#maybe rewatching the x files would fix me

[ghostbustermelanieking]

funny fact about me getting into the x files that i don't think i've ever shared on here!! i was binging on netflix of course, and really only hung around on the wikipedia page for the first couple seasons, so i got through them relatively unspoiled. then in the middle of season 3, i decided to write my first review of the show on this stupid little WordPress blog i had back then (we don't have to talk about that), and when i posted it and tagged it on tumblr, i decided to go into the x files tag to see if anyone even still talked about this old show from the 90s... and holy shit, the tag was full of stuff, and i was SO hooked on this show, and SO desperately waiting for mulder and scully to get together, that i couldn't resist the new content!! i scrolled for hours and promptly spoiled... MOST... of the show for myself. i was in disbelief that the shoe never explicitly really gets mulder and scully together the way i was expecting

at the time, finishing my viewing of the show was kind of a drag once i got through like season 6 or 7, because i had spoiled every major emotional moment in the show for myself (i was like watching clips ahead on youtube like a horrible fan!), and i was so excited to get new episodes, to the point where things couldn't be spoiled bc i was watching stuff live. and then someone leaked the details of the shows finale on reddit

now, i think maybe me getting spoiled was a blessing in disguise. the first time, because i think it would've been a bummer to binge the whole show and discover i would only ever get crumbs (plus going into stuff like scully giving up william blind). the second because it gave me time to prepare for the finale and get to acceptance

but it's still so funny to me

and as much as i love the show from all angles, i don't think anything has ever felt as special as my blind binge of those first two seasons at age 14

[qveerthe0ry]

The D-Files

Summary: Something weird happens when Dieter tries to post his X-Files fanfiction Word Count: 14,941 Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Fox Mulder x Dana Scully Rating: 18+ mdni Warnings: threesome, oral (m & f receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected PIV, rimming, d/s undertones, poor explanation of time travel and quantum physics, it's a little cracky tbh Beta: the one and only @for-a-longlongtime obviously A/N: listen. I have ten episodes left of the whole series so if something is totally off and not accurate to x files canon just ignore me :) Also I'm absolutely aware of how completely ridiculous this fic is but I heard the voice of Dieter Bravo speak to me and could not ignore it Ao3 link

Curled up under at least three blankets, in just his underwear, stoned out of his mind (just weed— he’s California sober now) Dieter watches Mulder and Scully shake hands for the first time. 

The first time for them. 

He’s had to have seen this episode at least a thousand times by now. 

He’s in one of those funks again. His therapist calls it a depressive episode, but that’s so dramatic. He’s just a little bit down in the dumps thinking about how worthless he is and how no one’s ever really loved him before, not even his own parents, and how he hates himself so much he’s not sure if he would ever get rid of the guilt of letting someone else love him because he knows he’d just be a waste of their time.

It’s no big deal. Nothing an X-Files rewatch, weed, and a footlong Subway sandwich can’t fix.

Except this time, the way Scully and Mulder instantly mesh so well kind of makes him feel like he smoked too much pot. His stomach’s a little queasy as he watches him give her his undivided attention, and fuck, maybe this is a job above these FBI agents’ pay grade. 

He eyes that stupid notebook on his nightstand, still wrapped in plastic from the Amazon order. 

His therapist told him to start writing his thoughts down in a journal. He doesn’t like writing. It’s not what he does. He can’t stand those actors who think just because they’ve starred in a few movies means they should start writing them, or scrawling down some convoluted, conceited novel. Just fucking act, y’know? 

But as Scully throws herself into Mulder’s arms after knowing him for only a few days, and they both look so comfortable, Dieter rips open the packaging and swallows down the bile threatening his esophagus.

—

I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be doing here. What should I even write down in this thing? How lonely I am? Get in line, right? I’m not the only one. Even though sometimes it feels like I am.

Maybe it feels so bad because I know I did this to myself. Everyone always told me I’d always be a piece of shit. Even when I was young. And I just let their narrative take over and now here I am. The biggest piece of shit. 

It’s like Mulder. Everyone always called him Spooky and said he was too ‘out there’ and he ended up in the basement chasing Bigfoot. 

Except I don’t have a hot redhead in my life to balance me out or slowly fall in love with me.

And I’m not a tall, boyishly handsome, charming FBI agent. 

I’m just a washed-up actor, and a slob, and a drug addict. That’s probably why.

Golly gee, doc, this sure made me feel better.

—

He writes in his journal a bit here and there. He also slowly rots away in his bed, takes far too little showers and far too many THC gummies. He talks to his therapist two weeks later and tells her he’s been writing down his thoughts and her impressed hum and “That’s very good, Dieter” has him riding a high the rest of the afternoon. 

So he keeps it up. 

He doesn’t leave the house much, and when he does, he just wants to get back into his permanently affixed blanket fort to watch more X-Files and get high. 

He writes a little about his day, about what he’s mulling over in his mind. But as he reaches the end of season two, he’s out of his funk enough to start feeling horny again. 

Who wouldn’t, watching the world’s hottest FBI agents on a near constant loop?

So who can blame him when his journal thoughts get a little spicy?

—

God, Mulder’s such an idiot sometimes. So is Scully. They waste so much time getting on each others’ nerves. This entire show is just years-long foreplay. I swear they get off on irritating each other.

I irritate so many people, why aren’t any of them ever turned on about it? 

They should have just let them kiss in the first season. There could have been so much sex. All the motel rooms these two wasted! On the government’s dime, too! 

Rental car sex, alleyway sex, OFFICE sex. The Sex Files. That’s what this show should have been. 

I wonder if Mulder’s better at eating ass or pussy. I just know he’s freaky with all the porn and phone sex hotlines. And the auto erotic asphyxiation thing, can’t forget about that. I’d choke the shit out of him if he wanted that. With my hand or my cock, his choice. 

I wonder if Scully is freaky, too? I think she’d deny it, but it wouldn’t surprise me if she was filthy kinky. She always has to be in control. I wonder if she’d be like that in bed, too? I wonder if she’d get off on torturing me and making me beg. Or maybe she’s always so in control that she wants to relinquish all of it when she’s in bed.

—

Dieter remembers that fanfiction exists shortly after that. 

His dick is raw and he hasn’t even made it through half of the explicit entries on archive of our own. But everything’s so… Vanilla. 

Don’t get him wrong, he’s a total sucker for tender, missionary love-making. But where’s the experimentation? Where’s the creativity? And why the hell does everyone think Fox Mulder is such a dom?

Just look at him.

He’s pathetic. Scully could have him begging on his knees with nothing but the snap of her finger and one of her sexy, stern glances. Maybe he’s projecting a little bit, but not much.

He gripes to his therapist about this while he avoids the topic of his greatest fear being dying without ever having a meaningful relationship in his whole life.

“Have you ever thought about writing your own fanfiction?”

And no, he truly never has. It seems like something so far away from appropriate given his profession. But then again, when has he ever been totally professional?

So he starts writing. At first he finds himself falling into the popular tropes— love confessions and sweet, romantic first times. Just little blurbs in his journal he ends up scrawling out with his pen. There’s enough of that already. He needs to explore the fun stuff with these two.

One night/early morning, he finally grabs his laptop from his rarely-used office. He snuggles up under all the blankets he can find, turns on The X-Files, and gets down to business. 

—

“I’m sorry Scully—”

“Don’t.”

Her icy blue stare pins Mulder in place. His pouty lips close and his sharp jaw clenches as he looks down at his feet.

“You almost got us killed!”

“I wouldn’t have let you get hurt, you know that.”

Scully doesn’t know what comes over her, but she crosses what little distance is between them to grab the back of Mulder’s hair and tug.

His jaw drops and as hard as he tries, he can’t stifle the whimper that slips from his lip. 

“You were reckless with your own life. You can’t— Do you know what I would do if anything ever happened to you?”

Scully’s sharp gaze softens. Tears prickle at Mulder’s eyes, partly from Scully’s death grip and partly because of the way her voice wavers. 

“Scully—”

“Get on your knees.”

——

Dieter fights the heavy, sharp arousal in his gut as he writes Mulder on his knees for Scully. He just knows he’d eat pussy like a champ, what with those sunflower seeds he’s always got between those pillowy lips. He’d be great at sucking cock, too. Dieter thinks they would look so fucking pretty around his own dick.

Or Scully’s strap. 

Perfect.

He stays awake for way too long, writing about Scully trapping Mulder between her thighs for hours, and then making him choke or her strap, and then making him beg and whimper and cry for it as she teases his prostate with her fingers. 

Scully’s so dainty, but the idea of her fucking into her big, tall partner with fury has Dieter leaking into his boxers as he types away. It takes all of Dieter’s willpower to write the sweet aftercare scene. Scully gently cleans up his cum and sweat and tears, telling him what a good boy he was as she pets his hair and kisses his face. 

As soon as Dieter writes the last words, he’s fumbling for his lube and dildo in the bedside drawer. He’s too worked up to prepare properly, and it burns, and he hears Scully’s disappointed tuts in his head as he fucks himself into a mess. 

He whines her name, and Mulder’s name, as filthy images of the two fill his head. 

He comes without even touching his dick. He makes an absolute mess of his sheets and just grinds into the puddle beneath him as he fucks himself through the aftershocks. 

And if he cries a little bit at the thought of two beautiful FBI agents telling him how good he was as they stroke his sweaty skin, that’s between him and his open laptop. 

—

“Do you think I should post my fanfiction?”

His therapist’s perfectly shaped eyebrows perk up. 

“Do you think you should post it?”

“I dunno. Probably not.”

“Why not?”

“Wouldn’t it be a little weird? An actor writing fanfiction about characters his peers portrayed?”

His therapist hums. He knows that’s his cue to keep talking, but they just sit in silence for a bit. 

“Do you want to post it?” She asks. 

He huffs. 

“I don’t know. What if everyone hates it?”

She shrugs and nods at him to continue.

“I’m afraid no one’s gonna read it. Or if they do, they’ll hate it. And leave mean comments.”

“Would that bother you?”

“Well yeah, duh.”

She hums again. Dieter rolls his eyes, half at her but half at himself. 

“I know, I know,” he sighs, “I’m a walking contradiction. I crave praise but I’m too afraid to put myself out there to receive any.”

“That’s not necessarily true. You’re an actor. It’s your job to put yourself out there and be consumed and reviewed.”

“Yeah but that’s not me, it’s just the guy they tell me to play.”

His therapist smiles. 

Shit. 

“I think you know what you need to do, Dieter.”

He does leave that therapy session crying, thirty minutes later. If he had a tail, it would be between his legs. 

It takes him six days to work up enough courage to even make an account. And then another two days to pour over every single word he wrote, change it, change it back, wash rinse and repeat. 

When he finally works up the nerve to post it, his laptop dies just as he’s about to press the publish button. 

You gotta be kidding me, he thinks, maybe this is a sign.

But then he thinks about what his therapist would say, that things that are worth it rarely come easy, and that he should probably stop assuming everything is a sign, and so he plugs his laptop in and waits for it to charge enough to come back to life. 

It’s the longest four minutes of his life. 

He stares at the black screen in silence. He blinks at his reflection as he listens to the storm brewing outside his window, only flinching slightly as lightning illuminates his dark room. 

His heart leaps up into his throat when the screen lights up again. Everything’s right where he left it. All he has to do is press that little button. 

He takes one, two, three deep breaths with his finger on the trigger and then—

CRACK

—

Everything hurts. Like, bad.

Dieter groans and tries to blink his eyes open. It’s bright. He’s no stranger to waking up in an unfamiliar place with a terrible headache and no recollection of how or why he’s there. However, he hasn’t touched a party drug in a year and a half, and hasn’t even been to a party for even longer than that. 

He finally blinks away the sleep in his eyes. He’s on the cold ground. The grass is plush and dewy under him. When he sits up, the world spins around him for a few moments and he just barely keeps his stomach from emptying. 

He checks his pockets. At least he has his phone on him. No wallet, though. And he’s in his pajamas, which is fine, not unusual attire for most of his outings. 

He goes to unlock his phone but of course it’s dead. 

Shit. 

He looks around a bit more and all this scenery does not look like Los Angeles. There are hills in the distance that are much more rolling than the jagged peaks in California. The smell of campfire fills the air and it’s humid, he realizes. Stiflingly so. 

He stands up. His joints ache even more than they usually do, stiff and popping. When he runs his hand through his hair he’s got wicked bed head. 

At least he can make out a dirt path amongst the grass and trees around him. He follows it for a while, and just as he thinks he might be wandering to his own death out in the boonies he sees a little shack in the clearing just by what seems to be a lake. 

It looks… Strangely familiar, despite the fact that he’s certain he’s never been here before. There’s a sign that reads “Bait & Tackle” that’s seen better days and a big giant inflatable… something tied down to the roof. 

He scratches his head as he stares. He has the feeling of something being on the tip of his tongue, but it’s on the tip of his brain instead. 

As he approaches, a high-pitched growl startles him out of his daze. His eyes frantically search for the source, and as he walks closer he spots it.

A tiny little yappy Pomeranian, tan and fluffy. 

It hits him all at once. 

He gasps and moves toward the fiesty little thing as his heart pounds. There’s no way…

It snarls and yaps at him as he crouches down to greet it— him. 

Once he starts giving the dog butt pats and head scratches, it warms up to him pretty quickly. He searches for the dog tag hiding under all that fur and gasps as he reads it.

QUEEQUEG

“Oh my god, Queequeg, I thought I’d never see you again, buddy.”

The pup wags his tail at the sound of his name and Dieter goes down on his knees to accept him into his lap. 

“How are you real? What’s happening?”

Tears well at Dieter’s eyes as he holds this fictional dog in his arms, who’s been dead since season 3. Sue him, he’s very confused and vulnerable and it was the most devastating death of the series by far.

As he pets the derpy little thing, he tries to wrap his head around everything that’s going on. Last he remembers, he was holding his breath and clicking the mouse pad and now he’s here, in the middle of nowhere Georgia if he remembers his X-Files trivia correctly. 

Which means this sweet little pup is going to die in this… episode? And if he’s in the episode, that means—

“Hey! What are you doing? That’s my dog!”

Dieter’s heart pounds, heavy and fast, like he’s done way too much coke. He looks up with wide eyes and it’s unmistakable, her bright red hair and sexy scowl and the lanky handsome man attached to her hip. 

“Scully?”

Dieter watches her face twist up in confusion, and watches Mulder’s eyebrows raise with a smirk on his face as he looks between him and his partner. 

“You know this guy, Scully?”

She squints at Dieter as they walk closer. He feels very warm under her gaze. He pets Queequeg’s head for comfort.

“No, I don’t. What’s your name?”

Dieter clears his throat. 

“You don’t recognize me?”

Mulder presses his lips together, trying to hide his amused smile as he nudges Scully’s side. 

“Should I?”

“Wait… what year is it?”

Scully’s face turns from annoyed to concerned. She kneels down in front of Dieter and looks into his eyes, and her gaze is too heavy, it spears right through him. 

“It’s 1995. Are you concussed?”

“No, I don’t think so. I mean— Maybe. Probably, to be honest. It’s 1995?”

“Has been for five months, now,” Mulder supplies. 

Dieter nods. 

“Do you know where you are?”

“I think so… listen. You guys aren’t gonna believe this— well, Mulder might believe it— But I’m from the future.”

Scully’s concerned gaze turns right back to annoyed very quickly, and she stands back up to cross her arms. 

Mulder just chuckles. 

“How do you know our names?” He asks.

Dieter feels a little weird on the ground while they’re staring down at him, in a horny way, so he gently places Queequeg back on the gravel to stand up himself.

“Would you believe it if I said I’m from an alternate reality where you guys are the main characters in a cult classic sci-fi television series?”

Mulder blinks at him. Dieter shrugs with a sheepish grin.

“Honestly? That’s more believable than the time travel.”

Dieter smirks. 

“That’s such a Scully thing to say.”

“That is such a Scully thing to say,” Mulder agrees. 

“Oh my god.”

“I can prove it! I swear. C’mon, let’s get this little guy safe and sound in your cabin and I’ll prove everything.”

Mulder shrugs, and gives Scully one of his looks, the c’mon, let’s see where this goes look that Dieter’s so used to seeing. 

She just scoffs.

“Mulder, we don’t have time for this. People are dying left and right, you’re on a wild sea-monster chase, and half the town is—”

“Wait, Scully, look at this guy. He’s going to tell you another body’s been found in the lake. Well— half of a body.”

They all turn to the man running up from the docks, and sure enough, it plays out almost exactly how Dieter remembers from the episode. Scully’s very focused on the legs floating in the lake, but Mulder keeps eyeing him in a way that makes him wish he was wearing something more than just flimsy pajama pants. 

“Scully…” Mulder mumbles as they walk back toward their car, “I think we should hear him out.”

“Hear him out!? We should be shoving him in handcuffs, he’s the only suspect we have that isn’t mythical.”

“I’d be into that, actually,” Dieter says, holding his hands out toward them, wrists pressed together. 

Scully grimaces and Mulder smirks but he drapes an arm around her shoulder in a way that seems suspiciously protective. 

“There’s not enough evidence to cuff him, but we can at least keep him close and see what else we can get out of him.” 

“Mulder—”

“If anything, he can just dogsit for us.”

The way they’re talking about him like he’s not even there makes the tips of his ears burn.

“I’d love to dogsit! I miss Queequeg.”

“What do you mean you miss him? He’s right here.”

Dieter winces. 

“Actually that’s a big plot point in this episode,” Dieter whispers.

They stop at the car and Scully glares at him, and Mulder looks a little bit like he’s just brought a stray dog home without her permission. Dieter kinda likes it.

“You never told us your name,” Scully grills.

“Dieter. Dieter Bravo.”

Mulder huffs. 

“What kind of name is Dieter Bravo? Do you do adult films?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Fox?”

The way the giggle bubbles up out of Scully’s chest makes him preen. 

“Alright. Where do you live, Dieter?”

He winces and scratches the back of his neck.

“Los Angeles.”

“Oh brother,” Scully grumbles. 

“How did you get here then?”

“Y’know, it’s the weirdest thing. I was writing a fanfiction about the two of you and when I went to post it, I think lightning struck my house and sent me here.”

The two agents stare at him in silence for so long that Dieter has the time to question every single moment that has led up to this. He determines that this is all his therapist’s fault when Mulder finally clears his throat. 

“You can bunk with me until we get everything sorted out, alright?”

Dieter straightens up and salutes him.

“Yes, sir, Agent Mulder.”

Scully rolls her eyes and turns to open the car door for him, but Mulder smirks.

“I think I kinda like this guy, Scully.”

——

Mulder’s nice enough to let him shower and lend him spare clothes that aren’t caked in mud and grass stains, once they’re back at the cabin. He cleans up in silence trying to wrap his head around this entire pickle he’s in, and how to go about making them believe him.

He’s got his work cut out with Scully, he knows this. But he works over every bit of information he can remember from each season, each episode, to remember something that couldn’t be denied. 

They’re doing their Scully and Mulder thing when he comes out with damp hair and Mulder’s clothes on. (He definitely had to will away a half-chub at the thought of being wrapped in his things.) 

They sit around the small living room with photos and paperwork all sprawled out and Dieter feels like geeking out a little bit. This is like the world’s greatest and most interactive X-Files museum. 

“Okay. I’m going to try to do this in the best way I know how. Just— Bear with me.”

They sit back in their seats, and Dieter lifts Queequeg onto his lap to take his place on the couch. He waits for them to give him a go-ahead, but neither of them are responsive. He tries not to feel so aroused by their focused gazes. Maybe he should have jerked off in the shower, as a precaution.

“Okay then… let’s see… this is Season 3, Episode… 22? So. You guys just went through the whole Skinner thing, right? With his— his bad dreams lady killing that prostitute?”

“How do you know Skinner?”

“I told you, it’s a TV show. Skinner’s always busting your balls. Big tough assistant director business. He’s actually just a softy though, I think.”

Scully looks disinterested and a little annoyed, but Mulder’s starting to shift forward in his seat.

“What’s the show called?”

“The X-Files.”

Scully snorts. 

“How creative.”

“Okay, okay, I know. It sounds whacky. But I’ve seen the show a billion times over, I’ve been unknowingly preparing for this moment since the pilot aired.”

He takes a moment to determine what to say and how to word it before he continues.

“Okay… Well… Your first case together was that weird kid in Oregon that kept helping aliens abduct his classmates. Scully conveniently missed the UFO though. Ever the skeptic. Then… let’s see… Deep Throat turns up in the next episode. Scully, he ended up dying in your arms and his last words were trust no one.”

“Mulder, we’ve been bugged for 90 percent of the time we’ve known each other, this doesn’t mean anything.”

Dieter huffs and Mulder shrugs. 

“Keep going. Give us a deep cut, man. You gotta try harder than that.”

“When did you become the skeptic, Mulder?” 

The agent shrugs and raises his eyebrows to urge him to continue. 

“Okay… Scully, when you were at your god son’s birthday party, you told your friend that Mulder is a jerk.”

“Hey, what the hell, Scully?”

“No, I said he was just—”

“Obsessed with his work, yeah. After you called him a jerk though.”

Dieter hates to see the way Mulder’s eyebrows draw up in the middle. It’s kind of funny to see Scully so embarrassed, though. He figures he’ll keep what else she said to himself, about him being cute, because it looks like she’s praying that he doesn’t blab about it.

“You wound me, Scully.”

“Oh, yeah, and there’s the time you shot Mulder in the shoulder.”

“You’re kind of a bully, y’know?”

Scully shoves at his shoulder to prove their point, and Mulder just laughs and leans into it. 

“Do you want to know what happens in the future? Wait, if I affect the future will the show be different? I dunno how I feel about that… new X-Files episodes in 2024 would be incredible. But what if the new episodes suck, though?”

“2024? That’s what year you’re going with?” 

Dieter nods. 

“It kinda sucks. We have smartphones and streaming services and stuff but also, you wouldn’t believe who the last president was if I told you. Also there was a global pandemic. Still kinda is one, but everyone’s just ignoring it. Actually, come to think of it, you guys would thrive in 2024.”

“Do we die before then?”

“Oh, no, no, the show just finished. And then came back and then— it’s a whole thing. But neither of you die.”

“Hmm.”

Mulder hums, and Dieter knows exactly what he’s thinking. Scully too, by the faraway look on her face. Total idiots. Why couldn’t he have landed at least after the first kiss. Or even the almost-kiss?

“Well, I’m tired, and this case isn’t going to solve itself. And Queequeg needs to go potty, so, I think we’re done here.”

Dieter’s whole body feels hot, like the time he was stabbed in the chest with that epi-pen. He shoots up off the couch so fast that Queequeg yelps and hops down to cower behind Scully’s ankles.

“Wait! It’s an alligator. Literally. It’s just an ordinary alligator killing these people. And if you let Queequeg walk into the woods he’s going to get eaten and if there’s one single thing you believe me about it has to be this, okay? For Queequeg’s sake.”

Dieter’s got his hands clasped in front of him, pleading. Scully looks startled and Mulder looks awed, but he’s desperate to drive this point home. 

“…Okay. I’ll keep him close. Thank you.”

They think he’s crazy. Scully does, at least. Mulder’s just quiet, uncharacteristically so. 

“Thank you.”

“Alright,” she sighs, grabbing Queequeg’s leash and hooking him up, “goodnight guys.”

“Goodnight Scully.”

Dieter sighs and sits back down. 

“She thinks I’m insane, doesn’t she?” 

“Welcome to the club.”

Dieter chuckles and looks to Mulder. He’s still got that pensive look on his face. It suits him, all brooding with that fucking jawline and those plush lips and sad eyes. He wants to kiss him so bad. He almost says it out loud, so used to his horny musings while watching this guy on TV that his filter is a little out of whack. 

Dieter doesn’t even realize he’s staring until Mulder tilts his head at him, confused. He opens his mouth and takes a breath but the door ripping open cuts him off. 

“Mulder, there’s something in the woods; Dieter was right. I think we should check it out.”

Mulder jumps up at her beck and call and seeing it in person is even more overwhelming, how he follows her without question and trusts her, so eagerly. 

“Queequeg?”

“He’s here, can you watch him?”

Dieter nods.

“Me? Yeah, yes ma’am, Agent Scully.”

He doesn’t miss the amused look on her face just before the door slams shut behind them. 

He lies on the couch with Queequeg on his chest, enjoying the silence after the… everythingness of his day. He really wishes he could smoke some pot, but even if he could get his hands on some, he’s sure it would be weak as hell. And there’s the FBI agent thing. 

Dieter’s not sure how long he’s been staring at nothing and snuggling Queequeg when the cabin door finally opens again. 

“Did you catch the alligator?”

The eerie silence he’s met with makes him whip his head around. Scully and Mulder are staring at him. He’s pretty sure 80 percent of his X-Files fantasies have started exactly like this. 

“… We did. We caught it just in time to save Ted Bertram.”

“That’s the guy with the lake monster feet, right?”

They both nod slowly. 

Queequeg hops down from his perch on Dieter’s chest, so he sits up. 

“I told you. You guys believe me now?”

He watches as Mulder nods his head yes and Scully shakes her head no. All he can do is shrug and start wondering what’s next for him, in the year of 1995.

“Hey, do you guys need an assistant? I could tell you how to solve the next case! I think it’s the one with the mind control cable. Mulder, are you really red-green color blind? I think that was a major plot hole. How do you tell the difference between human blood and alien blood if one is red and one is green, then?”

“Mulder’s not colorblind,” Scully says. 

“Uhh… Actually, yeah. I am.”

“What? How did you pass the color vision test?”

“I’m colorblind, not an idiot. I can still tell them apart, they just look different to me than they would to you.”

“I— I can’t believe you’ve been colorblind this entire time.” 

Mulder shrugs. Then his brow quirks up.

“Why does that matter?”

“I’m not sure I should tell you. It might mess with the space-time continuum and— quantum physics, you know?”

Scully’s clearly had enough. She sighs and finally kicks off her shoes. 

“I’m grabbing a shower and clearing my head,” she says, “don’t— don’t let him out of your sight for now, Mulder.”

Mulder nods and half smiles at her. They both look pretty tired. He wants to remind them that he’s the one who traveled 29 years into the past today, but it seems like a pretty sore subject. 

They stand still and silent in the living room until Scully closes her bedroom door behind her, Queequeg in tow.

“You heard the woman. There’s a TV in my room.”

Mulder nods toward the other bedroom door and Dieter follows dutifully.

“Does it get the good channels?”

He hears Mulder chuckle and watches from behind as he sheds his jacket. He admires all those lean muscles in his back, now that he’s not wearing one of those god awful baggy suits. Maybe he should suggest a tailor, he thinks, and wonders if the later seasons would be filled with more eye candy if he did. 

“You know about that?”

“All the video tapes that aren’t yours? And the hotline lady that leaves messages on your answering machine? Yeah. You wouldn’t believe what porn is like in thirty years. You’re gonna love it.”

Dieter’s torn between looking away and staring shamelessly while Mulder unbuttons his fly. He settles for nonchalant, hoping his eyes don’t pop out of their sockets like a cartoon character when he notices the outline of Little Mulder. This is even better than the gray sweatpants in the Humbug episode. 

“I was hoping to kick the habit in thirty years’ time, actually.”

Dieter shrugs and his staring contest with Mulder’s crotch ends abruptly as he slides into a pair of pajama pants. Which is weird, because usually Mulder sleeps in his underwear. Must be the fact that he’s sharing a cabin with Scully.

Mulder throws Dieter the remote and settles onto the bed. There’s no couch in here, not even a cuck chair, so Dieter settles next to him. His whole body burns. God, if 20-year-old Dieter could see himself now, he’d ruin the pants he was wearing. 

The silence feels a little awkward, so he turns the TV on. Nineties TV is so simple. It’s easy to settle on a channel playing Invasion of the Body Snatchers and sink into the mattress under him. 

It only takes a few moments before he realizes Mulder’s staring holes into the side of his face. 

“What’s up?” Dieter asks. 

There’s so little room between them it’s making Dieter’s entire body throb along with his pulse. 

“You’re telling the truth.”

Dieter nods and tries to give him a reassuring smile. Mulder sighs and throws his head back onto the pillow. His eyes close and his brows furrow and his jaw does that sexy clenching thing again. It’s all Dieter can do to not bite at it and soothe the sting with his tongue. 

“What happens to us?”

Dieter clears his throat.

“I mean— I know, you shouldn’t affect the future, yadda yadda. I just…”

Fuck it, Dieter thinks, if I’ve already solved the case way before the episode is supposed to end, I’ve thrown everything off anyway.

“You end up together.”

Mulder lets out a big, long breath. His face instantly relaxes. His hands flex by his sides and Dieter goes out on a big giant limb and grabs one of them.

Mulder starts at the touch, but lets it happen. 

“When?”

“Way later than you should have shacked up, in my opinion.”

He grumbles. 

“My opinion, too.”

“You should make a move, then. I’m pretty sure at this point she’s only waiting for you to make a move.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Oh, it’s a whole thing involving a shapeshifting guy with a tail. Trust me. She’s got it just as bad.”

They’re still holding hands. Mulder hasn’t moved a muscle. An idea so bright pops into Dieter’s head that he’s certain there’s a lightbulb floating above him. 

“You know when you met Bambi on that cockroach case?”

Mulder nods. 

“She was so jealous. Didn’t you pick up on that?”

“I— I thought so. But I also thought she was just annoyed with me, y’know, how she usually is.”

Dieter squeezes his hand. 

“She was annoyed because she’s into you, dude. It was envy. Very, very clearly.”

He hums. 

“So? What now? Do I apologize for something that happened months ago? You apparently know Scully as well as I do, how do you think that’ll blow over? ‘Hey, sorry I made you jealous because you have a big fat crush on me.’ She’d deck me.”

Dieter shakes his head. 

“No, man. You need to make her jealous. So jealous she can’t deny why she’s upset with you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, and I mean, why not just start right now, y’know? Get a head start on the whole thing. I mean, you’re here, I’m here, there’s only one bed…”

“If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were coming onto me.”

“I would love to come on you, actually.”

Mulder laughs, and Dieter deflates a little at the sound. But when he goes to pull his hand away, Mulder cinches it in his own. 

“Dieter…”

“Mulder.”

“We’re doing this, then?”

Dieter nods like an overexcited puppy wagging its tail. Oh my god. Oh my god. Fox Mulder in his prime, how fucking lucky can one guy be?

Mulder glances at the door to make sure it’s open. The faint sound of running water can be heard from Scully’s room, and he thinks he smells her shampoo wafting out with the steam. 

Like two nervous teenagers, they shift to face one another. Dieter brings their joined hands together on his own hip. Mulder’s palm is warm on his skin where his shirt rides high, and it makes Dieter’s breath hitch. 

Slowly, Dieter urges him to keep his hand still with a squeeze before mirroring Mulder’s, creeping his hand under his shirt and feeling his solid, trim waist.

Mulder hums into his touch and Dieter realizes this man is possibly just as touch-starved as he is. He starts swirling circles into his skin with his thumb and inches forward, but those beautiful hazel eyes hold apprehension in their timid gaze.

“What if this blows up in my face?” Mulder whispers.

“It won’t. I guarantee it. I’ll make sure of it. Trust me?”

A soft grin tugs at Mulder’s lips and he nods, and it’s all the permission Dieter needs.

Christ, his lips are soft. Soft and plush and exactly how Dieter imagined only a million times better. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this good, not on any drug, and they’re just kissing. 

It’s chaste until he feels Mulder’s tongue prod at the seam of his lips and then it’s filthy. As soon as Dieter opens his mouth to him, Mulder takes it with a grunt. His blunt nails dig into the soft flesh at Dieter’s hip as he traces the arch of his bottom teeth. Dieter tries to keep up, but his brain constantly shorts out at the thought of who’s tongue is poking and prodding around in his mouth. 

He’s a great fucking kisser. His tongue tickles the roof of Dieter’s mouth and it makes him shiver, makes his cock swell against his borrowed sweatpants, against Mulder. 

He doesn’t seem deterred. Quite the opposite actually. He tugs Dieter by the hip and presses his own solid prick right up against Dieter’s, and they both groan into the sloppy kiss. 

“It’s been quite a while,” Mulder says. 

Dieter can’t tell if the huffed little laugh is directed toward the eager way he chases Mulder’s lips, or toward himself for being out of practice. He likes the thought of either. 

“For me, too,” Dieter mumbles. 

Mulder hums and rolls his hips. As their dicks press together and twitch, Dieter decides they are not naked enough by any means. 

He presses his hand up, up, bringing Mulder’s shirt with it and grabbing a handful of his sturdy pec, admiring how stiff it feels under his palm when his lungs inflate. He gets with the program, and Dieter pulls his own shirt over his head, then promptly salivates over all the lean muscles and wiry hair and pale skin in front of him. 

“Fuck,” he breathes.

It’s not until Mulder’s breath hitches does he realize he might actually be into this, not just their plan, but being here in bed with Dieter. His pretty hazel eyes are dark now, pupils blown out, and his chest is heaving, and the tent in his pajama pants is far too enticing to resist. 

Dieter reaches down to cup him through the flannel material and Mulder gasps and falls flat onto his back. His eyes close and his jaw hangs open like an invitation. Dieter wiggles and shifts to press up against the length of his side and to finally press his face into the crook of his neck. 

The hint of aftershave that’s been teasing him all day is now overwhelming his senses, sharp and spicy. Dieter is delighted to know that his skin tastes just as delicious as it smells, salty and heady under his tongue. Mulder’s prick throbs in his grasp and Dieter’s torn between wanting to tease him over his pants and feel the hot skin of his cock in his palm. 

“Feels good,” Mulder whispers. 

“Yeah?”

“Mmm.”

Dieter nips at his racing pulse first, then down to his jaw and the impressive five o’clock shadow he’s always been jealous and in awe of. The prickly hairs there tickle his tongue and lips, and he grinds into the outside of Mulder’s thigh for a bit of relief. 

“You think about Scully doing this?” 

The way Mulder’s dick jolts in his grasp is answer enough, but he speaks up anyway. 

“Yes.”

The admission is so hot it makes Dieter’s brain spin. He himself has thought of it many times before, Scully torturing him with teasing touches, her little sharp canines digging into his flesh, but the thought of Mulder thinking of it too… 

All those heated glances Dieter’s mulled over, he wonders how many of those were fueled by Mulder’s dirty thoughts about her. Wonders how many times he’s seen a flash of something in Mulder’s gaze and it’s been him fantasizing about getting Scully in bed. 

Dieter huffs against the heated skin of Mulder’s neck before he pulls back. His head his thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, and he’s fucking gorgeous. He lightens his touch, teases the underside of his cock with one fingertip, and delights in the pleasure scrawled across Mulder’s face. 

“How often?”

Mulder’s gravelly chuckle is cut off by a low groan when Dieter presses against his sac over his pajamas. 

“All the time,” he confesses, “every time.”

“In the office?”

Mulder whimpers and nods his head. 

“On the job, in the field?”

“God yes.”

Dieter hums, squeezes his balls to goad him into continuing.

“When she— when she’s so serious, it’s hot. She’s so smart, it turns me on.”

Dieter smirks. He completely sympathizes.

“You like it when she debunks you?”

Mulder whines and nods his head again. Dieter tries his hardest not to react to the sound of the water shutting off across the cabin, or Scully’s door creaking open. Instead, he shoves his hand down Mulder’s pants and hopes to god he keeps his eyes closed, hopes Scully’s ever present need to call out his name is tampered down when she inevitably hears him talking. 

Mulder gasps and raises his hips into the circle of Dieter’s hand, and his brows furrow as he shuts his eyes even tighter.

“Why?”

Mulder moans. 

“Because she— she balances me out. Makes me feel even. Whole.”

Dieter chuckles. 

“Aww, does she complete you, Foxy?” 

He scoffs but bites his lip when Dieter thumbs at his head and spreads his slick, sticky pre-cum all around. 

“Tell me what you think about, Mulder.”

His breathing is so ragged that Dieter thinks he should maybe be concerned. But he can tell things are about to come to a head, can hear Scully’s little footsteps inching closer to their room, pointedly quiet. 

“Her, I think about her body against mine. And touching her.”

As if on cue, fiery red hair peeks through the door frame. Dieter’s got his free hand up and a finger at his lips before Scully’s face can even twist up in concern and shock. He gives her a pleading look as she stands stock-still and wide-eyed. 

“Where would you touch Scully, if she was here?”

“Everywhere. Anywhere she wants me to. I just wanna make her feel good.”

Dieter turns his head back to Mulder to confirm that his eyes are still closed. They are, positively scrunched shut as sweat threatens to penetrate his brows and slip into his eyes.

“Do you wanna taste her?” 

Mulder’s breath hitches and his cock pulses and dribbles more against Dieter’s hand. 

“Yes, yes, so bad. I think about it every time I— every time I touch myself.”

Dieter turns back to Scully. Her hair is damp and her silky pajama top is unbuttoned more than it was just a moment ago. It just barely hides her heaving chest and he has a hard time not giving her away when he realizes his plan is working. Her lips are parted and wet, like she’s licked them, and god he really fucking hopes they don’t kick him out once this all comes to a head. 

“You do?” 

“Mm-hmm,” Mulder nods, “I could spend the rest of my life down there and die happy.”

Dieter chuckles then, and Mulder does too, but he opens his eyes. It takes him just a second to blink and adjust but, ever the vigilant one, his eyes jolt toward the now closed bedroom door and Scully standing in front of it. His body goes stiff and still, aside from his prick, which twitches wildly in Dieter’s grasp. 

Mulder’s voice cracks amusingly around Scully’s name. She crosses her arms and lifts one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows as she shuffles to the foot of the bed. 

“Boys.”

Dieter smiles sheepishly at her. Mulder’s staring and gaping like a fish out of water, all tense now, one elbow on the bed so he can prop himself up. Dieter doesn’t miss the way Scully’s eyes trace over his naked torso or the activity going on at the front of Mulder’s pajamas. 

“Is it true, Mulder?”

He’s nodding his head before she can even finish the question. 

“Yeah, Scully. I—” 

He cuts himself off when Dieter squeezes and strokes him, and Scully’s gaze is locked on the movement.

“It certainly feels like the truth,” Dieter supplies. 

Mulder whimpers under him and Dieter swears he sees Scully’s ears perk up at the sound, like some kind of predator. 

“Mulder, c’mere.”

God, the way he follows so readily, like he always does, it warms Dieter’s heart just as much as it makes his dick throb. He kneels on the edge of the bed right in front of her. His cock is protruding obscenely out in front of him, but Scully doesn’t seem to care about that. 

No, she’s focused on his face instead where it’s settled gently between her dainty hands. God, the way they look at each other is so fucking intoxicating. Dieter’s bound by it, physically stuck on the mattress as he watches. 

Her brows furrow slightly as she looks at him, but Mulder’s face is slack, almost dazed as he meets her eyes. 

“What did he tell you, Mulder?” 

Mulder shifts awkwardly from knee to knee. His mouth opens and closes a few times, and she giggles under her breath. 

“You’re not in trouble.”

Dieter laughs, and god, it’s so fucking weird. It’s like he’s watching a director’s cut. 

Mulder sighs, though. 

“We end up together, Scully. You and me. And I— I believe it. I believed it long before this guy showed up, and it… Out of everything I believe, everything I’ve been working toward… it might be the only belief I have that keeps me going.”

Scully’s gaze grows soft as his confession, and Dieter refrains from squealing in delight at how sweet Mulder sounds and how Mulder it all is.

“Why now, then?”

Mulder huffs and tries to turn away, but she keeps his face tight in her grasp. His cheeks are so pink. 

“Just worked up the guts, I guess.”

Dieter doesn’t miss the quick flicker of Scully’s eyes down to his lips. His fingers twitch with the urge to smash their faces together. 

She sighs and brushes some errant strands of hair from Mulder’s forehead. 

“Well,” she says, and her voice wavers with a heavy breath, “I’m glad one of us did.”

Mulder visibly melts. His shoulders slump and he leans forward into her touch. His face loses all of that tension from earlier, and his lips look loose when Scully’s own finally brushes against them. 

He’s so gentle with her, in a way he definitely wasn’t with Dieter. His hands are nearly hovering over her with how lightly he places them on her waist. His lips stay slack and still as he lets her control the kiss. The only thing giving him away is the comical bobbing of his prick disrupting the front of his pajamas, and there’s no way Dieter can blame him for that. 

One of Scully’s hands tangles in Mulder’s hair and produces a beautiful, high pitched sound that Dieter and Scully both react to. 

She pulls away. Mulder chases her lips, but her grip on his hair tightens. He curses under his breath with a face more flushed than Dieter’s ever seen on him.

Her eyes flicker over to Dieter and he feels like a deer in headlights. Why is he still here? Is this weird, is he being a creep for staying? 

“C’mere,” she mumbles, tipping her head to urge him to kneel right beside Mulder on the bed. 

He does, of course he does. He wants to be good for her, for them.

He kneels, shoulder to shoulder with the man panting beside him. He grasps his hands behind his back and waits patiently as she looks the both of them over. 

“What did I walk in on, Dieter?”

The way his name sounds coming from her low, rasping voice makes his spine tingle. 

“It was my idea, Agent Scully. I was trying to make you jealous. I’m sorry.”

She clicks her tongue and the noise makes his cock throb. 

“And you went along with this plan?”

She looks back to Mulder and Dieter shivers. He instantly misses the warmth of her gaze. 

“I— yeah. I did... It worked, didn’t it?”

Scully’s eyes narrow, and Dieter can’t tell if Mulder’s an idiot or a genius for riling her up. He should have known Fox Mulder would be a brat. He thinks if he plays his cards right, maybe Scully will forget the whole plot and he can be her good boy while Mulder gets punished for his smart mouth. 

A whimper falling from Mulder’s parted lips knocks him out of his daze and he notices Scully’s grip all tight in his floppy hair. 

Fuck, he wishes that were him. Maybe he should mouth off too, maybe then he’ll get the attention that he craves. 

“Get on your knees, Mulder.”

“I am on my knees.”

Dieter gasps as Scully tugs on his hair and leaves him no choice but to scramble off of the edge of the bed, lest she rip all that perfectly coiffed hair out of his head. His shoulders rise and fall with baited breath when he’s finally sunken his knees on the gaudy rug on the hardwood floors. Dieter whimpers and no one’s even touching him. 

“You too, time bandit.”

Dieter gets whiplash with how quickly he gets on his knees for her. He breathes out a labored ‘yes ma’am’ and Mulder throws him a look of disbelief. He shrugs, what can I say?

They’re both rock hard for her, on the floor, staring up at her. She looks like an angel, or the devil, or maybe like God herself. Her breathing is suspiciously calm compared to their own, even though her nipples create tantalizing nubs at the front of her silk pajamas. 

“Keep your eyes forward, both of you.”

Dieter nods at her commanding voice. He wants to look to Mulder for— direction? Comfort? Some kind of trauma bonding? But he doesn’t. He wants to be good. 

He hears Scully behind them, bed creaking under her weight, sheets ruffling underneath her. There’s a pregnant pause where all of their heavy breathing can be heard and the anticipation is so much Dieter might explode on the spot. 

“Strip.”

Twin breaths release from both Dieter and Mulder and he swears he hears her giggle behind them. He’s quick to comply, tugging at the drawstring of Mulder’s sweats he’s borrowed and awkwardly shuffling them off while he tries to stay kneeling. 

He notices Mulder still motionless beside him. 

“Scully��”

Idiot, Dieter thinks. 

“Good boy, Dieter, doing exactly what I say.”

He can’t help the satisfied smirk that twists his lips up, or the way the back of his neck burns at the praise. In his peripheral, Mulder hastily shucks his pajama pants. 

He has a pretty cock. Dieter knew he would. Everything else about him is pretty. It’s long and lean, just like he is, and the upward curve of it makes him jealous. It’s going to feel so good for Scully, if she lets him fuck her. 

There’s more shuffling behind them, and he flinches when a pair of satin pajama pants land on the floor in front of both of them. He has to dig his nails into his thighs to resist the urge to turn around. Something nudges his arm. He doesn’t dare move his head, but from the corner of his eye he sees a pale, smooth leg and his breath catches in his chest. 

He hears Mulder curse under his breath and can nearly feel the tension in him vibrating out energy into this rickety old cabin. Dieter feels a gentle hand in the short curls at the back of his neck just a moment later, her nails scraping his scalp just right, and his leg may just start shaking like a dog’s.

“You want to taste me, Mulder?”

“Fuck yes, Scully, please.”

She hums. Her hand in Dieter’s hair stills. 

“Go on, then.”

A lightning flash of movement stirs beside him, but Dieter keeps dutifully still. He’s twitching in anticipation but he doesn’t dare turn to look. 

Scully sighs, all breathy and high-pitched, and Dieter’s never heard a more beautiful sound. Then Mulder whimpers, and it’s muffled by Scully’s thighs, and there’s a wet smacking noise and Dieter thinks this obscene music could be a platinum album. 

Scully gasps, and Mulder groans, and Dieter aches. He can smell her, a sharp and tangy scent of arousal underneath the flowery soap and shampoo. Her hand is still in his hair and it hasn’t moved since Mulder got down to business and he feels forgotten about but in the best way.

“Dieter, honey, you can watch.”

He breathes out with relief and shifts to get a good look of the action. She’s perfect, gorgeous, breathtaking. Her silky pajama top hangs open on her pointy shoulders and her perky breasts rise and fall with her breathing. Her nipples are a brownish pink that stand erect in a way that makes his mouth water like a leaky faucet.

Her toned, porcelain legs spread wide enough to accommodate Mulder’s shoulders. The man is greedy, and Dieter can’t see a thing aside from the triangle of copper curls on her mound. He wants to nuzzle them so bad, he wants to feel them tickle his nose, smell the arousal that catches there. 

“You taste so good.”

Mulder’s words are squished against her center. Dieter whimpers at the thought of her flavor. Her hand soothes through his hair. He wants to touch his cock so badly, but Scully hasn’t told him that he’s allowed. Instead, he balls his hands into fists and bites his lip. 

Scully moans, and Dieter watches her face fall slack with pleasure. 

“Feels good, just like that.”

Dieter can’t help the sounds that eke out of him, desperate and a little pained. He’s so hard that he’s lightheaded, but Scully’s firm grip on his hair grounds him just enough. 

“Don’t be selfish, Mulder.”

He makes a questioning noise between her legs. He looks up at her with wide eyes, mouth open, tongue out and flat against her slit. 

“Give him a taste.”

“Oh fuck, please.”

Dieter can see the reluctance in Mulder’s motions, like he’s struggling to break free from her orbit. He looks so fucking hot, absolutely wrecked. His plush lips are red and shiny and his chin is dripping and his pupils completely usurp his irises. Drunk, drugged off of Scully.

He leans away from Dieter to make room between her legs but she tugs his hair. Then she tugs Dieter’s hair, and their noses are bumping together before either man can put two and two together. 

He can smell her on his breath. It’s so intoxicating that he loses any crumb of decorum he may have had left. He licks a broad swipe from Mulder’s chin to his Cupid’s bow and groans at all the slick he’s able to lap up. 

Mulder’s mouth opens up to him, and he chases the taste of her off of his tongue, his teeth, his gums, anywhere. They’re both panting into each other's mouths, exchanging breath. Dieter feels a big, strong hand on his jaw and neck, and the contrast to Scully’s smaller, gentler touch has him leaking all over the rug underneath him. He feels like he’s drowning, and he just wants to go even deeper, like even death won’t be enough. 

He waits for Scully to say anything about Mulder touching him. When she doesn’t, he takes it as permission to reach up and find purchase in his hair. His fingers tingle when they find Scully’s still there, and his whole body shudders and twitches when she links her fingers with his. 

“You want more?” 

It’s depraved, the way they both pull away from the kiss so fast. Dieter’s nodding and looking toward her, her glistening cunt, her smooth skin and her mischievous gaze. 

“Please, Scully,” Mulder mumbles. 

His head lolls back against Scully’s thigh so he can look up at her. He looks like he’s just run a marathon, the way sweat is beading at his forehead and his chest is heaving. 

“Yes, please, Agent Scully.”

She chuckles. The sound is torture and it’s bliss. She ruffles Dieter’s hair and he hums and leans into it. Mulder whimpers at the lack of attention, so she ruffles his too. 

And then she spreads her thighs even wider, like, gymnast levels of flexibility, and both of their eyes are drawn to the way her lips spread open in invitation, puffy red, her clit all swollen while she drips onto the old comforter under her.

“Think you can share?”

Dieter curses. Mulder whimpers against her thigh.

“Play nice, boys.”

Mulder looks at him with a heated gaze that makes him a little bit scared but really really horny.

“Yes ma’am,” Dieter says, but he’s staring at Mulder. 

Be good, he’s trying to tell him through telepathy, we’ll get rewarded if you’re just good.

Mulder glances up at her, bats his pretty little eyes, and licks his slick lips. 

“Yes ma’am.”

It sounds more teasing than anything, but Dieter doesn’t miss the way she squirms when Mulder says it. He just has that effect, doesn’t he? Such a charming little shit. 

He and Dieter look at each other, assessing, when Mulder finally goes low. It’s a little bit awkward, at first. Dieter’s jaw prods at Mulder’s sharp cheekbone as they find a good position. 

He traces around her clit with a pointed tongue, delicately, so eager to work her up. He can hear Mulder’s tongue fucking in and out of her, a wet cacophony of sounds that make his ears ring. So much so that he nearly doesn’t catch the sounds of Scully’s breath hitching, her soft little mewls as her hips cant up into their faces. 

He’s hyper focused on her pleasure, so lost in it that he doesn’t even recognize how turned on he is until a heavy, warm hand wraps around his cock and he nearly blows his load. His tongue presses broadly against Scully’s clit when he groans. She curses and her hand tightens in his hair and it’s so much. 

He reaches out for anything, really, but Mulder’s cock is there, hard and proud and twitching when he wraps his hand around him. He finds solace in the fact that he’s leaking just as much as Dieter is, sticky and slick all the way down the underside of his shaft. His noises get breathier, and his tongue seeks higher ground just as Dieter’s travels lower. They lap at her folds together, briefly, trapping them between their tongues, trading their tastes as she whines above them. Dieter doesn’t even realize his free hand has grasped Scully’s slender hip until she squirms against it. 

All of a sudden, Dieter feels her go stiff under his grasp. Her hand tightens in his hair just shy of enough to make him lose it. She lets out stuttered little sounds and Mulder hums below him. 

“You like that, Scully?”

“Oh my god, Mulder.”

He groans and shifts and she begs and Dieter’s aroused haze clears enough to make him realize that he’s eating her ass. 

He makes a pained sound himself and sucks Scully’s throbbing clit into his mouth. She shakes, and her stiff body loosens just enough for her to roll her hips into them. 

“Don’t— don’t stop, I’m so close. I’m gonna come.”

Neither of them would dream of stopping, not for anything. Dieter works his tongue in pulses against her clit as he suckles, and he feels Mulder slip a finger in between them just as she cries out, loud, and falls apart against their tongues. 

Dieter drinks up the way her clit jerks and pulses between his lips. He drinks up her gasps and breathy noises. He drinks up the way Mulder’s cock mirrors his own, twitching with pure arousal at the way she’s coming just for them.

They’re both humming satisfied sounds as they work her through it. Their hands on each other’s cocks have stilled completely, just a loose grasp as they coax every last bit of pleasure out of her until she’s lax and shying away from them. 

Dieter pulls away first. He watches with a sticky feeling in his chest at the way Mulder kisses her holes gently, and the skin around them, nuzzling between her thighs so tenderly. Both his hands free, now, Mulder soothes them up the outside of her thighs as they tremble in her aftershocks. 

Mulder’s babbling, Dieter realizes, once the ringing in his ears finally subsides. Just under his breath, a chant, over and over.

“So perfect, Scully, thank you, thank you, Jesus Christ, Scully…”

Dieter settles back on his heels to keep gazing at them. Scully’s hands both pet through his hair as he leaves wet kisses that make her pale thighs glisten in the dim cabin lighting. He’s panting harder than she is, and his prick dribbles and twitches, and he looks up at her through misty eyes. 

“Oh, Mulder,” she sighs.

She bends down at the same time he arches up and their lips meet in a kiss so blindingly passionate that Dieter debates whether or not he should look away. Only for a split second though. Because Scully moans into his mouth and licks herself out of it and Dieter grabs his throbbing dick at the base to chill himself out. 

Mulder’s fingers run through her damp hair so gently, but his jaw works and his mouth takes from her in stark contrast. They look so goddamn good together, it’s insane. He’s torn between holding off to see how this plays out, or coming all over himself in three strokes or less as he watches them together. 

“Come up here, Mulder.”

Her voice is intoxicating, it sounds so fucked out and blissful. She shuffles up the bed some and Mulder chases her, always touching at some point, until she’s lying back and he’s covering her body with his own. 

He dwarfs her. It’s cute, in the show, the way she’s always looking up at him with a craned neck. Now, it’s just filthy, how Mulder’s cock looks so fucking huge lying hard against her small frame. The way he has to scrunch himself up to kiss her so his prick doesn’t go anywhere it’s not supposed to, yet. The way her tiny feet rub up and down Mulder’s calves, only half their size. 

The way his hand eclipses her face when he cradles it and pulls away. How his thumb sweeps so easily from her lips to her cheekbone as he sighs. 

“Scully…”

She hums and closes her eyes and smiles, a sated and relieved grin that makes her look so serenely beautiful. 

“I know, Mulder,” she sighs, “me too.”

Dieter huffs. Chris Carter himself couldn’t have created a more Mulder and Scully-esque love confession. It’s precious. He might cry. 

Unfortunately, the sound makes them both look over. Scully’s all relaxed but Mulder’s hackles are all raised, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Dieter slowly moves his hand away from his leaking cock and feels himself blush from his face down to his nipples. 

He’s caught in their crosshairs, stuck, eerily still and silent. Should he offer to leave? He really doesn’t want to leave. Maybe he can just peek through the keyhole of the door and leave them to it. 

“You too, Dieter,” Scully says, “get up here.”

Relief floods through him and makes his limbs all tingly. He’s nervous as he stands, gently making his way to the side of the bed and settling one knee on, then the other. Mulder shifts to the opposite side of Scully, their legs still tangled, as he watches Dieter with emotion he can’t quite put a name to. 

Dieter practically purrs when he slides right into their space. His cock drags a sticky design onto Scully’s smooth thigh and he apologizes, but she just chuckles and gently scratches her nails along his scalp. 

“Are you both going to be good for me?”

The tone of her voice makes them both shiver. Mulder huffs out a laugh but Dieter gasps as she tugs a little at his messy, sweaty curls. 

“Yes ma’am, Agent Scully.”

Dieter’s voice completely betrays him. He’s so turned on. There’s so much blood pumping to his cock that there’s a real and serious threat of him passing out. He hides his face in her shoulder and tries to even out his breathing and not hump her leg like an unruly dog. 

“I’ll be good for you, Scully.”

Mulder sounds a lot more in control. His deep, syrupy voice is just shy of even, only cracking on the second syllable of her name. Dieter feels the way she starts giggling before he hears it, her shoulders jostling with it. 

“You’re going to play by the rules, Mulder?”

He chuckles and it sounds dark, and Dieter opens his eyes to watch him smirk that irresistible smirk. 

“Hell, Scully, I’d write the rules over and over on the chalkboard to keep this going.”

She rolls her eyes at him, but she’s still grinning. His eyes flicker to her lips and there’s no hesitation this time when they kiss again. It’s tame and loose, until Scully wraps her dainty hand around his cock and he groans. Dieter matches his sound, and he just can’t help it, he rolls his hips into Scully’s thigh as he watches Mulder melt into a puddle against her. She bites at his plush bottom lip before she pulls back. 

“Fuck me, then.”

“Jesus,” they both say in unison. 

Scully bites her lip to keep in her giggles and it’s cute and debauched and insane. She’s insane. She’s going to kill them both, and Dieter’s going to return to his reality with 8 less seasons of The X-Files, and a season finale where Scully gets locked up for double homicide.

Mulder shuffles to straddle her. Dieter watches his heavy eyelids flutter and his jaw hang open and knows he likely looks the same. His cock twitches heavily where it hangs below him, and Scully teases the underside of it with her fingertips. He shivers, and so does Dieter, where he rocks his hips gently into Scully’s smooth skin. 

“You’re sure, Scully?” 

Dieter turns away and hides his heated face in the duvet. It’s too tender and raw and he doesn’t deserve to watch them love each other like this. 

“Positive, Mulder.”

He hears them kissing, wet, smacking sounds that give Dieter goosebumps. And then a whimper, a huff, muffled into Scully’s mouth and he drags his face away from its hiding spot. 

Mulder’s inching inside of her slowly, so slowly, with patience Dieter couldn’t even dream of. He cranes his neck to watch her take him, inch by inch. She looks so tight, and he bets she is, if the way Mulder’s eyes are squeezed shut is any indication.

Scully’s head tips back and breaks their kiss. Her eyes roll into the back of her head before she closes them. Her chest is heaving now with shallow breaths, her nipples taut and inviting.

“Oh my god,” she whispers. 

Mulder’s hips stay flush once he’s all the way in and he pants too. It looks like it takes all the strength he has to just flutter his eyes open and look down at her. His brows furrow and he licks his lips and gasps. 

“Scully,” he whines. 

She smirks, and christ, Dieter knows she’s clenching around him like a menace. Poor Mulder. He’s got the restraint of a god, he thinks, Dieter wouldn’t have made it even halfway inside of her. 

She soothes him by brushing the hair from his forehead, all damp with sweat. She does the same to Dieter and he hums as her fingertips massage his scalp. 

Mulder pulls out just as slowly as he entered her. She‘s soaked. He can hear it so well in the stilted silence of the room. When he pushes back in, she sighs and tightens her fist in Dieter’s hair and he needs something. He rocks against her again, and again, and the steady friction makes him gasp. 

Her hand slides down to the back of his neck and guides him to her breast. His cock throbs, deliciously trapped between his stomach and her silky skin. His tongue tests the waters, swirling around the pronounced peak of her nipple. When she sighs and arches into it, he takes it into his mouth and sucks. 

The noises she’s making are perfect. High pitched, breathy, needy. She’s letting herself go to Dieter and Mulder and it’s gorgeous. He presses his cock against her even harder and closes his eyes and whines around the bud in his mouth. 

Mulder’s starting to pick up the pace. Dieter can tell by the way her breast is jiggling just slightly under his mouth. And the sounds, god, the filthy slick sounds coming from her cunt. He’s leaking all over her just thinking about what it must feel like, how snugly Mulder must fit inside of her, how warm it is. 

As if Mulder could read his mind, he gasps out and his hips stutter against her. 

“It’s so good, Scully.”

Scully arches her back to grind down onto him and moans his name and tells him she needs more and Dieter bites down on her tender skin. 

She jolts and tugs his hair and curses and he looks up at her as he soothes it with his tongue. 

She’s the poster girl of pleasure. Her face is twisted with it, every beautiful feature dripping with tension. The length of her neck is so apparent with her head thrown back, and her skin is pink and looks hot to the touch. She begins to bounce when Mulder fucks her faster and harder. Dieter wants to do something, anything to make her feel good. 

He replaces his mouth with his hand, squeezing her flesh and teasing her nipple with his fingertips. He trails kisses up her chest, little love bites and suction until he reaches just below her ear. Her pulse is fluttering rapidly under his tongue, and she keens just as she turns her head and presses their lips together. 

They’re kissing. He’s kissing Scully. Oh god, her lips are so fucking soft against his. Her tongue ripples in his mouth and it tastes so good, minty with a hint of her arousal straight from Mulder’s lips. He whines and rolls his hips against her like he’s in heat, and he’s so close, and he wonders if she’d be mad if he came all over her warm, smooth, freshly showered skin. 

She jolts against him, against them, and bites down on Dieter’s lip with an almost pained noise. She turns away from Dieter and they both look to Mulder, who’s circling her puffy clit with his thumb as he fucks her. 

He’s looking to her for direction with a glazed expression. He looks like he’s hanging by a thread. 

“Here,” she whispers, and takes two of her fingers into her own mouth. 

Christ. The way her lips look wrapped around her two digits is sinful and debauched. Mulder must think the same, because he grabs her wrist and makes her stop. 

Dieter holds his breath as he waits for his next move. Is he going to pin her arms to the bed? Is he going to stretch them over her head and make her squirm on his cock, make her beg? 

It’s sweeter than that. Of course it is, with these two. Mulder brings her hand to his lips and kisses her palm, and then her knuckles. She sighs his name, and watches Mulder smile.

That soft, dopey smile gets an edge to it. 

“Let me, please,” he whispers. 

Dieter only gets the chance to be confused for half a second when he slips those two fingers into his own mouth. 

Scully gasps and moans and wiggles against him. Fuck, it’s beautiful. Mulder’s full lips take her all the way to the last knuckle and he hollows his cheeks as he sucks them. Scully’s hips squirm and rock and the way she moves against him is a sight. Mulder groans when Scully begins to thrust her fingers in and out, just a little, not enough to choke him but enough to make him close his eyes and sigh and start slowly fucking her again. 

They leave his mouth all wet and shiny. Mulder’s tongue tries to follow them and it makes Scully huff out a weak laugh. 

“You’re too good at that, Mulder.”

He hums, tries to hide his sheepish smile by ducking his head. But Scully grips his chin with her wet fingers to prevent it. His eyes struggle to focus on her, Dieter notices. He can’t blame him, it’s like staring into the sun. 

“Why don’t you show off to your little time traveler, huh?”

He opens his mouth, but no words come out. His eyes dart nervously from Scully to Dieter. 

“I— what?”

“Don’t be dense. Make him come. Make me come. You can multitask, can’t you?”

Dieter lies as still as the dead, afraid that if he moves maybe Mulder will snap out of this horny daze and tell him to get lost. He wouldn’t blame him one bit, either, but god he really wants to see this man’s lips wrapped around his cock. 

Scully chuckles at Mulder’s frozen stature. Or maybe she’s chuckling at the way Dieter’s heartbeat is pulsing through his dick against her thigh, dribbling all over it. 

“I bet you’re so good at it,” she continues to tease him, “with these pretty lips?” 

Mulder huffs and squirms when she rubs the pads of her wet fingers against his mouth. His tongue peeks out to taste them, coax them back inside him, but she doesn’t let him. 

“For me, Mulder?”

And Dieter can’t help but grin, because he’s never seen such a visceral loss of resolve so clearly before. Mulder closes his eyes and whines and nods his head. 

Scully makes a satisfied little noise, and her free hand sneaks down to squeeze Dieter’s slick cock, and he has to bite his own lip really hard to keep from losing it before the fun even begins. 

Then there’s some awkward repositioning and shuffling, mostly on his end. He kneels just above Scully’s head, and when he looks down she’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat from under his cock. He has to reach down to collect some of the pre-cum oozing out of him to keep it from dripping onto her gorgeous face, but she grabs his wrist and licks it from his fingers anyway. 

And then there’s Mulder, who’s slowly thrusting in and out of his partner like it’s second-nature, like auto-pilot, as he surveys the scene in front of him. 

“Mulder,” Scully mumbles. 

The deep, breathy, commanding tone of her voice makes Dieter shiver. 

“Yeah, Scully?”

“Make us come. Then you can.”

He groans, and his hips stutter then slam into her. Dieter’s torn between looking at the blissed-out look on Mulder’s face or the mischievous look in Scully’s eyes. 

“Are you— are you sure?” Dieter asks. 

Like an idiot, looking a gift horse in the mouth. But how can he not? They’re so perfect, so made for each other, and he’s just some weird fucking guy. 

But then Mulder’s expression turns into something darker, determined, and he nods with glassy eyes. 

“C’mon, McFly.”

And that’s all the encouragement Dieter needs, really. He widens his knees to line his cock up with those shiny, plush lips. Mulder gives Scully one last glance before he’s craning his neck forward and closing his eyes. 

Scully and Dieter gasp at precisely the same time, just as Mulder’s tongue swipes at his frenulum. Dieter’s eyes lose focus as he watches Mulder open his mouth wider, then looks past to see Scully’s icy blue gaze fixated on everything going on above her. It’s like an erotic kaleidoscope, the way they’re all blending together in pleasure. 

He suckles on Dieter’s head, a little too hard, but he thinks it might be on purpose. He hisses and grabs Mulder’s hair in one clammy, shaking hand. His tongue works the underside of his cock as he fits more into his mouth, and Scully was right, he is way too good at this. 

Scully curses under them, and only then does Dieter notice she’s touching herself as Mulder keeps pumping into her with a shaky, stilted rhythm. 

“So good, Mulder.”

His responding moan turns into a whimper as Dieter’s prick slides across the back of his tongue and hits his throat. 

“Fuck, yeah, so good,” Dieter agrees. 

It’s more than good. It’s incredible, unbelievable. He watches Mulder’s shiny, puffy lips wrapped around him, so in awe of how gorgeous he is. His pretty eyes are closed, half concentration and half bliss as he slides in and out of Scully’s dripping cunt. 

It takes him a while to find a rhythm that works, but when he finds his groove he fucking finds it. Of course he’d be good at this, too. He fucks in and out of Scully once, twice, and then sinks his mouth down as far as he can on Dieter’s cock (all the fucking way— Jesus christ) and holds there while he pumps in and out of her some more. 

And Dieter’s so, so torn. He wants to be good for Scully, wants to challenge Mulder for her and keep up the show. He wants to hang on so she can crumble as she watches her partner taking and receiving so perfectly at the same time.

But he wants to be good for Mulder too. He wants to come in his mouth and give him the satisfaction of satisfying. He wants to let Mulder prove to Scully how good he is, let him make them both come and writhe under his skill and rapt attention. 

And it’s like Scully can sense it. With her free hand, she reaches up and cups his balls. It makes his fucking toes curl, makes him cry out her name and slam his eyes shut to stave it off. He’s being tagged teamed by the objects of some of his earliest sexual fantasies and it takes him biting his lip so hard he draws blood to keep it together. 

He realizes the noises he’s making are borderline embarrassing. He’s mewling and gasping and whimpering as she squeezes and strokes, as her fingers meet Mulder’s lips every time he takes him deep. He’s shaking with the effort it takes to not fuck Mulder’s mouth. And he’s sweating, and he hopes to god it doesn’t start to trickle down and land on Scully’s blissed-out face.

And then it doesn’t much matter, because those dainty fingers and well-kept nails travel back, across his taint, and press. 

“I can’t— I can’t, oh my god.”

Mulder hums around his cock in an echo of the noise Scully makes under him. He’s teetering on the edge, tensed up, out of his mind as Scully massages that spot and Mulder swirls his tongue around the head of his cock. 

And in sync, like they always are, in a way that takes him completely off guard but should be absolutely predictable, they unravel him. 

Mulder takes him down his throat and swallows, and the pad of one of Scully’s fingers taps his entrance, and he’s done. 

He might scream, if he’s being honest. There was never any hope for a warning, the way they ganged up to play him like a fucking fiddle. Mulder groans as the first explosive spurt of Dieter’s cum shoots down his throat. He pulls back as Dieter continues to spill with each spasm of his muscles, as he tries but fails to suck Scully’s finger up inside him. He writhes and curses and clenches Mulder’s hair a little too tight as he works through his orgasm. 

Mulder dutifully collects every last drop, extremely intent on keeping it from spilling down across Scully’s face. He is such a good boy for her. Mulder whimpers when she tells him so in her breathy, sexy way she does. His hips stutter inside of her just as Dieter slips from his swollen lips. 

He doesn’t get reprieve yet, though. Mulder’s long, lean body arches up, and his arm reaches to grab a fist full of Dieter’s hair and tug and oh, god, he might just come again.

Their lips crash together, and before Dieter can think of how metallic the taste is, Mulder’s pushing his own load into his mouth forcefully. Dieter takes it all, sucks it down and swallows as he pants against Mulder’s mouth. 

Then he thanks him, and he thanks Scully, over and over with baited breath until he collapses to the side of them, completely spent and overstimulated. 

“You did so good,” he hears Scully say. 

Only she’s not talking to him. 

She’s got both her hands on Mulder’s face. Her lips just brushing against his own as she whispers. He watches her hike her legs up to wrap around Mulder’s waist, watches Mulder sag into her so he’s plastered against her front. 

“Scully,” Mulder whines. 

“Harder, Mulder. Make me come.”

He kisses her one last time before he buries his face in her neck and obeys, pulling nearly all the way out of her before driving back in. She’s really vocal now, now that she has Mulder’s undivided attention, now that he can focus on fucking her steadily and deep and fast.

Her head is thrown back and she looks so fucking beautiful. Mulder should be looking at her, shouldn’t miss a moment of the way she looks as he’s making her fall apart. But Dieter can’t blame him, or the concentrated, almost pained look he has on his face that’s just peeking out under her chin. 

It’s crazy how she seems to be fucking him from under all his weight, but she’s doing exactly that. Her toned legs pull him into her, her hips arching to meet his, so frantic and hot. One of her hands is leaving red marks down his back and the other one is petting through his hair, scraping his scalp and pulling so many gorgeous noises from him. 

Dieter couldn’t look away if he tried. His spent cock is twitching, trying it’s damndest to steal what little blood is left in his brain. He wants to help them along, maybe take Scully’s nipple into his mouth, but they’re both crushed under Mulder’s body in a way Dieter’s extremely jealous of. He could touch Mulder, could grab his pert little asscheek and squeeze. But he resigns to the sidelines instead, lets them share this intimate moment with only the intrusion of his eyes and heavy breathing. 

It’s over pretty quickly, anyway. Mulder starts babbling again, a great fucking look on him, there where he’s hidden in the pale crook of her neck. 

“Please, Scully. Come for me— I wanna make you come. I wanna be good, let me make you feel good.”

And she’s grinding her hips up as her back arches off the bed, no doubt catching her swollen clit on that enticing patch of wiry curls above his prick. She’s panting and gasping and then she’s shouting.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, Mulder, oh my god! So good, good boy— I’m gonna come—”

And she does. Beautifully. She tenses up and then she shakes, convulsing under him, around him. She moans and mumbles through it, with her eyes shut tight and her cute little nose all scrunched and her mouth hanging open. 

It’s so beautiful that she outshines Mulder. Dieter barely even catches his groans, the curses under his breath as his hips stutter and grind into her. They both ride it out for a while, it’s like it’s never going to end. They writhe against each other and Mulder’s panting into her mouth as she tries her best to kiss his open lips. Their rhythm takes forever to slow, and even longer to come to a stop. 

It’s better than anything Dieter ever could have imagined. He’s already half hard again, just watching them be together, and that fact only makes him want to leave, disappear, let them play this out without some stranger in their bed. 

But christ he wants to stay and watch just as bad. 

Their eyes flutter open at the same time, and the smiles on their faces are as nauseating as they are precious. Scully looks like the cat that got the cream, and Mulder has the audacity to look sheepish. 

“I uh—” Mulder’s voice cracks, and he clears his throat, “I didn’t pull out.”

Scully giggles. 

“I noticed.”

He huffs, and she smooths his sweaty hair from his forehead.

“I’m on the pill.”

Mulder sighs. 

“That’s— that’s good.”

Idiots, Dieter thinks. The situational irony is off the charts. His huff alerts them both, snaps them out of their little bubble to look over at him. 

He opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes to mind. Scully gives him an amused little smirk and reaches over to pet his hair. 

“You were so good,” she muses. 

He shivers at her words and her fucked-out gaze. 

Mulder shifts on top of her, and they both gasp a little noise when he slips out of her, but they’re both focused on him. 

Mulder looks him up and down and for a moment he isn’t sure if he’s about to kick him out of bed or kiss him within an inch of his life. 

He does neither, it turns out. Instead he holds the side of Dieter’s face in his big, sweaty palm and it’s so soothing that he closes his eyes and leans into it. His thumb strokes Dieter’s cheek while Scully plays with his hair and he could die happy here. 

“Yeah man, thank you. That was good— you were good.”

Dieter’s eyes open wide at that. They’re both looking at him with fondness— appreciation. His chest swells with a heavy feeling just as his eyes begin to sting. 

“Thank you,” he whispers. 

He just barely catches the confused looks on their faces before he hides his own, rolling over into his stomach to let his pitiful tears fall into the blanket below him. Scully ruffles his hair with a sympathetic coo and Mulder pats him on the back of his heated neck before he hears rustling and feels the bed shift. 

“Oh my god.”

Scully’s voice sounds horrified. For a quick moment, his tiny little pea brain thinks of Queequeg— is he alright, did he get out while they were occupied?

“What the hell?”

Mulder’s voice sounds much more amused. 

Confused, Dieter wipes his wet eyes in what he hopes is an inconspicuous move before he looks over his shoulder at them.

Scully and Mulder are both standing at the foot of the bed, looking equal parts mortified and puzzled. And they’re staring at Dieter’s bare ass. 

His bare ass that he now remembers is tattooed. Tattooed with Mulder and Scully’s face on each cheek, respectively. 

“Oh, ha— yeah. Maybe that could have proved it faster?”

His face feels hot. He’s had these asscheek tattoos for so long he sometimes forgets about them. He was young and drunk and high when he got them, but they still hold up. Full color portraits of his favorite FBI agents. 

“What do the words say?” Scully asks. 

Mulder takes one for the team and leans in closer to Dieter’s ass, and he wonders if his blush goes all the way to his buttcheeks. 

“Mine says the truth is out there, and yours says I want to believe.”

Dieter lets out a nervous chuckle and shifts, a little scrutinized, a little embarrassed, a little bit turned on at the way Mulder’s gaze settles over his body.

“When did you get these?”

“1998, right after the movie came out.”

“There’s a movie?”

“Two, actually.”

Scully shakes her head and looks from Mulder to Dieter’s butt, back and forth a few times. 

“I’ll give you this one, Mulder. Only because there’s no lake monster for you to boast about.”

Mulder preens, a satisfied smirk settling on his handsome face. 

“Finally,” he and Dieter say at the exact same time. 

She rolls her eyes. 

“Brag about it in the morning. I’m tired— and my bed’s clean,” she throws her voice over her shoulder as she leaves the room. 

Dieter stays put. His ankles roll around in an attempt to hide his hesitation. He stares at the empty doorway and avoids Mulder’s lanky form. 

“You coming, Doc Brown?”

He’d be stupid not to follow like an eager pup. 

They all nestle into Scully’s bed. She’s in the middle, wrapped up in blankets, and the guys take either side of her. Dieter rests his head on her naked breast as she kisses Mulder goodnight, as Mulder’s fingers intertwine with his own over her smooth stomach. Their pillow talk lulls him to sleep and he goes to bed happy for the first time in years.

He wakes up alone, on his couch, in his own clothes, with his face smashed against his open laptop. 

A dream. It must have all been a crazy, weed and hormone induced dream. Best dream he’s ever had. He sighs, scratches his head and takes in his surroundings. 

Everything’s normal, exactly how he left it. Except, when he moves to his bedroom to mourn the loss of the day he never had, he sees a red and white trucker’s hat on his nightstand. 

Show us your bobbers

[chattre-kisses]

maybe the reason I feel like shit is because I haven’t watched any x files in like a month. maybe rewatching the x files would fix me.

[mlobsters]

the x-files: fight the future (1998)

the x-files s2e24 our town

i'm watching fight the future. again. because listening to an elizabeth holmes trial coverage podcast that had someone named kurzweil in it. so clearly... anyway. apparently this is my liveblog of my millionth rewatch. i had this movie on vhs, my friends.

it's gary grubbs who was in the cannibal town episode!

you know what else i like about this movie. someone's clear helicopter obsession. give me all the helicopters.

what about my men?!

i just think it's neat how they managed to make a fucking cool ass movie in the middle of the tv show run. i know it was hell on the cast and crew and the show itself kind of suffered but damn they made a good movie (some plot silliness aside, it is chris carter after all)

SCULLY: Well, I just climbed up 12 floors, I'm hot, I'm thirsty and to be honest, I'm wondering what I'm doing up here.

MULDER: You're looking for a bomb.

SCULLY: Yes, I know that, but the threat was called in to the federal building across the street.

MULDER: I think they have that covered.

MULDER: Whatever happened to playing a hunch, Scully? The element of surprise, random acts of unpredictability? If we fail to anticipate the unforeseen or expect the unexpected in a universe of infinite possibilities, we may find ourselves at the mercy of anyone or anything that cannot be programmed, categorized or easily referenced.

What are we doing up here, Scully? It's hotter than hell.

glenne headly (uncredited, bartender)

mr holland's opus (1995) - glenne headly as iris holland

i love her voice. and she had this great little scene with mulder.

MULDER: I'm the key figure in an on-going government charade, the plot to conceal the truth about the existence of extraterrestrials. It's a global conspiracy, actually, with key players in the highest levels of power, that reaches down into the lives of every man, woman, and child on this planet. So, of course, no one believes me. I'm an annoyance to my superiors, a joke to my peers. They call me Spooky. Spooky Mulder, whose sister was abducted by aliens when he was just a kid and who now chases after little green men with a badge and a gun, shouting to the heavens or to anyone who will listen that the fix is in, that the sky is falling and when it hits it's gonna be the shit-storm of all time.

BARTENDER: Well. I would say that about does it, Spooky.

martin landau as alvin kurtzweil

fox peeing in the alley on the independence day poster. keep it classy.

KURTZWEIL: That official FBI business?

MULDER: What?

KURTZWEIL: Bet the Bureau's accusing you of the same thing in Dallas. Standing around holding your yank while bombs are exploding.

choppers!

plague to end all plagues. and FEMA!

"going that way" forever burned into my brain. little dudes with their thick accents and coordinated pointing. maybe i'll draw that some day.

MULDER: Five years together, Scully. How many times I been wrong? Never. Not driving anyway.

helicopters and the jiffy pop poppers (still an hour left, how many more choppers can we cram in)

MULDER: But you saved me! As difficult and as frustrating as it's been sometimes, your goddamned strict rationalism and science have saved me a thousand times over! You've kept me honest ... you've made me a whole person. I owe you everything ... Scully, and you owe me nothing. I don't know if I wanna do this alone... I don't even know if I can ... and if I quit now, they win.

fakeout kiss whatever. these little speeches, hugs and forehead smooches are a balm.

LANGLY: What can we do?

MULDER: You can strip Byers naked.

john neville as the well-manicured man

well-manicured man is well manicured.

In the DVD commentary, Chris Carter tries to peddle the idea that the emotions from the almost kiss in the hallway plus the CPR scene later in the movie equals a kiss. Not surprisingly, nobody buys that. (source)

oh, chris carter.

also, famously:

In X-Files Redacted, a 30-minute special that premiered on Comcast (before being leaked online and making its rounds on the Internet, of course), creator and showrunner Chris Carter set up the scene about where the main duo currently stand coming into the revival of the show: “Mulder and Scully, for 9 years, had a platonic relationship.”

SCULLY: I had you big time.

handwave the halfdead out of antarctica to talk to blythe danner.

CASSIDY: Bees and corn crops do not quite fall under the rubric of domestic terrorism.

SCULLY: How many other lives can we save? Look ... If I quit now, they win.

all right, all right. i'm done--WAIT

[agent-troi]

For the X-Files asks: 29, 30, 42, 43

29. How did you feel about IWTB?

I was initially disappointed because I was expecting it to be part of the mytharc like the first movie was, and I didn't think much of the plot but the scense with MSR in bed and the kiss at the end were nice (also I wish the scene with them on a boat wasn't hidden after the credits because I had no idea it existed until I saw people talking about it on Twitter).

Also, one thing that really bugs me is that Scully is allowed to have a job and a semblance of a normal life while Mulder for some reason still has to wallow in the basement with his conspiracy billboard and the picture of his sister in the center of it as if he still doesn't know what happened to her. Idk it just bugs me how they freeze him in that role and don't let him even try to move on.

The whole 'on the run' thing confused me too, like I wasn't sure why they had to go on the run in the first place because I thought that everyone who was after them was dead, and then given that premise I didn't understand why they could suddenly come out of hiding, but also I've only seen season 9 and IWTB once so maybe further rewatches would help, but I'm ignoring everything after Existence so that's not gonna happen😂

30. How did you feel about FTF?

LOVED this one❤️ loved the attempt to make coherent sense out of the various mytharc bits that had been written prior to this point, loved Mulder verbally expressing his feelings to Scully (for once), the bee can go die, loved the desperate rescue from Antarctica, loved Mulder and Scully holding hands and walking off into the sunset. I really wish CC had been able to go with his original idea of five seasons and a movie trilogy, because I think the mytharc could've been wrapped up a lot better that way.

42. A song you think embodies Fox Mulder?

Definitely Human by Cody Johnson. Read this and tell me it doesn't scream Mulder:

"I thought by now I'd have it figured out How not to make the easy thing so hard to do I bet that I'd be further down this road If I could read the signs that point me to the truth...

...Girl, all I can say is that I'm sorry If I get kind of careless with your heart

All the headlights All the midnights Chasing all that empty, still ain't got it right All the crazy All the gypsy Well, I guess all I'm sayin' is forgive me If I don't know what I'm doing I'm still learnin' to be human

So far I've been good at burning bridges Strike a match and ride right out of town Bless your heart for never trying to fix me Or quit me, or slow me down"

43. A song you think embodies Dana Scully?

I know this is the most unimaginative answer ever but there is literally a song called Dana Katherine Scully by Tacocat lmao😅

[thecottageinthedark]

#sdmi#scooby doo: mystery incorporated#professor pericles#velma dinkley#shaggy rogers#SDMItag#cws in post#like. everything about shaggy and velma's dynamic in and related to the first half of S1 is *gutwrenching*#it took me up until this rewatch to realize why every time i try to rewatch the show in linear order i can never seem to watch past E02#and end up just skipping around#and time and personal experience have *really* made the 'fairytale queer romance that is a missing stair right into a bottomless pit'#thing hit harder#whereas exploring pericky when i was younger *made me realize things about their relationship were abuse that i hadn't understood before*#'okay so if i go back and fix *this* part that'll make it not abusive anymore and they can be happ--oh. oh geez. this goes deep doesn't it'#and the people who don't like pericky will do the opposite and *actively claim the abuse dynamics that are there do not exist*#because Then It Would Be Shipping and That's Just Gross UwU#because 'this can't have been [X kind of abuse] because [X abuse] is Gross and its potential existence near me makes me uncomfortable'#'you're the one who's gross for seeing it and pointing it out; ew how dare you ruin people's day by making them think about that'#'thank goodness it didn't happen and we can all move on with our lives (and you won't like what happens if you dare bring it up again)'#isn't. you know. famously a thing that happens all the time to gaslight and silence survivors irl and take our words away from us lol#anyway as you can maybe imagine i am bitter about this lmao#but also i just generally think it's worth talking about; especially if even one person understands their own experiences better for it#the crit files#the salt files#SDMIcrit tag#pericky#dyn: when i die i want you to die too

[cws: non-detailed discussion of both fictional and irl SA/CSA/CoCSA/abuse dynamics, apologia for the previous, homophobia, fetishization of wlw, and anti rhetoric.]

-

having a lot of thoughts about the wider fandom's treatment of the various abuse dynamics present in sdmi--supposedly in the name of being anti-abuse--and how instead it's propagated deeply anti-survivor/abuse apologist sentiment and behavior through where they choose to apply that rhetoric, and where they choose to look the other way.

(first off, if you're someone who does not and has not done this, thank you from the bottom of my heart. second, this is not at all exhaustive of my feelings on the subject and there will probably be more posts about these dynamics and people's behavior toward them in future. as you can imagine by the length of this post that is saying something lmao)

one of the reasons i feel as strongly as i do about the way both canon and fandom have historically been about pericles, pericky, and shitting on anyone who likes them because it Normalizes Abuse(tm), is that their fans are pretty open and emphatic about the fact that it's Fucked Up. it's why we find it compelling. it is vanishingly rare that we don't.

meanwhile, velma is the UwU Cute Sassy Lesbian Icon whose relationship with shaggy was Cringy and Immature (and mutually so 🙃) at worst, when it directly mirrored such visceral aspects of my experience with CSA that i almost threw up rewatching the second episode.

and that's not even getting into how normalized it is for women to abuse men in a relationship, in broad fucking daylight in front of other people, and how men are supposed to Always Want It and it's an insult if they don't, and how the vast majority of CSA--which it overtly is in shaggy's case, he is implied not to be an adult yet--is perpetrated by other kids.

and it's also not getting into the fact that the ~cute lesbian relationship~ is almost certainly going to end up with the other queer girl in the show also being abused, because abusers are not Magically Cured by True Queer Love's Kiss. how it is incredibly difficult for survivors of abuse in a wlw relationship to be acknowledged or get support because then they'd be a Traitor, or people would rather maintain the feel-good fuzzy feelings wlw exist to give them, or they're closeted and it's not safe to let people know they're in a relationship with a woman. how queer relationships, especially between women, are fetishized as cute pure healthy fairytale romances and not dynamics involving real people who might harm each other or be harmed and need help.

and that's not even getting into the fact that mlm are seen as inherently predatory to an extent that the majority of other queer identities are not. how older queer men grooming boys is a classic homophobic stereotype used to justify violence toward them, up to and including lynchings, and how that is the abuse dynamic everyone in the show and fandom latched onto to revile as the Disgusting Evil Predatory One while giving everything else a pass. how mlm have a long history of forced institutionalization and psychiatric torture and abuse, and the Predatory Gay Man is subjected to decades of--you guessed it!--forced institutionalization and psychiatric torture and abuse, which is framed as what he deserved and where he belonged. how he's supposed to be unattractive (and the majority of the people who do this shit lean hard on that), while people are way more likely to give Charming Attractive Aesthetically Pleasing abusers a pass.

this is just..... normal, to the fandom. it's treated as completely normal. and i think that's a whole lot more fucking harmful than finding emotional catharsis in exploring an abusive dynamic that would not fly in broad daylight irl in a million years.

[dreamingofscully]

4x05. “The Field Where I Died” - X-Files Rewatch

Disclaimer: So. I’ve only ever watched this episode twice, first during the original run and the second during this rewatch. I think at the time, the rumor about this episode was the writers hated shippers and wanted to basically give them a giant “FU!”. IDK if that’s true or not but it was enough to keep me away, despite how beautiful the both of them look, and the gorgeous line from Scully:

“Even if I knew for certain, I wouldn’t change a day.”

This post will be a little different. I’ll do my usual observation about MSR moments but afterwards I have ... quite a large amount of speculation and conjecture.

*****

Beautiful iconic shot of M&S in their jackets in the field.

Another iconic shot of Scully leaning close to Mulder at the meeting. (For an episode about M&S not being romantic soul mates, this episode certainly features a lot of M&S chemistry.)

Leaning close during the interrogation.

Scully giving Mulder a hard time about using Melissa (ugh I hate that she shares Scully’s sister’s name) to investigate his X-File rather than help the case or help her. It’s pretty selfish.

Leaning close during hypnosis. Scully’s hand on his shoulder. (x2)

Melissa infers that Mulder is her soulmate, that they’ve been romantic partners in several lives together before this. I think she does this to more easily manipulate Mulder, because she sees that he is SO willing to believe.

Scully is so tender and sweet, so concerned for Mulder during his and Melissa’s hypnosis sessions.

Mulder calls Scully “Dana”. This is the scene where he asks if they knew they had past lives together, whether that would change anything. Scully’s response, just to repeat because it’s lovely:  “Even if I knew for certain, I wouldn’t change a day.” 

Kneeling close at the compound when the cultists drink the poison.  

Read onwards for analysis.

So much to comment on for this episode. Mostly trying to fix what we saw on screen, because that shit ain't happening without some goddamn context and explanation.

First off, Melissa ain't Mulder's soul mate, let's get that out of the way.

The problem with this episode isn't that Mulder has a soul mate that isn't Scully, the problem is that during Mulder's hypnosis (and possibly afterwards) he BELIEVES he has a soul mate that isn't Scully, and Scully represents (1) his father and (2) his commander officer in an army - both people who are untouchable and not representative of a romantic interest.

Instead of viewing these things as truth, lets view them as the result of Mulder's vulnerability to suggestion, his history with women growing up, and his denial about his feelings for Scully.

First, Mulder has been remarkably vulnerable to believing just about anything. A lot of the times Mulder is sort of right, but the skepticism that Scully gives makes the both of them come to a conclusion that is closer to the truth. He gets really mad at her when she doesn't believe the act that Melissa puts forth (and who would, really?), because he WANTS to believe this past life thing, desperately. But why, though? Read on...

The second part of my "TFWID is all about Mulder's relationship issues" headcanon is all about his susceptibility to manipulation from various people in his life - Phoebe, Deep Throat, various monsters human or otherwise (Roche), Diana, etc. He is far too willing to trust what people say if he believes that they are trying to help him - and it doesn't take too much if they give him a few things that he wants to hear. So, Melissa provides him with a very convenient and romantic idea - that maybe his life isn't so great in this one, but the next, oh the next, will surely be better - and he'll have a soul mate to share it with. Also, he doesn't have to blame himself for his failed relationships as he's done so far in his life (whether or not he is the reason for failure, he blames himself for their end, for them leaving) - he can simply view it as "not meant to be". He can be content to be alone for the rest of his life, because he has someone else waiting for him in the next. Very appealing for a guilt-ridden Byronic hero like Mulder.

And finally, related to his relationship to Scully. At this point in their relationship, Mulder is pretty steadfastly in denial about his feelings for her. He went off the deep end when she was abducted, so he definitely felt something then, but I don't know if he consciously acknowledged it. Perhaps he's had a few thoughts here and there, but his life is so consumed with the X-Files he can pretty easily shove all that stuff away. The figures he chooses to represent as Scully are untouchable in terms of a romantic relationship - specifically chosen as such. She's untouchable because I believe he thinks subconsciously that if he TRIES to have more with her, then she will leave or it will end badly in some fashion, and he ABSOLUTELY CANNOT 1000% lose her. (This theory is held up by what happens in FTF - he tries to kiss her to keep her - something terrible happens, and then he overcompensates in season 6 by being a complete jerk-ass.)

Another thing I need to speak of is Scully's reaction to this whole past life revelation. Scully is terribly uncomfortable with the fact that Mulder thinks she's been his FATHER and his superior officer in past lives, and kind of internalizes the idea that Mulder doesn't have any sort of romantic feelings towards her - she's a friend, the closest friend he has, but nothing more. Basically, Scully has been comfortable with the idea of loving Mulder since season 1. Her abduction and sister’s death made her more careful, made her put up more walls and put up a front of being stronger than she felt sometimes. She would be loathe to introduce any vulnerable romantic feelings into their relationship, and she also wanted to figure out just what the hell happened to her, so her focus became the work. She fell more in love with him as the seasons went on - his relentlessness in pursuit of the truth and doing the right thing despite all the odds being against him (Piper Maru). His emotional vulnerability - he empathized with people more strongly than most people she knew, and she wanted to protect him (Grotesque, Oubliette, Pusher). Then this episode hits, and she's given another "rejection" - Mulder thinks of her in a purely platonic way - as a friend, as family - and could never love her more deeply than that. The upcoming Cancer Arc changes things a LOT for both Mulder and Scully, and I'm looking forward to discussing them.

Made it? CONGRATS. Have a cookie.  🍪

[fixation-nation]

Chapter 1: Adding that to Wikipedia.

Type: Ghostwalkers.

Species: Humans.

Ability: Ghost Walking? Idunno man there isnt much info on this shit.

Details:

Human beings that have the ability to Ghost Walk, transform their bodies into a ghost like state, either visible or invisible and move around like a ghost (through walls, etc) and possibly more, but yet unknown. There is hardly any information about them since they are harmless, but mischievious. They act like spirits because they seem fun in it, a way to use their power as to not go entirely mad from the build up ectoplasmic energy they absorb?? Dad never wrote much about it....but Sam found an old file, to im writing this down now to. Maybe one day we'll meet one, apparently theyre when a normal ghost banishing doesnt works you can force them to show themselves, using some cloth, Lavender Oil and then light it on fire, they apparently hate the smell of Lavender.

Then a dull smack was heard, and a deep sigh as someone sat back, the chair giving a creak. The sigh came from none other then Dean Winchester, who had done his best to write this down as an addition to their dads old diary. They had to keep track of the creatures, since there were god knows how many other fucking things around them ready to attack. And hey when you hear theres a possible haunting around the local University, you better do some research! Well atleast thats what Sam had told him, and with much grumbling Dean had gotten onto Sam's laptop. His brother was out, trying to gather some information at a local 'Witch Store' as people called it, trying to find them Lavender Oil as well, just incase.

Dean had stayed behind, finding it hard to belief why a fucking University would be haunted since there werent cases about any deaths in the building, or on the grounds before it was a University. It was honestly a bit confusing....but who knows, what fucked up ghost decided to torment people around Sam's age. He just shrugged it off, tossing the diary back into his bag and moving to the tv, lifting his feet onto the table and putting his favorite show on, chuckling at the silly soap opera, mumbling along lines as he got the bottle of whiskey from the side, having left it there because a cold stream hit it just right, and man, did he enjoy his booze nice and cold.

Over the next few days, Sam went to pretend to be a student that was saying he was possibly moving here and needed a school transfer, thus wanting to attend a few days to gather some information...and Dean? Dean had to be a fucking Nightguard! God he was so pissed about it, but honestly the work turned out to be not that much in the end...which he did enjoy. Now a few days in he was sitting in the little Nightguard's office, feet on the desk and a soda in his hand, and eyes fixated on the camera's.

He had texted Sam a few times, having done a couple rounds already to where the Ghost sightings were made....but so far he had found zero traces to a ghost occurance. Honestly it felt a little like someone knew that he was here for that, but when he heard a noise, and saw a few classroom doors open, and then a couple of lockers, his eyes flew open. He quickly grabbed the torch and his bag, having stuffed some cloth, lavender oil and a hox of matches in it. He flicked the torch on and headed off slowly, green eyes fixed on the doors that were now wide open....yet no traces of a ghost, that was....odd?

He looked around the doors, even inside the classrooms.....but when he still found no evidence of a ghost he scratched his neck and looked around with a frown. He set the bag down and went for his phone, pressing Sam's number. It went over a few times before he heard his brothers voice "Yeh what is it Dean?? I just got out of the shower" he heard Sam say, giving a deep sigh. "Yeh about that ghost, what about the shit you made me record?? Does it say anything about them leaving traces or sumthin'??" He asked, smacking his lips a little in annoyance.

Then he heard Sam opening the laptop, or he assumed so, hearing the clicks of a keyboard, and soon his voice again. "Well not that i can find....so assuming they are just born as normal humans with just that gift, maybe they dont leave traces behind? Since they are alive?? Do you think thats what we're dealing with??". "Maybe..." Dean said as he hung up and shoved his phone back into his pocket and moved back to the hallway. After he tried this he had to try and delete that part from the security tapes....no biggie.

He set his bag against a locker, easily fishing the oil, cloth and matches from it. He snatched a metal bowl he had gotten as well, well hey he isnt gonna burn the building down okay! He isnt that stupid. He tossed the cloth into the bowl, pouring the lavender oil ontop of it. He cringed at the smell, well no fucking wonder Ghostwalkers came out because of this shit, if he was one he would to....it stank worse then his dirty socks, holy shit.

Then he stroke a match, the light filling up a small space, it felt comforting....he always likes to watch the flames, ah no need for mushy stuff right now. He tossed the match into he bowl, fire lighting up....and that godforsaken smell filling up the hallway. He nearly gagged at the scent, this is why he cant have good things damnit! He watched the flames burn brightly, and then all of a sudden he heard a noise, the sound of someone gagging.

And when he turned around he was facing a Ghost, well probably not an actual ghost. But he was see-through, average clothes, messy hair, round glasses....heh, nerd. Then within seconds the 'Ghost' fell, a heavy thud resonating through the hallway. He gave a slight chuckle, ah so it had been a Ghostwalker huh?? Sneaky little shits. He walked over, pulling the guy up by the collar, but he didnt seem to react... Are you kidding me?! It gets them out cold to?! Ah man.....just Dean's luck again. Dean gave a deep sigh as he pulled the guy up, over his shoulder. Back to the office till the asshat wakes up.

(Note: This will simply be set in the first season of Supernatural, ive recently gotten back into the fandom but havent gotten a site to rewatch *i only got as far as meet Cas*. Also yes this is a Dean x OC, because i can and i will, Dean deserves someone that can scare the living daylight outta him, its my first attempt at writing properly in years, so please respect this :3).

[monsterfucker-lisa-swallows]

okay so for context my dad left when i was 6 and never contacted us again. i was always told something vague about his alcoholism but i've had various enlightenments over the years with what little i recall about him figuring that there's almost no way he wasn't the autistic one who gave me these genes in the first place (which also would go a long way to explaining alcoholism) and that he might be bi or something because a LOT of the media he liked when i was a kid is certified cult classic queer shit. anyway like i'm a person who is basically dead inside so i had no desire to try to find the guy. i was horrifically abused by my stepdad and my mom went insane when i was in middle school so i'm kinda like nah not gonna be let down by another parent, not putting myself through shit like that.

so i was looking up something completely separate the other night and i accidentally stumbled across an obit. for a guy with the same name as my dad. like the exact same name. this guy is the exact right age and lived in both arkansas and memphis (i was born in memphis and my parents met there). it doesn't mention middle tennessee but why would it if he only lived there up til 9/11 or whatever. i was told as a kid that my dad was a musician. this guy was in a band. i was told he was a welder. this guy was a welder. i was told he was a tattoo artist. this guy was a tattoo artist with so so many tattoos (and face piercings and dyed his hair a lot).

the obit said he loved art and theatre. i didn't know anything about my dad doing theatre. apparently this guy played columbia in rocky horror when he was a teenager (if that isn't queer shit idk what is). that's also fun for me as a person who had a red pixie cut throughout my late teens/mid twenties. the family posted pictures on the obit. his t-shirts are consistent with the bands i know he liked and the monster movies he enjoyed. the harry potter pajama pants were a surprise. but i guess he was gone slightly before i got into harry potter. (don't hold my childhood fantasy preferences against me.)

this whole thing started because i was watching the x-files, which was his favorite show. i grew up watching it. i was thinking about how half the characters had the same name as him. i found this obituary while i was rewatching the episode where scully's mom died. (universe, if you wanted narrative symmetry, it should've been the episode where her dad died.)

the weirdest part is apparently when he died he was in [redacted]. Apparently he lived here for many years. i moved to [redacted] in december 2021. he died here last november. i've moved all over this country. i jumped from tennessee to michigan to massachusetts and it's too big a coincidence that we'd both end up here in the same city. the city name is redacted here, but you should know it's not in tennessee or arkansas but it is a southern state in the region so it's not unreasonable to think he'd move here at some point but the sheer coincidence that we were here at the same time and didn't know that is kind of cosmically freaky.

i've wondered a lot over the last year if part of the reason i was targeted for abuse in my family is i was too much like my dad. maybe those were the parts of me mom wanted to fix. maybe those were the parts my stepdad wanted to break. no one else in my family is like me at all. the only person i can think of who ever had the same interests as me was my dad. stands to reason that might be where the autism and the queerness came from (which if true would explain my mom going super christian after he left and marrying a homophobe who tried to stamp that out of me). mom always said i looked a lot like my dad. my girlfriend thinks we have the same face shape. which uh...my mom always said that too so the fact that i didn't tell my gf what features to look for makes this kinda freaky.

i'm not like...sad? i didn't know this guy. i wish him, whoever he is, all the best. i don't blame my dad for leaving. my family was racist, homophobic, ableist...and he was fairly young. my mom turned 20 two months after i was born. he was only like 23. probably too young for that responsibility if he was anything like me. drinking was probably all he could think to do to cope in the mid 90s. and as far as leaving...i'm a firm believer that sometimes staying in a bad situation only hurts everyone involved. i mean, hell, how can i blame a guy for leaving the same family that i eventually left? i fully get it. if he's anything like me i couldn't have taken that either. hope he got himself sober or at least fixed himself up. hope he never got involved in anything harder than weed or maybe mushrooms.

the obit mentioned a wife of 15 years and a son. so if it's the same guy, he got remarried when i was 13. in 2008. like 7 years after he left. i'm supposed to go all eleanor shellstrop right and be like why did he get to be a dad to this other kid while i'm abandoned. like that's how the story goes? but idk like i don't know the life he had with this kid. not gonna project a life onto him that he was perfect with this kid and never made mistakes. i barely remember the time i had with my dad and i've often thought that was for the best. it's likely he wasn't in the parental headspace and wouldn't have known how to cope with me. even a well-meaning parent can give you trauma. if he'd stuck around longer, still coping with other issues, i may have been old enough to get traumatic memories about him. glad i can escape with only vague recollections.

it's just a very odd situation. this is how i find out anything about my family lore. extrapolating it on my own and coming to conclusions. because no one talks about shit in my family. we're a repress and forget family.

but it's probably not him. it's just like a huge coincidence.

my dad might be dead and i'm being so normal about it

[scullysexual]

Charlee’s Solo X-Files Rewatch: 01x03: Tooms

Yeah there’s no board this week because I forgot to make one and I’m almost on my period and can’t move. 

😊 = Yes.

😞  = No.

😡 = It happens/it appears and I’m not happy about it.

❌ = It doesn’t appears/happens and I can’t be sad about it. 

MONSTER OF THE WEEK EPISODE.

Case: Mulder and Scully investigate a series of killings were a one hundred year old man (or koala) can fit through impossibly small spaces.

Monster: Eugene Victor Tooms.

Favourite Quote: Is there any way I can get it off my fingers quickly without betraying my cool exterior?

Would I recommend It: Yes! It’s great. If you wanted people to get on board with the MoW episodes this was a great way to go.

My Initial Thoughts: I don’t find this episode as creepy as other people do.

State: Maryland.

Special Minor Character of the Episode: Tom Colton.

Special Prop of the Episode: The Microfiche Projector.

Mulder’s Theory: A 100 year old serial killer is going around and overpowering 6 ft something men.

Scully’s Scientific Explanation: Genetic mutation.

Inappropriate Mulder Humour: That entire Reticulan speech.

Inappropriate 90’s Terminology:  😞

Scully’s Favourite Sentence(s): Are you suggesting I go before the Violent Crimes Unit…

Scully Doesn’t Suffer:  😡 (she gets attacked by Tooms

Mulder Drives: 😊

Scully Drives: 😊 (well, she’s sitting in a car that she must have driven over to the crime scene)

Brief Case Appearance:  😞

Sharing Glasses:  😞

Scully Says OMG:  😞

Scully Autopsy:  😞

Scully Smiles:  😞

Scully Writes a Report: 😊

Scully Ditch:  ❌

Scully Pyjamas:  😞

Scully Wears A Skirt:  😞

Stupid Tiny Gun Watch:  😡

Mulder’s Hand on Scully’s Back:  😞

Mulder and Scully Talk On The Phone:  😞

Scully Costume Change: 8.

 Below the cut are my thoughts throughout the episode. You don’t have to read them if you don’t want to. 

Awkward soft porn music…

Plot twist, it’s Pennywise in the drain.

So why didn’t the dude go grey when Tooms sees him? Were his Tooms eyes not working here?

Question: How is Tooms unscrewing the screw that should be screwed into a wall?

Tooms be strong. That door busted.

Oh look it’s this dick! Remember when Scully had friends then she met Mulder and he was her only friend.

She seems so far away from him. Good, stay away from him, Scully!

That’s a lie. He’s lying.

Yes let’s look at these possibly gruesome pictures while eating lunch. Great idea.

“Mrs Spooky…” that’s kinda cute.

You’re making everyone uncomfortable now, Mulder.

This scene is so stupid. Tom’s confused, Scully wants to die, and Mulder’s having the time of his life.

Omg Mulder is wearing gloves.

It could be a koala. Koala’s have ten inch fingerprints.

I love her outfit here.

She’s wearing the shirt from Ice.

So why is Scully doing the profiling? She’s a mEDiCaL dOcToR, not a profiler.

“Working in an area that’s a bit more down to earth” cue laughing. That’s not funny. That’s a shit joke. Don’t laugh at Scully, she’ll whoop yo ass.

Red pants, really?

Mulder got grandpa clothes on.

Remember when they requested backup?

What the fuck is that STANCE??? Someone give these two a LESSON please.

“She’s not in the car!” What?

Mulder shook that Sculls is right. Get used to it.

I don’t like this hairstyle Scully’s got going on…soz.

The worried look Scully gives Mulder.

Tooms has such a baby face.

Again, why is she profiling? That’s not her job!!!

This dude is worse than Tom, fuck me.

Do not shout at that woman you utter asshole.

She needs to fix that collar, it’s annoying me.

She doesn’t need you protecting her!!!! Piss. Off.

Hey, touch the necklace once and it works, don’t touch it twice.

Scully likes Mulder more than those other twats and I don’t blame her.

They sit any closer they be sitting on each other…not that I’m complaining.

But it could be a koala.

This is a nice house.

I would have been cooler had we not seen Tooms in the beginning. It makes sense to see him now though.

That’s a real dude going down that chimney. Also the bones popping…ew.

This dude looks like the other dude.

Can we maybe stop with the touching props that have relevance later please. Let me use my EYES.

Considering they had a load of beef with the director, that shot of Tooms coming out of the shadows was a really good shot.

And awkward slow-mo bit. Honestly, it’s so weird.

Scully doesn’t like you anymore, go away.

Or it could be a koala.

This thing is disgusting get it out of my face.

Ant-eye is such a foreign pronunciation to me. It always throws me off whenever I hear it.

A mood.

“Never was born.” I think you got your words mixed up.

“I’ve been waiting 75 years for you.” *cut to Scully*. I don’t think that shot was intended to be funny but it is and I laugh every time.

What is a Sheriff?

Mulder sitting on a poof.

I don’t know if that Tooms is doing is on par with the Holocaust like.

He got some livers finding in his boxes.

Omg he actually does I fucking forgot omg.

And he looks the exact same…shocker.

Pierre Paris…can you get anymore French than that?

Credit scene!

That’s a tiny ass room. My studio is bigger than that shit.

When she tucks the gun into her pants. Omg I am gay.

It’s adorable that Scully fits and Mulder is technically crouching.

Does he learn from touching bile? No he does not. At least he didn’t eat it.

Finagling.

Snagged.

Remember Scully’s necklace? No? Well it’s a good job Mulder touched it before. Now you remember.

“You got it…Spooky.” *cue laughter.* Honestly these jokes aren’t funny. Come up with funnier jokes if you’re going to laugh.

Do not come barging into a room that Scully is occupying and start shouting at her!!!

SHE’S STILL A GOOD AGENT!!!!

You just got told, Dickface!

I’d make a comment about Mulder talking to himself but I do that to so…

That’s an ugly ass phone. I don’t like it.

Is this the first time we see Scully’s apartment?

Also why does Tooms beeline for Scully anyway?

That’s unfortunate.

Why hasn’t she taken off her shoes yet?

Good job that person came out of that door at that moment otherwise he’d be stuck outside.

I really like how they work together to cuff him

Question: why doesn’t he just make his arm skinny and slip out of the handcuffs? I don’t think he knows he’ll get shot at the moment he goes for Scully again.

Tooms be the weird kid at the back of the class who be sniffing glue.

She touched him.

Final Thoughts: Tooms is creepy but I don’t find the episode creepy. That final shot with the music. I’m so glad Tom Colton never came back- or those other dudes- because they are all just assholes and I don’t like them. I like Squeeze, it can definitely hold my interest for 45 minutes.

[ghostbustermelanieking]

phantom weights chapter three

one, two

season 11, post my struggle iv. part of my series that i write as i rewatch the x files.

Summary: In the wake of their second encounter, Mulder, Scully, and Jackson reconnect (both by accident and on purpose).

---

The days were entirely too empty.

Scully hadn't gone without a job so long in years. Even when they were on the run, she worked as a waitress or cashier whenever they stayed in one place for long enough. She'd always been driven a little crazy by not working, ever since she was in her twenties; she thought that she and Mulder had similarly restless souls. Now, they had no jobs, nothing to do besides sit around the house all day.

Scully was fairly sure that she could get her job at the hospital back (or at a new hospital), provided that no one found out about the things she had leaked on the Internet. But Mulder had convinced her to wait until a few months after the baby was born, and considering it was a high risk pregnancy anyways, Scully couldn't argue much with that. She needed the rest. They'd already more or less determined that Mulder could just stay home with the baby once it came along—they’d talked about a teaching position at Quantico, but they weren't sure that the FBI had any goodwill left for the two of them. And besides that, he seemed to be okay with the idea of staying home. “I'm getting old, Scully,” he joked at one point. “I'll be a stay-at-home dad, take care of the kid. Maybe I can even get some writing done.” (He used to talk about writing, years ago, but he'd never gotten around to it. The idea of him taking up writing again made her incredibly happy.)

It wasn't really the lack of jobs that was the issue. It was the emptiness of the days, all the space to think about where their son was. If he was okay, if he was hurt or getting into trouble, if they'd ever talk to him again. It was enough to drive her crazy.

She tried not to linger on it. She told herself that knowing he was in Richmond was better than knowing nothing. She told herself they couldn't push, or he'd pull away. She told herself that she would have to just wait. And Mulder was saying the same things.

It was nearly agonizing, but they found little ways to fill the day. They read a lot. They found movies to watch or TV shows to binge. They lay in bed half the day, or made slow, lazy love in the middle of the afternoon. Mulder had off-kilter ideas for novels or short stories that he scribbled down on scraps of paper. He painted the baby's room while she advised on color from the hallway, not wanting to be affected by the fumes. They did every single thing they'd ever wanted to do, and things they'd never known they wanted to do. They tried, as best they could, to keep their mind occupied. Sometimes they succeeded. Sometimes they didn't.

They talked about the baby a lot, whenever they could. They speculated on gender sometimes; Mulder thought it was a girl. When she asked how he was so sure, he would just smile and shrug. “I just know,” he said mysteriously. He had name suggestions; she made a couple of her own.

He was in love with the baby already. He slept curled at her back, his hand often straying down to cover her belly. He'd talk to the baby sometimes, tell her stories or read to her from whatever book they were halfway through with. (It ended up being some book of accounts on the Loch Ness Monster, or a book on scientific theories or medical discoveries.) He loved fixing up the baby's room, even though the whole thing seemed a little premature. He was doing all the things he didn't get to do the last time, and she loved it. It was overwhelming as it was scary, the fact that they were doing this again, and she couldn't believe she was experiencing with him. She'd missed him so much with William, missed all the things he'd never gotten to do. She burst into tears at one point, unable to hold back the rush of grateful emotions.

The first time the baby kicked, they were both on the couch reading, Scully growing tired enough that the words were starting to swim around on the page, and she was about to suggest they go upstairs to bed when she felt a strange fluttering in her abdomen. She dismissed it as indigestion at first, until it happened again. And again. And that was when she realized what was happening, when she remembered this feeling from years ago.

Excitement suddenly sprung loose, in the pit of her belly, and she let the book fall to the couch, pressing her hand to the spot. She felt a little phantom foot push back against her palm. She smiled, unable to help it; that was their child in there. Their baby. Despite her guilt over what happened the last time she had a child, despite her fear that she would lose this baby, despite her regret that it had happened this late in life, she couldn't help but love this child tremendously. Couldn't help but be excited, just a little excited.

And Mulder. Mulder was here this time. She was alone the first time William kicked. The first time William kicked had been the night before Mulder’s funeral. She'd been crumpled in the corner of the couch, trying to think of what she could do next (how she was going to keep on without him), and then she felt it, the little flutter inside of her. She'd dismissed it at first until she felt it again and again. She ended up crying, almost as hard as the night she found Mulder dead, her hand pressed to her stomach as if she could tether herself to the baby, make him feel her presence. That was the first time in a long time that she hadn't felt alone. The last time this happened, Mulder was dead, and now he was here, he was with her, and the combination of grief and gratefulness bubbling up inside her made her want to cry.

“Mulder,” she said softly, hand still over the baby.

“Mmm.” He was still absorbed in his book, some new release about Bigfoot theories that he'd probably read to the baby at some point.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and nudged his shoulder. “Mulder, you have to feel this,” she said.

He looked up from his book, startled, his eyes immediately shifting to her abdomen. “Feel… is it… is the baby kicking?”

She nodded, with a little smile, and his eyes lit up. He reached out to touch her stomach, hand landing on the wrong spot, and she reached out to guide it to the right one. She could feel the baby kicking at his hand, and she really did want to cry now. The smile spreading across his face meant everything in the world to her.

“Oh my god,” he said softly. He leaned down and kissed the round swell, stroked the spot. She laughed a little, unable to help it. He laughed too, both hands there now. “She's kicking so much,” he said with awe. “Are they supposed to kick this much?”

Scully sifted her fingers through her hair, loving the feeling of his hands on her stomach. Years ago, she'd craved his presence madly, and now he was just unquestionably there. “It's perfectly normal,” she said, her voice warm with affection. “Although you might be disappointed when she turns out to love soccer instead of basketball or baseball.”

“I can learn to love soccer,” Mulder said, kissing the spot again. “Hi, baby,” he whispered, and she felt the flutter of movement again. “How you doing in there?” The baby kicked again in answer.

Scully grinned a little, rubbed her hand over her stomach. Mulder wrapped his arms tight around her waist, cheek against her belly. “I love you,” he murmured, and Scully stroked the top of his head again.

“Which one of us are you talking to?” she asked, amused.

He looked up at her, his eyes dark. “Both of you,” he said. “I love you both so much.”

She seized a handful of his t-shirt and pulled him up until they were nose to nose. Kissed him sweetly. “C’mon,” she said, pushing hair off of his forehead. “Let's go to bed.”

“I think I'm right, you know,” he said, getting up off the couch and extending a hand to help her up.

She took it. “About whether or not it's a girl?” she asked as he pulled her to her feet.

“Mm-hmm.” He smiled peacefully, wrapping an arm around her waist. “And you're coming around, too. You called her she, you know.”

She rolled her eyes. “You're delirious, Mulder,” she said, elbowing him in the side. “We're both exhausted. Let's go to bed, okay?”

“Skeptic,” he said happily, starting towards the stairs. “You did call her she.”

“Only because you did.”

“Sure.” He kissed the top of her head. “I'm working harder on convincing you on something, every single day. Someday, it's going to happen, and you're going to tell me I was right."

“Okay, Mulder,” she said patiently. “Okay.” She leaned over to kiss his cheek.

He rubbed a hand over her side, the two of them stilled on the bottom step, and whispered, “I hope she looks just like you.”

---

A couple of days later, they had a doctor's appointment. They went together, Mulder sticking to Scully's side the entire time, holding her hand. Scully's heart gave a little flutter of relief when the doctor reassured her that everything looked good, the same way it did every time. It was incredibly reassuring to hear.

They got home in the early afternoon, a nap already sounding appealing to Scully. She let Daggoo out in the backyard, dropping her keys on the counter and filling a glass with water as Mulder slipped back into his office, saying something about doing some research. She leaned absently against the fridge; it was early May, and already hot as hell. She put a wayward hand to her stomach and thought about the long, hot months ahead.

Mulder's voice emitted suddenly from his office. “Hey, Scully?” he called gingerly, as if he was concerned about her reaction to whatever he wanted to show her. “C'mere for a second, would you?”

She went, her brow automatically furrowing with worry, wondering why his voice sounded so strained. But he didn't look upset when she entered the office. He was standing over the answering machine, connected to the landline he'd never taken out, despite the both of them having cell phones. He turned to her and gestured her over. “Someone,” he said quietly, “sent us a message today.”

He jabbed at the button with one finger, and the machine clicked. The sound of their son's voice filled the room. “Uh, hi. This is Scully and Mulder's phone, right? This is, uh, Jackson. Jackson Van de Kamp.”

Scully made a little gasping sound, a hand over her mouth. Mulder was leaned a little closer to the machine, as if he wanted to be near the sound. The message kept playing. “I wanted to call, and, uh, let you know I was okay,” Jackson continued. “So you'd know… Oh, and I got a job. Two jobs, actually. Burger King night shifts and a day shift at a warehouse.” He laughed like he was nervous. “Um, anyways. I guess I missed you, but I hope you get this message. Hope you guys are doing okay.” He cleared his throat, the machine crackling. “Uh, bye.”

The machine beeped loudly, jarring Scully. She'd felt a little lost in the sound of her son's voice. She turned to Mulder, her nose stinging as if she was about to cry. “He called us,” she said thickly. She'd tried to be optimistic after everything, but part of her had thought that after buying the apartment, they would never see Jackson again.

“He did,” Mulder whispered, and he turned to wrap his arms around her.

She rested her chin on his shoulder, looking at the answering machine and trying not to cry. “He's okay,” she said muffedly, pressing her lips to his chest. “He wanted us to know he's okay.”

Mulder nodded, his hand cradling the back of her head, rocking her a bit, back and forth. She sniffled, wiping her eyes, and held him tight. He had called. He had called, and surely that meant he would call again. They didn't have him back, but they hadn't lost him either, and they had the potential to see him again. The possibility of it was more than enough.

She squeezed Mulder tight and let go, reaching out to press the button on the answering machine again. To hear their son's voice again.

---

Life was going remarkably okay for Jackson, considering that a few months ago, he had thought he'd be dead any day now.

His jobs kind of sucked, but it was nice to have something to focus on. And he needed the money. He'd made a couple of friends in both places; they were the type who knew where you could get weed and booze, which was helpful. Half the free nights he had, he spent with them, but he spent the rest at his home, sleeping on the couch more often than the bed and watching the Roku he'd bought with the money Mulder had given him. (He didn't need cable, but he obviously needed WiFi.) He relied on takeout a lot at first, but he was pretty sick of fast food after months on the road. So he went grocery shopping, pushing a cart around Food Lion and feeling like a parody of an adult. He could remember grocery shopping with his mom as a kid, looking at all the brand names and begging his mom to buy him the unhealthiest stuff imaginable. Whining that he was bored when she took too long to pick out fruit. Balancing on the end of the cart while his mom pushed until she asked him to please get down. He was tempted to do what he used to when his mom would let him push the cart, which was take one foot off the ground and propel the cart forward with the other, but he figured he looked suspicious enough without bringing that much attention to himself, acting like a dumb little kid. Sometimes he'd change the way others saw his face just for the fun of it.

He called Mulder and Scully exactly once, feeling a little bit of obligation. He knew they didn't want to push him away, so he probably could've gotten away with not calling. But he also knew that Scully kind of expected him not to ever talk to them again, and that made him want to call them just to prove that he wasn't a total ass. So he did it almost out of smugness. (And, if he was telling the truth, a little bit out of curiosity.) But at the same time, a strong part of him didn't want to do it, was scared to do it. The same way he had felt right before talking to them the first time. It took forever to get up the courage to dial the phone (a cell phone, also bought with Mulder's money), and once he finally did, he was relieved when they didn't answer. He left a message, and knew it was going to their landline—he could've called their cells, but there was a greater chance they'd answer, and he honestly didn't want to pick which one to call.

That should've been the end of it. He called, and left a message. It wouldn't be an issue unless they called back. But Jackson couldn't stop thinking about it. The message over the answering machine was old—he’d known that as soon as he heard it—and the sound of the voice on the other end was strange. It'd been her voice, saying, This is Fox Mulder and Dana Scully. Leave us a message, and we'll get back to you. But it was an old message. Her voice sounded different. But he knew they'd been living separately at one point—that was why he had this furniture… So why did they have a joint message that was at least five years old? And why had it never been changed?

It shouldn't have bothered him that much, but he couldn't let it go. It was niggling stubbornly at the back of his mind. As was some other things he'd truthfully been thinking about since last December, since the first time he saw them. He hadn't known much about Ginger (or his birth father) previous to that. In those couple days, he'd figured out a few things. They were in the FBI. They'd named him William. (They'd never stopped thinking about him. They'd loved him.) But there was a lot he still didn't know, a lot he was curious about. He hated to admit it, but he was. He was curious.

He got off of work past midnight that night, and went home to his couch, unable to sleep. He tried texting Sarah (who no doubt was asleep, and didn't always text him back anyways), tried flipping on the TV, but his mind kept wandering. He was restless, and so he picked up his phone and googled Mulder and Scully, halfway expecting nothing to pop up.

The first thing that did was a movie with a suspiciously low score on Rotten Tomatoes. It was called The Lazarus Bowl, and the cover featured actors dressed up like FBI agents, the woman wearing a red bob. Jackson snorted loudly, biting back chuckles, and made a mental note to check that out later. He switched to the News section, and was surprised to see several articles pop up. Some organ-harvesting cult, some witch in Connecticut. Some more cases that made him raise his eyebrows in interest. He should've known they investigated weird shit, considering they got called in on his case, but he never knew it was such overtly weird stuff. He found an entire archive of cases, going back to the 90’s, that they apparently solved. The X-Files. Scrolling through all these cases, Jackson wondered how the hell he'd never seen this part of their lives before.

He stayed up for nearly three hours, reading about cases that sounded vaguely interesting, before he realized what he was doing. He blushed instinctively, his face hot, and closed out of the tab immediately. He couldn't be doing things like this. He couldn't be. It went against every single silent promise he'd made to his parents. The promises he absolutely could not break. He couldn't want to know about them because it was a betrayal to his entire childhood.

He halfway expected Mulder and Scully to call back after the message—Hey, we're so sorry we missed you, please talk to us!—but they didn't. He didn't hear from them for the next few days.

---

Jackson's seventeenth birthday was on a Sunday that year. He had the day off from work, incredibly, and he'd been looking forward to it at first, but now he hated the idea. He couldn't stand the idea of all that empty space, all the time to think about everyone who wasn't there. None of his new friends knew his birthday, so he didn't hear from any of them. Sarah was planning to stay up in Richmond an extra day that she'd spend with him, but he got a text from her that Saturday night saying she was sorry but she couldn't stay, that her parents were way too suspicious already. He told her it was fine. He couldn't let himself wallow. He felt pathetic even being sad about it; he was seventeen years old, and he still got mopey about his birthday like a little kid. He told himself that it didn't matter, it didn't fucking matter.

His mom and dad had given him a great birthday, every single birthday, no matter how much of an ass he was being. Thrown him a party, every year. They'd get him a cake and they'd eat it for breakfast, sometimes in his bed. This year, Jackson bought a cake at the store, but he couldn't find the brand they liked, and the replacement didn't taste nearly as good. Eating cake on the couch alone while watching Netflix wasn't exactly the same of years and years of cake with his parents, and he suddenly found it hard not to cry. He wiped his eyes, pushing his plate away. He felt very small. He realized he couldn't remember the last time he thanked his parents on his birthday, and he was suddenly disgusted by himself. He lay down on his couch, his cheek against the cushion, curled into a ball.

They'd done the cake thing every year for as long as he could remember. There was even a picture of him on his first birthday, smeared with chocolate in his brand new high chair. He'd been adopted at about nine months old, so his parents had spent every birthday with him except for the very, very first one. The one where he was born. The one he'd always been the most curious about his whole life.

Jackson winced, shutting his eyes and rolling over so he was lying facedown. He was thinking about Mulder and Scully now, if only inadvertently. Wondering what that first birthday was like. Wondering how they would've celebrated, if they would've celebrated, if he'd never been given up for adoption. He didn't want to think about it, but now that he was, he couldn't stop. He hated himself for it. He missed his parents so much.

He thought, more than once, about calling and seeing of any of his friends were available. But every time he almost reached for the phone, he chickened out. He still felt insecure around them, he barely knew them. He wanted to be with the people he loved, but he didn't know if he had any of those left. So he lay on the couch, eating cake and pizza and watching Netflix. It wasn't the worst birthday he'd ever had, all things considered—he had been bitten in the eye by a tarantula on his sixth birthday, and spent months in the hospital getting experimented on afterwards—but it sure as hell wasn't one of the best.

Towards the end of the day, Jackson was stretched out across the couch lazily, thinking about ordering some Chinese, when his phone rang. He scooped it up, halfway hoping to see Sarah's name, but that wasn't what was there. Instead, he saw an unfamiliar number that he recognized immediately. It was Mulder or Scully, on one of their cell phones. He knew it as soon as he touched the phone.

He could've declined the call, but he didn't want to. He was astonished to discover that, sitting there holding the phone: he didn't want to decline. He hadn't talked to anyone all day.

He answered the phone quickly, without thinking. "Hello?"

He heard Mulder's voice on the other end, overeager and cheerful and nervous. "Hey, Jackson! It's, uh, it's good to talk to you, buddy."

"It's, uh, it's Dana and Mulder," Scully added, and he could suddenly see them on the other end of the phone, crowded around it to talk to him. He wasn't picturing it; he could see it.

"Oh, yeah, I know," Jackson said, flushing red. He wondered if he should start calling her Dana instead of Scully. (Or Ginger. He thought of her like that absently, without even thinking about it too hard; it was what he'd done for sixteen years before he knew her name.) "Hi."

"Hi," Scully said, her voice soft.

Mulder cleared his throat, and added, "We, uh, we just wanted to call and wish you a happy birthday." He said it almost apologetically, like he needed to justify their calling.

"You know when my birthday is?" Jackson said, without thinking. He grimaced as soon as he said it, because it sounded dumb to his own ears, but it had felt like a valid question. They'd given him up; they'd never celebrated a birthday with him. Maybe they'd forgotten it. Maybe they didn't care.

But no, they hadn't forgotten. Of course they hadn't. He should've known that, remembering everything they'd said to him since the first time they met. The way they always acted around him, it should've been obvious they wouldn't forget. He felt embarrassed for even asking.

"Oh," Scully said in the softest voice, "sweetie, of course. Of course we do."

"Seventeen, that's a big year," Mulder added. "You can get into R-rated movies."

Jackson laughed automatically. "I can get into those anyway, you know," he said. "I can make myself look like anybody else, remember?"

Mulder laughed, too. "I guess so," he said. "But now you can do it without worrying you'll be found out."

"Yeah, guess so," Jackson said. He was smiling a little without noticing it. It was incredibly relieving to hear another person's voice, wishing him a happy birthday.

"We got your message," Scully added. "A couple weeks back. Thank you for calling."

"Oh, yeah." He caught himself smiling, and instantly felt ashamed. His head hung forward loosely. He chewed at the inside of his cheek. "You're welcome," he said quietly. He was looking at the cake on the coffee table and thinking that he wished his parents were here. His mom, who always sung Happy Birthday in a tone-deaf voice, and his dad, who would always have noisemakers and a party hat on even at six a.m. And then he was thinking about Mulder and Scully (or Dana), and how they would have celebrated his birthday.

He didn't want to think about it, but of course, you always think of the things you don't want to think about. He was wondering about his birthday, and then he thought about the first one. An image flashed through his mind, uncontrollably, of a younger Ginger screaming with the pain of labor, splitting cries, an infant being placed in her arms. Him, that was him.

Jackson shook his head hard to rid himself of the images, gritting his teeth. Mulder was asking him something, and he had to concentrate hard to hear him. "—how your jobs were going?" he was saying.

"Uh, yeah, yeah," said Jackson in a rush. "They're good, they're good. People can be real asses sometimes, but you know." He buried his face in his free hand, his eyes squeezed shut. He was seeing Ginger again, lying on the shell of a brass bed with him cradled in her arms, whispering to him; flashes of her and Mulder on what seemed like a helicopter, Ginger still holding the baby (him) and Mulder holding her, his arms around her and his palm cupping the baby's head… Was that what they were thinking of?

Mulder was saying something about working in fast food, and he was holding the phone too tight. He screwed his eyes shut tighter and thought furiously of his fourth birthday, of his mom holding him and his stuffed bear, bouncing him on her lap while the family sang Happy Birthday. He hoped they could see it. He was thinking, This is what you missed out on. He was overwhelmed by the memories they were showing him. If you were so happy when I was born, he wanted to ask, then why the hell did you give me up? Why could you not spend one single birthday with me?

"I-I should probably go," he said suddenly, and he realized he couldn't remember the last thing either of them had said. He wondered if they'd seen the memory, heard what he was thinking. He flushed red, feeling like an ass. They remembered his birthday, and they'd called him, and they'd cried the day he was born, but they'd given him up, and this was the first birthday they were here for, and they weren't even physically here.

But they probably wouldn't be here even if they wanted to be. Because they thought he didn't want them to be. He bit his lip hard.

"Oh," Scully said, and he could hear the hitch in her voice that alluded to what he'd tried to show them. She had seen it. "Okay. Well, it's good to talk to you."

"Happy birthday," Mulder added.

"Thank you," Jackson mumbled. He felt like such an ass. He missed his parents. "Thank you for calling," he blurted in a rush, and hung up the phone quickly. He dropped it on the coffee table like it was a live, red-hot thing.

Another thing fucked up, he thought to himself. More people to drive away. More things to ruin. He clearly didn't know how the hell to handle anything. Couldn't stay away from his birth parents like he promised himself he would, couldn't be around them without hurting them. Maybe, he thought to himself, this was a signal to stop trying. He should just fucking forget it.

He called in an order of Chinese takeout. He ate another piece of cake. He dug some beer he stashed out of the fridge and started drinking.

Later that night, he was mostly drunk and mostly asleep, sprawled out on the bed in the bedroom for one of the first time since he moved in. He turned over with effort in bed, pressing his face into the mattress, and that was when he felt the prickly feeling on the back of his neck. The feeling of another mind melding with his. She was trying to show him something.

It was a hospital room, considerably nicer than whatever place he had seen before. He was there, wrapped up in a blanket with a little blue beanie on his head. His eyes were blue instead of brown, and he had absolutely no hair. And she was cradling him in her arms, just lying there with her eyes half closed and humming a little under her breath. Rocking him back and forth, so slightly you could barely even tell.

The emotion in the scene hit him like a freight train, an immense amount of it. He quivered slightly on the mattress with the weight of it; he wouldn't say what emotion it was, wouldn't acknowledge it, but he could feel its power.

He heard her voice, the voice he always wished he could hear as a kid. I'm so sorry for everything, Jackson, she told him. But I wanted you to know… seventeen years ago, the day you were born, was one of the best days of my life.

---

The days grew longer and hotter cyclically. They were still working on fixing up the bedrooms. The guest rooms, they had always called them; there was one that Maggie used to stay in when she visited, and another that Bill and Tara had slept in exactly once, on a pullout couch. They'd moved the couch down to Mulder's office, intending for that guest room to be the baby's room. Mulder had painted the room a muted green that reminded Scully a bit of the sea the month before. They'd ordered a crib that Mulder set up when it arrived, as well as a bookshelf and a changing table. Stuffed animals. A blanket that Tara had sent.

Scully pointed out that they were still several months out from her due date, considering it was only June, but Mulder told her it was better to be prepared earlier than later. (She agreed with that sentiment to a point, but she was still worried, just a little bit, that she wouldn't make it to term. She tried to put those fears at bay, reassured herself that everything was going well, that she and the baby were both healthy, but the fears still lingered at the back of her mind. She was terrified that something would go wrong. But she tried to focus on the hope that it wouldn't. Every time she felt the baby move, it was a reassurance.)

They worked on the other room too. It didn't need much, considering it already had a bed and they had no real idea what Jackson would want, but she wanted to put in some effort to personalize it. They bought a little TV to put into the room, as well as some books. Some DVDs. They didn't know what he might like, so they guessed, feeling guilty nearly every time they guessed. They wanted to have it ready for him.

They hadn't talked to their son since the night of his birthday. He called, several times, and left a message when they were out, which made Scully suspect that he was trying to call when they weren't home. He always called the landline, never their cells, and the messages were almost always the same. Wanted to let you I'm okay. Hope you're doing okay. It seemed so calibrated, so planned, that Scully was legitimately beginning to think that they might never talk to him personally again. She appreciated Jackson checking in with them, appreciated the amount of caring put into that—she had halfway expected him to never call at all—but she couldn't shake her sense of hurt that he was trying so desperately to avoid them. She wouldn't push the subject, but she wished desperately, at times, for a moment with her son.

Her wish came true, in a way, one day when Mulder drove into the city for a talk someone was giving. "Research," he called it, "for that novel I'll get around to writing someday." He'd invited her to come along, and offered to stay back when she opted out, but she reassured him that she would be fine. She'd lay around the house, relax, enjoy the quiet. He kissed her goodbye at the door, hugging her tight and told her to call him if she needed anything. She promised she would.

She spent the morning taking Daggoo for a walk around the property. He was eager, jumping at her legs, running for long stretches when she let him off the leash. When they returned, she went into Mulder's office and lay down on the pull out couch with her book. Secretly, she loved to be in Mulder's office when she was alone; it was a nice room to sit in, surrounded by his books and papers and pictures tacked up among newspaper clippings. (He'd cleaned it up a bit since she moved out and back in, but it still reflected the hectic nature of Mulder's office. It still felt like his own place.) There were pictures of the two of them, pictures of Samantha and of himself and Samantha with his mother, a picture of William as a baby, and the picture Mulder had taken from Jackson's room, the one where he was playing baseball. She felt right at home.

Scully was engrossed deep into her book when the phone rang, sitting on the desk. She jolted in place, startled, before she realized it was just the landline. And then something clicked together in her head: nobody called the landline anymore, besides Jackson. Besides Jackson.

Scully dropped the book and got to her feet as quickly as she could. She rushed to the desk and picked up the phone, saying, "Hello?" in a rush.

She was breathless until she heard her son's voice on the other end, his deep, serious voice. "Hi, Dana," he said. From the sound of his voice, he'd known that she was going to pick up.

Scully smiled unconsciously. The baby kicked furiously as she sunk wearily into Mulder's desk chair. "Hi, Jackson," she said. "It's so good to hear from you."

"Uh, it's good to hear from you, too," he said on the other end. He was nervous; she could hear the hitch in his voice. She could remember the conversation they'd had on his birthday, the tension there. "How, um, how are you doing?"

"I'm good," she said, leaning back a bit in the chair. "Uh, your fa—Mulder is at a lecture in DC, so I'm just lying around the house."

"Oh. That's cool," he offered. "You enjoying all the quiet?"

"As best I can," she replied, amused. "What about you? How are you doing?" In any other situation, she might've loathed the trite pleasantries, but she was so happy to be talking to her son in any form that she'd take this. Turning the desk chair a bit, her eyes fell on the picture of William as a baby, and she had to bite back the influx of tears. She honestly wasn't sure if they were happy or sad tears.

There was a bit of a pause before Jackson said, "I'm okay." He cleared his throat. "I, uh, have the day off work, and I've been killing time by watching TV."

Scully was still looking at the picture. She remembered the day she had taken it, the day that William crawled for the first time. He'd giggled with delight that first time, grabbing at her carpet and anything else he could reach with his little hands, grabbed his bunny and mouthed at its worn ears. She still had that bunny, upstairs somewhere in a box; she'd slept with it on and off for the first year since she gave him up. She wondered if Jackson could see what she was thinking about.

She blurted suddenly, without thinking about it, "Let me take you to lunch."

Jackson was silent on the other end, pausing with an air of surprise. "Lunch?" he repeated, with an astounded air.

"Yeah," said Scully, feeling impulsive. She suddenly thought of Mulder, wondering if he would mind, but she didn't want to take it back. She wanted to see her son. "I'll drive up, meet you wherever you want. Your choice. What do you think?"

"Oh, uh…" She could feel his hesitance on the other end, practically see his sheepish shrug. "Okay. Sure," he said. "That might be… fun."

Excitement rose in her stomach, rolling with the movements of the baby. She sniffled, trying her hardest not to cry audibly on the line. "Okay. Great," she said softly. "I… I'm looking forward to it. Just text me where you wanna go, and I'll meet you there."

---

She called Mulder as soon as she could, on her way out to the car with her purse hanging off of one shoulder and her keys looped around her fingers. She leaned against the car as she talked to him, the heat of the car biting through the fabric of her shirt, her heart pounding. She was apologetic and guilty—the last thing she wanted was to leave Mulder out of this process, especially after everything he had missed out on—but he reassured her immediately. "Don't be ridiculous, Scully," he said gently when she tried to apologize. "You deserve this. You deserve time with your son, alone. You don't need to apologize to me."

"I don't want to take away opportunities for you to see him," she whispered, clutching the phone too hard.

"You're not taking anything away," Mulder said gently. "Go have a good time, honey. Drive carefully."

So she went, her guilt melting away into nervousness the closer she got to the city. Mulder's support had reassured her greatly, but she was still apprehensive about spending time with Jackson. Especially considering that she'd been the one to suggest it. He had agreed to it, but how much of it had been out of a sense of obligation? But he'd called when she was at home, and he didn't seem surprised when she picked up, which meant he'd probably called intentionally while she was home, which meant he probably wanted to talk to her. Or maybe it meant nothing of the sort. She turned the subject over and over in her mind until it felt old and tough and she wanted to forget it. She told herself that he could've made up some excuse if he didn't want to come.

At the restaurant in Richmond, she sat in the car, jumpy with nervous energy. She couldn't tell if he was there yet, and she didn't want to go in, for fear that he wouldn't show. But she didn't want to leave either. She stayed in the car, jittery, her knee bouncing and the baby moving restlessly, until a car pulled into the parking lot and she gave a little sigh of relief, her shoulders sagging. She knew immediately that it was him, even before she saw the make and model of the car.

Once he had parked, she got out of the car and crossed the parking lot to meet him. He seemed to see her as he climbed out of his own car, shielding his eyes with his hands, and he lifted one hand in a wave. She could see the exact moment he noticed her pregnancy; he squinted, as if he hadn't seen right, and then his eyes widened with astonishment. She touched her stomach self-consciously, suddenly embarrassed. She'd been afraid for weeks, months, that Jackson would be hurt when he found out about the baby. If he'd think she was trying to replace him. She couldn't get a read on him, couldn't tell what he was thinking. He smiled at her when she approached, although it was a tight smile, and shrugged. "Hi, Dana," he said quietly.

"Hi, Jackson. Thank you for meeting me," she said. She realized she still had her hand on her stomach, and removed it immediately. "Do you want to go in?"

---

Inside the restaurant, Jackson ordered a tremendous amount of food. A couple of appetizers, a large entree, dessert. Scully honestly didn't know if it was out of typical teenage boy hunger or so he would have leftovers to take home, but she was starving herself. They ate horrible, greasy food that she normally would have rejected, but that she made an exception for. She'd been having strange cravings lately, and Mulder indulged her with an affectionate and devoted amusement.

It was a struggle to find things to talk about, at first. But then halfway through their order of chili cheese fries, Jackson set down his glass and said solemnly, "So I googled you guys."

Scully burst out laughing. She couldn't help it. It was exactly what she would've expected out of Mulder's son. She laughed so hard her stomach hurt, and when she could finally breathe again, she wiped her eyes with the corner of her napkin and said, "I'm afraid to ask what came up."

Jackson, who'd looked a little concerned up until this point, seemed to relax with relief. He said, "Yeah, um, what the hell is up with that Lazarus Bowl movie? Is that some sort of coincidence?"

So Scully told him the story, of Skinner's friend whose name she couldn't remember, and Sister Spooky and the Lazarus Bowl, and teaching Tea Leoni to run in high heels. That gave way to several more stories, mostly prompted by questions Jackson had about files he had found online, since Skinner had archived the entirety of the X-Files. (Scully wasn't sure whether to be upset with him or thank him, but this encounter pointed to the latter.) Telling stories about her and Mulder's heyday was extraordinarily easy, as long as she avoided the harder periods of time in her life, the deaths and the illnesses and the danger and the injuries. But there were plenty of good stories as well.

They talked for longer than she ever expected, Jackson asking questions about the X-Files and Scully answering as best she could. She felt guilty all over again that Mulder wasn't with them; he would've loved this. ("You'll have to hear Mulder's side of things someday," she told him more than once. "I'm sure his version is different than mine.")

They talked for so long, through lunch and past dessert, that they somehow got off on the subject of her family. She was telling a story about a prank that she and Charlie had played once, and she was talking about how Bill was involved when Jackson sat up straighter, interested. "Your brother's name was Bill?" he asked. "Like, as in William?"

"Oh." She was caught off guard. Miraculously, she'd gotten semi-used to thinking of her son as Jackson, and hadn't expected him to bring up his birth name. "Yes," she said, fiddling with her napkin. "He was named after my father."

"Seriously?" Jackson laughed, a crow of disbelief. "So… I'm guessing you named me William after them, right?"

"Yes," she said again. "And after Mulder's father. He was named William, too."

Jackson laughed incredulously again, yanking his fingers through his hair. "What the fuck? You both had fathers named William? And also a brother?"

"We thought it was appropriate, considering," said Scully with a small smile.

"Goddamn." Jackson rested his forehead in his palm, shaking his head with a sheepish grin. "That's so weird. That means I was named after three different grandfathers."

Scully blinked. In the moment, she'd completely forgotten that Jackson had another family. "Your adop—your parents named you after a grandfather?" she asked, clumsily skating over her mistake (adoptive parents) and hoping he didn't notice.

From the slight flinch, she guessed that he had. "Yeah," he said. "Jackson Harwell Van de Kamp, but everybody called him Jack. Which is why, uh, nobody calls me Jack." He rubbed at the back of his neck nervously. It was a Mulder gesture all the way, and the sight of it made Scully's chest hurt. "He died while I was a kid."

"Oh," said Scully, thinking of her own father, the grandfathers who Jackson would never meet. If she understood anything, she understood losing someone. "I'm so sorry."

Jackson shrugged, his face hardening a little. After a silent moment, he motioned to Scully's stomach. "So who are you gonna name the, uh, the kid after?" he said in a stilted voice.

"Oh." Self-conscious, Scully looked away. "I don't think we're going to name the baby after anyone in particular," she said. "Although we've been discussing some ideas…"

"Right." Jackson's knee bumped against the table leg. "I didn't, uh," he said with a nervous laugh, "I didn't know you and Mulder wanted kids."

Her face grew hot, hurt rising in her throat thickly. "I've wanted kids for a very long time," she blurted, before she could think about it. It might not have been the best thing to say, all things considered, but she needed him to know. "Mulder and I… we both did. We both wanted kids."

It was definitely the wrong thing to say. She could tell what Jackson was thinking even without the connection they sometimes had: Then why did you give me up? "Oh," he said.

Scully looked away again, down at the table where someone had written their name in jagged pen marks. The baby kicked again, a little foot, and she put her hand over the spot. "This one was a surprise," she said quietly. "We… we didn't plan for it. But we're happy about it."

Jackson cleared his throat. "Yeah," he said stiffly. "Kids are cool."

"They are." Scully stared at the pen marks at the table, at her neatly folded napkin. She suddenly wished, desperately, that Mulder was here with her, to ground her.

Jackson cleared his throat again, started to say some sort of pleasantry, but she cut him off. "I never wanted to give you up," she said, feeling like it might've been the wrong thing to say again, but not willing to not say it. "I-I didn't think I had any other choice. I thought you were in danger, and that sending you away was the only way to protect you, and it would be selfish to do otherwise. But I hated every minute of it. I hated myself. And I—" Her voice broke a little. "I have missed you every single day since."

Jackson blinked, as if he didn't know what to say. Scully cleared her throat, dragged a fingertip underneath her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I just… wanted you to know."

Jackson sighed, his head falling forward into his hands. "Thank you," he mumbled. He got to his feet, not meeting her eyes. "Thank you for lunch, Dana… I've got to go. Say hi to Mulder for me, okay?"

"Okay," she whispered.

He was already walking away; he looked over his shoulder and called, "See you later." And then he was gone.

Scully had folded her hands on the table at some point during their discussion. She looked down at them now and noticed the quiver of her fingers. Everything had been going so well.

She tried to tell herself that his response hadn't been the worse one in the world. That he hopefully knew now how much she'd regretted losing him, if he believed her. But it felt like little comfort. She knew that this wouldn't be easy, but she hadn't expected it to be so hard.

She sat there, her hands shaking, until the waitress brought the check. She paid the bill and left, pulling out her phone to call Mulder on the way out to the car.

---

Jackson couldn't believe it. Even back in his apartment, he couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe he'd agreed to go to lunch. Couldn't believe that he'd actually had a good time. Couldn't believe the things he said at the end, couldn't believe her response. Couldn't believe that he hadn't known about the baby already. She was clearly months and months along; how had he not seen it?

The really fucked up part was how much he had always wanted a little brother or sister. For years and years. His parents had tried to adopt a couple times—once when he was three, and once again when he was eight—but it had always fallen through. He'd always wished it'd worked out, though; he'd always wanted to be an older brother.

[ebaeschnbliah]

________________________________________________________________

Last week I read another one of @sagestreet 's wonderful metas. Darth Vader ('Sherlock')  In my comment I refered to the Klingons and the Cowboys in black hats, who are also mentioned in that scene in TFP. If 'Darth Vader' is of meaning (which I'm convinced of) then the Klingons and the Cowboys with the black hats are most likely of meaning too. This thought wouldn't leave my head. Until I remembered having already seen a Klingon wearing a black hat .... Lieutenant Commander Worf from the starship Enterprise. I rewatched the episode where this occurs and now I'm a bit blown away.

Some keywords ...

Klingons - black hats - fathers and sons - the android who desires to feel emotions - positronic brain malfunction - empath in the role of the mysterious stranger - the Wild West - a son in prison - a son abducted - crossdressing - inside a created story - suddenly it's not a game anymore - character shifting - reluctantly wearing a hat to play a role - no, no, no, this is too easy - Spot the cat ....

Favourite Quote: Data when asked about Geordi's slowly growíng beard:

"As is the case with many natural growth processes, it is difficult to envision the end product based on an intermediate stage."

In case you are interested, feel free to engage in Star Trek TNG, Season 6, Episode 8:

A Fistful of Datas

________________________________________________________________

About Lieutenant Commander Data

Data is an android - a machine - who desires nothing more than to become human one day and to experience emotions. Data is also a great admirer of Sherlock Holmes. Especially of his ability to solve mysteries by careful examination of the available evidence. He loves to quote Holmes (x  x) and he played that character on the holodeck (x) However, Sherlock Holmes doesn't feature in this episode .... but maybe the episode features in Sherlock BBC. Unless, of course, it's just coincidence ...

.

A sheduled appointment is postponed for two days. Many members of the Enterprise are taking advantage of the delay to pursue their own projects.

La Forge and Data get the permission to experiment on a new interface between Data’s positronic brain and the ship’s computer. This would allow Data to act as an emergency backup in the event of a ship-wide systems failure. Soon it turns out that this experiment causes some computer problems. Parts of the ship’s computer get altered and are replaced by Data’s personal programming. Systems affected by the malfunction are the library, the replicator selection and the recreational programming ... the holodeck. Nothing critical, it would seem.

As a result ….

a piece of Mozart changes to Dvorak’s The Slavonic Dances, because Data had been analysing the collected works of Czech composer Antonin Dvorak.

a theatre play is replaced by Data’s poem 'Ode to Spot’, dedicated to his cat.

the replicators on some decks are producing nothing but the cat food Data had been formulating for Spot. (X)

an interaction between Data’s personal programming and the programming of  the holodeck occurs. It replaces parts of Data’s memory structures with the files that are currently activated. Files related to the nineteenth century American West. Suddenly Data's behaviour changes and he starts talking like someone out of that time, using terms like ... 'Howdy, Commander' ... 'You got it, partner' ... 'Vamoose, you little varmint' ... 'Commander. You just sit tight. We'll have this all fixed up in time for supper'

About Lieutenant Commander Worf and his son Alexander

The relationship between father and son is a difficult one. Alexander was raised by his mother K'Ehleyr, a half-human half-klingon embassador of the Klingon Empire. Worf, an orphan himself and raised by humans on Earth, didn’t know for years about the existance of his son. Soon after K'Ehleyr revealed the truth to Worf she got killed. Worf acknowleded his son but sent him away to Earth to be raised by his own former foster parents. Some time later Alexander is brought back to the Enterprise. Worf learns that there are difficulies, problems with adjusting, that his adoptive parents feel too old for the challenge to deal once again wth a Klingon child … in short, Alexander needs his father. At first Worf doesn’t feel ready nor competent enough to deal with the new situation. He decides to send Alexander away again. This time to a Klingon school. Then he reconsiders the decision and both - father and son - agree to face their relationship problems together. This is why - one day - Alexander programmes an adventurous play on the holodeck which he can take on together with his father …. who is not very enthusiastic about it.

Deadwood. Nineteenth century Earth. The Ancient West

WORF: What is our function here? ALEXANDER: You’re the Sheriff and I’m the deputy. WORF: So, we are in law enforcement. ALEXANDER: Right.

And so the programme starts like many Western stories …. a little town under a glaring sun ... a sheriff and his deputy are walking slowly down a deserted main street.

The sound of a gunshot from the saloon ... a man on the piano ... poker players ... a mysterious stranger ... some bad guys who aren’t really a match for sheriff Worf. Alexander doesn't like it.

ALEXANDER: No, no, no. Computer, freeze programme. WORF: What is wrong? ALEXANDER: That was too easy. It has to be harder to beat the bad guys. Otherwise, it’s no fun. Computer, increase programme difficulty to level four. Go back to where my father and I first walked into the saloon. Come on, Father.

Alexander and Worf leave the saloon and the programme starts once more. This time the bad guys are clearly more dangerous and not as easy to subdue. The owner of the saloon is a woman called Annie.

Unexpected for Worf - not for Alexander - they receive help from a woman with a gun. She is DeannaTroi, who serves as  ship’s councelor aboard the Enterprise. As a half-Betazoid, Deanna Troi is capable of extra-sensory empathy. Alexander asked her to join them because Counsellor Troi loves Western stories.

TROI: My father used to read me stories from the Ancient West when I was a little girl. I must admit, I always wanted to play the part of the mysterious stranger. 

Eli Hollander, the bad guy, gets arrested. Sheriff Worf, deputy Alexander and Durango, the mysterious stranger, lock him up in the prison cell. As it turns out, Eli Hollander has a dad as well.

ELI: Frankly, I don’t think I’ll be around here that long. Not after my old man hears about this. WORF: What old man are you referring to? ELI: My pa. When he breaks me out of this tin can, the gravedigger’ll be working overtime.

At this point things start getting out of hand because of the experiment Data and La Forge are cónducteding. Deputy Alexander goes missing.

In the saloon sheriff Worf meets Frank Hollander, Eli’s dad, and learns that the man has abducted his deputy. Most alarming is the fact that Frank Hollander looks like Commander Data.

DATA-FRANK: I ain’t in the mood for games, Sheriff.

And indeed, this isn’t a game anymore. The holodeck safeguards are out of order. Worf gets shot in the arm and is actually injured. They are in trouble and it gets worse. When Worf comes back to the prison, Eli Hollander has also transformed into Data. 

Desperately but without success they try to end the programme. There is only one hope.

TROI: We have to remember, even though the holodeck safeguards may be off, this is still a programme. If we can just get to the end of this story the way it was designed to play out, the programme will automatically terminate.

And so they play along as best they can. Data-Frank Hollander visits his son Data-Eli in prison to comfort him and to propose an exchange with the abducted deputy Alexander.

DATA-FRANK: You sit tight, boy. I’ll have you home in time for supper. (to Sheriff Worf) I’m going to give you one more opportunity, Sheriff, to avoid a ugly situation. Release my boy. WORF: I have reconsidered your offer. I will release your son in exchange for my deputy. DATA-FRANK: I thought you might have a change of heart. Meet me in two hours. You be in front of the saloon. I’ll be in front of the livery station. Strangers ain’t invited.

Two fathers and two sons meet under the glaring sunshine in the middle of a deserted main street.

Deanna Troi’s warning words turn out to be true … that villains in Western stories can’t ever be trusted.

TROI: They’re not concerned with honour, Worf. This is the Ancient West. There’s a gunfighter out there who has the speed and accuracy of an android. And in two hours, he’s going to try to kill you.

Data-Frank Hollander doesn’t come alone to reclaim his son. Another two outlaws are lurking near the street … behind a door, on top of a roof … waiting to interfere. And both of them have turned into Data’s as well.

Then the gunfight is over. As mentioned by Deanna Troi, the computer programme should automatically end now. Surprisingly, it doesn’t. It seems the story isn’t quite over yet.

To Worf’s utter shock and surprise, Annie, the lady who owns the saloon, approaches him. She hugs and kisses the sheriff enthusiastically …. and she too looks now like Data ….

DATA-ANNIE: Sheriff! You’re as handy with a shooting iron as you are with a woman’s heart. WORF: (panic-stricken) Computer, end programme! Computer! Now! 

After that strange adventure Alexander heavily doubts that his father will ever again engage with him in a similar play on the holodeck. Turns out … he is mistaken …

WORF: The town of Deadwood may face danger once again. If they do, they will need a sheriff and a deputy.

And back in the main room ..... in front of the mirror .... :)))

.... while the Enterprise flys off into the sunset of an alien star ....

Some intersting background information

The director of this episode is Patrick Stewart.

The episode title is an homage to the Clint Eastwood film A Fistful of Dollars.

The original title was The Good, the Bad and the Klingon, a paraphrase of the title of Leone's The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.

The plot is a homage to Rio Bravo.

In an interview Stewart mentions that for this episode he watched the movie Shane for inspiration regarding westerns. A scene from Shane was taken by Stewart and copied as the one where Alexander looks out of the bottom of the saloon doors.

I leave you to your own deductions.

Source of script (X)   Wikipedia (X)   Memory-Alpha (X)

Mai, 2018

@gosherlocked @sagestreet @raggedyblue @possiblyimbiassed @sarahthecoat @221bloodnun @loveismyrevolution @sherlockshadow

[youremyonlyhope]

Exit Wounds

AKA ...Nah, that’s the best title for it. Some characters make an exit, and I am forever wounded.

I have the urge to watch this episode, and I know that if I don’t watch it now I’ll put it off for another year. And I don’t want to do that since I would rather watch it this week.

LOL and remember how when I started this Torchwood rewatch in August 2015 I said “Torchwood takes literally no time to get through.” but then I ended up stretching out 2 seasons to nearly 3 years? And I still have to get through Children of Earth again at some point in my life.

Ok actually as I think about this episode and what happens I really don’t want to watch it. Why am I doing this to myself? I want to rewatch it before Blind Wave posts their reaction on Thursday so that’s why I’m doing it now. But pressing play is really really really really really hard.

Major spoilers. Though if you’re reading this you know that.

I’m holding my Adipose that I crocheted and named after Owen. Here we go. I hate everything.

OH my god I’m dead, Amazon’s description of the episode starts with “Captain John Hart (James Marsters - Buffy) returns” that kills me.

OH NO I CAN’T REMEMBER IF CHILDREN OF EARTH HAS THE SAME OPENING SINCE I ONLY EVER WATCHED THAT SEASON ONE TIME. IS THIS THE LAST TIME WE EVER SEE THE ORIGINAL OPENING? WHY DID THEY KILL OFF OWEN AND TOSH WHO’S BRIGHT IDEA WAS THAT CHRIS CHIBNALL I HATE YOU. My sweet Torchwood babies walking towards the camera looking all dramatic. I love them so much. I miss them so much. Owen helping Tosh walk. Just kill me. Oh poor Rhys is still a little out of the loop. Oh I love Captain John Hart so much. My chaotic baby. He didn’t make the explosives efficient on purpose. And he asks if they were ok. He cares. Jack. Notice that he genuinely cares. He’s not messing with you. Is it bad that I always laugh when Captain John shoots Jack a billion times? Seeing Burn and Naoko’s names on the opening credits for the last time... I’m in pain.

Rhys: I’m keeping more secrets than you’d ever believe. Andy: Oh yeah, like what? Rhys: Like a Time Agency based in Cardiff. Gwen: It’s not based in Cardiff.

I love that so much. Tosh is walking through the shelves of this building the same way she did in Fragments looking for the blueprints. Cinematic parallels. Making me more emotional... Are there other parallels that I just never noticed? Now I gotta keep an eye out for them. I love that they just shoot them down and Tosh goes “Sorted.” My girl. I love her so much. A Hoix? Did that alien have a name in Doctor Who Love and Monsters? Cool to know its name now. I just wish that they didn’t have to send the man who can’t heal to go deal with an alien threat on his own though. The way he said “Wish me luck” my baby I love him. And the way he raised his eyebrows after sedating it. I love Owen. See I can’t tell if John is serious about his “You have all of time but you don’t spend any with me” speech or if it’s just what Gray wants him to say. Probably a bit of both, he probably does feel that way on some level. I bet everyone Jack ever fell in love with has. I love that when rewatching, you can tell John’s regret bleeds through a bit. Night fell in 20 minutes... is Cardiff at the latitude where night starts to fall quickly? I just realized that while Tosh is talking on the comms about rift activity, for a second her voiceover overlaps a shot of her and Ianto, and you can see she’s not talking. Telephone and radio down again. Just like in Sleeper. Captain John trying to spare him the pain of seeing Gray. Rhys’ proud smile at Gwen leading. Awwwww. Been thinking it for years... but Gray’s actor... is not the best... I think it’s his voice, it’s all one tone, not much emotion in the voice. Really the only weakness in this episode. God my poor baby Jack. Prior to Heaven Sent, this was the worst thing I ever had to watch one of my babies go through. 2000 years of dying by suffocation over and over again. But then the Doctor did it for 4 billion years but whatever. At least the Doctor didn’t remember doing it each time while he was doing it, he only remembered afterwards. Jack was awake for all 2000 years of dying and remembers it all. Ugh John tearing off the vortex manipulator along with skin. Oh god not the Weevils. “Ianto. Leave it to me” AND NOW OWEN GOES TO HIS DEATH. I HATE EVERYTHING. SO MUCH. OWEN, WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE KING OF THE WEEVILS!? I was just thinking “John should really wrap up that wound...” so I’m glad he actually did. I love that John calling the Weevils pests isn’t even a joke. Weevils are literally the pests of Cardiff. And now Tosh is standing in the location of the cause of her death too. Great. This is all so great. Fantastic. Amazing. I’m not crying you’re crying. This episode is so fun. This lady at the nuclear plant is amazing. Amazon doesn’t credit her in the X-Ray thing though. Shame on you, Amazon. My baby spewing off nuclear science. I love Owen. Owen giving her the mace and telling her to go. I love him. I love him so much. My love. My heart. My baby. “Right. Can you fix it?” “Of course I can, I’m brilliant.” YES YOU ARE GIRL. YES. YOU. ARE. That confidence. That character development. Going from “Knowing I’m special. Waiting for someone to see it.” pre-Torchwood to “Of course I can, I’m brilliant.” at the end. MY. GIRL. Full circle. Wow I want to die. She’s been shot. I hate Gray with every molecule of my being. “Tosh talk to me, I need your help here, babe.” Wow I’m in pain. He called her babe. I wonder how long he’d been doing that. She’s rolling down the steps. Leaving a trail of blood. I hate this show.

Ok. Wait. In 100 years did no one really ever wonder what was in body vault #3? It has no label. I’m sure someone at some point had to have opened it up, seen Jack, been like “...but Jack’s out on a mission... how is he... NOPE I don’t want to know.” and closed it up again. Or maybe there are instructions to never disturb vault #3, that it’s a dangerous alien or something. Or maybe there’s information in a file like Tommy’s saying “This person is frozen until 2008. Just let it be. Don’t worry.” What is the story there? I need to rewatch episodes and see if vault #3 has a label.

Amazon’s X-Ray feature tells me this former Torchwood member’s name is Charles Glaskell. A black man in Torchwood in 1901? I want to know HIS story. Yeah, Jack, you may forgive him, and that forgiveness comes from hundreds (now thousands) of years of guilt over letting go of his hand, but I don’t. I don’t forgive him. I never will. Did Jack have to say to Torchwood “Yeah so set the alarm for this day at this time. Oh also, give me a napkin with chloroform on it. Just cuz.” And did he guess the time? Because he could have woken up like 30 minutes earlier and saved everyone. I know Jack does stuff for the drama, but I’m assuming this time it wasn’t to be dramatic. I really hope he didn’t go “Let me just... tell them a half hour later... so I can be fashionably late to saving the world.” He probably just got the time slight wrong. Owen immediately asking if she’s ok. Because he knows the only thing to keep her from helping him would be if something happened to her. And Tosh lying about it. I am in pain. This is the beginning of the most painful 10 minutes I’ve had to live through in a show. She takes a moment to make a slight joke “Obviously, remember to get out.” whether to make light of the situation or convince him everything’s ok. I’m in so much pain. “And Tosh, thank you.” Ow. Ow ow ow ow ow. God if only Owen hadn’t taken the couple seconds to look at all the screens and dials and stuff and just ran once she said “Owen, get out of there.” “Because you’re breaking my heart.” Knowing that Naoko filmed the entirety of this scene in one take... and that it was the last thing filmed for season 2... makes everything hurt so much more. “I’m sorry.” coming from Mr. “I Don’t Do Apologies” means so much wow this show is painful. Tosh, you’ve been shot, you have a broken arm, and you are alone. You couldn’t have stopped it. I hate that she blames herself. Stupid Space Pig. The date. The stupid date. The date that didn’t happen and tears my heart out when I think about it. Stupid Owen being oblivious. Stupid Tosh being shy. Stupid what-his-face (5 years later I refuse to give him the respect of learning his name) shooting Owen barely hours after he says yes to the date. Stupid Owen’s post-resurrection-depression getting in the way. Stupid Gray. Stupid weevils. Stupid nuclear plant. STUPID EVERYTHING. IT’S NOT ALRIGHT. OWEN IT’S NOT ALRIGHT. And now she’s delirious. Lost the will to live. Lost the will to keep fighting. She was fighting for Owen, and couldn’t save him because of Gray. She’s smiling. She still blames herself. She’s dying and she’s blaming herself for what happened to Owen. She smiled at Jack. Jack saved her. Her 5 years were either already up or almost up. She either was about to be free of their deal, or was free and chose to stay with Jack anyway. She loved Jack so much, and he loved her so much. Wow I am in so much pain. I’m holding Owen the Adipose. This hurts. “Maybe killing him would be the release he needs.” Listen to John. “There has been enough death.” Ok Jack I’ll let you have that. So then what happened to Gray when the Hub exploded in Children of Earth? If he died I don’t care. I’m more concerned about the whereabouts of Myfanwy and Janet post-Hub-explosion than Gray. Is John not from Earth? Maybe he was born on a human colony on another planet... Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid Owen’s Theme is playing and Ianto’s logging him out and that stupid picture taken during They Keep Killing Suzie is on the screen and my baby is gone and I hate everything. 1980. Baby was barely 28. He should be 38 right now. But he’s not. I’m not crying. But I’m making various groaning sounds at each thing Ianto types or clicks and at Jack holding the stethoscope and hugging the lab coat. The stupid lab coat. With his stupid buttons. Jack’s crying. I’m squeezing Owen the Adipose probably too hard. Gwen’s cleaning off Tosh’s desk and crying. Ianto’s logging Tosh out. Everything is hurting. Wait. It says Tosh was born in 1981. But Mary said some time in the 70s. Torchwood. Get your act together. Uggggghhhhhhhhhh her glasses she wasn’t wearing them when she died her purple glasses why. “I hope I did good.” Tosh. Tosh, you did the most good. You did more good than anyone else in this stupid team. Even when you did the wrong things, you still did good things with them (Mary’s stupid pendant). Tosh. Tosh Tosh Tosh Tosh Tosh. Oh my girl Tosh. Oh Tosh.

We all agree that Torchwood is the worst show every created right? I mean, it tore out our hearts. So we hate it. We love it. But we hate it. Torchwood literally ruined my life.

So. Exit Wounds. Wow. I am hurting. I didn’t cry. I don’t think I’ve cried over this episode since the first time I watched it. And even then I only shed 2 tears: 1 when Tosh died, and the other when Tosh’s goodbye video came up.

Of course Tosh would make a goodbye video. She thinks of everything. She is my girl. She is incredible. She is brilliant. She is better than all of us. And she loves them all so much that she wanted to make sure they knew it. In case she didn’t get the chance to tell them one last time. She was so good. She was beyond good. She was the best. She deserved the entire world. She deserved everything and more.

Owen. Oh my Owen. Owen did not deserve this. Owen going out like that is the worst thing. He deserved as long of a half-life as that stupid Duroc energy would have allowed him. He might still be in that stupid nuclear plant as sentient atoms. We don’t know. He deserved to scream and rage his way into oblivion. But he stopped because he didn’t want to hurt Tosh. He didn’t even know she was dying! And he still wanted to comfort her through his death because he knew how much it would hurt her. That she loved him, and he loved her, and even if they couldn’t be romantic they were still close friends. And he apologized. At least 3 times. He never apologizes. And he did it. Over and over again. He confessed that he wished they had gotten that date, that he was too stupid to realize until it was too late. That she deserved better than having to constantly look out for him from literally day one. Better than him being rude to her all the time. And he accepted his death. Said it was alright. It was not alright. It was no where near alright. Owen is my favorite character of all time. I was so devastated over his death that I named the Adipose I had been crocheting at the time after him. Because I needed comfort.

Chibnall. If you can tear my heart out like this in Torchwood, I am hoping you can do the same in Doctor Who. Don’t let me down. I trust you.

When Gwen says “I don’t know if I can. Not after this.” I always think “Same.” Because once again, I nearly didn’t press play on Season 3. I didn’t want to go on. But I did. It just took a lot. I’m glad I watched Children of Earth since it introduced me to Peter Capaldi. And he gives an amazing performance. So when 3 months later his name was thrown out in speculation for being the 12th Doctor, I said “Yes. I want him. He’d be a good Doctor.” and he was. So I’m glad I kept watching Season 3. If only for Capaldi.

Welp. Nearly 3 years later I’ve finally reached Exit Wounds. I feel dead inside and exhausted. I might go to bed. Wasn’t planning on going to bed right away, but when I’m sad I get sleeping. Sadness exhausts me (see: my post for To the Last Man when my grandma called towards the end and screamed at me for yawning and not getting enough sleep [even though that’s true] when I was actually yawning because the episode was so sad that it was exhausting me). This episode is great. But it ruined me. It still ruins me. I’ve never recovered. 5 years. Still haven’t recovered. I say I never stopped crying over this episode, I just stopped shedding tears; I’m still crying over it on the inside. Exit Wounds is the perfect title.

I can’t wait for Blind Wave to post their reaction to this episode on Thursday. They adore Tosh as much as I do. It’s going to break them. The thought of getting to see them become as broken from this episode as am I was what kept me going during the sad parts of this episode. I know it’s horrible, but I love seeing people be ruined by this episode. Because I get it. I’m ruined too.

Torchwood ruined me.

Bonus! Here’s a picture of Owen the Adipose in all his adorable, chubby, cuddly glory:

Literally the only thing keeping me sane. Being able to squeeze him during this.

[recalcitrantlycaffeinated]

Thank you for telling us that you are going tobe engaged! Since you said we can ask you about it what are some interesting things and/ or details about your fiance you want to tell us.

Future fiance…wow y’all that word exploded my entire person into butterflies.  It’s weird to think about how quickly that next stage of my life is coming up.

“Interesting Things about my Significant Human / Future Fiance”, a Long List

His ability to make long, drawn-out, intellectual, measured decisions continues to baffle me.  I try to make intelligent decisions, but I have no patience for any real decision that lasts more than, say, ten minutes, and that’s being generous.  My research phase is very long – I can look at a hundred different options if I’m shopping on Amazon – but deciding if I actually like each individual thing I look at or not happens in the blink of an eye.  I can look at a house and say “no” or “yes” within five minutes, and I don’t change my mind.  I just know.  He does not know.  He gives everything the benefit of the doubt and spends hours and hours and days making every “important” decision (note this also includes things like “what wash rag do i buy” or “what comforter will be best”).  He decided he was going to buy a case for an old phone-ish device he’s letting me borrow, and he asked, after much deliberation, “what would you like it to look like?  what color do you want it to be?” and I replied, “Look at me…look deep into my eyes…just buy the cheapest color.”  This means if I was in charge of finding and buying an engagement ring for myself it would happen approximately an hour, maybe three after I started seriously looking.  This means he has been gathering information and looking around for weeks at least, and claims to be about 30% of the way there.  It’s mystifying and adorable.  It’s going to make actually making huge decisions together hard.  I’m going to have to calm down a lot.

If some kind of weird time warp thing happened and I got to go back in time and teach him when he was in Catholic school, I would have hated him.  Every story he has ever told me is funny and something I can appreciate as an adult, but as a teacher/principal…he was both a nuisance and a teacher’s pet and that would have given me a headache.

He actually has a real (!) marketable (!) profession (!) but his first job was as a bagger at a grocery store and I think he loved that job more than any other job he will ever have.

He is very Italian and very excited about eating all manner of diverse foods.  This is clearly the way to his heart.  It’s definitely his love language.  I don’t know why that isn’t one of the options.  I’m not sure how he decided we should date before we started cooking together.

He’s also below average height but is basically a giant in comparison to me.  When I bring him into the school, I ask him to do “tall person things” for me like changing clocks.  It confuses everyone because there are definitely middle schoolers who are taller than he is.

One time I made a list of 200+ things I loved about him and thought I was being clever by hiding it inside of an old budget file, but it was actually my current budget file from the last however many years and since I was writing over it in a different file format the whole thing got corrupted and I almost lost my entire budget because I’m a sentimental list-maker. 

He’s the one who asked me to watch some of the X-Files with him when he did his rewatch, because he thinks Mulder is The Best, and instead I watched the whole thing because I am a Compulsive Completist and he continues to feel guilty for not realizing I would do something like that.

One of the first interactions we ever had was he rolled down a window in my car and it got stuck there and I had to pay over a thousand dollars to have it fixed and I told him he owed me a life debt.  He apparently took this very seriously. 

There are a lot of other things, but those were just the ones that came to mind today! 

[faejilly]

@joomju replied to your post “there’s a fic I started three years ago that I recently came back to...”

<3

<3

@janiemcpants replied to your post “@bloomingcnidarians tagged me to list songs that remind me of my OCs ...”

I'm in looooooove with Erana's selections.

AH THANK YOU! Her’s were the hardest, like ... I already had Adelaide and Theia (and some idea for Ella) it’s why I decided to go with the theme, but then I got to Erana and had no clue and decided I SOMEHOW HAVE NO NINA SIMONE LET’S FIX THAT. Glad it worked. :D

@jadesabre301 replied to your post “there’s a fic I started three years ago that I recently came back to...”

I've been thinking about my almost-three-years-old-now fic and how I should start working on it again. Writing progress is such an impossible thing to quantify unless you're, like, doing it professionally with deadlines and shit. And discipline has never been my strong suit, and I even have a brain that's generally not trying to screw me over. And it's not like you haven't had a TON of stuff going on, even without the brain stuff!

And it's hard (at least for me) to sit down and write when I feel like I'm behind on a million other things that are "more important" because this is "just for fun." OTOH, I would suck at being a professional writer, because deadlines. (mental health is not "just for fun" creating is important for mental health /beats back the naysayers /and also maybe the laundry that cries to be folded) <3

ugh don’t remind me of the laundry that needs to be folded

also like? yes, life and writing are weird and what are priorities and I try to sit down to write a lot and then don’t and then haven’t done anything else either which is, you know, not ideal? (And I haven’t had that much going on, thankfully, it just sounds like it because the Brain Stuff makes it weirder and any small thing becomes gigantically catastrophic pretty easily. and yet I wonder why Thing 2 is revved up so often? Poor widget. Life is fraught.)

anyways. I have lost my train of thought. 

#writing is the worst hobby (via @pearwaldorf)

@shadoedseptmbr replied to your post “there’s a fic I started three years ago that I recently came back to...”

*bounces* yay!

YAAAY! <3

@probablylostrightnow replied to your post “There’s this post going around Asking what the first show you broke...”

Didn't watch much TV as a kid, so I didn't have a traumatic breakup until college (probably the first series I LOVED that went completely off the rails was The X-Files).

oh gosh, The X-Files. You know, I adored that show, never missed an episode back when that required some scheduling effort because Reruns Were Not Reliable ... and yet as soon as it moved to Sundays I failed to follow it. Which was before the Shark Jumping, so I still have fond, if vague, memories of those first few years.

I’m afraid to rewatch it at this point. The off the rails was very dramatic, from what everyone else has said.

@servantofclio replied to your post “@teaandinanity replied to your post: There’s this...”

aaghhh, the Darkangel series, I legit threw one of those books across the room when The Thing happened.

I don’t even remember The Thing in any detail, I just remember The Rage. (I think I just about threw my book too. There was definitely a lot of stomping and yelling.)

@argei replied to your post “There’s this post going around Asking what the first show you broke...”

OMG PEARL OF THE SOUL OF THE WORLD BROKE ME FOR LIFE. like, formative tragic romances

Good broken? Bad broken? Context is unclear here. ;)

@forgefaerie replied to your post “@teaandinanity replied to your post: There’s this...”

ROFL, I would imagine Moffat is an asshat. for me, it was one of those shows I lost interest in before I could get mad at it :P

That happens too. You watch a few, think a cautious yay? then realize NO. It would be a lot less traumatic if it was clearer sooner when they were going to be asshats, or when they didn’t actually have a plan.

[batmagines]

Resurrection

Resurrection Relationship: Jason Todd X reader, Joker X Daughter! Reader Warnings: Abuse, character death, abandonment, Angst , Joker being an asshole, it’s just kinda sad y’all. Torture, Jason’s death. A/N: So here’s what I’ve been working on lately (And why I’ve been a little MIA)This will basically go along with the storyline of Under the Red Hood and I have had this idea on and off in my head for almost two years now and I just rewatched under the red hood and I have the plot a little more set in stone so here we go! PS: THIS WILL BE A SERIES ~~~ You were tied to a chair. Jason was lying on the floor. Your father was beating him senseless. It wasn’t like that beforehand, you and your father used to be close. But then, the day he wanted you to be his sidekick came along, and then? Things fell apart. - “Y/N Shoot the boy!” Your father cackled as you shakily held a gun in your hand, pointing it at Robin “I can’t!” You wanted to cry. “I don’t want this life! I don’t wanna be like you!” Everyone had froze at your words. You couldn’t even believe that they came out of your mouth. But the words that came out of his mouth next shocked you even more. “You’re not my daughter.” He snapped taking the gun out of your hand and that’s when the dam holding in your tears broke. You sobbed and collapsed to your knees as the Batman took down your father, put him in the batmobile and walk back over to you. You pulled out the rest of your weapons and gave them to him. The mighty duo kneeled in front of you. “Just take me to Arkham, he’ll escape without me.” You say quietly. “And then, he won’t come for me. He wouldn’t go back there unless you forced him.” Batman knew how easily it could be that this whole thing was an act, but when he looked into your eyes, he knew you weren’t acting, Because he too knew what it was like to lose your parents, and although yours weren’t dead, your relationship was. “No.” He stated gruffly and Robin helped you up. You looked at him and he gave you a small smile as tears continued to run down your face. “I’m sure we’ll find a way to take care of you.” Robin said reassuringly. You nodded your head, the green hair you had associated with your father falling in front of your face. “Thank you,” You said giving the Boy Wonder a hug. Robin was tense at first but he still hugged you back. “Robin take her back to the cave.” Batman said before getting into the car and taking off. “I’ll handle Joker.” “Why yes sir.” Robin said in a deep voice imitating his mentor. You let out a laugh, and snot came dribbling out of your nose. “Ew, sorry that’s disgusting.” You say with a light laugh wiping your nose on your sleeve. “Don’t worry about it.” He says laughing also. “Thanks for not shooting me by the way. That would’ve been a great way to start my first day on the job.” “Uh, you’re welcome.” You say as he leads you to his bike. He gets on and looks at you waiting for you to get on also. You do so slowly and wrap your hands around the boy’s waist. Robin drives and soon enough you enter the cave and he stops the bike allowing you to get off first. “Holy Cow!” “Yeah it’s a pretty cool place,” Robin says placing his hands on his hips, admiring the area. “Not the cave silly! The computer!” You say running over to the large device. “I haven't seen one in ages thanks to Joker.” “Oh, how come?” Robin asks analyzing you as you run your fingers over the keyboard. “He wanted me to work in the field. ‘No more techy stuff! Gotham needs a new Genius Villain terrorizing them!’ I hated every moment of it. I’m better at hacking into webcams, or crypted files! Not killing innocent people for a damn laugh.” You said the last part quietly. “He always hated that about me. The fact that I’d rather spend my time on the computer for him rather than in the field so Gotham knew who I was disgusted him. He never even asked me what I wanted.” “I’m sure Batman will figure out something. He won’t let the Joker force you to do anything any more.” He said coming up behind you. You started typing away at the computer hacking into your father’s network. “What are you doing?” Robin asked worried. “Hacking into Joker’s security camera’s.” You said setting up the video feed on the side console. “And here is some important files concerning his next few attacks.” “Wow, how’d you learn to do all this stuff?” He wondered aloud. “I never went outside, so I had a lot of free time to learn.” You told him honestly. “Now hopefully, you’ll be one step ahead when it comes to locking him up.” You said before muttering the last part, “And maybe one day he’ll be locked up where he can never escape.” “I’ll make it my job to lock him up for good for you Y/N.” Robin said reassuringly. “Thanks Robin.” You gave him a small half-smile. “You can call him Jason.” The Batman’s gruff voice echoed throughout the cave as he stepped out into the light. “And you can call me Bruce Wayne, I believe your computer skills will be a great asset if you’d want to join our team, I’d even provide everything you’d need to live here with us.” “Really?” You asked tears brimming your eyes. “I wouldn’t have to go out in the field would I?’’ “Only if you wanted to.” He said removing his cowl. You gave him a big smile before hugging the man. “Thank you.” - “Please stop!” You had managed to get the gag out of your mouth and now you were pleading with your father begging him to stop hurting your lover. The insane man continued to ignore you and tried to get your hands free of the their restraints. “He’s had enough! Hurt me instead.” “Now that looked like it really hurt, should we give her a try?” He asked tauntingly Jason just shook his head and he got hit once more. “That looked like it hurt a little more. So let’s try to clear this up okay pumpkin?” He gave Jason a sickening grin. “What hurts more? A? Or B?” With each question he hit Jason once more with the crowbar. “Forehand? Or Backhand?’’ The ropes holding your wrists fell to the floor and you got to work on releasing the rest of your body. Jason was twitching on the floor, breathing heavily and lying in a pool of his own blood as your father let out a loud cackle. You watched as Jason turned over slightly and said something incoherent and then your father dropped down to mock him. Jason spit the blood in his mouth onto the sick man’s ghostly white skin, only to have his head slammed into the floor. “Now that was rude.” Your ‘father’ said wiping the blood off of his face with a hanky. “At least the first boy blunder had some manners.’’ Jason rolled over and gave your father a shit-eating grin. “I suppose I’m going to have to teach you a lesson so you can better follow in his footsteps. Nah I’m just gonna keep beating you with this crowbar.” At that moment you had managed to escape your restraints and as Joker held up the crowbar you grabbed it attempting to take it away from him. He placed his foot on Jason’s back and shoved you backwards at the same time causing you to fall next to him. “I’m sorry.” You cried looking at your lover as he closed his eyes in pain. Suddenly the Joker left and walked to the door. “Okay kiddos, I’ve gotta go. It’s been fun though right?” The devil himself says exiting the building and fixing his tie. He turns back and looks at Jason and you laying on the floor. “Well maybe a bit more fun for me than you since you’re being awful quite. Anyways, be good kids finish your homework and be in bed by nine. And Hey! Please tell the big man I said hello.” He let’s out a cackle and slams the door shut leaving you and Jason alone. “Jay I’m so sorry this is all my fault.” You say crying. Jason opens his eyes and rolls over allowing him to bring his cuffed hands in front of him. “Calm down doll. It’s okay. I’m Okay.” He tries to reassure you but he can barely walk on his own. “No you’re not Jason!” You say catching him before he falls down. “You should’ve let him hurt me.” “No don’t you dare say that Y/N, he’s caused you enough damage.” Jason says as the two of you struggle towards the door. Jason falls to the ground and you quickly help him up and put most of his weight onto you. When the two of you made it to the door Jason jiggled the handle only to find out it was locked. You set Jason down gently onto the floor before trying your best to open the door, then you heard the quiet but ear-piercing beep that was going to bring your death. You slid down next to Jason. “I’m sorry Jason.” You whisper as the clock counts down and you fall into his arms. “Don’t be doll,” He says holding you close. “I love you.” “I love you too.” You say before spending your last moments kissing the love of your life. Then, the old warehouse you were in blows up and you die being held by Jason Peter Todd.