room), he smiled sheepishly and shrugged, mindful of the baby resting in his arms. “Sorry, she was crying and I just…figured you guys needed to sleep. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It wasn’t you that woke us,” Mulder replied, shaking his head with a smile.

Scully pushed the door open further, slowly stepping into the room. “You don’t have to apologize. How is she?”

“Fine, I guess,” William replied, focusing on the baby as he spoke. He watched as her mouth opened and closed, raising her hand in the air, as if grasping for something none of them could see. The connection to his sister had been a little hard to understand, at least at first. It wasn’t easy, figuring out his place in the family. They’d welcome him with open arms, he knew that much before officially meeting them for the first time, but for so long he’d remained uncertain of where he fit in, especially with a new child on the way. This child would, he knew they hoped, be spared the evils and horrors they’d endured. Staring at her face, watching as she stretched her tiny body and yawned, he couldn’t help but tighten his arms around her and hope for the exact same thing. “She’s finally getting sleepy. I guess that’s good.”

“It is good,” Scully replied, unable to say much else. She swayed where she stood, grateful for Mulder’s arm circling her waist. William hadn’t sent her a vision, not exactly, but she’d sensed his thoughts just the same. “You’re always welcome here. You know that, don’t you? Your sister…she loves you.”

“So do we,” Mulder added, subtly bumping her hip with his own. The connection they all shared was something none of them totally understood, but it warmed his heart all the same.

“I know,” William replied,  slowly nodding his head, feeling the breath hitch in his chest. The love he felt from them was nearly overwhelming at times. It hadn’t been easy in the beginning. The day he showed up on their doorstep, barely recovered from his time in the water, let alone the bullet hole freshly healed on his forehead, had been fraught with tension. The days and weeks that followed had been an adjustment period to say the least. There were times he’d walk into the room and one of them would stare like he was an apparition that would disappear at any second. When Scully started showing, they walked on eggshells around him, even though he’d told them not to. He’d known before they’d even told him, had figured out that the baby was a girl before they’d even seen the ultrasound.

His visions of the future had become less frequent, and the virus that threatened to decimate the world’s population hadn’t reared its ugly head. The man who called himself a creator, but who William now realized thrived on trying to manipulate people and control them for his bidding, hadn’t surfaced either. Staring at Olivia and knowing without looking up at them that Mulder and Scully were watching them, he couldn’t help hoping things stayed that way. It was different, this life they’d stumbled into, but he figured they’d do anything to hold onto it as best they could. “I think she’s asleep. Should I put her back in the crib?”

“Here, let me help,” Scully replied, carefully stepping closer. She gingerly lifted the baby from his arms, holding still once she stood upright, fearful the transition had startled her. Satisfied, Scully turned to the crib, laying Olivia inside. She gripped the railing, watching her daughter’s eyes flutter behind her closed lids, and she hoped whatever dreams she was having were pleasant ones.

“I guess that’s my cue to exit,” William said, rising from the rocking chair. He shuffled to the door, carding a hand through his dark locks, stopping as he heard Scully call his name.

“Hey, Will?” Scully said, not continuing until she saw him looking back at her. “Thank you for your help. I mean it.”

He flicked his gaze from her to Olivia who was already sleeping soundly, to Mulder, who tried but failed to hide a yawn behind his arm. They were all pretty tired, and he felt the same. “Anytime,” he replied. “Well, I’m gonna go to bed now. See you guys in the morning. Or, well, when it’s light out.”

No matter how much William loved his sister, Mulder could see plain as day the teenager was tired, but he appreciated that he had a sense of humor about it. “See you then, Will,” he said, watching as the younger man left the room, carefully pulling the door closed behind him. Mulder looked back to Scully and cocked his head in the direction of the door. “Think we can get a few hours in before her highness over there wakes up again?”

“Mulder…” Scully replied, smiling as she shook her head.

“Of sleep, Scully. I meant sleep,” he replied. “Are you coming to bed?”

Scully darted her gaze to the chair where William had been sitting just moments before. She thought of the rocky grounds they’d traversed to get to where they were, and while they might not be considered normal by any traditional standards, she knew they were about as close as they could hope to be. Looking back at the baby sleeping soundly, she thought of how content her little one had been in her brother’s arms, and she smiled. “Yes,” she said, finally fixing her eyes on Mulder. She’d go to bed and they’d seek a moment’s rest before the new day begun, but as she clutched the crib railing, she found herself wanting to hang on to this one for just a little while longer. “I’ll be right there.”

[agentelmo]

Do you have any thoughts about the Mulder/Scully dynamic after Mulder’s return in S8. There were times when I didn’t like him. But I could excuse his behavior given what he’d been through. S8 seemed to be Scully’s story with only minor confirmation that Mulder was struggling with what was done to him. So I find Scully’s behavior to be more problematic. There’s never an acknowledgment of his paternity or affirmation when he asks about the baby’s gender. and giving the keychain to Doggett hurt

Oh Anon, there’s a lot I despise about season 8.  Where to begin?

Mulder being abducted at all was a big mistake in my opinion.  Think of how greatly Scully’s abduction had affected her, and how much attention the show gave to the impact that experience had on her and the implications it had for the rest of her life.  It was a huge part of the show, and a huge part of Scully’s character that is explored across the span of 7 seasons.

So for them to carelessly throw this experience at Mulder’s character too felt utterly trite and, honestly, it cheapened Scully’s arc.

Mulder is returned and apart from one episode - Three Words - where he seems to be struggling to deal with what’s happened and is distant with Scully  (not to mention having terrifying flashbacks of the torture done to him) he is completely back to himself and pretty much unchanged two episodes later in Empedocles. 

I recall reading somewhere that David Duchovny had requested to write an episode for season 8 which showed Mulder dealing with/coming to terms with what had happened to him, but CC nixed it, saying that the episodes had to focus on Doggett.  

At that point, they probably knew David wasn’t coming back for season 9 and they were still hoping they could continue the series with Doggett and Reyes, so CC didn’t want to focus on Mulder anymore.  Hard to read that, huh.  It was for me.  Because it makes me so angry that they couldn’t see this show was nothing without Mulder and Scully.  No one cared about Doggett, all we wanted was to know what was up with Mulder and pregnant Scully!

I was fine with Scully’s behaviour in season 8.  The only thing that irked me was that she seemed to not want to approach the subject of who the father of her baby is.  If they ever discuss it, it’s off screen (WHY??!!!).  It might have happened between Three Words and Empedocles since Mulder is very different in that episode, much more attentive and touchy feely with Scully and he seems to know he is that father at that point - I mean, touching her belly and smiling?  In fact, it’s not just smiling - in the close up he has a look of awe on his face… like he can’t quite believe that Scully is having his child.  It’s amazing.  Probably one of my favourite moments of the show, actually.

But then there is the weird pizza man discussion at the beginning of that episode where Mulder says he’s not above suspicion pointing at her belly, and she just says “ah… I see”.  

Fucking “I see”?!

FFS Scully.  She doesn’t say, “You know I haven’t fucked anyone but you in 7 years, right? So work it out!  Aren’t you supposed to be the genius investigator here?!” 

I personally choose to take the pizza man thing as a joke, and that they probably talked about it between these two episodes.  But why that had to be off screen, I have no idea.  It’s just too much at this point… all the important discussions between these two just seem to keep happening away from our eyes in season 7 and 8.

Now about the keychain… Mulder saying “you regifted” heh… You can hear in the tone of his voice that he was a little hurt by that.  If Mulder has any kind of sense, he must have realise that Doggett is a tiny bit infatuated with Scully.  So that keychain, which had some significance for Mulder and Scully, given to this man might have burned, but only a little.

I’d say Scully probably eventually explained why she gave it to him… off screen!  GRRR!

Parts of season 8 and pretty much all of season 9 make me kinda angry, Anon.  Can you tell? lol… You really don’t want me to talk about it.  I can’t be rational or analyse properly, because I just go Ranty McRantface about it.

I find it hard to analyse the character behaviours because it feels like they are completely different characters at times.  Or that roadblocks are put down for no other reason than to make something a mystery!  Are Mulder and Scully together?  It’s a mystery!  Is Mulder the father of Scully’s baby?  It’s a mystery!  A mystery still fucking ongoing into 2018!

I will say this for season 8… when Mulder and Scully are together, they have some incredibly sweet moments which clearly point to a change in their relationship.  They’re so incredibly affectionate and playful in ways we haven’t seen before. 

 When season 8 is good, it’s very good, but when it’s bad you want to gouge your eyes out.

The final scene of Existance is one of the most emotional MSR scenes of all time. 

Only now it’s forever marred by the fact we know that the happiness they find in that scene - this new family they have created together - is instantly taken away from them.

So, yeah… apart from the horrendous way Mulder’s return was handled in Three Words, I actually really enjoyed the Mulder/Scully dynamic in season 8.  It was lovely.  They’re so clearly in love and ready to move on from the X-Files.  Mulder seems finally ready to let go, for Scully and this baby to be his focus now… but it’s all taken away.

I actually feel the pain physically when I think about it.  Yeah, I probably didn’t really answer your question Anon, but I am in a good mood right now and don’t want to ruin it, to be honest!

Happy fucking new year!

[eightsgirl]

Fandom Tag Meme

I was tagged by @tardisly! Thank you so much! This was fun :D

1. Your current OTP(s)/OT3(s)/OTX(s):

Current OTP is definitely Eight/Charley from Doctor Who. They are just too adorable for each other and I’m constantly using them as an example of a cannon romance in for the Doctor.

2. A pairing you initially didn’t consider but someone changed your mind (bonus points: who was that person).

For me it would be Eight/Rose. In my search for Eight/Charley fic to read, I came across some Eight/Rose stories and I just didn’t like the idea (and I totally shipped Ten/Rose). But one story in particular sounded too good to pass up and I ended up loving it! Battle in the Sky by bubblygal92: some of the best writing I’ve ever read.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/1155888/chapters/2344551

3. A pairing you used to love, but it all fell apart for you.

I wouldn’t say this one exactly fell apart because I do still love them together but the last season definitely put the ice on it for me: Sherlock/John from the BBC Sherlock. I was into them super heavy and then season 4 happened.

4. Have you added anything cracky/hilarious to your fandom, if so, what?

Not really. I’m not very creative or funny lol

5. What’s the longest you’ve ever been in a fandom?

I’d have to say the longest I’ve been in a fandom would be Doctor Who. I started watching in season three of NuWho and haven’t stopped since! It wasn’t my first fandom though as that honor truly belongs to the X-Files. I’m just not super active in that fandom anymore.

6. Do you remember your first OTP, if so who was in it?

It was Mulder/Scully from the X-Files. God I wanted them together so bad it hurt! I might have died a little watching the Bermuda Triangle episode :P I read somewhere that it was this fandom that coined the phrase shipping. If that’s true, I feel like a cool kid to be in on that lol.

7. Name a fandom you didn’t care/think about until you saw it all over Tumblr.

It wasn’t that I didn’t care about it but more of a I didn’t know about it until it blew up on another of my blogs. Everyone was posting about a gay fan ship actually going cannon so I had to check it out. It’s a very cute comic called Check, Please! by @omgcheckplease

Bitty is so adorable that you can’t help loving him from the first comic. And Zimmerman!

8. Say something genuinely nice about a character who isn’t one of your faves (chars you’re neutral on are fair game, as are chars you dislike).

I was very against the idea of Nardole becoming a companion but I ended up eating my words as he was great in series 10.

9. Name three things you wish you saw more of in your main fandom (or a fandom of choice).

Recently, I wish I saw more acceptance in my fandom. Since the announcement of 13, I’ve been very disappointed in some fandom reactions. I thought us Doctor Who fans were better than that. Here on tumblr I don’t see it cause I surround myself with awesome peeps but out in the wider community it’s been awful. (I know this isn’t three but it’s bad enough to count for three)

10. Choose a song at random; which ship or character does it remind you of?

I have to pick one?! I’ve got a playlist for both Eight/Charley and Eight/Rose lol

11. A pairing you ship that you don’t think anyone else ships.

Eight/Charley is a more obscure ship of mine (which is odd cause it’s cannon!) but I’m finding more and more who have excellent taste lol

12. Your most scandalous headcanon for your current OTP(s)/OT3(s)/OTX(s).

I don’t really have any scandalous ones.

13. Do you have any hard and fast headcanons that you will die defending, about anything at all (gender identity, sexual or romantic orientation, extended family, sexual preferences like top/bottom/switch, relationship with poetry, seriously anything)?

I don’t live and die by this one but it’s pretty solid in my head that Sherlock is a bottom and John is a top. That’s not to say I don’t enjoy the reverse now and then but that’s how I see them. That being said, I will defend that ship itself until my dying breath, all the way back to the original stories by Doyle.

14. 5 favorite characters from 5 different fandoms.

Doctor Who: Eighth Doctor

Firefly: Malcom Reynolds

Stargate: Daniel Jackson

Beauty and the Beast: Belle

Sherlock: Sherlock Holmes

15. 3 OTPs from 3 different fandoms.

Eight/Charley from Doctor Who

Sherlock/John from Sherlock

Carter/O’Neill from Stargate SG-1

16. 5 brotps

Eight/Lucie

Ten/Donna

Twelve/Bill (I really adore Bill!)

Mal/Zoe from Firefly

I’m drawing a blank for one more. My best friend accuses me of only liking characters/stories that I can ship and he might be a tiny bit right lol

17. Just ramble about something fan-related, go go go (prompts optional but encouraged).

Oh goodness, I could on about Doctor Who for ages! I actually love it so much that I did a speech about the show for my Fundamentals of Speech class. Even recorded it wearing a Doctor Who shirt haha. It’s just a beautiful show that teaches people how to live better lives, that everyone is important, and to just be kind. The world really needs more of that right now.

I am tagging (only if you want to of course!) @cryofthewolf @prydon and @twelfth–doctor

[shimmershae]

I'm trying, y'all.  I'm trying really hard, but this writer's block?  To say it sucks would be an understatement.

I've had every one of my WIPs open in separate windows waiting for inspiration to strike and the words to start flowing again, but so far?  I've got nothing. 

 Well.  That's not completely true.  Progress varies, lol, with the story. 

 A few little teasers for you.  Proof that I haven't forgotten any of my stories.  At all.  These might change before you read the end result.  In some cases, they most assuredly will.  But, I have to reach that unsticking point first.  Whenever that may be. 

  Ebb

  From Chapter 3: 

The rug beneath his back was thick, plush, and liberally laced with a network of old blood stains.  It was musty, damp still from the months of rain that had leaked through the collapsed roof.  It was the most comfortable place Rick Grimes had lain his weary head in days. 

  between the shadow and the soul

  From Chapter 1: 

   A locker door slams, and Lilly flinches, pauses in the act of pulling her navy scrub top over her head.  A muffled sob is chased by a dull thud, and she peers around the corner just in time to witness her friend crumple to the cold concrete floor, her knees held tightly to her chest and the heels of her hands desperately trying to stem the tide of her tears.  Instant fear wraps itself around Lilly’s throat and squeezes in slow, python pulsations, and her voice is scratchy, gutted and raw with dread as she addresses her friend, drops to a crouch in front of her.  “Jenny?  Jen.  Is it Morgan?” 

   Yours, Mine, and...Ours

 I've got nothing.  Well, that's not completely true.  I have the entire story outlined, which is something I rarely do.  I just have nothing in the way of the next chapter written down.  Boy, did I really lose steam with this one?  Jeez.  This always happens to me when I outline things, and I have no idea why. 

  Caged Bird

 From Chapter 3: 

  Clouds gathered in the distance, rolling shadows that split the evening sky into two distinct halves, dark and light.  Thunder rumbled faintly, an afterthought beneath the excited hum of voices in the slowly dispersing crowd, nothing more than an accompanying murmur as the band packed up their instruments and helped stack chairs. 

  The Fox and the Hound

 I'm super stuck on this one, and it's a shame, too.  It's so much fun to write. 

  The Wonder That's Keeping the Stars Apart

 From Chapter 11: 

  The sun was high, the blue sky clear and unfettered by clouds as the wagon lurched forward, the horses lazing along on the sunbaked ruts and swells of the path home. 

  The Way Back

  From Chapter 4: 

  Carol hadn’t taken much with her when she’d packed up and left home.  Ed hadn’t allowed it.  Hindsight being 20/20 and all, she should have dug her heels in and demanded an annulment right then, right there.  But she hadn’t.  She’d been numb.  Mired in the fog of a broken heart.  She let her new husband drag her clear across the state of Georgia, hundreds of miles from her mama, her friends, Daryl, and she hadn’t said a blessed word.  Didn’t utter a word of protest ‘til her baby girl was born and it became clear that she had fallen head over heels, hopelessly in love for the second time in her life, and by then it was too late.  Story of her life, she thought, recalling Daryl’s frozen, unreadable expression in Mary’s, Jessie’s awkward split-lip smile as the children were formally introduced to each other.  Nanny Sarah always did tell her she’d be late to her own funeral. 

The Three Gifts

 I don't have anything written for this one but the title/song choice. I'm so disappointed at myself for losing my momentum on this one.  It was another fun one to write. 

 Stupid Cupid

  From Chapter 8: 

   Carol was back in the courtyard by the time they heard the first faint rumblings of an approaching engine, the distant spit of gravel beneath wheels.  Dinner was long over and the sun was nothing more than a sinking sphere of fire beyond Glenn’s guard tower outpost, but there was still enough light for her to make out his excitement from where she stood.  She glanced over her shoulder when she heard Hershel’s approach, the slight hitch in his ambling steps a dead giveaway. 

Okay.  That's it.  At least for the stories I've already put out there for you.  I have a crossover fic that's been percolating in my wacky brain for a few months now that involves Carol, Daryl, Madison and Nick and Alicia from FTWD, and a little bit of Mulder and Scully from The X-Files, but it's still mostly just a germ of an idea that I've discussed with a tiny handful of people.  I don't know if it'll ever come to fruition, but it's eating my brain, and that might have a little something to do with the mental block I currently have on all my other stories. 

 It takes new twists and turns everyday, so I don't know that it'd be a good idea to commit to actually doing more than outlining a few ideas right now--I want to finish some of my other stories first.  If anybody out there is interested, though, please let me know. Then maybe I'll stop pushing back so hard against my runaway ideas. 

 Maybe you've read something here enough to pester me for more.  Pestering usually helps, lol.  Go figure. 

[froggybangbang]

@ashes-and-dust​ tagged me (eons ago) in a thing that starts personal and then degenerates into tv show stuff?? and... well here it is

1.) Why did you choose your URL?

You must all know this by now, lol. Okay so 1-I’m French Canadian, a popular insult for us by the English is “Frog” and I highly believe in claiming back insults.2-The first online url I had (well second. I had wolves has my special interest back when I was 12 so ‘wolfy136′ was the first, fleeting url I got) was after I joinned the HP fandom, with my favourite character, thus Lunard136/Lunard1 was born (that’s moony. my wolf special interest faded in the background but it’s still there to show lol). I started going to other websites than HP ones and I was starting to feel like that url wasn’t good for those so I thought long and hard about something I could be me and not fandom related so I wouldn’t have to change it again (because change is good but I hate it) and I came up with “Froggy”. Only to find it was used already. I was tired of the old 136 so I decided to had something about me in the url, something about my temper (I’m definitely a fire sign) and added the “bangbang” because I catch like a barrel of powder. (you dirty mind you if you thought I’d use it as a sex reference! Shame on you! except lol yeah I knew how it sounded and I was fine with letting people who don’t know me think I’m a nympho. what better way to hide I’m not really all that interested in sex, which is weird and not normal, right? right.)

2.) What’s your middle name?

Very few Quebecois have one, those who are afflicted by the old tradition, weather because their parents are religious or because it’s a tradition and nobody questions it have (for girls) Mary Godmother’sName FirstName LastName (for boys) Joseph Godfather’sName FirstName LastName. That’s the format and absolutely nobody goes by the first two to the point that my passport doesn’t even show them because I was told not to put them in if I’m not using them (???!!!? but okay!) anyway my are Mary Diane Kristine LastName

3.) If you could own a fairytale/fictional pet, what would it be?

I’d love a tiny dragon? I’m pretty sure I said “I want a X now!” a few onth ago but I can’t remember what it was... But honestly if I can, in my life, befriend a corvid that’s like. the dream goal. It has been for ever.

4.) Favourite colour?

hmmm I really love orange. every shade but especially the dark burnt one. I also like dark green, dark blue, dark teal and dark purple a lot? I’ll go with orange

5.) Favourite song?

That’s.... not something I can answer. Honestly how can you pick one? IDK I really love In Hell I’ll be in Good Company these days? I really love Phillip Glass’ Violin Concerto No.1 2nd Movement if you prefer no voice. Also Dream Fragment from the Chrono Cross OST because I’m a sucker for music box.

Here are a few of my Spotify playlist, for those interested.

A Little Bit of Everything is pretty much all the songs I like and remember to put on spotify (if spotify has them. They lack in Quebecois music)

Music Rec is songs that you might not know about that exist and you should listen to them, but this doesn’t get updated very often

RN is the playlist that keeps changing. My current obsessions are on that one

In the Summertime are songs for a nice warm summer day with a light breeze and a hammock (or something. maybe a few friend in the backyard and a beer.)

And Sunday Mornings is the playlist I’m listening to mainly on sunday mornings (It’s playing right now) because it fits the vibe of a sunday morning when you start your coffee and still might have an eye glued down

6.) What are your top three fandoms?

errr I’ll go with HP, 1D (*glares at @ashes-and-dust​*) and....hmm. I’m not really active in any of the others anymore. but I guess Sherlock?(though Pacific Rim or Cabin Pressure also fit third place but I think I still read more sherlock fic than I do PR or CP)

7.) Why do you enjoy Tumblr?

This hellsite is my main place for interacting with sensible human beings. I also LOVE *those* posts. you the ones where one person asks a questions/ places a random thought and then.... it just. takes a life of its own? and everyone knows them? The Guam Cookie post is one. The many Aliens finds Humans Weird also. but then there’s the smaller ones like just. They are exactly the kind of stuff I’d be saying with my (ex? maybe?)friend in Rimousky like you say something, and they add something in a deadpanned way that is bviously exagerated/insane and then you add on it and they add on it until you are at the stage that you won’t be buy mayo because, really, having to marry someone from an island so you could get away with murder is much too much effort. That’s why I love tumblr.

PICK YOUR 5 FAVORITE TV SHOWS AND ANSWER THE QUESTIONS:

ugh I very rarely watch tv anymore these are hard.

1. Merlin

2. Doctor Who (until season 5/6 anyway. Moffat killed it)

3. Torchwood

4. The X-Files (haven’t seen the reboot but I’d love to!)

5. ...... Sherlock (I guess? But I still haven’t watch the last xmas special nor the last season? Moffat killed it?)

1. WHO IS YOUR FAVOURITE CHARACTER IN 2?

hmmmmm..... *shakes the Ponds, Martha Jones and Dona Noble in her hand to see which will get out* I’m going to go with Dona. I’m not so in your face, but I really relate with her and she had an awesome friendship with 10, not afraid to give him a good earful if he went overboard.

2. WHO IS YOUR LEAST FAVOURITE CHARACTER IN 1?

Shit idk. I mean Uther and Morgana where mean shit but I loved their characters for what they were..... I’d say between Uther and Mordred? idk. 

3. WHAT’S YOUR FAVOURITE EPISODE OF 4?

Oh shit. Dude do you have any idea how many episode there is of the xfiles?? I’m going to go with the one on the boat, because that’s the one that popped into my head right now (immediately followed by that black and white one when Mulder meets the Gunmen for the first time... that CELL PHONE OMG) and any moment when Scully and Mulder have SASS going on.

4. WHAT’S YOUR FAVOURITE SEASON OF 5?

The first season is the best without a doubt. I’ve loved the second season but in the first one the story were even more concentrated on one story per episode and it was very well thought off and they didn’t overdo it yet, which they tented to do afterwards, as well as letting more episode be one story and not following canon anymore. I’m actually sadden at my lack of consistency at following Elementary.

5. WHAT’S YOUR FAVOURITE RELATIONSHIP IN 3?

Oh. er... Ianto/Jack. but. like. I don’t like to think about that because of children of the earth.

6. WHO IS YOUR ANTI-RELATIONSHIP IN 1?

I know it sounds weird but I really see Arthur and Gwen as bromance who agreed to marry because throne? They have a great chemistry but I just don’t buy it.

7. HOW LONG HAVE YOU WATCHED 4?

The first episode I’ve seen was on TQS with the french dubbed version of the first episode we see the guy that can dislocate every bones in his body to crawl in small places. then I got hooked and rented the VHS of the series, bought books of the series, the official magazines, unofficial biographies (my gosh is the internet cheaper) and watched every episode (at some point switching in the English version on Fridays) until Mulder got abducted. Tried to watch that season but didn’t care to not miss an episode... then I just... forgot to tune in. so that’d be since.... according to WIKI the first episodes in French were in 1994 and “squeeze” is the third one.

8. HOW DID YOU BECOME INTERESTED IN 3?

Because of Doctor Who.

9. WHO IS YOUR FAVOURITE ACTOR IN 2?

Grahhhhh okay I’m going to go renewed series because fhjdsahlsb and it’s still hard but I think I’ll go with David Tenant. Tough Karen Gillan is good too. Oh! fuck and John Simm fuck I forgot John Simm and Life on Mars! damn. Okay John Simm

10. WHICH SHOW DO YOU PREFER: 1, 4 OR 5?

You drive a hard bargain. I’ll go with the X-Files; 4

11. WHICH SHOW HAVE YOU SEEN MORE EPISODES OF? 1 OR 3?

as in proportionally? because I’ve see all of them, but I *think* merlin has more episodes? Though I’ve watch Torchwood more often I think?

12. IF YOU COULD BE ANYONE FROM 4, WHO WOULD YOU BE?

I’m not sure I’d like to be anyone on the x-files that sounds like a very dangerous life. although wait no not true! one of the gunmen! They have the coolest job in the series.

13. HOW WOULD YOU KILL OFF YOUR FAVOURITE CHARACTER IN 3?

*stares* Not like that. 

14. WOULD A 2/3 CROSSOVER WORK?

HAHAHA well. YES, mainly because IT IS a thing between DW and Torchwood.

15. PAIR TWO CHARACTERS IN 2 THAT WOULD MAKE AN UNLIKELY BUT STRANGELY OKAY COUPLE.

The Master and Donna? If, you know, the Master got his murdering tendencies in check. idk I’m not good at pairing people. I pick and chose those who exist in the fandom.

16. OVERALL, WHICH SHOW HAD A BETTER CAST: 3 OR 5?

Damn.... I mean Andrew Scott alone.... but then it got cringey... but I don’t particularly like Gwen but I’m pretty sure it’s not the casting..... I’ll go with Torchwood.

17. WHICH SHOW HAS A BETTER SOUNDTRACK: 1, 4 OR 5?

I do not know Merlin’s Soundtrack well enough to comment on it and I think the X-files’ is pretty lacking, but Sherlock has some very good music, the Irene piece is on of my favourite.

Blergh. I don’t want to tag because lazy. go ahead and give me the answers, though. Especially the music ones I’m always interested in finding new music!