#sometimes things line up just right to leave her in a very big house with only people she’s regularly threatening to keep her company and

[randombush3]

another snippet while I slave away lol

this one hurt a bit to write x

“My mums are lesbian!” he blurts out, excited enough to attract the attention of his teacher. When she appears, he grins at her sweetly; the kind of smile that has melted many hearts, though Nico is unaware of how many people know he exists. “More paper, please.” 

“Nico, you haven’t even tried with your first one.”

She isn’t harsh at all, but he has slowly learnt to stop asking follow-up questions. Six months of exasperated ‘I don’t know, Nicolau’s has taught him that. 

He shrugs. “Okay.”

He learnt what a shrug was the other day, when Mapi told him off for doing it to her. (“Don’t shrug your shoulders at me, Nicolau Putellas!” she had chided playfully. “All I asked was which of your mamas’ houses we need to go to.”)

“Nico, what’s ‘lesbian’?” 

“Mama says football is lesbian. Basketball might be lesbian! That’s why your sister is lesbian.” 

“My mum says that lesbians kiss girls.”

“Mama kisses girls! And Mami. And they used to kiss each other but now they don’t speak and me and my sister swap houses.” Nico begins drawing it out for Paula when she peers at him, befuddled. “Here is Mama’s.” A big square, a glamorous-looking woman inside of the blue shape; a stick with a circle on the end of it; the notes he sees in his piano music floating in the air. “And…” he says, tongue sticking out as he concentrates on the opposite half of the page, “here is Mami’s.” 

He draws a football. He picks up the red crayon too, and uses both the blau and the grana simultaneously. “Mami plays football for Barça.” He draws two lines on Alexia’s t-shirt. 11. “Mami made me get 11 at football.” Nico had originally worn the 10, but then the affair had come to light and Alexia was suddenly deep in conversation with his coach and apologising to the boy Nico then had to swap shirts with. 

Then, he drops the crayons in his hand and searches for the stack near Paula. He selects the purple one, gripping it tightly, his friend still listening to him with intrigue. 

“This is me and Lela.” Two stick figures are drawn in the middle of the page; the middle ground between each of the squares. 

Nico sometimes feels stuck between it all. 

When Mami got very sad, he and Elena went to stay with Mapi and Ingrid for a few nights. He held his little sister’s hand as much as he could. He always tries to remind her that he is right there with her. 

Mami once told him that it was his turn to protect Elena. Nico hasn’t forgotten that. 

“I keep Lela safe.” He has encouraged her, slightly selfishly, to call him ‘skipper’, which he has picked up from the Lionesses. Luckily, Alexia has not told him off for it because she doesn’t know what it means. “Lela is my little sister. She is a baby. She doesn’t remember what it was like when Mama and Mami loved each other, but I do.” 

The purple crayon scrapes on the page as he presses it into the white, colour rubbing out in the shape of a heart. “Lela and I are together. Mami tries to take me from her sometimes, but I don’t let her.” 

His story – and ability to make Paula pay attention for longer than ten seconds – has already garnered the quiet attention of his teacher, but she moves closer as Nico continues. The four-year-old leaves out how Alexia usually is inviting him to training with her. With Elena yet to show any interest in football, it remains her and Nico’s special thing, and, of course, she misses him when it is not her turn. 

You usually give your permission if you have no other plans. Alexia is upset that the only hindrance is the little boy who once worshipped her like a god. 

“Nico, why did you want two pages?” asks Paula curiously, assuming he is finished now that his whole family is displayed on the piece of paper. 

He frowns. “Because now I have to do this.” And with that, he tears the sheet in half. 

Paula’s mouth drops open in surprise, as does his teacher’s. 

“What’s wrong?” comes a mature voice, a hand placed on his shoulder just like it is when the other children in his class cry. Nico doesn’t cry. He is strong and brave, like a little soldier. “Did you not like your drawing?” 

“No,” he replies neutrally, “half can live with Mama, and half can live with Mami.” 

“But now you are ripped down the middle.” 

He traces the jagged edges of the halves of his life. One leg is on your side, the other on Alexia’s. 

“I know, but it’s okay. I don’t cry.”

[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

[auncyen]

(this is slightly morbid but nothing bad actually happens. If that makes sense.)

-

"Oh, cruel whimsy," Siffrin whispers right of Odile.

"Oh, cruel whimsy!" Siffrin wails from below as he lies, sprawled dramatically, dying.

Odile's seat vibrates because of how excited Siffrin is next to her. "Now leave me, light--" they continue.

"--let all shade come upon me--"

"--and with this last Change--"

"--I end this sordid tale, and pray my next be humorous enough to remedy."

The Siffrin on stage finally dies several minutes after he should have passed out from blood loss. The curtain falls. The Siffrin next to Odile claps wildly, shouting along with the crowd. "Bravo! Bravo!!!"

Mirabelle, on Odile's left, is still crying from the play's tragedy, but has recovered enough to comment, "that's another liberty they took. We don't all believe in reincarnation. It's mostly the Houses in Brisseau."

"And that's fine?" Odile asks, raising her voice just enough to cut through the applause around them.

Mirabelle shrugs, dabbing at her eyes. "The Change religion doesn't focus too much on what happens after death anyway, so it's not really that big a deal, I guess?"

"I don't think the Poterians are worried about accuracy anyway," Odile says, casting an eye around them before focusing on Siffrin--their Siffrin, not the actor who is back on their feet now that the curtain has risen again and taking a bow.

She cannot believe this is the first play Siffrin wanted to see. They'd loved plays, yes, but then those two strange days in Dormont happened, and the first time Isabeau suggested watching a play as a way to take their minds off things for a bit, Siffrin had gotten the strangest look on his face before saying he wasn't really in the mood and maybe they could just look around the market instead. They'd left the topic there for the day, but slowly, with a joint effort, they'd gotten Siffrin to talk about how he'd come to think of life as a play during the loops. They were supposed to say these things to Isabeau, or Odile, or Mirabelle or Boniface, and then the others would always say the same lines, and sometimes deviating from the script was good and created a better script and sometimes it resulted in something so awful that they immediately messed up the next loop and then spent the next six strictly following the better script and making everyone smile, over and over again, so that that "bad loops" wouldn't count anymore. Which was completely illogical, but Odile had to assume whatever had happened--Siffrin had yet to talk about whatever that was--had been traumatizing enough to make Siffrin cling to the safety of repetition even as it was driving them insane.

Needless to say, plays had been taboo for some time. Mirabelle hadn't even been sure at first if she could talk about her books, if any fiction might make Siffrin uneasy, but Siffrin had taken her not reading books by them as her not having any and had dragged Odile on a Secret Quest to procure some, so books were clearly safe.

The taboo on plays was broken today, when Boniface noticed Siffrin's name on a flier and immediately called it out, making everyone notice it. It hadn't taken very long for awkwardness to settle in as they all read further and realized "Siffrin" was the titular character of a play, but before Isabeau or Mirabelle could find a distraction, Siffrin had lit up. "...My name! I named myself after the hero! I love this--that is--" His cheeks shaded with fluster as he realized just how enthusiastic he'd gotten. "...can we go see it?"

It had been a unanimous yes, of course. If Siffrin was rediscovering an interest the loops had taken from them, good. Of course they'd watch it, both to make sure Siffrin enjoyed themself and because they were all a little curious what Siffrin had seen in this play to name himself after it.

Well.

Well.

"...Wait, where's Bonnie and Nille?" Siffrin was asking. With the play over, he was finally regaining awareness of his surroundings and noticing the other seats in the aisle, already empty. "Isa?"

"...Boniface went out with Petronille because they were uncomfortable with how dark it was getting--we all warned them it was a tragedy, please don't feel guilty, Siffrin," Odile says when Siffrin's face falls. "They knew they might be uncomfortable, they still wanted to try, and they left with their sister when they realized they might get upset. I'm sure Boniface is fine."

"Okay...Isa...?"

Odile is certain Isabeau walked out because he'd overthought the connection between Siffrin naming himself after a character who was from the start of the play almost certain to die at the end of it. She's certain, because she's overthinking it herself. "I'm not sure," she says instead, because he didn't actually tell her that and she'd rather not put words in anyone's mouth with a topic this delicate. "So why did you name yourself after the hero?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Siffrin asks.

She doesn't like the answer that seems obvious. "I'd like to hear your own thought process, though."

Siffrin bounces on their feet. "That monologue in act four--and his banter with Gaston! I can't believe I remember so much of it!"

It is impressive how good their memory is with plays, and Odile wonders if it's because plays, while inspired by the real world, very much take place in their own little worlds, far from memory-erasing islands.

"And, well..." Siffrin sobers. "He loses everything in the play. And I--I guess--I don't really remember if I tried telling people or not, about my past, but I don't think I felt like anyone would have believed me...so...it's not the same, he still remembers, but he felt that sad and everyone feels bad for him, so... it felt like a relief that way?" He shrugs, awkwardly.

"Oh," Mirabelle says, clapping her hands together as she stands up. "Now I get why you like these plays! It's the catharsis!"

Siffrin brightens with a smile at Mirabelle. "That's it! The catharsis."

"I see," Odile says, hoping the relief isn't too obvious in her voice. Yes, she and Isabeau definitely overthought this.

[insomniamamma]

Forever's Gonna Start Tonight: Joel Miller X F! Neurodivergent!reader

A/N: hey, you all remember how Spinner was supposed to be a one-shot? LMAO. I am incapable of one shots. I started this around last Valentine's Day and felt too intimidated to finish it. I guess most of the fandom wanted to take Joel to the big dance. So I shelved it for a bit, and then, while struggling with another WIP, I revisited this and found that I still really liked it. And you know what? Fuck it. Two cakes.

Warnings: A smidge of angst. A bit of awkwardness. Mentions of crappy people in Spinner's past. Spinner is neurodivergent. This is a direct sequel to this fic, so you should probably read that one first. Dancing. Very soft kisses. Spinner is meant to be a reader inset, but she's right on the line between RC and OC.

Ellie’s already up and  gone when Joel comes downstairs, scrubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Of all the teenage orphans he could’ve ended up with he’s stuck with one who has no concept of sleeping in on a Sunday.  A mug of herb tea waits for him on the table with a saucer placed over top of it to keep it warm, and he feels himself smile, Ellie looking after him in her way, a curled scrap of paper pinned by the mug, marked with her laborious printing. Joel frowns. Ellie likes to leave him little notes when she makes it out of the house before him. Usually a shitty pun. Ellie collects puns the way a crow goes after shiny things. He cradles the mug in his hands for a moment before making his eyes focus on the note. 

Valentine’s in two days. Ask her to the dance you pussy. Joel groans. Her. You. He’s been thinking of you. More than he expected to. Paired up with you on patrol and the weather went to shit. Bad luck and punky wood that wouldn’t do much more than smolder in the stove. Your hands were so damn cold. He knew from the moment you’d finally stopped shivering and relaxed against him and started snoring into his neck that you’d become a problem. The same way Tess was a problem, Ellie is a problem. Tommy is a problem. And now there’s you. He has to remind himself sometimes that he’s safe, that Jackson is safe, that he and Tommy and Ellie are safe here. And now you are counted into that worried toll.   

He’s been thinking of you. The way your eyes will flick up and hold his before darting away. Your eyes turn away but then you smile, just a little. a soft dimpling of your cheek, like the two of you have a secret. And you do, he thinks, that night curled together, your freezing hands cradled in his, zipped your sleeping bags together like a couple of kids on a camping trip, the feel of you going lax against him, your face, your cold nose tucked into his neck, curled his arm around you and you burrowed in closer. A thread of tenderness strung between you.

 Walked you home after he found you in the square. He knows you’re not brave, but you were brave that night, even though you shook as he pulled you up from the bandstand steps, walked you home, your arm hooked through his like he’s some old time gentleman but it made you smile even if you wouldn’t quite look at him.   This is me, your porch light flickering slightly, power from the dam isn’t always consistent, there’s so much to do, so much maintenance, so many things left to rot, and he doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but you surge forward and hug him, arms banded tight around him, feel him stiffen and then his arms come up around you, tucks you tight against him, cups the back of your head and draws you close, nestles you into the column of his neck, feels you relax in to his hold.   “Thank you,” you breathed against him, allowed yourself to be held and then withdrew, caught your cold hands in his and squeezed.  “Anytime, honey,”  Your eyes didn’t quite meet his, but your cheek curved in a smile and then you closed the door between you. 

 He thinks about the two times he’s held you, the two times you’ve relaxed into his arms, but you still can’t meet his eyes. You might never meet his eyes. Joel decides he’s okay with that. The soft arc of your smile is enough.

 He settles beside you, bowl in hand, venison chili and cornbread. Your eyes flick up to him and you nod, acknowledge his presence and then go back to eating, the cornbread is nice and grainy and sweet, the chili is thin but warm and decently spicy, more potatoes and sunchokes, tough beans than venison, this is the deep of winter and things are lean, find yourself daydreaming about Olive Garden of all places, the soup and breadsticks, so much food that you always had to take some home and you feel a nudge at your elbow. Joel says nothing but slides you a bit of paper folded into a compact triangle, and you feel yourself smile, glance at Joel and he’s busy sopping up his chili with his cornbread, looks nonchalant but you can feel the bounce of his leg beneath the table, tuck some cornbread into your mouth and chew, unfold the complication of paper, yellowed with printed blue lines, ripped out of some notebook.  Will you come to the Valentine’s Dance with me? Yes. No.  The implication being that you circle your choice and hand your answer back to him. You pull a nubbin of charcoal out of your pocket and draw a circle around the “Yes”. Hold the fiddly bit of paper in your palms, not sure how to turn it back into it’s triangle shape, so you press it into orderly thirds and slide it back to him. Steal little glances at him as he reads your answer. His leg stops bouncing under the table, and when you look at him, he’s smiling.   “See you Saturday, Spinner, Joel murmurs. And you think you hear the smile in his voice but your are never sure.

 

Saturday. Saturday. Shit fire and save the matches. You said yes. You circled yes on that stupid note, like a stupid high school kid. Your experience of dancing is limited to court dances on the Ren Faire circuit with a dash of square dance and reels. You’re not sure how to act, you’re not sure what to wear. Do you have to dress fancy? Do you have to paint up your face? You have no idea what to expect so you do what you always do when some social expectation evades you.  You go and ask Maria. Bring the tiny pair of socks you’ve been working on, still not entirely pleased with the final color, more brown than yellow, still working through different mordants. You wish they’d managed to snag a display of Rit from that Walmart, but nobody thought it was important.   “Spill it,” says Maria, knows you well enough to know when something’s bothering you.  “I don’t like the color, the mordants—“  “I know all about the mordants. C’mon. Spill.”  “Joel asked me to the dance.”  “And you said yes.”   “I said yes.”  “So what’s the problem?”  “What if he’s messing with me—“ Maria laughs but then rests her hands lightly on your upper arms, a touch that means grounding, that means truth, something you would not tolerate from anyone but her.   “Do you know that man to have a sense of humor? Other than those terrible puns he saves up for Ellie?”  “Guess not. It’s just--“ You’re not sure how to word it, did plenty of dancing at Ren Faire, carefully proscribed steps and agreed upon roles, danced at your wedding reception with your ex mouthing the steps into your ear so you didn’t fuck it up, semi-formal dance in the seventh grade your mom fixed your hair and put you in a powder pink dress with a sailor collar and you’d spent the whole evening the darkest part of the gym you could find, waiting for it to be over.  “I don’t know what I’m doing, do I need a dress because—“  “It’s not prom, says Maria, No one’s gonna be fancy. Except Tim.” You feel yourself smile. Tim with his his button down shirts and fussy little bowties, tall, whip skinny and twice the age of God. No one quite knows how he made it through the outbreak, but he knows how to make explosives so no one is in a real hurry to ask.   “Tim’ll probably show up in a three piece suit.”  “Wear something with no holes and you’ll be fine.” You frown and Maria grins at you.  “That’s not exactly helpful.”  “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

 Through the next couple of days, Joel is there like he always is, a steady, unobtrusive presence, the two of you side by side over the deep sink in the caff, dish duty but you don’t mind. Soap and scrub and pass them along to Joel who rinses and sets them in the racks to dry.   “Joel?”  “Hmm?”  “I can’t dance.” He huffs laughter.  “I’ve seen you dance.” And you feel heat rising in your face, ears going hot. Someone had played the Chieftains on the juke in the Bison (hang out there more often now that you know Joel is there) and the bit of step-dancing you’d picked up on the Ren Faire circuit had come out.  “Not like normal people do.” Scrub the dishes and hand them off to him. Normal people, you hear him mutter, hold out a bowl for him to rinse and rack but he doesn’t take it.   “I could show you,” says Joel, “You know, so you’re not worried about it.”  “I’m not worried,” you say.  “Yes you are,” he says, wipes his wet hands on the towel slung over his shoulder, “Come here.” You wipe your soapy hands on your pants and stand facing him, lip bit in a frown, he holds up his hand like he means for you to give him a high five. “Give me your hand.”  Lay your palm against his and he laces his fingers through yours. “Put your other hand on my shoulder.”    “Like this?”  “Yep. I’m gonna put my hand on your hip,” he says, “That okay, Spinner?”  “Sure,” and he rests his hand on you, not gripping, not grabbing, starts swaying, foot to foot, back and forth and you mirror him, warm weight of his hand, gentle pressure that swings you around.  “That’s it? There’s no steps?”   “No steps,” says Joel. “Just like dancin at prom.”   “Never went to prom.”  “Really?” You shrug.  “We played Shadowrun instead.”  

 You settle on the wrap skirt, sewn from an old cotton bedsheet. Dyed yellow with a dusty box of Rit you found on the top shelf of a cabinet in the house they gave you. Didn’t turn out as bright as you wanted, but it’s still a nice yellow, like softened butter on a plate, and you like the patterns that the knotted twine made. Pair it with a rust colored v-neck, looted from the Walmart around the time you arrived in Jackson. You know it won’t hold up so you rarely wear it, but it looks nice with the skirt and clings to your curves in a way that isn’t entirely horrible, longies underneath your skirt because February in Jackson is fucking cold. 

 The caff looks different set up for the dance, long tables with their legs folded up, stacked against on wall, folding chairs around the perimeter, paper and fabric hearts hung from the rafters, all hung with old Christmas lights, cast your eyes around and worry, you’ve been stood up before, it wouldn’t exactly surprise you, and then you find him, tucked back by the DJ, cobbled together equipment from the high school’s AV club, too-rah loo-rah too-rah loo-ray-aay— he sees you and smiles, dimples sunk into his scruffy cheeks, stands and hurries to you, takes your hands in his.   “Wasn’t sure you were gonna show.”  “I wasn’t sure either.” Runs his thumbs over your knuckles. He’s beautiful in the low, shifting light, disco ball with a third of the little mirrors missing, little blots of light passing over the walls, catching the silver threaded through his hair-and Everything I do start’s playing, that goofy song from Robin Hood movie, and it’s on the tip of your tongue to talk about how ridiculously inaccurate the movie is, Kevin Costner’s accent was so bad, his hands folded warm around yours.  “Wanna dance?”  “Yeah. Okay.” And you let him lead you onto the floor, his hand laced with yours, your hand on his shoulder, just like you did by the deep-sink, close enough to feel his warmth but not quite touching anywhere beside where your hands rest, and in hand and his hand on the swell of your hip, the two of you turn and turn, Joel doesn’t push. He doesn’t dig his fingers in, just sways you side to side in a slow circle. It’s nice in the anonymous murk, he doesn’t try to dip you or change the pattern, Bryan Addams fades into Cindy Lauper, time after time, and he pulls you closer always liked this song, he murmurs into your hair and you nod, tuck your face into the join of his neck and shoulder unthinking, and then you stiffen, this is where he will push back, drag you back to arm’s length, and maybe ask you what the fuck you think you’re doing, but instead he breathes out a contented sigh and you turn and turn and tun in the broken light, his pulse thrumming beneath your ear, if you’re lost and you look then you will find me, and for a moment the world isn’t broken, and then Time After Time Fades out and the fucking Chicken Dance comes on.  “You wanna—“  “Absolutely not.”  “You don’t know the chicken dance?”  “Of course I know the chicken dance. I fucking hate it.”   “Let’s sit this one out then—“ and then Tommy enters like a meteor, grabs Joel by the arm   “C’mon man it’s the Chicken Dance!”  Joel shoots you a beleaguered see what I have to put up with look and lets his brother haul him onto the floor. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else on the planet, but he knows all the moves, the contrast of his grim expression and the shimmy of his hips as he wiggles his imaginary chicken tail is too much for you and you laugh bright and bold, the loud bray your parents said was unladylike, your ex said made you sound like a donkey, and for a second that old fear spikes, but no one’s looking at you, no one notices. Joel glances your way and smiles before his brother grabs his hands and swings him in a delirious apple hooch fueled arc while the accordion does it’s thing.   The music changes again and Joel extricates himself and plops down in the folding chair next to you.   “No Macarena?”  “Gotta draw the line somewhere, Spinner.” 

 A string of fast songs plays and the kids take over the floor momentarily, some recognize and some you don’t, Joel rests his hand on your knee and you lay yours over his, sit back and let them have their fun, sip strong apple hooch out of pitted plastic tumblers, burns a little going down, but makes you warm inside. You lean against him and his hand leaves your knee, arm comes up around your shoulder.   “Is this what prom was like?” Joel frowns.   “The music’s kinda the same,” he says, “But everyone was dressed up all fancy. There was lots of drama. Lots of people crying about who asked who and who dumped who.”  “Sounds stupid.”  “Yeah, I guess it was. All that shit seemed so important and now—“  “We didn’t know.” Your eyes hold his, deep wells in the dim shifting light, even though it makes you want to squirm, too many times told look me in the eye when I’m talking to you, too many times told to stop staring, stop being weird, “Joel. We didn’t know.” He turns from you and stares out over the floor, nods his head, and you wonder if you’ve said it wrong, but his arm is still draped warm over your shoulder, looks troubled, but then the lights drop and a few familiar piano notes sound and the kids scatter into the dark, confused—turn around every now and then I get a little bit lonely and you’re never comin round turn around  “Oooh this is a good one—“  “C’mon, Spinner, let’s dance.” The floor fills with couples, mostly harried survivors like you and Joel, the folks of Jackson old enough to have danced to this song in stuffy school gyms hung with crepe paper streamers and balloons, Love’s Baby soft and Darkkar Noir and flop sweat.  Maria and Tommy sway with their foreheads pressed together and eyes closed, Ellie dances theatrically, mouthing the lyrics like a cartoon opera singer to the delight of a cluster of sugared up kids who’ve formed a loose ring around her. The configuration has shifted, both your arms draped around his neck, his hands on your hips, the pretense of space between you forgotten, some murky memory of the your middle school English teacher reminding people to save room for Jesus when you danced, had no idea what that meant at the time, but now you have some idea, Joel warm and strong and flush against you, gentle susurration of his breath in your hair, warm beat of his pulse beneath your ear.   “Joel?”  “Hmm?”  “You remember this video for this song?”  “There was football players or somethin. People with glowing eyes.”  “And Ninjas. Don’t forget the ninjas. I think there was an angel too.”  “And a guy in a fencing mask,” says Joel, “I think?”   “You’re right! Glitter poured out of it when he lifted it up!”    “Then she was just some professor all along, like she dreamed the whole thing.”  “Just a dream.” You whisper against his neck and he holds you all the tighter.

 Eventually the lights come up. Happy Valentine’s Day! Ez’s voice booms through the mic and you wince, for those of us lucky in love it is time to take that noble sentiment elsewhere—  god, I hate that guy.   — For those on clean up duty now is your time to shine. Everyone else needs to skedaddle. I will now play some skedaddlin music. And true to his word, that shit techno cover of Cotton Eye Joe starts playing at migraine levels, stagger out into the frigid night, clear and still and biting cold, got a bit more tipsy than you intended. Cider for when the seasons turn, applejack for the dead of winter, but Joel is right beside, hand hovered just over your hip in case you falter.   He’s walked you home enough times that it’s not a question any more. You don’t have to. I know. Got nowhere else to be, Spinner.   “This is me,” you say, you always say, faint flicker of your porch light. Power from the dam is not always the most steady. So many things left to rot, so many things to fix.  “I know,” he says, like always, You hug him, squeeze your arms around him tight.  “Thank y—“  “Stop that, Spinner. You don’t have to thank me for loving you-“  “You love me.” You draw back from him. It comes out as a statement and not a question, and here’s where he will retract, will back pedal,  say he didn’t mean it, it was the applejack doing the talking, the applejack and the music from when you were both young and none of this had happened yet.  “Yeah, I do.” And when you hook your eyes to his, they are wide and deep and dark with worry, and you can’t look at him, gaze slides to the curve of his shoulder, the shape of him against the starshot sky, so much brighter now that everything is over. His hands find yours and, his thumbs brush back and forth over your knuckles. And you have so many questions, since when? That freezing night on the trail? Before? After? Why?   “For real?” Is the question that comes out, and you hate how small you sound, how your voice wavers. Squeezes your hands in his.  “For real.”  “Since that night?”  “I think so. I don’t know. Holdin you, it felt right. Feels right. Shit. I’m real bad at this-“ You laugh, breath plumed out like dragon smoke,   “Me too.”  “Tommy used to make fun of me. Said I could never tell when girls were tryin to flirt with me.”  “I can’t flirt to save my life. Never could. None of that ever made sense to me.”  “Good thing I didn’t try some crappy pick up line, huh?”  “Very good thing. There was this one guy in high school he started walking around me like this—“ You drop Joel’s hands and start orbiting him, watch that lovely smile crawl it’s way up his cheek.  “—and when I asked him what the fuck he was doing he said, I’m part wolf, baby, we always circle our prey.”   Joel guffaws, his eyes screwed up in crinkled crescents, rests a desperate hand on your shoulder as he doubles over— “That is. The dumbest. Goddam thing I have ever heard in my life—“  “I didn’t know whether to laugh at him or punch him. So I just kind of stared at him. And he went away.”  “I bet he did.  Look, Spinner, I didn’t mean to blurt it right out like I did but I do mean it. You don’t—“ He swipes his hand over the back of his neck, “If you don’t feel the same m’not gonna push. Shit, I’m sorry-“ You reach for him unthinking and cradle his stubbly cheeks in your palms. His eyes are big and wide and shining, he’s scared, you think, at least as scared as you are, and the words aren’t coming. In a movie you’d have some perfect come-back, something you could say that would make all the things roiling in your mind seem clear and concise. In a movie there’d be a declaration, something that would roll out of you and the music would swell, but now there’s only Joel’s warm, dark eyes and the yellow thrum of your porch light and the brittle chill in the air. You can’t say. You can’t make what you’re feeling, what you’ve been feeling, resolve into words, so you kiss him instead, press your lips to his and he kisses back, mirrors you, warm, calloused palms cradle your face.   

Not sure if it’s you or him who deepens the kiss, mingled breath and gentle touches, soft meeting of lips and tongues and hands, feels fevered and rushed and right,  he tastes like applejack and when you break for air he rests his forehead against yours.   “Wow.” He breathes against your lips.  “Yeah.” Leaned into each other, foreheads pressed together, swaying together, a bit like dancing together in the caff, no disco ball just the bright and brittle sky, a million pin-point stars stitched through the black.   “You can come in if you—“  “We both been drinkin”  “You don’t want—“  “I do, but I wanna do this right,” draws the backs of his fingers down the curve of your cheek, “I want to love you the right way, honey. We’ve got time.” You wrap your arms around him and tuck your face against his neck where it feels safe, cups the back of your head in his warm palm, cradles you close.  “Does this mean we’re going steady? Do people still say that? Going steady?” Joel chuckles, and you feel it, low rumble of laughter transmitted from his chest to yours, threading beneath the beat of his pulse in your ear.   “Yeah. I think we are.”

[aniesvision]

hii anie, I hope you're doing well! 🙏🏻 can I request a johnnie fic where they're going out with friends after a huge fight, the others notice that something is off bc they are different with one another and it's just very angsty but also fluffy? 💞

Other girls (Johnnie G. x f! reader)

warnings: angst, suggestive jokes, crying, drinking, jealousy, I guess that's all!

a/n: heyy, I'm so happy to write my first request, and I just loved the idea!! thank you for sending it, I hope it's good enough 💕 just remembering that english is not my first language so if anything's wrong please correct me 💜

synopsis: basically the request!

🪻🪻🪻

-Are you fucking serious? -I ask, standing from the couch and making my way to his room.

-I said I'm sorry!

Johnnie follows me, watching as I gather my stuff. I was pissed. I've been working hard this last few days and didn't realize spending some days away would result in him talking to another girl non stop to fill the emptiness of my absence. But, he didn't stop talking to her even now that I'm literally right in front of him. I'm not the jealous type, and I know mostly all people he talks to is about business, but I can't deny it stings a little to see him ignoring me to be on his phone talking to another girl.

I don't even respond his apologies, my focus is on getting out of his house and going back to mine. He's just standing by the door, processing what was happening, knowing that arguing with me when I'm like this is the worst the could do. After successfully gathering all my stuff, I give him a look and pass through him straight to the front door.

-We can talk about it later. -I say, in a serious tone, before leaving.

I drive back to my house, collapsing on my bed as soon as I see it. I didn't want to cry, but I was so mad that the tears were inevitable. I knew from the start that being with Johnnie was going to be difficult. He's famous, he's always busy, he's always with girls around and they're all so beautiful, it's so hard not to compare myself. It's so hard to believe that he wants to be with me sometimes, and it hurts me to know that maybe seeing him so entertained talking to someone else might be the beginning of the end.

I waited until the tears stopped to try and talk to him about it. I wanted to feel a little less angry to avoid making things worse. When I pick up my phone, he was already calling me. I sigh, sitting down and wiping the rest of my tears before answering.

-Hello?

-I'm coming over, we don't need to talk, but you promised you'd be there with me and they're all waiting for you.

I furrow my eyebrows, confused, his tone was low and it was clear that he was upset.

-What?

-Jake's birthday. Tonight's Jake's birthday.

My eyes widen when I realize I totally forgot about it. I stand up, one hand holding the phone against my ear and the other searching for an outfit.

-Yeah, sorry, I forgot, I'm getting ready.

I can hear him sighning on the other line, witch makes me even more upset about forgetting it.

-Right. I'll be there in 20.

He hangs up before I could say anything else. I put my phone on my nightstand and focus on getting ready for the night. Deciding on a mini black skirt with some belts and a red and black crop top, I start to decorate my body with some accessories and big black boots to finish the look. Already on my bathroom, I clean my face and try to do some makeup that covered the sadness of my face. I opted to do a simple sharp eyeliner, mascara and some red lipgloss.

After making sure I was ready, I waited for Johnnie. He knocks on my front door a few minutes later and I walk straight to it, meeting him. He didn't even smile, just looked at me up and down and carefully guided me with him to the car. It was awkward and not even the music playing helped me to relax.

As soon as we get there, Johnnie gets out of the car and I do the same, just mimicking his actions. He didn't grab my hand, or wrapped an arm around my waist, nothing. We walk side by side, like we're just friends, and get in the party. I see Jake and Tara and point at their direction so Johnnie would know where I'm going, and he follows me.

Tara is quick to know something's up and immediately hug me, whispering in my ear so the guys wouldn't hear us.

-Hey, what's up?

I give her a small sad smile and she just nods, grabbing my hand and announcing that we were gonna get some shots. She guides me to the bar, asking for two tequilas.

-What's wrong? Wanna talk about it?

She asks, handing me one of the tequilas. We drink it and I shake my head a bit with the feeling of the alcohol burning my throat.

-We had a fight. He's been talking to a girl and I've been a bit distant, but today we were supposed to spend the day together and all he did was stay on his phone talking to someone else.

I explain, sighning and leaning against a wall nearby. Tara nods, rubbing my arm carefully.

-I'm sorry to hear it, babe. But try to talk to him, maybe it's just a misunderstanding.

She hands me a beer that I'm not even sure where it came from, but I accept it, nodding to her advice.

-Yeah, I'll try. Thanks.

She hugs me again, disappearing right after. I drink a few sips of my drink, looking around and trying to find Johnnie. When my eyes finally meet his, he was on the other side of the room, with Jake and two strange girls. I take a deep breath, standing in my place, just watching it from afar. Is it worth it? Is it worth all the pain and insecurity that this relationship gives me? Is he ever going to prefer me?

-What's a girl like you doing all alone here?

I hear a man's voice and I turn my head to look who it was. I've never seen this man before in my life, and I was definitely not interested. Not just because he was a random guy, but because I have a handsome boyfriend and even though we're not on good terms he's still the only one I want.

-I'm not alone, my boyfriend's right there.

I point at Johnnie, and the guy follows my finger, laughing when he sees it.

-Your boyfriend left you alone to be with other girls?

I sigh. Honestly, valid point. But it's complicated, I know it's not what it looks like, but it sucks that that's what it looks like to anyone. I need to talk to him, and this guy is just the perfect reason of why I hate to be on bad terms with Johnnie. With my lack of response, the guy continues.

-Maybe he's not fucking you right, huh?

I look at the guy with a disgusted face, rolling my eyes at him and starting to walk in Johnnie's direction. Not the time to deal with creepy randoms. I stop in front of Johnnie, giving a quick look and trying to be nice by smiling at the girls and Jake before meeting his eyes again.

-Can we talk?

For the first time I see a small smile on his lips and he nods. I guide him outside, standing by the garden and taking a deep breath. He starts talking before I do.

-I'm sorry.

I feel his hands interlocking with mine, making me relax immediately. He has such an effect on me, it's crazy.

-I just... feel like I'm not your girlfriend anymore sometimes.

My voice is low and shaky, he could see how upset I was, and I could see that this wasn't what he wanted for us. The guilt was evident.

-I know, I'm sorry, I was mad that you were always at work, so I tried to make you jealous and it didn't exactly work. The girl I was talking to was an actress to my next music video and those girls right there were just Jake's friends, I just want you, I promise.

He pulls me into a hug, making me smile. I fight the urge to cry and just hug him harder.

-I'm so sorry, I should've worked from home or something, I was so caught up on what I had to do. I'm sorry, I love you.

He pulls away and cup my cheeks with his hands, kissing my forehead gently.

-It's okay, we're good, I'm sorry too. I love you.

I smile, feeling finally relieved. It was definitely nothing that I was thinking about and the fact he wanted to make me jealous it's actually kinda funny. He pulls me into a soft kiss, making me melt into his touch.

-So, what did that guy said?

He asks, making me laugh and shake my head a bit.

-That you're probably not fucking me right.

I shrug, laughing at Johnnie's annoyed expression.

-We'll see if I fuck you right or not after the party.

My eyes widen and I feel my cheeks turning red. I push his arm playfully, rolling my eyes.

-Johnnie!

[azureforreal]

Can you give us some facts about Splendid and Splendon't?

Didn't expect someone to be interested on them, all right

Do you enjoy reading? Cuz there will be a lot of that, had to draw some things tho QHAUAHUAHUAHAU

Get ready cuz this is a rideeeeeee

First I need to explain their relationship from the very beginning

Its a big

"I did what I thought was the best for you"

(AND ITS BOTH SIDES)

Growing up Splendid ended being that child who does everything, "the jack of all trades" kid, or being called "the gifted kid". He basically did things using recognition and praise as fuel until hie ended up crashing with a big burnout and a lot of high expectations on his back. Its to a point were he was being taken for granted, "Of course he would do that, he's Splendid after all"

In the end he noticed he had never lived for himself, it was always for the wishes of others.

And he wanted to protect his brother from that. He wanted him to have his own life, free from the gaze of others.

So he decided to take everything to himself so his brother wouldn't face the pressure or constant glares, of course, it came with the price of him growing distant from his brother for being way too busy.

But for Splendont, it ended with him becoming the child who was aways being compared, the "not good enough" one. So he just accepted that becoming his bitter self, becoming the opposite of his brother and not giving a fuck about what others think.

Then the war came and Splendid wanted to enlist with the intention of freeing himself from the weight of expectations for a while and trying to have some time to himself, perhaps follow his dreams of escapism that he had while reading comics.

And to his surprise, his brother wanted to enlist too. Splendid was against it but when Splendont set his mind or something, its too late.

Fast forward to after the war, it still a difficult relationship for both of them

Its not something they can just shake hands and be happy go lucky best brothers, there was a lot of negligence and postponing things for later until it was too late.

And they are too prideful to settle things down first or ask for help, in that aspect, you can see how much they are alike

NOW LETS GO BACK TO SILLY STUFF

Splendid is the oldest twin just by a few minutes

They live in the same house and this makes a scene in chapter 3 hilarious, Splendid knew exactly were his brother went after leaving him alone in the street "Bro, I literally live with you"

They have nicknames, Splendid can be called as Did and Splendont can be called as Don (yeah, without the "t" because the amount of puns it was possible doing with it made him soooooo mad XD)

Splendid had a wish of becoming a photographer, the idea of freezing memories eternally console him from his reality, but OH BOI, do we have some news for him

Splendont doesn't like wearing the hat from his uniform, the first chance he gets, he's taking it off, Splendid its not a fan of it too, but he tries to hide it and show he follows the rules.

They do dumb competitions against each other (Splendid wont admit it out loud but he's extremely competitive), like getting to the end of a corridor first, getting in the line first etc

Sometimes they will team up to piss off Flippy, they have many inside jokes about acting like is the end of the world every time Flippy shows any respect

They would look like this in human form. As they are twins, Splendont is basically a red Splendid if he didn't tie his hair, and yes, they have an ahoge, NOBODY IS STOPPING MEEEEEEEEEEEE

They are conventionally handsome while Flippy is that one analogue horror looking friend, so you can imagine what the three look like together (Flaky has shoujo filters in her eyes, she grew up with him)

Splendid has a bad vision when it comes to reading things up close. He sees it as a weakness someone could use against him, so he tries to hide it, sometimes he forgets his glasses at home

but somebody dont.

Then he proceeds to throw a chair at him

"NOW you can see it coming" XDDDDDDD

As much as Did tries his best to keeps things civilized, sometimes he has a huge family drama fight at work with his brother while Flippy is in the background asking himself "Could I use this as blackmail?" QHAUHUHAUAHUAHUAHUAHAHA

But why Splendont decided to join the army in the first place? I leave that interpretation to you, what do you think it was? kekekekeke

[storiesbyjes2g]

3.175 Simple question

We left the house and headed toward a restaurant because that's how most of our dates begin. Halfway there, however, we realized we weren't actually hungry. Thanks to Desiree, we had second breakfast, lunch, teatime, and dinner on our trip. The snacks were supposed to be for her, but she kept feeding them to us. Sophia tried to explain we didn't want any, but she threw a fit when we refused. I think because she wasn't able to be close to us for a long time, and she's used to us eating together, she was a little frustrated. (sigh) We're officially toddler parents who give into their child to keep the peace. In the future, we'll find a better way to deal with it, but two and a half hours is a long time with a screaming toddler.

Since we weren't interested in food, we needed to find another activity, so I suggested a night club. This city is full of them, so one wouldn't be hard to find. We could get a little tipsy and do something crazy. Sophia wasn't interested in that scene, however. She said she just wanted to be with me. I should have expected she'd say something along those lines—she's simple like that, and I love her for it.

I constructed a quick plan, and we doubled back toward the park. It was quite large; maybe as big as Gibbs Garden back home. Walking and talking around such beauty seemed like the perfect way to spend our night with dancing, eating, and drinking off the table. There was a huge fountain at the entrance of the park, so I stopped there to give her the flowers I bought and kick off our evening. She was so excited, you would have thought I proposed to her again or something. I love making her smile. It is the life force that fuels my very existence. Without it... I don't even want to know what that's like.

With a very happy lady on my arm, we start toward the entrance, but Sophia's glee slowly drifted into something akin to worry. When I asked what was the matter, she began spiraling deep into the mommy guilt pit. Desiree has been with one or both of us every second of her life. How is she handling being in a strange house with strange sims without us? We trust Dub and Maia, but Desi barely knows them. Before she went too deep into the rabbit hole, I reminded her of her own words she said to me just the other day. We made a promise to each other to always make time for us, no matter what. Sometimes "no matter what" will mean leaving Desi with someone so we can have a moment. She may not like it, but she'll get over it. If we keep planning our lives around what's comfortable for her, we'll never spend time together because she's kind of obsessed with us.

"You mean we are obsessed with her," she said, winking at me.

I chuckled.

"It's...a mutual obsession. Desi is fine. You remember how she was with Yasmine's girls. I bet she's not even thinking of us right now because she and Tami are knee deep in toys. And we know Dub and Maia will take good care of her."

She nodded and seemed to shake off the bad vibes that tried to strangle her.

"You're right. I know these things. I guess I didn't think it would hit me like this."

"It's natural. Don't beat yourself up. You're a good mom, and she knows it."

We finally enter the park and check out the path for the trail to make sure we went the right way. Ciudad Enamorada was such a big city, and this park was like a little oasis right in the middle of it. Beautiful trees with shockingly bright purple leaves contrasted the greenery really nicely. I thought the Arboretum was something, but this place was an entirely different animal. I was so glad we took this walk instead of going to a club. Just being outside for longer than 10 minutes was enough to clear my head and make tonight worth Dub's sacrifice. The scenic trail and nice weather were the perfect companions for our stroll. Neither of us needed words. When we got a quarter of the way around, however, a simple question popped into my head. It had the potential to poke a bear, but I had to ask it and hoped to spark another intimate moment, not a fight.

"Are you happy?"

Her forehead wrinkled a bit.

"Of course I am. Why would you ask that?"

"It's a fair question. I've been thinking about what you said the other day, and I realize I assume a lot of things about you."

She cocked her head, puzzled and trying to figure me out.

"I never actually ask how you're feeling, so you could be secretly depressed for all I know. Life has been really crazy, and it hasn't turned out how we thought it would. Are you still happy?"

She grinned.

"Awww, Luca! Baby, you know how simple I am. As long as we're together, I'm happy! Life happens. I'm a big girl. I can handle when life throws curve balls. Don't worry so much! You'll know if I'm not happy."

"I'm not worried. I just realize I need to be more intentional about things."

"Like what?"

"Making sure you feel loved and appreciated."

"If there is anything I know for sure, it's that you love and appreciate me."

"I'm not perfect, though. There's always room to improve."

"I don't want perfect, Luca. I want you."

Ha! I see she also enjoyed Dub and Maia's vows. What did I do to deserve such a loving, supportive, and understanding woman? Is she my reward for all those years of confusion and hurt?

"And, uhhh," she continued, "whenever you think about improvement, you come get me."

Okay, it's official. I've thought it before, but it's undeniable now. My wife is way hornier than me, and I am NOT mad about it. Why can't we be at home right now?? I feel some improvement coming on.

[labyrinthofsphinx]

Not sure if this has been asked before, but Vox in located in NY, they have the shack that Drift is in and Alastor has his place. But where do they spend most of their time? And is it hard juggling locations like that?

OOOOOO, a location question. I can't answer in full yet because not all the locations have been revealed....butttt I will mention a few that have been shown in the story, referenced in asks, and whatnot:

So, Alastor has a few locations associated with him and two homes. The first is the flat in New Orleans proper, over by the French Quarter. It is briefly seen from the outside in the epilogue to (Never) Let Me Go. Mimzy frequently stays here, and Al has given her a spare key to the upstairs just for herself. This is also the place Al lived after moving out of his childhood home, just as he was starting up his radio show and really digging into his, ahem, 'extracurricular' activities.

It was also around this time that the shack was built because, well, he needed a place for all his prep work. The shack is much, much further into the bayou and beyond where any normal person would dare to go. It's a very wild, almost haunting kind of place. The kid has only been here. I know it seems like it's been long time because all the asks...but most of them are non-canon to the story. They haven't actually had to leave the kid alone for much more than getting groceries. Thankfully, both have been able to push off having to jump right back to work in person. Ah, the days before people always knew where you were!

Al's other home, which he basically gave to his mother until her passing, is usually called the 'estate', and can be seen in the background of some asks, like this one. It originally belong to his father....buuttt for, ahem, reasons, he grew up basically owning the house and everything in it. We'll be seeing this more shortly, but it's kinda the base of operations for most of the going ons that shall be shown...unless said otherwise. You'll see why ;)

The bar location that shows up most often, and always when Husk is around, is the Black Cat casino and bar. Husk originally owned the joint until Al came and won it, and Husk, in a game of cards. We haven't seen it from the outside yet because it's something a little special that I'm saving for later ;))

We haven't seen too much of the Vox centered locations, but just be aware that he's got a house in almost every state, and a secret place in South America that he got after he realized just what kind of, um, 'tab' him and Al were drawing up, in case they ever needed a place to get away to.

He has a penthouse in NYC proper, with a view out to Central Park. The poolside was shown very, very briefly in a early funny one off, non-canon ask here. If he's got a long busy week, he'll usually stay there just for convenience.

His business building is also in NYC, and one of the offices was shown in (Never) Let Me Go Part I . It's also sometimes featured in asks, but is almost always shown from the view of the offices or his station set. His studio building is in Hollywood proper, and we'll see more of that further along the line.

Otherwise, the two other locations to keep in mind for now are the big, Gatsby-styled mansion on Long Island, shown briefly here, and the private island he owns with a small fortress on it, seen here.

Also, because it's kinda a location in of itself, especially where Vox is concerned, consider his yacht as another 'home' of his. It has enough bedrooms to count XD.

Whew! I think that's the short summary of all the ones shown or teased so far. But to get back to the original question:

Vox almost always visits Alastor, unless explicitly stated. Between Vel and his own obsession with work, he makes time for the things he really wants, like traveling down south to be with Al. After Alastor's mom passed, they're almost always at the estate whenever it's their usual downtime. Al doesn't have any real neighbors for miles and they can kinda do whatever they want there. Also, now that his mother is gone, Al doesn't mind using the place when getting his hands dirty...so long as his mother's things aren't disturbed. Again, we're going to see more of the interior shortly.

The shack is supposed to be just for their prep work and maybe the occasional sleepover that gets called a hunting trip. It's not really meant to serve as a home but...well, with the kid there, they haven't had much choice in the matter. That's why at the end of Something Wicked, when Al realizes Vox is attached now...yeah, probably time to bring the kid to a proper house (which is going to be Al's estate).

So, yeah, it's hard, but they make it work.

Thanks for the ask!

[randomfoggytiger]

Collector's Edition: Reworking Requiem and Mulder's Return (Part IV)

More Requiem AUs!

Loose chronological order below~

Katherinexx1's Miracle

He didn't notice it right away, but she had created this heart-shaped figure on her belly placing her hand next to his.

Pre-Requiem: Scully finds out the big news before Mulder leaves for Oregon again.

JET's (mulderscreek, tumblr, freeservers) Snippet Fic

She conceded, "So our track record has been iffy at best during the most recent Decembers. But last year wasn't too bad."

"Yeah, I think the highlight of the month was when I was attacked by zombies."

Pre-Requiem: There is no baby, and no abduction-- only Scully picking up Mulder during the holidays.

XPhileChai's Life is like a new case - you never know what you're gonna get.

She opened her eyes and met his. He saw the change in her eyes go from "calm and happy" to "oh, yeah, I'm in a car on a stakeout".

Pre-Requiem: Mulder rushes Scully to the hospital, where they discover she miscarried one of two babies.

@alsoablankslate/tabulaxrasa 's (LJ, tripod) Things Outside

The sun was setting, and the sky was a wide swath of indigo out the kitchen window. Sometimes it was very beautiful here. Summer here was like springtime in DC, maybe. How you were always conscious of it, of the rightness of the season, the perfect fit of area and temperature and color and the smell of the air.

They couldn't find out about the baby.

Pre-Requiem: Mulder is never abducted-- instead, he and Scully are put under house arrest.

@myownsuperintendent (Ao3)

“Marry Me” (Ao3)

He hadn’t expected her to say that soon, but he knows she means it.  Her practicality makes him smile.

Pre-Requiem: Mulder recalls how he and Scully discovered her pregnancy before he left for Oregon; and decides to seal their partnership with a proposal. 

Fic: “No Secrets” (Ao3)

“You could have died if I hadn’t gone back and looked at your medical records from last year.  If I hadn’t figured out what was happening and how to reverse it.  And you…you weren’t going to tell me?”  Her voice is no longer even now, but she’s not yelling either; it sounds like all the air has gone out of her.

“I didn’t think there was anything we could do about it,” he says, but he realizes how stupid that is even as he’s saying it. 

Post Requiem: Scully not only finds Mulder after his return but also heals his brain disease. 

@drbedeliadumaurier/heartsfilthylesson's scully finds out she's pregnant before mulder leaves/isolated systems - Chapter 2

Beside her in a near-stranger’s living room, Mulder seems both somber and hopeful. He reaches for her hand and Scully knows his thoughts are filled with stolen ova and failed IVF and the child she lost and the one he’s not aware she’ll have. She needs to tell him.

Pre-Requiem: Scully knows, and decides to tell Mulder the news after her chills in Bellefleur.

Donna/donnah’s (Gossamer, mulderscreek) Alternatives

"I just, I just . . . I just hit the ground."

"Just lie still."

"Why is this happening to me?" He brushed a tear that escaped her eye and trailed down her cheek.

Requiem: Mulder drags Scully to the hospital.

Pattie’s Erlenmeyer Injustice

Not a day goes by that I don't think of the implications of this job, and especially this partnership. The knowledge that one or both of us might be killed or permanently injured in the line of duty hides in the backdrop, waiting to be cast and played out, by directors unknown.

Requiem: Mulder chooses to leave with the alien ship.

@tatooedlaura-blog/tatooedlaura/Laura Sprys's Oregon

The pull to go to them overwhelmed …

The need to join, to stand in the light, defied nature …

But he remained rooted in place.

Requiem: Mulder doesn't leave with the ship, and is panicked after receiving a panicked phone call from TLG.

xphilernj’s (Ao3, Two Close for Comfort) Find the Future - Chapter 1

Upon their arrival at Dulles International Airport in D.C., Mulder was fit to be tied and Skinner was ready to clamp the handcuffs on him and throw Mulder in the trunk of his car.

Requiem: Mulder rushes back to Scully’s side.

Maidenjedi's Would That I Could Travel Both

She held her breath as his arms wrapped around her, and felt his reluctance to leave her as much as his eagerness to go, to discover, to find the all-encompassing Truth.

Requiem: Amidst a selection of AUs, Mulder didn't get his answers but did have a happy ending.

Erin M. Blair’s The Blessing

He stood in the doorway of her hospital room and walked toward the chair by the bed. Pulling it as close to the bed as possible, he sat gingerly on the chair's edge, then gently held her hand in his.

Requiem: Scully floors Mulder with her pregnancy news.

bellefleur’s "Arms Wide Open"

I look over to see my partner's mother standing a few feet away from me, stock still and drained of color, with her hand covering her mouth. It's takes me a minute, but as I register the fact that her first sight was of me sitting in the hallway with my head in my hands, and then with obvious tear tracks on my face, I begin to comprehend her reaction. She must have immediately thought the worst.

Requiem: Mulder hears the news from Scully; and panics, fleeing the room. Maggie helps him get his head in the game. 

dmwones's Anagrams

"We can attempt to stabilize Dana for as long as possible. Give her blood transfusions, and corticosteroids. One to treat the low platelets, the other to help the fetus' lungs mature. But it's not a cure. Her body is under duress and HELLP syndrome is life-threatening. We can maybe buy a few extra days. But you're going to have to make a decision."

Requiem: In one of many AUs, Mulder is never abducted; but Scully and their baby still suffer complications.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s3 episode 1 thoughts

wow… how much time has progressed… and to think, a mere two months ago, i barely knew these character’s names, let alone that they will likely stick with me for eternity...

let us begin. as we always must do.

okay, so i’m reading the episode description: scully is facing a possible dismissal!!! i know she broke rules but it was for FRIENDSHIP and LOVE! does that not count for anything anymore?!

(spooky noise) (dried up alien shot) (voice of disembodied narrative) last season on the X files…

(a recap of cig man burning things)

we open back in New Mexico, to Albert describing his relationship to memory and history: “memory is radiant and immutable, while history serves only those who seek to control it” <- banger line.

anyway. we see the smoldering ruins of that train car that was once full of aliens. but not a single mulder in sight…

cig man is breaking into the kind people’s houses!! he and his cronies are conducting violence… THEY HIT ALBERT IN THE HEAD NOOO??? HE IS A HERO... cig man, you are less than a mosquito to me

scully time!!! she’s on the scene… guess she didn’t get far back to DC. “where is he?” she asks, and they look at each other with concern in their eyes. oh, they don’t know...

eric walks into the room with a terribly beaten face... NOOO ERIC, THEY SHOULD HAVE NEVER DONE THIS TO YOU.

now scully is screaming for him on the cliffs whilst the smoke still billows from the train where he was last seen… no response… it is not looking good for our friend mulder!!

she finally tries to go home, and a helicopter is shining on scully. RIGHT on her. this is not good for driving. they run her off the road with no regard for anyone's safety??? could have caused a MASSIVE pileup.

anyway, they grab her and it’s upsetting, asking where the files are and she says in the trunk. do we believe her??? it’s a copy of some of them, but not the DAT, which i would guess means the original cassette tape... oh nooo i’m scared… i mean she couldn’t deny it, but it’s also not looking good for the secrets she was trying to keep. so, without the "DAT", they just leave.

back at the FBI, they are telling her she needs to take a leave of absence. she is looking at the ground and it is once again giving student in the principal’s office. NO PAY OR BENEFITS??? you can't do that... what if she needs to go to the doctor......

i guess she is a doctor but the point stands. you NEED insurance in these parts.

she gives them her badge and gun and says she thinks mulder is dead :( NOOOOO you cannot admit defeat

skinner says “don’t think this hasn’t been difficult for everyone” and she is holding back a very very very biting remark but actually manages to hold it back, so god only knows what she wanted to say. a stronger woman than i.

until she leaves the room, that is!!! skinner comes out to talk to her and OH SHE IS MAD!!

“what about the people who are poisoning agent mulder’s water? whose protocol was that? the men who killed agent mulder, the people who killed his father- they aren’t meant to be found”

“we will find them”

“with all due respect, sir, I think you overestimate your position in the chain of command” <- OHHHH TEA. she basically said, you're a liar working for liars and perpetuating lies. meanwhile WE'RE the only real bitches at the function and one of ‘em’s dead because of YOUR pet cigarette man. SICK!!!!! truly evil.

now she has to find some work to pay the bills skinner!!

(i don't think skinner is evil, i just think he's a dick sometimes and that pisses me off more than sheer evilness. EACH time i think i have him figured out. he does something that proves me wrong)

one last visit to mulder's office before she leaves. she's going to take the real files on the cassette and they are GONE??? to whom have they gone…..

back in new york city. it's a meeting of the minds, all the big names in the world of covering up the existence of aliens. cig man is saying everything is fine, mulder is dead, and all the files are back. ALLEGEDLY!! i believe him on no accounts.

GASP scully going to her mom’s house… she walked there barefoot at night because her shoes hurt her :(

“i’ve made a terrible mistake. dad would be so ashamed of me” NOOOOOOOOOOOO DON’T SAY THAT!!!

(i cannot speak to the moral character of her father but if it were me, i would say it was doing the Right thing that counts far more than following corrupt orders from a corrupt system. and this is further proof that she is one of those people who Has to do the right thing or the guilt will consume her... )

and she DID do the right thing!!!! she just doesn't have faith!!!! i'll cry!!!

buzzards back in New Mexico… oh........

HAND SPOTTED!! white man’s hand in the rocks. is it mulder smushed?????? 

IT IS!! albert and co are hauling him out of a hole, and he’s looking quite dead, but he seems to have hid in a cave with the aliens. good on him for finding a convenient hole to duck into.

they’re doing a ceremony to call the Holy People!!!! i hope it works because remember, the calusari said mulder knows the devil and that seems contradictory...

hopefully they were just lying.

scully back home. sleeping in bed. answering the door, for someone knocks.

it’s FROHIKE???? i cackled. WHY does he know where she lives! and also why is he here when she is in her robe! well. i guess mourning will have you up and about at odd hours.

he drank a whole bottle of what looks like vodka...? and described mulder as “a redwood among mere sprouts” i laughed... it's so genuine. we all know a frohike, for better or for worse.

he assumes that she will be next in line for hunting The Truth, to which she replies, “i’m soon to be out of a job”. but she's a doctor, so it is gonna be okay. maybe she can just leave the last few months off her resume and get letters of recommendation from her professors. doctors, high in demand.

"and like rats, they just scatter back into the woodpile” she says, when discussing how these secretive people pull the strings behind the curtains. i took note because this is a yeehaw-sounding saying.

i guess we don't ever learn where she grew up, because it probably wasn't in one place, with her dad in the navy... but still. such a phrase is giving some sort of appalachia.

frohike brings bad news: the thinker was killed EXECUTION STYLE and found in a landfill... this is soooo fucked up. she is shocked they would do something so stupid and i was like ??? but ohh she's talking about tracing the bullets!

(i only realized this much later. i won't lie)

back in New Mexico, albert is working overtime calling the Holy People to come help, and mulder's floating out in space as he contemplates leaving this plane… 

people are surrounding him. perhaps the holy people or his ancestors??

but no, it is... DEEP THROAT??? I’VE MISSED YOU!!! it was nice to see him again, even for a brief moment in the astral plane.

he’s going on, very theatrically, about the absence of time in whatever it is inhabits after life: “i come to you, old friend, with the dull clarity of the dead, not to beckon you, but to feel the fire and intensity that still live in you…. there is truth here, if that is what you seek, but there is no justice or judgement, without which, truth is a vast, dead hallow” <- he has been reading Shakespeare in the afterlife 

no i actually loved that line. it goes hard. "the dull clearity of the dead". i'm eating that arrangement of words up

cutscene: aliens being gassed and locked in the railroad car. that’s…. Horrific 

(this scene takes mere seconds, and isn't addressed again in any real way in the episode, but holy. it was. unsettling. what did these bastards do to them....?)

back to the commune with the deceased. it's Bill! mr. mulder! he opens his eyes at his dad’s voice. his dad says he’s very sorry for lying about the whole alien thing, and says he is the memory; “if you were to die now, the truth would die, and only the lies survive us”. so no pressure whatsoever. /s

seemingly awake now, he asks if his sister is in the realm with the rest of those who have passed. and he learns she isn't there yet, so i'm pretty sure that makes up his mind, that he'll go back. but imagine if the answer was yes, she was there... do you think he would have still found the strength to return?

back in D.C., scully has to take the visitor’s entrance to the FBI :( but the security guard knows her!!! she is friendly in this way :) she beeps suspiciously... but he lets her though. i suspect that she might be hiding something... but what?

she's waiting for skinner. and ohhh skinner didn’t call her “agent” this time...ohhh the vibes are…….. not really vibing. it is uncomfortable.

she is bringing the news article to him and suggesting cross running the weapon that killed the thinker with the weapon that killed mulder’s dad to get some answers. this seems reasonable to me! he says she has been relieved of investigative duty and basically dismisses her. but she just wants to be helpful!!!! can you blame her??? she just wants to be HELPFUL, skinner, she wants her friend back and not dead. so please DON'T say something catty right now, i SWEAR.

SKINNER. I HATE YOU SOMETIMES. “ohhh the systems would have went off” so there is no need to cross reference the weapons. they’re killing people executioner style!!!! do you really think the people at the police department wouldn’t cover such a thing up?!?!? come ON let's use our heads!!!

he parrots her earlier line about him not having as much power as he thinks... ohhh you bitch. you should both be on the same team here and that team is "please let agent mulder be ALIVE"

he’s all “oh, you just wanna be helpful because you want your job back?” and she very firmly says NO. i just want answers. and honestly, she is handling this way better than i would be. because i would be biting and clawing skinner at this moment. to imply that she just wants her JOB back when she's trying to bring him information regarding a bunch of mysterious deaths, including that of her PARTNER?!?!?

so he says to bring him the cassette tape that she DOESN’T have or otherwise sit tight and let them do their job. and there is unbridled rage in her eyes but it somehow manages to not escape beyond body language and again, applause. 

pause. i’m actually so pissed on scully's behalf right now. and i just KNOW filming these scenes had to be fun.

as always in skinner's office, Bill Clinton watches over everything. his eyes are cold and uncaring. like a god who has abandoned its creation.

the MINUTE she leaves his office, cig man enters... SICK!!!! he's asking about the tape that he earlier claimed to the squad in new york that he got back… “that’s unfortunate”, he says, when he learns she doesn't have it. did he PLANT IT ON HER?? is that what the beeping was? do cassettes beep on metal detectors? i had some as a kid, i just remember feelings of plastic when holding them <-op was NOT onto something here

upon leaving, she is confused about the thingy beeping again. “you wearing a necklace or something?”, asks the security man. “no, not today”, and...... OH.... THE VISUAL INDICATOR THAT SHE HAS LOST ALL FAITH IN THE FORM OF HER CROSS NECKLACE BEING ABSENT. AUGHHHH TEARING MY SHIRT. ripping my hair out in grief. but that leaves the real question: what is in there?

she goes to the doctor, who looks at her neck. SOMETHING IS IN HER SKIN??? embedded in there. oh... it’s scarred over and they’re gonna pull it out, and i'm thinking i might gag if they show it, but thankfully they cut then. WHAT DID THEY DO TO HER IN ALIEN LAND????

back to the New Mexico cam!!! mulder progress!! three days of chanting and he is asking for water!! good news. 

back to D.C. no extraction scene visible, thank god. COMPUTER CHIP???? IN HER NECK??? did they microchip her... so they can track her location... or is it some sort of coded information... oh this is soooo evil

back talking with melissa!!!! my witchy best friend!!! melissa wants scully to unpack her memories, but can you blame her for NOT wanting to do that?? does reliving alien testing sound fun to you??? but, despite her reservations, she goes to a hypnotherapist anyway because she is a good sister and melissa played the "please? for me?" card

(damn, this show sure has a lot of hypnotherapy. it’s funny because i have never encountered it at all outside of this show. maybe it was the big thing at the time? and they wanted to be cool and trendy?)

but we’re back now, in repressed memory town, circa the Duane Barry era. regarding whoever was conducting the tests on her, she says she couldn’t resist them. hey what does THAT mean!!!

things look close to getting revealed when she says it’s time to go. like i said, i can imagine this is probably top ten worst sensations of all time.

so she drives back home and skinner is there??? HUH???? she looks sooooo gagged. and i was too.

(tell me why. oh god this is awful. tell me why my first reaction was “she must be going back to her mom's place... and he’s dating scully’s mom”) (cue the "i'm going to start dating her HARDER" scene from the office)

back in New Mexico. to end the ceremony, mulder must not do any work, change clothes, or bathe for 4 days. PLEASE DO THIS THING MY FRIEND. the boys give him a pouch for sunflower seeds, which he asked for during the worst of his fevers. the sunflower seeds... that when he heard them as a kid, reminded him he was not the last person in the universe... my sweet babygirl, who is a grown man breaking many many laws... glad to have you back in our world

albert shares that he went to the origin place, so overall, this mission seems to have been a success. so please, mulder, do NOT screw this up!!! sit in a hotel room and eat your seeds in your dirty clothes just do NOT break the rules of the ceremony that just saved your life.

scully calls skinner, asking why he was at her place, and he denies ever being at her apartment. BUT cig man is sitting right in front of him soooo it wouldn't have been a good time to talk anyway...

mulder is monologuing into the abyss, as he has found a way to infiltrate scully’s dreams!! very impressive!!

cutscene to his father’s his funeral. scully is there. because she is fundamentally good. she hasn’t met his mother before, right? i recall thinking earlier their first exchange might not go well, because of the whole sacrificed the “sister” for her in the hostage exchange deal thing...

but it actually goes as well as a first meeting a funeral can go. and without citing her prophetic dreams, scully tells her that she has a strong feeling he will be found. scully engaging in the supernatural...? are her sisters words ringing in her ear? or does she interpret a prophetic message dream as a message from the subconscious. i don't even think she knows.

meanwhile, a suspicious man watches this. he wants to talk to her away from the others. he makes some vague sort of reference to the UN league of alien safeguarding, and he says with confidence that mulder is dead.

AND THEN HE STARTS DESCRIBING HOW SHE WILL BE MURDERED???? okay could we GET any more unsettling. survey is saying no. anyway, she will be murdered with either with an unregistered weapon and people who will be out of the country right after the crime has been committed, or by someone she trusts visiting her house. uh oh… skinner looking sus

she asks why she is worth killing: "you want something they don’t- justice” hmm. many such cases in american history.

this guy claims to be tipping her off because his colleagues are acting “impulsively” and her death would just draw attention to them. i mean they have already killed like, 3 people if you count presumed dead mulder, but maybe one more would really push it over the edge?

mulder’s mom comes home. AND HE’S THERE!!!! in different clothes. 4 days had best have passed. i refuse to contemplate that he violated the terms of the ceremony.

okay, back from the dead, and he is interrogating his mom about his dad. she is not answering any questions- does she truly not remember or is she just deflecting... she wants to know what the deal is, and he grabs a gun and says it has to do with samantha. and leaves ominously. that man sure does want to make a dramatic exit.

missy wants to come over (scully calls her sister missy!), and she says to come over. but then someone immediately calls and hangs up- a universal sign of danger, as scully knows. she tries to call missy back, but she doesn't pick up the phone. so she calls back and she says she’ll go over to missy's place instead. the air is very very tense. something is about to go down. but what? 

running to her car. and IT'S SKINNER? he says to get in the car. scully goes in anyway but is very clearly suspicious he’ll kill her. AND SHE PULLS THE GUN ON HIM WHEN THEY GET TO MULDER'S PLACE!

“don’t turn around, or I’ll blow your head off” TEAAA! let out some of that rage i was earlier commenting was so well managed.

“don’t think I won’t do it, you son of a bitch” “no, I believe you” <- LMAOOOO he knows she is NOT messing around. and he does everything she asks of him, even sitting on his hands.

NOOOOO MELISSA GOES TO SCULLY'S PLACE AND KRYCHEK SHOOTS HER????? WHAAAAAAAAAAT???? he looks down and realizes it isn't scully, so he tells his companion that they should just leave. absolutely useless flop of a man. how did he even get into the FBI. maybe they'll just take anyone.

back to mulder's place. skinner claims he has the tape, and that he took it from mulder's desk. then why would he have sent her on the fool's errand of trying to find it? and now they BOTH have guns drawn on each other… as someone approaches the door…. presumably mulder coming home???

OHHHHHH this is the first time i have wanted to drop absolutely EVERYTHING and go straight into the next episode, writeup be damned. AUGHHH. what about melissa!!!!!! please let her make it PLEASE I CAN’T WATCH SCULLY ENDURE THIS!!!! can you imagine if she walks in the door and sees her sister bleeding out... hopefully krychek was too much of a failure to even land a lethal wound.

and honestly, from the moment I laid eyes on Krychek way back in s2, so long ago, i KNEW that he was a fucking rat. like. evil evil evil. idk how they’re gonna try and make me like him again if they decide to keep him on as a recurring character, but i truly do NOT give a fuck about what sort of backstory they come up with for him. i’m choosing anger over healing here. 

i’m that guy by the cork board pinning things with string and smoking a cigarette until all the things line up because truly WHAT is going on!!!! 

really great episode; the pacing and suspense were fantastic, i feel pumped to start a new season, i have a million questions but in an exciting rather than an overwhelming way, skinner you are once again on thin ice!!!

[majaloveschris]

I need to vent a little.

Even though we had the Page Six article of Chrisba meeting Harry and Meghan and that Mark started following Justin, things had been relativly quiet. No big drama, no something that seemed too important. This morning I woke up to this whole Carlisle and IMDb thing, and I don't know why, but it's usually the Carlisle house and blurry pictures that make me realize how much I hate this whole situation. I'm just tired of it.

I made this account around April 2022, a year and a half ago. Looking back at it, it's crazy how things have changed. How all of us changed. How our view of Chris has changed.

My only goal with this blog was to share my opinion about this and my point of view. In the beginning, I think most people were confused about what's going on here and why everything was so weird. People were freaked out because of her age, and 16 years turned into racism, fatphobia, and people who support nazis.

We all said and still say it's going to get better, but when? I find myself not wanting to talk about this or deal with this whole situation, especially on those days when life feels too much for me. I don't want to argue with anyone; I don't want to argue whether the Carlisle house is his or if they are going to live there or not. I don't want to argue whether he was in a blurry picture or not. I don't want to argue whether they are real or not. I just don't anymore. I never wanted to convince people that I'm right or that I know what's going on, because I'm not. I only want to share my opinion; that's it, and sometimes people here make me want to leave much more than this weird whatevership does.

I'm just tired of them. Tired of their stupid followings, likes, and comments...Of their stupid stories filled with little signs and tired of them tiring to make this believable when they are clearly incapable of selling whatever this is. I'm tired of their games, and I'm surprised that they aren't tired of playing them. I'm tired that now even those who aren't involved are trying to "troll" the fandom for attention.

Whenever we think it's getting better, they just do something even worse, and it obviously has an effect on us. His actually being in love with her and wanting to spend the rest of his life with her (which seems very unlikely when you look at them) would mean he is okay with their values and that he agrees with them. I think I could "forgive" him for this being PR, but if he wants to actually be with her, I don't want to support that with my money and time.

There are always and will always be people who cross the line when it comes to their favorite celebrity, but this situation seems to get the worst out of everyone, of those who are directly and indirectly involved. Since the very first Las Vegas day, we have been shown that if you want to know what is actually going on, you need to look for clues. On videos, on pictures, among somebody's following list, or among those people who liked something, I know that now people say, Why do we even care about whom he dates? I didn't really care that much about them being real or not until her and her friends pasts came out. Up until that point, the only thing that bugged me about this whole thing was that Justin and Alba seemed to troll the fandom for attention, and I didn't like the way they tried to take advantage of Chris and his fandom.

Some people can't seem to understand the actual problem with him being connected to them. I don't want to support someone who is okay with the behavior of Alba and her friends. But it's hard to believe and seems impossible to me that the man we'd seen for 20+ years has never existed. He is not that good of an actor, and I don't think somebody would be able to play a role for decades.

I have a lot of movies with him in them that I love and want to rewatch, but this whole situation makes it really hard for me. I only see him. I see him when I look at Colin, or Andy, or Ransom, or Steve, or any of his characters. I miss that guy who was always smiling and laughing during an interview. I miss the guy who seemed happy and healthy. Right now he isn't even the shadow of his old self.

I don't want this to come across as me complaining. I know that nobody forces me to be here. I know that I could just delete this blog and go on with my life, but I like having my blogs. I like coming here and talking to my friends; I like seeing funny edits; and I like making funny edits. I would love to talk about his projects, make edits, and share photos and videos. I had so many things in mind prior to the whole wedding thing, which may always remain in my gallery and my drafts.

I will still continue with this blog, but I needed to write it down how I feel, because I think a lot of us feel this way. I'm staying; I'm not leaving because I need to know how this whole thing is going to end, and I still have some hope in him.

[ladyloveandjustice]

I liveblog the Odyssey (The Liveblogyssey)

'I've been listening to and reading The Odyssey (Emily Wilson's translation) and I've been rambling a lot to my partner, so I thought I would also liveblog my first impressions! I read parts of The Odyssey in high school and college but never the whole thing start to finish.

Athena spoils half the plot right off, I mean obviously I knew it already, but still. We start near the end of the story with Odysseus trapped on Calypso's island, Telemachus really upset that the suitors are EATING ALL THEIR SHEEP, and the beginning follows Telemachus around as he travels around to try to learn about his dad and if he's alive. Which... we know he is so that takes a little of the tension out of it.

(Seriously, Telemachus is very fixated on the sheep thing. I get that it's a big source of food but maybe you should be a little more concerned about your mom fending off 108 suitors bud).

Athena in disguise goes to meet and accompany him, appearing as an older man, and this translation is very simple and accessible (though there are definitely moments of beautiful prose) but this sometimes leads to really awkward lines like Telemachus telling Athena in disguise "I will give you a precious, pretty treasure as a keepsake to mark our special friendship" which like. are you hitting on him Telemachus you just said you think he's fatherly.

Telemachus is going thru it though. so you can't help but feel bad for him. "My mother says I am his son, but I can't be sure [...} I wish I were the son of someone lucky, who can grow old at home, instead the most unlucky man alive is said to be my father." Like that one of the times you feel the connection going back thousand of years so fiercely, the idea of having no connection to your father because you've never met him and he doesn't even feel like your dad, just a story, and too bad you can't be the son of someone who's around.

Meanwhile, a super unintentionally funny lin from young Mac is "The poets are not to blame for how things are, Blame Zeus." which yeah, that sums up most of Greek myth doesn't it! (also very funny of Homer to be like "be nice to poets, they're cool".) He also tells his own Mom to go back to the kitchen so he can assert to the suitors he's in charge and there's a man in this house, but we are reading a story from 8th century BC so.

Anyway he goes around with Athena travelling and learning about his dad, and honestly, the Odyssey is so funny. Love the part where Nestor is like "oh if only Athena favored you as she did her father" and Telemachus is like “Yeah Athena’s not on my side” :/ and she's just. sitting there with him and says”hmm are you sure I think she maybe is probably"

(and then she's like "btw to gods don't control who lives and who dies TELEMACHUS we can't even protect our mortal loved ones (but please ignore all the times we've actively killed people) and also! also! I think your dad should be grateful to go on a cool quest and be alive when he could have just died the second he left Troy, think about THAT!!!)

then she just randomly turns into a bird and leaves after ensuring Telemachus has good sleeping arrangements. Telemachus never reacts to this, everyone else is just like "omg Athena!!" he says nothing I assume he was just standing there in slackjawed shock for the next couple of hours and going over all the embarrassing things he said.

Also we get to see Helen! And I knew from earlier Greek studies that people today acting like she was dumb just because men found her attractive was misogynist nonsense. But now I get to be extra mad because the woman isn't just not dumb, she's really intelligent and observant!

Not only does she immediately figure out who Telemachus is because she saw him when he was a newborn (how??) and relays that during the Trojan war she was the only one able to recognize odysseus when he came to her place in disguise and gave him intel, but most importantly she talks about "the day the Greeks marched off to troy, their minds fixated on war and violence. They made my face the cause that hounded them". Just subtly calling the whole army out. She knows they didn't actually go to war for her. She knows she was just an excuse, and a weak one at that. She knows they wanted this war, they wanted this violence.

So yeah, Helen is smart as hell! Screw that "Everyone wanted Helen of Sparta I wanted someone a little smarter" shit from Epic, sexist nonsense, I'm glad that song was cut.

She also mentions that "Aphrodite made her go crazy" when she agreed to run off, which could be literally true (Aphrodite did tend to do that) or a clever way to protect her reputation after leaving her husband.

Helen also has drugs, which I imagine is a big reason everyone liked her. The total package. But uh, she also does drugs everyone's drinks without apparently telling them. With what sounds like superpowered magic weed or something, to make them mellow and calm and erase anxiety and depression. It says "Whoever drinks this mixture for the bowl will shed no tears that day not even if her mother or father should die" which uh actually seems kind of dangerous! But Telemachus is goin' thru it, so maybe he could use it. but apparently it doesn't work (or takes a long time to kick in} because Telemachus gets upset anyway and says things like "This makes it worse! Courage could not save my father's life!" and wants to go to bed. (PS she got the weed from Egypt, and it's nice that the story is very complementary about Egyptians, calling them the "healer's people").

And then we've finished Telemachus's depression session and get back to Penelope. THE SAGA CONTINUES IN PART 2.

[marimayscarlett]

Six men marriage favorite [anything, just go off 🧨]

Thank you for your ask 🌻 The topic of 'six men marriage' seems to be moving a lot of people on here currently , and that's the way it should be 😌 I have to say, I immediately thought of something that is a bit more abstract, maybe not really what you had in mind.... What I love and admire about this six men marriage, what sometimes moves me to tears and simply fills me with gratitude at the end of the day, is this: their unity.

Their will to work on themselves and on the band to resolve conflicts, to give everyone their right to vote, to build an unwavering democracy that may not leave much room for the individual, but makes the band all the stronger. It is certainly not always easy to keep something like this going and demands a lot from the individual (as some band members repeatedly mention in interviews), and yet they have kept it up - for 30 years. You get the impression that they really are driven by the desire to optimize this band time and again, which was founded 30 years ago in an old cellar and became an unbelievable worldwide success, and (after inner conflicts and struggles) are willing to put up with having to step back as individuals. Their cohesion is remarkable, there is so much emotionality in this band.

I'll let the band members speak for themselves to show that the subject of their relationship with each other as a unit and as a working team really does have an impact on everyone:

"I realized that I could do something with Rammstein that I wouldn't be able to do in any other world, I would never quit. It's not even important to me that I'm in the band. I could just drive around with the band, that would be enough for me. That's the best thing in the world for me, especially that gang feeling. I was lucky that it's a band and not a gangster gang. But I would have liked it just as much from the heart." Flake [source]

"We have a nice chemistry going on right now, really. We love each other more than ever and it feels really good to make music together." Paul [source]

"We didn't earn every euro for the great songs, but because we stuck together. The fears and hardships, the ups and downs, arguments, jealousies and envy. Not being able to sleep for nights on end because you wonder whether you'll get your way or give in. The conflicts of conscience, the psychodramas. I've often asked myself why I do something to myself that wears my soul out so much and don't just do something else. Rammstein is like an old marriage, you can't let go. The kids are out of the house, but the wife is still there, she's not really sexy anymore, but I love her." Till [source]

"Everyone represents the band, not just the singer. Till has never had a problem with that. We know that we are only Rammstein together. If someone steps out of line, there's a group force that pulls them back in: "Go back into your line." Of course, that restricts our individuality a little. But we love it. We feel safe and comfortable in it because we know that's where our strength lies." Schneider [source]

"We realised that in order to get the best out of our music we had to become very critical of the stuff that we were doing. Because of that, we had to overcome many difficult obstacles together and that’s what we finally did." Oliver [source]

"There were times I felt like I don’t want to do it anymore, but there was always something, a bigger picture I’ve seen that made it worth while. I always figured we can over-step our egos. There’s something more beautiful than fighting for your egos." Richard [source]

It really seems to be like one big marriage... 'For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish...' 🤍

[faunabel]

fun fact i think my house is haunted

i lived in a haunted house as a kid which is a totally different story

my current house, however... so ever since first coming here, sometimes i'd get the darkest images in my mind when trying to sleep at night of dark creatures standing over me, etc. despite not watching any sort of scary videos to get paranoid. also one of the rooms felt Off as Hell. i'm v sensitive to energies so i can sense when something is up.

the big thing here however, is a few months ago, i was standing in the kitchen, and i saw an entity that looked like a shorter version of my mom walk diagonally across the hallway into the laundry room. like normally u go down then right, but she took a straight diagonal line into the room.

i needed to ask her something so i went over and peeked my head into the laundry room. nothing. the light was off. nobody was in there. my mom walked around the corner just a second later.

of course i'd assumed it was my mom because who else would it be. but NO. nobody was in there!!! i just saw someone walk in there and there was nobody!!! and she had no idea what i was talking about.

so yeah my house is haunted but im chill about it bc i have enough experience w/ this kind of stuff to know how to protect myself. but it still freaks me out if i think abt it too hard.

btw if u ever experience something like this, very easy to make it stop. just tell it to leave u alone and dont give it any attention. it will stop. but if u feed it, that will egg it on, so just relax and ignore it.

[upthewitchypunx]

You all seemed very confused about my last post, trust me, I'm just as confused about the casting a spell that binds someone's sexuality, but I guess that's where we are.

Look, I try to be a compassionate person, but sometimes when you reconnect with someone who was close to you over 20 years ago and invite them to live in your home it doesn't always go well.

I don't like talking about other people's stories, especially online, but this has affected our life and our home and brought chaos into our space. So, this is my story.

This old friend seems to have it together, paid rent early and had a job lined up before they got here. It seemed they were having a bit of trouble adjusting. After a few months it was clear they were going through a mental health thing for the 3rd time in 2 months and making wild accusations and doing hurtful things like smoking cigarettes and massive amounts of weed when they know they have a lung problem and abandoning cats with no food or water or not paying all their rent or giving 30 days notice before they leave town, you just have to cut ties.

This was the last straw. The one before was 2 weeks ago when I was accused of thinking they wanted to use magic to steal my partner and that somehow because I knew stuff they didn't I was making them feel bad about it and that they think I think they just want to steal all my ideas.

I was compassionate. I stayed calm. I said I was confused, asked if she was okay. A few days later she came down crying to apologize, said she wasn't okay. We talked. I told her about the Oregon Health Plan and how she could get some help. She seemed grateful and she did and had an appointment lined up.

Then last week we left for Astoria for a night and she was there at 4 pm to bring a package in but by 1pm the next day when we got home most of her things were gone except furniture that wouldn't fit in her car. We didn't really notice the things gone at first and thought maybe she had gone on a little trip because the cats were still here so we fed them and got them water, then messaged her after a few days. She claims she had a medical issue and called an ambulance. Then her family came here and towed her home. The time line doesn't make sense. Her family is a 12 hour drive away. How long was she in the hospital? How long did it take to pack her car? Why did she leave the cats? Why didn't she tell us on her own about the medical emergency?

I'm a pretty forgiving person, especially if the person is honest and isn't trying to take advantage of me. It often bites me in the ass, but at least I know I can sleep at night and treat people to my own ethical standard until I hit a point.

Last night we got more confusing messages declaring we actually wanted her cats all along and the whole binding her sexuality thing. We decided that it wasn't worth putting effort into this relationship, she's with her family now, we aren't getting blood from a stone, and that we had done as much as we could, calmly said we were confused and hurt and will find new homes for the cats, and blocked her.

I don't usually air someone's personal issues online, but this is someone you will never know, they probably won't see this, I don't really care if they do, and this is my blog and this is an incredibly frustrating, emotionally laborious, and financially unexpected experience we are going through right now and I just need to vent.

I've already contacted a cat rescue about the cute nice cat and the hissing mean cat that won't come out of the closet. Now I need to get rid of a brand new IKEA bed frame, a couch, a big clothing rack, 2 poorly constructed book shelves, a TV, a bunch of clothes and shoes, a record player that doesn't work, a giant stack of new age books, and a bunch of other random shit.

Oh, and cleanse the house of that nonsense before finding a new housemate, which a friend of a friend is interested in.

All of this while we are working to make the shop on the first floor browsable.

Please do not make disparaging comments about someone who is seriously going through something. I don't need to hear it. It won't be helpful or have a point. I'm not mad, just annoyed and wishing people had better communication.

[fireinthefireproofvault]

Toy Cabooses

(Hey everyone, I wrote another little thing!  The Schultzes keeping Jewish children in their home and adopting them is a headcanon very near and dear to my heart and this is a little tiny snapshot into this concept- hope you enjoy 😄 Find this fic and hopefully more soon on AO3 too~)

   Crossing the floor had become like a dance, a subconscious set of steps in harmony with no partner.  Marbles here, a little car there.  A stuffed rabbit dangling over the corner of an end table, edges of the pink bow once tied about its neck softly shining against the dark wood in a distorted loop.

   Shuddering, Gretchen took gentle hold of it—no, her, look at that ribbon— by the body and righted her like a proud little corner sentry.  In a way, she reminded Gretchen of her husband off marching in search of troublemakers.  How she could see his face!  As it was, though, all she needed to see was the kettle for tea.

   Erna Weber was coming by and she just adored the honey cookies Gretchen brought for the last gathering.  She still had a few in the jar that had survived waves of inquiring hands searching, so out on a pretty platter they went.  The one with the great rose at the center?  No, no…  The Bavarian white and gold.  A bit showy, but very pretty indeed.

   There was a little bowl and spoon in the sink.  Moving them aside to fill the kettle, Gretchen smiled.  They had been well and truly cleaned.

   The tea had steeped perfectly by the time Erna arrived, shedding her demure little white fur-lined shawl and dodging around marbles here, little car there with the deft bobbing of a mother transplanted, rarely off kilter for long.  Gretchen found herself giving an almost imperceptible nod of approval.

   “Let me guess,” Erna quipped, thin lips curving upward in a knowing, humored smile, “Carl and Anneliese abandoned their game?”

   “Yes,” Gretchen nodded, “Right in the middle of it, too!  Always off after some fancy.  But here!  Sit down.  We have tea and cookies and do let me know if you need anything else.”

   Thanking her, Erna took a seat upon the sofa, grinning at the tray her friend carried over before scooting in next to her.  Cradling a steaming cup, she plopped in a cube of sugar and stirred.

   “The house is so quiet.  Where are the young ones?”

   “Heidi took them out for some fresh air.  She’s such a good big sister.  I have no doubt she’ll make a fine mother someday.”

   “I wish I could say the same for my Agnes.”  Erna rolled her eyes.  “Sometimes I can’t begin to imagine what is going through her head.”

   “It’s always harder when you can’t occupy them anymore with toys,” Gretchen agreed, smiling ruefully as she lifted the little bunny again, this time to give it a thoughtful twist in her hand, “But they’re all so dear in their own way.  All of them.”

   “And all so different.”

   “And here you say that while you only have two!  Imagine having five.”

   “I can!  Why don’t I leave that to you,” Erna chuckled, “Especially after that joke Walter played on you last month!”

   “Oh,” Gretchen set the rabbit back to her post, allowing her glassy eyes to study the room once more, “How dare you remind me!  That spider looked so real, I thought I was going to have a heart attack!”

   “And don’t you get me started on when Rudy got into the soap!  I thought we would be scrubbing the carpet for hours!”

   They had a good laugh over that, and two honey cookies later she was shuffling past the dining table into the kitchen, replacing the other two cookies and carefully lowering the dishes to take up a place at the side of the little bowl and spoon.  And there came Erna at her back asking to see the dear new washroom curtain set she’d heard about.  The ones with the white embroidered trim.  Gretchen was all too happy to show her in, at least when she thought it was clean.  The moment she crossed the threshold she sucked in a breath slowly, stiffly.  Perhaps she wouldn’t notice.  Perhaps she could place a well-timed kick in the direction of the—

   “…nappy?”

   Head swiveling faster than she’d wanted it to, Gretchen turned back to face her friend, blood crystallizing in her very veins.  “I beg your pardon?”  She could not yet bring herself to tear her gaze from the linoleum.

   “I asked whatever you are doing with nappies when your youngest is seven years old?”

   Exhaling just as slowly as she’d taken it in, Gretchen bent over and plucked up the fallen fabric, every second an hour.  It was clean, freshly softened.  Newly stitched without a single faded patch on the flowered pattern.  Ready for use. 

   “We have new neighbors,” she answered quickly, “Heidi was watching their little boy.  She must not have cleaned up after herself all the way.”

   “No one moved.  No one has moved from this neighborhood in years.”  The petite woman breathed, her whole body seeming to deflate as she looked up Gretchen’s way, big brown eyes shining with imploring and pity alike.  Voice barely above a whisper, she asked her next question in quiet English.  “How many do you have?”

   “How many what?”

   “How many do you have, Gretchen?”

   At the repetition, it was Gretchen’s turn to crumple, her stouter form all but collapsing in on itself, hand slumping to almost drop the nappy back to the floor.  Instincts taking over, she rose again, folded it, and silently laid it to rest in a drawer, gaze hovering over the sliding wood as she shut it and well after.  Glancing up, she saw her friend’s eyes doing the very same before darting this way and that, following Gretchen as she filed them both out of the washroom and into the parlor with ever so slightly harsher an urging than she intended.  This time heading to a softer yellow velvet sofa that required sidestepping all eleven interconnected cars of a long wooden Schatze toy train.

   “Frederick and I have three,” Erna admitted, taking Gretchen’s hand as soon as she’d settled into her seat, or rather gotten close as either of them would let themselves, both bodies faintly hovering as if making to leap at the last moment, “How many do you have?”

   “Hans and I have five.”

   “I don’t mean yours,” Erna hissed, voice low and incredulous, “I mean—”

   “Hans and I have five,” Gretchen repeated, finally finding the courage to meet Erna’s big brown eyes with confidence, no matter how shaky her smile felt.

   “That would explain why there are so many toys afoot,” her friend teased, nodding toward the train, “But why, then, is there an extra car?  Did not each add one?”

   Straining a bit, Gretchen picked up this toy, too.  “The caboose is for us, Erna.  It is the shelter at the end.  A place where conductor and crew can finally rest after their weary journey down car after car.”

   “Hans makes a good caboose.”

   Gretchen elbowed Erna for that one, but both women chuckled and smiled wider.  Inhaled and exhaled this time in relief before tumbling into each other’s arms, breathing again and again the fresh and familiar air.  The wonder and pain of sympathy, unshed tears, and seeds waiting for the water of spring.  Separating with a grin, Erna peered down at the train, the first of Hans’s interlocking design carved by his own loving hand.

   “How lovely!  There is a rose carved on the back of it.”

   “A thirteen-petaled rose.”

   Once again, shining brown eyes met blue, calm earth to the raging sea of emotions stirring beneath them.  A nod, this time perceptible.

   “I say your words back to you: do let me know if you need anything.”

   “And let me know if you want any advice on raising five children,” Gretchen added with a squeeze of their joined hands, a glint of mischief touching her smile, “You’ll need it.”