#sunny scully

[rexlottie]

its oc silly o'clock

[resurrection-trait]

[catholic-character-tournament]

Bonus Rounds

(Just for fun, will not affect anything)

[cookiekitkat8484]

currently cant stop thinking about an x files!gravity falls AU

[murkyhazed-is-archiving]

tag drop 4 of idk

[baronessblixen]

Asking For Miracles

Merry Christmas, @katebeckets! I'm your PoangPal Secret Santa, and as I am mostly a writer, you're getting a fic 😁 You said you were enraged that we didn't get to see Mulder and Scully reunite at the end of "Redux II" (same, btw). So I wrote a scene where Scully tells him that she's in remission. It's angsty - but of course, it has a happy end. I hope you like it!

(Here's the AO3 Link)

@poangsecretsanta @today-in-fic

“Mulder, I know it’s late, but I- I need to see you.”

The words Scully left on his answering machine still ring in his ears, even half an hour after he first heard them. By the time Mulder arrives at the hospital, his legs are like lead and feel as if he’s just finished a marathon. Every step he takes is pure agony; if only he could turn around and run. That, of course, is not an option. Not when Scully asked for him. 

Mulder enters the hospital lobby, the place as familiar as his own home by now. He nods at Jeff, the doorman, and he nods back at him. Maybe he recognizes Mulder, or he has compassion for every sad soul that passes by.

He stops in front of the elevator, his fingers fidgeting with the lapels of his jacket. An elderly woman standing next to him eyes him wearily when he presses the elevator button twice more. He’s grateful she’s not making conversation as they step inside. His thoughts are loud, screaming at him. They have been ever since Scully’s phone call - another one he missed. The sound of her suppressed tears is too familiar; it already haunts his nightmares.

It’s late. The hospital is deserted – save for the elderly woman, who’s clinging to her purse, staying with him on the elevator until they reach the oncology ward. They share a silent look, pain evident in their movements as they set out in opposite directions. 

A phone call late at night is never good news. Scully must have called him just after 9 p.m. He grabbed his jacket as soon as he heard it, not even caring if it – or he – smelled bad. Scully is all that matters. 

Yet, now that he’s here, he slows down. The closer he gets to her room, the smaller and heavier his steps become. As long as he’s out here, and as long as he hasn’t looked into her eyes, and heard what she has to say, he can pretend. He can pretend the disease isn’t taking her life, cutting it way too short.

He passes room after room, getting closer to the truth. For once, Mulder doesn’t want it. He wants the miracle, the fantasy. From somewhere he hears music. Or maybe that’s just his imagination. It’s an older song, melancholic. A woman singing about wishing she had a river she could skate away on. Mulder thinks it’s a Christmas song. Who plays Christmas music in the middle of the year? He considers telling Scully about it, hoping it will make her smile. 

It’s no surprise that he hates hospitals. He’s hated them long before Scully got sick, but not always. The first time he remembers being in one was when he was a toddler, just about three years old. On his first visit, he was apprehensive. He knew the concept of hospitals from books; big, white rooms with doctors looking like angels, sometimes healing, sometimes taking people to heaven. That’s how his grandmother Mulder had described it to him when he’d asked. 

The angels, his grandmother had explained, too, had taken good care of his mother and his sister. As a new big brother, he had to know these things. It was his time to be brave. Just like now, he thinks, as his shoes squeak against the linoleum. Back then, his much smaller feet had shuffled along, trying to keep up with his father, who was holding his hand in his large, steady grip. Before that day, Mulder can’t remember his father ever holding his hand.

The room Mulder remembers is filled with a sunny warmth, despite it being November. What are the chances of it having been a sunny day? But that’s how he remembers it. Just like he remembers the soft smile on his mother’s face and the way he had to stand on tiptoe to see Samantha and her squishy face. Seeing her cemented his fate; he was a big brother and he would look after her forever. Only that forever had been taken away from them. Much like last night when he lost her again. No matter what he does, he keeps losing.

The memory ends there. In the following years, hospital walls became tainted. There was blood and screaming. Samantha broke her collarbone and Mulder broke his arm. His grandmother died; the angels she’d believed in taking her away. The memories are strung together like a pearl necklace in his mind; one painful memory after another. An endless circle. Now, there is another memory to add.

He stops in front of Scully’s hospital room. All is quiet. The music has stopped. His heart, however, hasn’t. It’s thumping steadily, loudly. So loud in fact that he wonders if Scully can hear it through the closed door. He closes his eyes and knocks.

“Come in,” Scully’s muffled voice says and so, finally, he does. His eyes find hers the second he steps inside. Her face is puffy - puffier than he’s seen it in weeks. The hollowness for once hidden. How many tears has she cried without him here? She throws him a small, shaky smile. A laugh falls from her lips that sounds more like a hiccup.

“I came as quickly as I could,” Mulder says, flinching when he realizes that’s a lie. He may have driven to the hospital as fast as he could, but he took his time arriving. 

“I thought you should hear it first,” she says, sniffing. She grabs a tissue out of a half-empty box and blows her nose. “This is ridiculous,” she adds, avoiding his eyes. “I just- I called you first when I- and you… you were the first person I wanted to call when I found out.”

Blood rushes in his ears, his temples throb; this is the last moment before he knows. Once she says it - once the words are out there - they can’t be taken back. It will be real.

“They did more tests. I- the last PET scan showed no improvement and I-,” she trails off and Mulder’s knees buckle. No improvement. There’s no cure for this cancer, just like Scully said months ago when she asked him to come to the hospital for the first time. No cure, no improvement. There’s only one way this can end. He wants to cover his ears; it can’t be true if he doesn’t hear it, or see it. 

“I wasn’t ready to accept that,” she goes on, her voice steady. She glances at him as if waiting for him to say something. It’s not like him to remain quiet, but what is there to say? He wants to get on his knees and pray to a God he doesn’t believe in. “So I asked for more tests. When you’re dying, doctors will do whatever you ask of them.”

“I’ll make sure to remember that,” Mulder mumbles and Scully cracks a smile.

“We did another PET scan, among other things, and Mulder- I don’t know why is this so difficult to say.” Another hollow laugh from her and he can no longer keep his hurt in. It expels from his mouth as his lips begin to quiver. Scully’s eyes open wide.

“Oh, Mulder,” she says, reaching out her hand and he’s too weak to deny her, to deny himself. Her skin is as soft as ever, her touch as assuring as it’s always been. He’s crying openly now, weeping. The tears are blurring his vision, but he sees what’s important: her in the hospital bed, smiling up at him.

“You shouldn’t have to comfort me,” he says with a sob, trying to compose himself. He thinks of his father, of the way he watched him dismissively the night his grandmother died. When Mulder, at ten years old, had wiped his tears away with the sleeve of this sweater, he had asked his father why he wasn’t crying. Wasn’t he sad? His father hadn’t replied and only stared at him before he’d wandered off.

“I don’t know what I was thinking, Mulder,” she says, tugging at his hand. “Sit down.” When he doesn’t, she tugs more strongly. “Sit. Please.” He does, his hands folded in his lap as if waiting to start a prayer.

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” she says softly.

“You’re a mind reader now?”

“I don’t have to be. I should have started with the most important news,” she says, waiting. He knows she wants him to look at her. He braces himself before he lifts his eyes to hers. Hers are brimming with tears, just like his own.

“My cancer has gone into remission.”

Mulder stares at her, not understanding. These are the words he wants to hear. Remission. Cured. Yet, he can’t believe them.

“You believe everything but not this?” she teases, her voice shaky.

“You’re- and the cancer? It’s- it’s.” He doesn’t know what to say. How do you describe a miracle? It just is.

“Like I’ve been trying to say, I couldn’t accept that there was no improvement. My mother… my mother and I prayed together and then I knew I couldn’t give up. I asked for another PET scan and more blood tests. Mulder, I don’t know what… something changed. Whatever it is, whether it’s the chip or, or-”

“You’re in remission,” he repeats, his brain finally catching up. She nods.

“I’m in remission. The PET scan shows great improvement. The tumor is shrinking.”

“I can’t- it’s shrinking? You’ll be fine?” He reaches for her other hand, needing to feel her. Again, she nods, smiling.

“I’ll be fine,” she whispers. Mulder stares at her, watches her, and sees his whole future. Their future. Together. His lips quiver again, but this time from joy. Scully nods, understanding him without a single word spoken.

“Come here,” he says, desperate. He lets go of her hands and engulfs her in his arms. Their positions on the bed are awkward, but they make it work. His heart thumps against her chest, and he feels hers, too. He doesn’t care if it was the chip or a miracle. For once, he doesn’t care about uncovering a secret truth. He just wants to hold her in his arms and have her by his side for as long as she wants to be.

“Will you stay?” she asks into his neck. Her lips are warm and wet and her touch brings him back into the here and now.

“I’ll stay,” he says. He’ll stay as long as she will endure him in her hospital room.

“I need to call my family,” she whispers and he loosens his grip on her. Her face is as wet as his own feels and he wipes at her eyes with his thumb. Her blue eyes are almost translucent and he’s in fear of losing himself in them. Instead, he finds himself nodding along, reaching for the cell phone on her bedside table and handing it to her.

“Tell them right away,” Mulder says. “Say you have good news.” He smiles sheepishly. She doesn’t need to know about what he’s gone through in between her call and her breaking the news to him. Still, he’d like Mrs. Scully and Bill Jr. to know what they’re in for so they won’t have to worry anymore. There’s been too much heartbreak already. Scully nods at him, new tears falling from her eyes.

“It’s a Christmas miracle,” Mulder muses and Scully’s eyebrows knit together.

“It’s not Christmas,” she says with a chuckle and he takes her hand into his, entwining their fingers. She lets him. He marvels at their laced hands, remembering the song from earlier. He hopes the woman found a river to skate away on. He hopes she found her happiness somewhere along the way. Or maybe what she was looking for was right in front of her eyes the whole time. He knows what’s that like. 

Mulder lifts his head and grins at her, falling deeper in love with her, allowing himself the full force of his emotions for once. The skepticism in her expression lets him know that she’s about to call him crazy. Or she would if this weren’t the exact moment her mother picks up the phone.

“Mom?” she says, trying to keep the tears out of her voice. Mulder squeezes her fingers to remind her he’s here with her. “I have something to tell you-…,” Scully goes on and looks at Mulder. There are so many things unspoken between them, and so many possibilities now for their future. 

“It’s good news.”

[brawlite]

some horror fic recs for october 👻

i wanted to put together a rec list of my favorite horror fics for the spookiest month. there are a bunch of different flavors of horror in here as well as a number of different fandoms, so hopefully you can find something that tickles your fancy (though ngl i would still rec reading these bad boys even if you don't know the fandoms at all).

i tried to tag tumblrs when/where i could find them, but if i couldn't, the author name links to ao3.

a reminder as always: this is horror—please read all the tags.

thanks for reading and i hope you find something to enjoy!

also, pretty please feel free to reblog and add your favorite horror fic recs.

👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪

the ghost apple tree by @thefearofcod

10k words, rated m song lan/xue yang/xiao xingchen (the untamed/mdzs) summary:

Fixing up a decaying house in the woods is the same as addressing your problems. (sxx is haunted)

brawls' notes: i think about this fic a lot; i'm haunted by it. this is by far one of my favorite horror stories i've ever read—the vibes are off-the-charts and horrific in a very visceral, tense way. made me feel weird (positive). i hope it makes you feel weird too (this is a threat).

—

convergence by @astrophyllitely

33k words, rated e lan zhan/lan xichen, lan zhan/jiang cheng (the untamed/mdzs) summary:

Lan Wangji regains consciousness in a crashed spaceship on an unfamiliar planet. He is not alone; Lan Xichen is there. He is not alone; Jiang Wanyin is there. But never both at once.

brawls' notes: space horror? check. psychological horror? check. uneasy and tense alien vibes? also check. beautiful push and pull of the narrative, paired with an an intense feeling of claustrophobia. there's a particular moment that had my heart right in my throat. stunning.

—

mockingbird by MarInk

82k words, rated e stiles stillinski/peter hale (teen wolf) summary:

Stiles works tirelessly to keep the roof over his heads and longs for a proper challenge for his brains. Peter chafes under his sister's authority and nurses big, bloody dreams. One day, the two are connected by a mistaken text message. One never knows who is on the other end of a wrong number. Sometimes it's somebody one will come to cherish and adore. Sometimes it's a ruthless, unapologetic monster. Sometimes it's both.

brawls' notes: sometimes you read something and are just blown away by it, forever altered. that's what this was for me. want a type of monster-au you've never seen before? this is it. also: ostensibly a wrong-number au, but don't be fooled. (i was.)

—

never meant by nonhicsumus

3k words, rated m alex krycek & dana scully (the x-files) summary:

Sometimes the past isn't worth digging into.

brawls' notes: whump and psychological horror? plus alex krycek?? my favorite. every word of this is perfection—i instantly wanted to read it again for the first time. you can.

—

fais do-do by @moku-youbi

18k words, rated e will graham/hannibal lecter (hannibal)

summary:

“Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change.” ― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein (this fic does not have a summary, but begins with this quote)

brawls' notes: a different-meeting au packed with everything you need for the perfect horror story: violence, blood, a chase scene, and an unreliable narrator. delightful.

—

blackbird, fly by @acroamatica

19k words, rated m kylo ren/armitage hux (star wars: tfa)

summary:

One sunny afternoon in the mountains of Washington state, Ben Organa-Solo walked out into the woods. He never came home. Six years later, a journalist specialising in missing-persons cold cases decides to follow his footsteps and see where they might lead.

brawls' notes: a masterpiece of vibes. this reads so much like a spooky mystery novel, but with a creeping, anxious dread. perfect for the season if you want that true autumnal sort of chill. i've carried this fic in my heart for nearly a decade now—it has inspired me in my own writing so much over the years.

—

grey stars on the rise by @iodhadh

4k words, rated e song lan/xue yang/xiao xingchen (the untamed/mdzs) summary:

Xiao Xingchen comes back. Xiao Xingchen comes back wrong. It takes too long, maybe, for Xue Yang to realize something is wrong with Song Lan too.

brawls' notes: the exact embodiment of: be careful what you wish for. brutal and crushing and so deeply, utterly satisfying. absolute yi-city perfection: the vibes are wretched but strangely romantic (chefs kiss).

—

half your life you've been hooked on death by @whatever-you-can-give-me

4k words, rated m vash the stampede/nicholas d. wolfwood (trigun) summary:

Wolfwood is cornered in an alleyway. Things get worse before they get better.

brawls' notes: and what's a horror rec list without a little bit of gore? whump and blood and near-death-experiences—oh my. this is brutal and feverish and exactly the right flavor.

—

black rock mountain by @bokuno-jinsei

24k words, rated e will graham/hannibal lecter (hannibal) summary:

Will is a hitchhiker with questionable hobbies. Hannibal is a man who has questionable motives. When Hannibal drives by Will who just so happens to need a ride, things quickly take a turn from the questionable to the downright depraved.

brawls' notes: you know That Fic that is really the epitome of that pairing for you? yeah, this is it for me. perfect alternate first-meeting fic. lives rent-free in my head.

👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪

and hey, why not be a little self-indulgent: i can't help but rec a few of my own horror fics here, too:

old growth

21k, rated m song lan/xue yang/xiao xingchen (the untamed/mdzs) summary:

There’s something in the woods outside of their hometown. Xue Yang and Song Lan are going to find it.

brawls' notes: i tried something new with the formatting on this one and i think it panned out solidly and was a desperately fun way to tell the story. this is full of spooky, sleepless forest vibes.

—

what's real or isn't

57k, rated e kylo ren/armitage hux (star wars: tfa) summary:

Hux's new house is not haunted. It isn't.

brawls' notes: i honestly love playing favorites and this is one of mine. this was a load of fun to write—it's chock-full of vibes, personal experiences, local history, and love notes to my favorite horror stories.

—

acquiesce

16k, rated e original luo binghe/original shen qingqiu (svsss) summary:

After seeing the gentle and loving Shen Qingqiu of the other world, Luo Binghe returns to his own with a hunger that can only be satisfied by one thing—a Shizun of his very own.

brawls' notes: this isn't spooky or haunted, but it is psychological horror—packed with nightmares, flashbacks, dread, and manipulation. enjoy!

👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪👻👁️🎃🔪

and that's it! hope you find something fun to read for this october 🖤

and again—please reblog and add your own horror recs if you are feeling so inclined!

[cecilysass]

Beacon (3/6)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic and my poangpal @libbytxf

Chapter 3

Scully clutches a cup of tea, struggling for control of her expression. It’s hardly unusual for Mulder to be late, or for Mulder not to answer his phone. But this isn’t a case looking into a far-reaching conspiracy, and he wasn’t chasing down some train carrying mysterious cargo. He just went to a small community’s historical archives.

“He couldn’t have gone that far,” Banoy says soothingly, voicing her thoughts. “There isn’t any place to go in this town.”

She’s sitting again at the sunny table in the kitchen, the papers from the medical examiner spread in front of her. When she staggered in from the frigid outdoors at the agreed time, Duncan suggested she wait for Mulder in the kitchen, and then they could have lunch. Since then, Duncan has been busy, popping in and out, preoccupied with answering the phone, talking to guests and staff.

Banoy, on the other hand, has been at the stove, making some kind of Filipino chicken and rice soup and cheerful conversation. The smell of ginger and garlic wafts tantalizingly through the air. Scully is hungry, and if Mulder had come when he said, they could already be eating. She could be explaining what she found at the medical examiner, which she’d been excited to share.

When Mulder does show up in the door, disheveled and carrying an untidy stack of paper, the soup has long been simmering, and she’s downright cranky.

“Hey, Scully,” he says, sounding tired. “Duncan said you were back here.”

“Yes,” she says sharply, sitting up stock straight. “Waiting for you. You’re forty-five minutes late.”

This seems to vaguely surprise him, and she has the urge to stand up and forcefully push him over. “Oh, am I?” He drops the stack of papers on the table in front of her, partially covering her reports from the medical examiner. “Sorry about that. I must have lost track of time.”

She presses her lips together so hard she feels a jaw muscle twitch.

“Something smells really good,” he says, looking over towards Banoy at the stove. “Did you already eat?”

“I did not,” she snaps. “As I said, I’ve been waiting.” Finally her tone seems to get Mulder’s attention. His head whips around to look at her.

Banoy, stirring the pot, turns around and gives them a polite smile. “Hey,” he says. “Why don’t I serve up some bowls and give you some space to have your F.B.I. partner talk?”

***

They spoon soup into their mouths in silence for a few minutes, and Mulder watches Scully carefully for hints about what she’s thinking. She is staring determinedly out the large window, apparently unwilling to talk.

He knows she hates it when he vanishes and goes incommunicado. This issue has come up before in their partnership. But her anger in this instance seems a little over the top, doesn’t it? He was only late for lunch. It hadn’t really been that long.

He sips another spoonful of soup. It’s delicious, thick with rice, exactly what he’s in the mood for after being out in the cold. But he can barely focus on what he’s eating, his insides churning with anxiety. He can’t help but wonder if this is about more than him being late. He can’t help but worry that she is really upset with him for different reasons altogether.

Does she suspect that all of this ghost business—and his ungraceful reaction to it—suggests maybe his feelings have crossed an inappropriate line? Is she second guessing every one of his motivations?

She lifts the spoon to her perfect lips, precisely slurping, her face a mask.

“Scully, I’m sorry,” he tries again hesitantly. “I don’t mean to be … inconsiderate.” He lets the word hang in the air, allowing her to interpret it as she wants.

She puts the spoon down and sighs deeply, her eyes closing for a few seconds and then opening to take him in.

“It was inconsiderate,” she says. She pauses. “I do find I’m growing more forgiving now that I’ve eaten.” Some of his tension releases. “But Mulder, you need to learn to check a clock. Or your phone.”

“I know,” he says, eager to accept responsibility. “I know. You’re right. I’m sorry.” He bites his lip, unsure whether they’re ready to move on. She nods and resumes eating, which he takes to be a good sign. “Do you, uh, want to talk about what we found out this morning?” he adds.

“All right,” she says. “Yes.” There's a tiny glint in her eyes, and he knows there’s something she is excited to share. He feels relief wash over him. This is a normal interaction. Maybe he’s not completely exposed here. “These are copies of the autopsy reports on the three victims,” she says.

She places three pieces of paper in front of his bowl, and by reflex, he pulls back. He’s had his stomach turned by more autopsy photos than he’d care to count.

“No photos,” she reassures him. “Just look, here, at this box on each of the forms. All three have the same official cause of death, ‘sudden cardiac arrest.’”

She places a small fingertip on the line stating cause of death on Austin Spantikow’s report, looking at him expectantly. Mulder nods cautiously. They knew this much.

“Now usually when this is the cause of death, they’ll be some underlying cardiovascular issue—coronary artery disease, a congenital heart defect,” she continues. “But it is possible for cardiac arrest to happen with no easily identifiable cause. Even to young and healthy people. The heart is electrical. And if the electricity goes out for some reason… well…”

“Lights out,” Mulder says grimly. It’s making his own heart pump faster just thinking about it. “But … it’s not that common, right?”

“Not terribly uncommon, actually,” Scully says. “A leading cause of death in the United States, as I said. But … three healthy people with no known risk factors experiencing sudden cardiac death in the same location in a short time frame? The odds do seem pretty slim.”

“I don’t suppose the ME found any evidence of the kind of toxin you were talking about? Your heart stopper dust?”

“No,” Scully says. “Unfortunately, they wouldn’t have run that kind of toxicology. I’ll think of some other way to follow up on that. But Mulder, there’s something else.” She places her finger emphatically on one of the other pieces of paper. “In Jim Knight’s report, there’s some evidence of pulmonary edema.”

“Ah ha.” Mulder scratches his face. “Something having to do with lungs?”

“Fluid in lungs,” she says. “Like you would expect to see from a drowning victim.”

“A drowning victim.”

“Yes,” Scully confirms with a nod.

“Like Leander in the myth.”

“Like Leander in the myth,” Scully agrees emphatically. “And Hero. And Sophronia and her lover, according to the ghost story Duncan told us.”

Mulder frowns. “Where was Spantikow found again?”

“In bed,” she says. “In his room by himself. No obvious method of drowning.” She puts her finger on a line on another piece of paper. “And the woman, Elena Denney, she was found slumped over her computer. But there’s mention on her report of some frothy fluid in her airways.”

Mulder stares at her, mulling this over. He taps his fingertips on the table. “Did the ME have an explanation for any of this?”

Scully scoffs. “No,” she says. “And at the risk of sounding elitist, these reports aren't the work of a pathologist. There’s the bare minimum of description. It makes me wonder what else was present and missed, and whether there were any indications of drowning on Spantikow, too—maybe that were ignored because they didn’t fit the perceived cause of death.”

Mulder resists the urge to clutch his hand to his own heart. He regards his partner. “What is your explanation, Scully?”

“Sudden cardiac arrest is often the cause of death in drowning victims,” Scully says. “Without the other signs of drowning—liquid in the body cavity, for example—it would be hard to distinguish cardiac arrest from drowning … from any other kind of cardiac arrest.”

Mulder’s eyebrows lift. “So… you think they drowned. In their hotel rooms. Without water.”

“There is a phenomenon called delayed drowning. A person is submerged in water, some gets into the lungs, and much later—hours, days—it manages to cause pulmonary edema. But it’s very rare.”

“Three times in a row at the same hotel also seems unlikely?”

“Exactly,” she agrees. “Another possibility is that maybe someone wanted it to be death by drowning that didn’t look on the surface like death by drowning,” Scully says. “Maybe someone is using the Hero and Leander story, as well as Sophronia’s story, for personal inspiration for homicide.” She shrugs. “I don’t know, Mulder. It’s intriguing.”

“I wish there were some way to know if it was salt water in his lungs,” Mulder muses, tapping his fingers on the table again. “The presence of ocean water could be evidence for the ghost.”

“Naturally your explanation is that it’s a murderous ghost,” she sighs.

“I definitely am not ruling it out.”

She looks at him with an unreadable expression. “Did you learn anything new, Mulder?”

“Oh,” he says, trying to marshal his papers into a stack, “yeah, I did, actually.”

“Do the details of Duncan’s ghost story check out?”

“Yes and no,” Mulder says. “The woman working at the historical archives is actually a descendant of the Younge family. So she knew her way around the family papers, and she was happy to help me out.”

Scully’s lips curl upwards. “I’m sure you smiled, complimented her and laid it on thick.”

“She was in her seventies, Scully,” Mulder says in mock indignation, “but yes, as a matter of fact, I was pleasant. I did what it takes for our work.”

“I hope you warned her that your heart is committed to another,” Scully says lightly. “At least, according to the family ghost.”

Mulder freezes in mortification for a beat.

Immediately he realizes he needs to recover for his own dignity. “Uh, no,” he says. “I left that detail out.” He pauses. “That’s all just … ridiculous, Scully.”

“Hmm,” she says, nodding, not meeting his eyes. She has lifted her spoon to take another bite of her soup. “Well? What did you learn?”

“There was a Sophronia Younge, and she did live in this house. Her father was a wealthy scholar and a founder of the town.”

“All consistent with what Duncan told us.”

“Right,” Mulder says, “but the story veers off from there. In her father’s papers there are journals and letters. He was worried about Sophronia’s mental health, as we would put it nowadays. Or… about her ‘going mad,’ as they’d say back then. He talks about her referring to herself as Hero, the character from the myth. He talks about her refusing to come out of her room, of lighting a beacon for some imagined Leander every night.”

Scully’s soup spoon stops, her eyes narrowing. “So … there was no actual Leander?”

“Possibly not,” Mulder says. “Not a person anyone could name. Just … a fantasy she had.” He feels his ears warming again, even though this early 19th century drama has absolutely nothing to do with him.

“So what happened?”

“Someone turned off Sophronia’s beacon lantern one night,” Mulder says, “and she assumed her fantasy Leander drowned, and, well, she reacted like Hero did in the myth.”

Scully’s head swivels to look out again at the Vermont landscape below. “I don’t get it. She drowned herself in maple trees?”

“Actually, she threw herself into a well and drowned,” Mulder says. “In 1809. It’s documented by several sources. Cause of death was probably sudden cardiac arrest, right?”

Scully nods slowly, still staring out the window. “Probably.” She turns back to him, her cool blue eyes melancholy. “Actually, it’s a much sadder story than the one Duncan tells.”

“Yeah,” Mulder says softly. A more lonely story, certainly.

Scully’s gaze circles the room. “Why do you think Duncan hasn’t gone to the archives himself? You’d think he would want to find out all he could about the history behind this place.”

“Well… he may have tried,” Mulder says. “Mrs. Davenport—she isn’t a fan of the inn being owned by outsiders. She may have mentioned that to me a few times.”

“Oh,” Scully says. “Yes, Duncan referred to some resentment.” Her chin tilts contemplatively. “Isn’t that a possible motive? Multiple deaths are certainly bad for the inn’s business.”

“You think … Mrs. Davenport…?”

“Maybe not her per se,” Scully says. “But maybe someone like her. With ties to the old family.”

“Maybe,” Mulder concedes. He licks his lips anxiously. “In any case, I think Mrs. Davenport’s history further supports Duncan’s theory.”

“Duncan’s theory?”

Mulder looks down at his soup, attempting to come across as casual and disinterested. “That Hero only appears to people who aren’t in reciprocated love,” he says. “You know. The longing thing. It fits with her own history, her own psychology.”

Scully is silent a moment. “You’re profiling a ghost now?”

“This… Austin kid,” Mulder says, speaking quickly. “The first victim. He’s taking a new girlfriend on a weekend away. Maybe she’s not as into him as he is into her. The Knight guy, Jim, is having trouble with his wife and is on a fishing trip to give her space. Maybe he still loves her and she’s moved on. And maybe Elena Denney is having some kind of online relationship with someone who doesn’t feel as strongly as her.”

“Do you actually know any of that, or are you making incredible assumptions and leaps?”

“We can investigate it,” Mulder says impatiently. “I’m extending a theory right now.” He puts his spoon down, folds his hands behind his head, leaning back to gaze at the plaster ceiling. He hopes he looks loose and relaxed.

“Does your profile include a reason why she would abruptly start to kill the lovelorn after nearly two hundred years of simply appearing to them?”

“No,” admits Mulder. “I’m still thinking about that.”

“Did Mrs. Davenport say anything else?”

Mulder shrugs. “Yeah. She said that when they lived here, they thought lighting all those brass lanterns in the house was good luck. Because of the beacon light thing and all that.”

Scully smiles a tight-lipped smile. “Ah,” she says. “I suppose we could use a good luck tip.”

“We do if…” He stops. “Never mind.” He pushes the papers towards her. “I brought copies of all of the historical records. If you want to look them over yourself.”

“All right,” she says, restacking them.“Mulder …” She hesitates, shuffling the papers without purpose. “You think the ghost is coming after you next, don’t you?”

His apparently-endangered heart begins to thump so hard he can feel it down to his toes. Every second longer he takes to answer this question, he knows he makes it worse. Isn’t the real question all too obvious? Are you longing for someone you can’t have, Mulder?

“I don’t know,” he says miserably, looking at his hands. “Maybe.”

“Oh,” she says, her lips remaining in a small circle. Her eyes are wide, and she looks uncertain, but he doesn’t see how she possibly could be. How could she not at least wonder? Is she having some kind of inner crisis? Is she horrified by the lack of professionalism implied? “Should we find another place to stay?” she suggests in a kind, patronizing tone he hates. “There’s no sense in making you worry.”

“No,” he interrupts, humiliated. “No, no, that’s silly. I’m not… I mean, I can’t think of how it would actually fit. For me. I’m not really a lovelorn kind of guy.” He smiles, hoping he has been convincing enough.

She smiles back wanly. “All right.”

“This afternoon, I thought I might drive over and talk to Mr. Knight’s widow,” Mulder says, keeping his tone easy. “She lives about twenty minutes away. That will keep me out of Hero’s hands for a while, right?”

“Right,” she says. She considers him. “I’ll take some of those samples of the renovation materials and send them to be analyzed. Maybe I’ll read through the history you found.”

“Sounds good,” he says, nodding. She begins to stand up from the table. “And, uh, Scully?” She turns around and meets his gaze with round, expectant eyes. “I’ll check in this time.”

She nods shortly, then hurries off, her face shuttered.

She must have some idea. She must.

He stares at his bowl of soup, half eaten. He should get up and drive, not sit here and sift through his garbage bin of feelings.

Actually, Mulder has never picked out words for how he feels about her. Those feelings just are what they are. A truth. A nameless reality. If pressed, he’d have gone to great lengths to avoid assigning language to them. It’d be stupid anyway. It doesn’t matter what she is to him exactly.

She’s just my work colleague, the kind you know their lunch order by heart, the kind you cover for if they’re running late, the kind you'd protect by consuming exotic poison or sticking a dagger in your chest or throwing yourself in front of a bus. She’s my friend, the type of friend whose opinions intertwine and fuse permanently with the foundational architecture of my brain. She's a woman I work with, that kind of woman you fill out paperwork with during the day and then dream about that night, who in dreams raises her hands to catch snowflakes in her fingers in the moonlight, and somehow when she does that makes you cry and makes you hard at the same time.

You know. She’s someone like that.

He doesn’t want some case, some fucked-up insane ghost, to force language on what shouldn’t ever have had language. He doesn’t want to have to say it, to think it, to bring it to light.

Of course, this could all be very moot if the ghost straight-up drowns him tonight and stops his miserable heart altogether.

He basks for a moment in the warmth of the afternoon sun on his face through the window, and he sighs deeply. The currently healthy function of his lungs is not lost on him. He breathes perfectly in and out. Ostensibly freely.

His whole life he’s spent alone, longing for what he doesn’t have. He guesses it makes a kind of dark sense that’s how he would die. Drowning in oceans of want.

***

For the next two hours Scully does exactly the kind of efficient work that usually gives her great satisfaction. She takes samples of the renovation materials, she walks to town to FedEx them to the lab in Washington, and she trods back up the icy hill knowing that the task is done. Now she clomps up the staircase to the second floor of the inn, her nose still stinging from the cold, her cheeks slightly windburned.

There’s no sense of accomplishment, only a heavy pall over her mood she can’t shake.

At the top of the stairs, she stops to catch her breath, brushing some snow off of her trench. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees someone walking down the hall. When she turns her head, there’s nothing: just one of the inn’s impressive Christmas trees twinkling.

She blinks. She’d been half hoping it was Mulder returned already, but of course it isn’t. The car is still gone; he is questioning Jim Knight’s wife. She’s being illogical.

Scully stares at the Christmas tree for a moment, swaying slightly. Her thoughts return again to Mulder’s behavior in the kitchen. He was so obviously anxious that he was the ghost’s next target.

Of course Scully continues to believe that there’s something happening here other than a homicidal ghost. True to character, Mulder latched on to that ghost story too quickly. But Mulder believes that Hero is a ghost who targets the longing and lovelorn. And though he was trying to be evasive, he was also uncharacteristically self-conscious and nervous.

He thinks it’s plausible he could be a victim.

As though in a dream, Scully steps slowly towards her door.

So somewhere out there there is a person Mulder longs for, a regular human relationship he aches to have. He has that in mind when he discusses it.

She knows it shouldn’t bother her. And it doesn’t bother her, not really. It just hurts right now, when she is missing Melissa, that’s all.

Because she stands outside of everything now, pressing her nose up against the snow globe looking inside at all the normal people living normal lives. She thought he, at least, might be standing with her: her partner who’d long ago given up on any of that. Even if they couldn’t have normal lives, they could have the companionship of one another.

But it’s all too clear he keeps his heart from her, hides his inner desires. He lies to her about it.

Of course he does; he doesn’t even always tell her where he’s going on a case. There’s too much she doesn’t know, really, about him. Their close companionship is an illusion she’s taken too seriously.

She feels tears overwhelming her eyes as she unlocks the door.

Fine. It does bother me. It does.

She’s pushing at her door to go inside when she’s distracted again by a movement from her side vision.

A figure drifting from the direction of the far end of the hall.

***

[theplottdump]

EEP! My story queen wants to yap? Then yap we shall baby girl!

1, 7, 8, 10, 13 (or ya know, maybe a selection of these since ya girl went a lil wild and chose a whole bunch 😌)

1. Do you hide any secrets in your stories that only a few people will find?  

Scully you're not gonna believe this

7. Do you have any characters you believe might be misunderstood by your readers?

CLAP - CLAP CLAP CLAP Say it with me now -

OUR PHANTOM IS A NEW CHARACTER WE HAVEN'T FULLY MET YET 👏👏👏

8. Are there any plots or characters that have changed dramatically since you initially began writing them?  

(Proto-Poppy's Cult Fit circa late 2023, Root test shots from May)

For this arc everything has been pretty steady. I knew what information I wanted to get across, what points I needed to hit as set up for the Finale of Gen 6 and Gen 7. The biggest change has probably been the Bar scene.

Originally I had it planned as a little dance hall scene. The girls diffuse tension by getting the town to do a little choreographed line dance to Beyoncé's Texas Hold Em. But I didn't want to pose out a line dance, it felt like too much work. So I said hey- what if i made myself do three times that work instead? And it turned into a flashback clip show that took me three weeks to complete, but I think in the end it was way better cause I got to hop back and forth and show little scenes from the past. Revisiting the High School Prom post explosion was probably my favorite.

One Other Change: I originally planned the Christmas Ranch to roughly mirror the layout of Magic Town, with the Stables as the Big Top and the Gazebo as the Carousel. The original plan was to have Poppy chasing the Phantom as the ridiculous environment of the Christmas Ranch slowly morphed and twisted into the Carnival. This got scrapped because I lowkey forgot I wanted to do that, and yeeting her into a canyon felt more realistic than following a ghost for 10 miles back to the Ranch. Eventually she was supposed to catch up to our Masked Man, turn him around, and snap herself back to reality seeing she had turned around Alejandro in the real world.

( horse portkey! horsekey! )

This was scrapped because 1. It's a little confusing since the Phantom is NOT Ale. (see Question number 7 again) and 2. It morphed into more of a "I need to find something to get out of here before I'm corrupted" situation, so there was no reason for her to chase the Phantom any more.

Shoutout to @doctorsimcraft for suggesting Ale dropping his glasses and turning it into a little inter-dimensional meet cute instead.

And if you wanna be a freak about it like I am, technically he touched her hand before she could touch the glasses. :')))

10. If you could choose to be one of your characters for a day, which one would it be? 

SUNNY. I wanna explore underwater caverns with my shitty lil mermaid bestie.

13. What characters do you feel most connected to? Why do you feel connected to that character?

I'd say Poppy. Not like on a personal - IM JUST LIKE YOU / YOU'RE JUST LIKE ME - level, but on a - "I really like this character and oh baby girl you are just getting started I'm so sorry" way.

Also she's fucking on to me man.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

A Roundup of the Kate Conspiracy Theories from Twitter

So you don't have to go down the rabbit hole. Some of them are dark; I'll put those at the end below the cut so anyone who wants to scroll away can scroll away.

(My favorites in bold)

She had a BBL (Brazilian Butt Lift).

She's Banksy.

Botched cosmetic procedure, needed urgent fixing.

William cheated with Rose again and she left him, taking the kids with her.

Hysterectomy + tummy tuck = botched.

Bad haircut/dye job.

Kept a pregnancy secret, delivered by c-section.

Diana's revenge

William lost his temper and beat her so badly that they're keeping her hidden till the bruises/broken bones are healed.

William kicked her out because he doesn't want her to be Queen.

Divorce of the Wales Part Two because William cheated

Bottom surgery

Kate grew a conscience so they had to kill her and are now replacing her brain with AI.

Shelly Miscavige'd

She abandoned and fled to a tropical beach.

She quit the royal family and is touring Britain in a converted transit van, selling dreamcatchers made from her own hair on Etsy to make ends meet.

Kate donated a kidney to Charles in return for becoming Queen soon.

Boob job

She went through a cosmic wormhole and left the Milky Way Galaxy.

Female 007

She's the one with cancer, Charles is faking it so everyone leaves her alone.

Took the kids and moved to Scotland

Growing out bad bangs

Meghan's karmic revenge

They're building a robot clone of her so she doesn't have to work anymore.

Trying to reach the end of YouTube shorts

Coma from botched surgery

The press knows but are under a gag order/injunction and can't report

She was never in the hospital.

William threw something at her, it hit her in the face, needs corrective surgery

Complications from pregnancy and on bed rest

Cholecystectomy/gall bladder surgery

Spontaneously combusted

Tragic accident a la Diana, better cover-up this time.

Charles actually died, it's just an actor walking around until the Waleses are ready to take the throne officially.

Botched BBL using her own stomach fat.

Rehab for alcoholism

Being reprogrammed to accept mistresses

She's playing Celebrity Big Brother

IVF transfer and first trimester HG recovery

Banished/handled by Camilla

Facelift

Bad botox/filler, waiting for it to dissolve

Put out to pasture by the royal family because she's finished having children.

Abducted by aliens

William didn't want to start his reign married to someone he hated, so he left her and is forcing a divorce.

She ran away to Italy

Argument over where George would go to school, William made it physical, she tried to leave

She's in the Princess Protection Program

At Chili's chugging margaritas

Binged too much at Christmas, now trying to lose weight

She wandered off during the Glasgow Willy Wonka Experience and is stuck to the ceiling after drinking the fizzy lifting drink and they can't get her down.

Smuggled to America

Mental breakdown from William's cheating

Inpatient treatment for eating disorder

Complicated miscarriage

CPTSD breakdown (complex post-traumatic stress)

All the people that Twitter suggested we need to call to investigate Kate's whereabouts:

Sherlock Holmes (Benedict Cumberbatch edition)

Scully and Mulder (X Files)

Captain Olivia Benson (L&O:SVU)

Charlie from It's Always Sunny

Nanny Jo Frost

Steve and Blue (Blue's Clues)

Sergent Catherine Cawood (Happy Valley)

Rustin Chole (Matthew McConaughey from True Detective)

Harriet the Spy

Luther (Idris Elba edition)

Trevor Rainbolt

Jaz Singh (British Traitors edition)

One final reminder: The really dark theories about Kate are below the cut here.

William went into a drunk alcoholic rage and killed her.

Staph infection/sepsis from the trampoline injury that caused paralysis/amputation

Family annihilation by William

Severely injured in shooting accident at Sandringham shortly after Christmas when an ambulance was rushed to hospital from the royal estate.

Suicide attempt and mental health treatment

William beat her into a coma

[oohnotvery]

Hand To Your Heart (Chapter 5)

Tw/cw: pregnancy content in author’s note

Holy freaking shit, I have never experienced nausea like this in all my life. I don’t remember being sick at all with my daughter, but this time, the nausea has been debilitating. I can barely get out of bed, can’t stomach anything except Jolly Ranchers, and I’ve had to resort to playing Doctor-Patient with my toddler so I can just lie on the floor while she covers me with blankets for “playtime.” Lolololol.

I want to finish this story so badly, for myself and for all of you. I hope and pray that my condition improves as the weeks go by. In the meantime, thank you for your patience these days :)

As she stares down at the set of unearthed coffins poking out from the mud of an ancient graveyard, Scully isn’t quite sure why Mulder insisted she come here today. Before he left her apartment last night, he gave her the address of an old church and told her to meet him in the back by the graves. He’d mentioned a body he wanted her to look at, but all she sees right now are a few decaying tombstones.

And to her irritation, there’s no sign of Mulder . . . or Diana.

With a frustrated huff, she glances once more around the empty churchyard before advancing towards the cover of a shady oak tree. When she left her apartment this morning, the day was sunny, if not a little overcast. Once she crossed the border into Maryland, however, tall pillars of dark clouds began to pile up on the horizon, and before she even reached the church, rain started pelting her car. After frantically searching her backseat and trunk for an umbrella that didn’t exist, she threw on a spare trench coat, but it did little to protect her hair, and within minutes of entering the graveyard, she was completely drenched.  

She’s about to duck under one of the tree’s largest branches when she hears a shout.

“Scully!”

She whips around, stringy wet hair slapping her cheeks, and sees Mulder and Diana striding towards her purposefully, two matching black umbrellas raised high. Scully fights the urge to fix her dripping locks as she takes in Diana’s perfectly styled curls, which seem to be completely resistant to the weather.

Mulder gestures for her to meet them in the spot where she was standing earlier, and grumbling to herself, she starts marching back out into the rain. Mud squelches under her boots and chilly water trickles past her jacket collar and down her spine, sending goosebumps up her arms. She’s about ten feet from the suspicious set of coffins when her foot catches on a partially-exposed tree root. With a yelp, she flings out her arms, trying to catch her balance, but her other foot slips on the wet surface and she goes down, landing with a splat in a thick, oozy puddle of mud.

Before she can even assess the damage, she hears a bright peal of feminine laughter ring out over the rain. Heat flames across her cheeks and she digs her fists into the slick mud to push herself to her knees. She glances down and curses when she sees that her entire outfit, from jacket to undershirt to trousers, are brown and slick with filth. Tugging her hands out of the sludge, she tries to rake some of the thicker, goopier chunks off her shirt, but it’s a futile endeavor. Her clothes are almost certainly ruined.  

The rain pelting her face suddenly lessens and she glances up, seeing Mulder standing over her, his umbrella shielding her from the storm. Their eyes meet and she can tell in the mischievous glint of his gaze that he’s holding back a laugh.  

“Hey, Scully, you’ve uh, you’ve got something . . . right . . . there,” he says with an impish grin, swiping his finger across her cheek, gathering mud as he does. Mortified, she dabs at her face with the back of her hand, realizing in horror that it’s not just her clothes—her entire face is coated in mud.

Humiliated, she dips her head as angry tears well in her eyes. Even when Mulder hoists her to her feet and gives her grimy arm a tentative squeeze, she can’t bear to look at him. In her peripheral, she watches him furiously shake mud off his hand like some sort of wet dog, grimacing when he can’t seem to get it all off.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, all joking gone from his voice.

“Fine,” she says past a thick swallow. She squints towards the coffins, ignoring Diana, whose face is practically gleaming with delight, and clears her throat. “Is there somewhere in the church where I can get cleaned up?”

Mulder dips his clean hand into his pants pocket and pulls out a set of keys. He slips them into her jacket pocket, being careful to avoid the mud coating her clothing. She looks up at him in question.

“Why don’t you head to the motel and take a shower?” he suggests instead, guiding her away from the graveyard. “I’m in Room 4. Take a shower, clean up, and we can try again later today.”

Forehead crinkling, she shakes her head. What motel? “No, Mulder, I’m here now. Let’s just get this over with—”

“I can’t take you seriously with mud all over your face—”

“I didn’t ask your opinion,” she snaps irritably. “I just need ten minutes to get cleaned up, and then we can get back to work.”

“Scully,” he sighs, taking a step closer, but not close enough to risk coming into contact with her ruined clothes. “I’ve known you for five years and I’ve never seen you this filthy.” He briefly seems to reconsider this. “Okay, maybe, maybe the time we got covered in shit when I was hunting cockroaches. But this is a new level of mess, Scully. You’re not going to be able to work in these conditions. I’m not going to be able to work in these conditions.” He reaches out as if to touch her hand and then pulls away, thinking better of it. “Go take a real shower.”

It’s illogical to argue with him and she knows it. She herself is disgusted by the way her clothes are sticking to her skin, humiliated by the brown wash of dirt all over her nice blouse and trousers.

A few moments pass in silence, the only sound the pitter patter of rain on his umbrella. After a minute, her eyes climb to meet his. “Why did you book a motel room?” she asks suspiciously. “We’re only forty-five minutes from your apartment.”  

He shrugs casually, his eyes flickering towards Diana. “We plan to be at this case a while. Figured it was easier than driving back home every night.”

At his words, a light bulb seems to illuminate in her mind, and something akin to horror begins to creep into her chest. She parts her lips, wondering how to ask. Wondering whether she should ask.

She clears her throat. “So did you stay here . . . last night?” Did you drive to D.C. last night to fuck me, and then turn around and drive back to the motel to be with Diana? The thought is so chilling, she shudders.

Mulder swallows, a frown creasing between his brows. “It’s easier than fighting traffic every morning,” he shrugs.

A non-answer. She purses her lips tightly. “I see.”

He shakes his head. “You see what, exactly?”

But she won’t dignify him with a response. Turning her shoulder, she gestures defeatedly towards her car. “You’re right, Mulder. I’m too filthy to work this case right now. I’m just going to go home.”

“Scully,” he growls, irritation flickering across his face, “no. I asked you here for a reason. I know you have a change of clothes in your car. You always carry at least three different outfits, I’ve seen them myself. Go take a shower, chill out a little, then come back here. I need you.”

Her spine stiffens. I need you.

She inhales sharply, wondering when this particular catchphrase became so painfully loaded. “Which motel?” she asks after a moment, not meeting his gaze.

He replies with the name of a place that sounds as if cockroaches are its primary inhabitants. With a cursory nod, she turns on her heel and starts walking to her car. Mulder jogs to catch up with her, pointlessly holding the umbrella over her head as if she weren’t already soaked to the bone and caked with mud.

He opens her driver’s side door, gesturing for her to take a seat. Grimacing, she peels off her dirty coat and tosses it into the passenger floorboard before lowering herself into her always-impeccable car. Mulder rests one hand on the roof, ducking his head to meet her eyes. She glares at him from underneath her brows.

“I never thought I’d say this, Scully, but I think I have a thing for women covered in mud.” He gives her a cheeky wink and she whips her eyes towards the dashboard so that he can’t see the outrage building in her gaze.

He probably thinks he’s being cute, she realizes with a clenched stomach.

He taps the hood of the car before shutting the door, and she makes sure to peal out as fast as possible so that her tires sling some mud onto his expensive trousers. It’s petty, sure, but when she catches his outraged look in the rearview mirror, she almost smiles.

Almost.

**

The motel is only a few miles down the road and Scully finds Room 4 easily enough. She lugs her go-bag into Mulder’s room and dumps it on the unmade bed, then retreats into the bathroom, where she cringes when she catches sight of herself in the mirror.

It’s worse than she imagined. Dark clumps of mud hang from the wet strands of her hair, and thick brown streaks cover her chin and cheeks. Underneath the grime, her face flames red with mortification. She thinks about all the dozens of humiliations she’s faced in the past two days and curses: Mulder showing up to bed her out of some warped sense of obligation; discovering that he’s very likely fucking Diana, a woman who blatantly disdains her; and getting a graveyard’s worth of mud shoved up her throat in front of that woman . . . .

She strips down, peeling off layers that will undoubtedly need to be thrown away. Her coat and shoes she’ll try to salvage, but she shoves her pants and shirt into the plastic bag of the bathroom trash can and ties off the bag before starting up the shower.

She steps into a blast of shockingly cold water, yelping as goosebumps ripple up her spine. Furiously, she turns the knob until the water starts to grow gradually less frigid, but it remains cool throughout her shower. Gritting her teeth, she decides she’s just going to have to get this over with fast. It takes four passes with the soap bar to get the initial mud off her arms, face, and neck. The bar grows stubby and useless by round five, and she growls in irritation when she discovers remnants of mud lingering behind her ears. Finding none of Mulder’s own products in the shower, she lathers up her hair with motel shampoo, rinsing and repeating three times for good measure before finishing with some motel conditioner. Only when the water finally starts to run clear at her feet does she decide she’s clean enough.

By the time she’s stepping out of the shower and into a fresh towel, she feels slightly buoyed. She slips into new underwear and a fresh pair of pants and a work blouse before running out to her car to clean the crusted mud off the driver’s seat. Once she’s finished cleaning, she retreats into the bathroom to run a blow dryer through her hair, frowning at the way her hair poofs up when not tended with her own products. She makes a mental note to stock her go-bag with better toiletries.

She’s finger combing her hair into place when she notices something that slipped her attention earlier: there’s a connecting door in Mulder’s room. And it’s open, just a crack. A sickening knot of dread forms in her stomach, but it’s not enough to dampen her curiosity. She takes a few steps towards the door, then waits quietly for a few beats to ensure the room’s occupant is not in. When she’s sure the room is empty, she pulls the door the rest of the way open.

This is, without a shadow of a doubt, Diana’s room. The bed is crisply made and two pairs of sky-high heels stand primly in front of a set of dresser drawers. An odious perfume lingers in the air, one with which Scully is vaguely familiar, one she’s sensed in the basement office and in the Hoover Building hallways . . . and maybe even in Mulder’s apartment.

So . . . Mulder is sharing a connecting room with Diana. Scully thinks back to her conversation with him from a few days prior, how he told her Diana has been consulting with him for the past few weeks. How many times have the two of them spent the night away from home? And how many times have they booked adjoining rooms?

Swallowing thickly past a wave of confusing emotions, Scully starts to back out of the room when something catches her eye. There, on the bed.

How did she miss it on her first pass through the room?

Sitting right on top of the duvet, almost like a pair of prizes, lay Diana’s bra and underwear. They’re in full view, which Scully assumes is purposeful—just in case Mulder steps inside for a chat. Despite her better judgment, she takes a step closer. The bra is a sexy, lacy thing, black with red ribbons interwoven through the fabric. The underwear is even more scandalous, just a scrap of fabric that can’t possibly cover anything Diana’s hiding underneath her clothing. In a fit of maniacal self-sabotage, Scully wonders whether she should inspect the underwear for traces of Mulder’s semen.

Her cheeks blaze at the thought, but it sets off a new train of suspicions. Mulder’s products were missing from his shower. What if . . . oh, God.

With ringing ears, Scully slips into Diana’s bathroom and shoves back the shower curtain. Her eyes furiously scan the bottles lining the shelf and her heart stutters to a complete stop when her gaze lands on a familiar bottle.

That’s Mulder’s shampoo. And that’s Mulder’s soap. In Diana’s shower.

If she wasn’t sure about the state of affairs before, she is now. She’s a sucker for hard evidence, and this is pretty damn close to confirmation.

She bolts out of the bathroom before she can find any more incriminating evidence that will inevitably break her heart. It makes sense, she realizes as she grabs her go-bag with shaking hands, intent on abandoning the case and heading straight home. She’s not a believer, not like Diana is. She’s not sexy, not like Diana is. She doesn’t own lingerie, not like Diana does.

Oh, shit, she winces as she replays memories from Mulder’s late-night visit. What kind of underwear was she wearing when he went down on her? It definitely wasn’t a sexy lacy scrap of fabric. She doesn’t even own anything like that. More like something white and cotton and comfortable and . . . oh, God, could she be less appealing?

She’s so caught up in her thoughts that she almost doesn’t see the person stepping up onto the sidewalk right in front of her. With a yelp, Scully swerves out of the way, tripping over herself as she manages not to knock down the other person.

A cool laugh floats through the air as Scully rights herself.

“Be careful, Agent Scully,” comes Diana’s voice. “I would hate to see you fall twice in one day.”  

[rexlottie]

digital cat autumn

[michaelcerascream]

Account Intro!!

hi im mills !! I'm an Irish minor and I literally just yap on here 😞😖

my favourite music : I listen to alot! my favourite artists are probably The Cranberries, The Cure, Fleetwood Mac, The Smiths, Hole, Kimya Dawson, Echo And The Bunnymen, Bauhaus, Siouxsie And The Banshees, Clairo, and Nirvana! I listen to alot of music tho!!

my favourite movies and tv : I LOVE LOVE LOVE movies and watch literally tons every week most of the time! My top 10 are..

Idle Hands

Bottoms

The Outsiders

Superbad

Juno

Edward Scissorhands

10 things I hate about you

The Lost Boys

Scott Pilgrim

The Breakfast Club

as for tv shows, I like a few! Like B99, Yellowjackets, It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia, Skins, and Derry Girls!!

hobbies : I literally do nothing 😭🙏. I sing and am learning guitar, and I just consume asslots of media.

favourite characters : so many! From Yellowjackets, definitely a huge Laura Lee Fan, I also love Lottie and Jackie!! Skins, def Sid from gen 1, and Emily from gen 2! I love Ponyboy from the Outsiders, and James in Derry Girls!! Bottoms, I definitely love Hazel, and I love Jake and Scully in B99 😭

thank you for reading!!

[catholic-character-tournament]

Catholic Character Tournament

Current Bracket

All polls here (tagged #cct polls)

Round 5 (16 nominees) is Wednesday July 5 12 PST

Character Submission List:

(Note, not in the order in the bracket. They were randomized for the bracket) (crossed out means dead-dead)

*707/Luciel Choi (Mystic Messenger)

*Abuela Alma Madrigal (Encanto)

*Akane Kurashiki (Zero Escape)

*Amon from (Tokyo Ghoul)

*Angel (Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel the Series)

*Asia Argento (High School DxD)

Aslan from (Chronicles of Narnia)

*Aymeric de Borel (Final Fantasy 14)

*Aziraphale (Good Omens) (Disqualified) The Volturi

*Belizabeth Brassica (Dimension 20's A Crown of Candy)

*Bishop Raphaniel Charlock (Dimension 20 - the Ravening War)

*Blake Langermann (Outlast 2)

*Brother Cellanus (The Completely Unerotic Adventures of Brother Cellanus)

*Caesar Zeppeli (Jojo's Bizarre Adventure)

*Carlos Reyes (911 Lone Star)

*Carrie White (Carrie)

*Catherine of Aragon (SIX: the Musical)

*CC (Code Geass)

*Chrollo Lucilfer (Hunter x Hunter)

*Chuck E. Cheese

*Claude Frollo(The Hunchback of Notre Dame)

*Crowley (Good Omens) (Disqualified) Vanessa Ives replacement (Penny Dreadful)

Dana Scully (the X files)

Doomguy  (Doom)

*Double (Skullgirls)

Doug Jones (The VelociPastor)

*Dracule Mihawk (One Piece)

*Duo Maxwell (Gundam Wing)

*Eddie Brock (Venom)

*Emilio Santoz from The Sparrow

Enrico Pucci (Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure)

*Farnese de Vandimion (Berserk)

*Father Alexander Anderson (Hellsing)

*Father Brown (Father Brown)

Father John Mulcahy (MASH)

Father Paul (Midnight Mass)

*Felicia Hardy/Black Cat (Spiderman)

Firestar (Warrior Cats)

*Flayn (Fire Emblem Three Houses)

*Frank Castle (Marvel)

Friar Tuck (Robin Hood)

*Gabriel (Ultrakill)

*Galahad (The Mechanisms)

*Gerard (Unholyverse)

Gloria Maria Ramirez Delgado-Pritchett (Modern Family)

Harrowhark Nonagesimus (The Locked Tomb)

*Helena Bertinlli (DC comics)

Hell boy (HellBoy)

Homura Akemi (Madoka Magica)

*Hot Pants (Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure)

*Ibara Shiozaki (My Hero Academia)

*Inori Yamabuki/Cure Pine (Fresh Precure)

Jason Todd (DC Comics)

*Javert (Les Miserables)

Jean Valjean (Les Misérables)

*Jeanne d'Arc (Alter) (Fate/Grand Order)

*Jesus (Jesus Christ Superstar) 

*John "Soap" MacTavish (Call of Duty)

*John Gaius (The Locked Tomb)

*John Ward (FAITH)

*Johnathan (Shin Megami Tensei IV)

*Junk Rat (Overwatch)

*Justin Law (Soul eater)

*Kawabuchi Sentarou (Kids on the Slope)

Kaworu Nagisa (Neon Genesis Evangelion)

*Kirei Kotomine (Fate franchise)

Knuckes the Echidna (Sonic)

*Kristen Applebees (Dimension 20's Fantasy High)

*Kuroe (Magia Record)

Kurt Wagner/Nightcrawler (X-Men)

*Ky Kiske (Guilty Gear)

*Kyoko Sakura (Puella Magi Madoka Magica)

*Lady Rhea (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)

*Leliana (Dragon Age)

*Leon (8:11)

*Lestat de Lioncourt (The Vampire Chronicles)

*Libra (Fire Emblem: Awakening)

*Link (The Legend of Zelda)

*Louis de Pointe du Lac (Interview with the Vampire/The Vampire Chronicles)

*Luis Serra Navarro (Resident Evil)

Mac McDonald (It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia)

Maddie Fitzpatrick (Suite Life of Zack and Cody)

*Marcy Park (The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee)

*Mark Heathcliff (The Mandela Catalogue)

Matt Murdock/Daredevil (Marvel)

*Mello (Death Note)

*Mercedes (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)

*Michael Carpenter (Dresden Files)

*Michael Corleone (The Godfather)

Miles Morales/Spider-Man

*Nate Ford (Leverage)

Nicholas D. Wolfwood (Trigun)

*Nico di Angelo (Percy Jackson)

*Ocean O'Connell Rosenberg (Ride the Cyclone)

*Pastry Cookie (Cookie Run Kingdom)

*Patton Sanders (Sanders Sides (Web Series))

Pope Pinion IV (Cars)

Puss in Boots (Shrek)

Quasimodo (The Hunchback of Notre Dame)

Remy LeBeau/Gambit (X-Men)

*Rin Okumura (Blue Exorcist)

*RoboCop (RoboCop)

Ronan Lynch (The Raven Cycle)

*Ryker (Roleslaying With Roman)

*Saint Citrina Rocks (Dimension 20's A Crown of Candy)

*Sasuke (Naruto)

*SCP-166 (Just a Teenage Gaia) 

*Seeley Booth (Bones)

Shadow the Hedgehog (Sonic)

*Shiro Fujimoto (Blue Exorcist)

Simon Belmont (Castlevania)

*Sir Keradin Deeproot (Dimension 20's A Crown of Candy)

*Sister Mary (The Young Pope)

Sister Michael (Derry Girls)

*Steve Rogers/Captain America (Marvel)

*Tammy Edwards (Legoland by Jacob Richmond) 

*Tatsumi Kazehaya (Ensemble Stars)

*Temenos Mistral (Octopath Traveler 2)

The Derry Girls (Derry Girls)

*The Penitent One (Blasphemous)

*Tobias Schneien (Ghost Eyes)

*Valeria Garaz (Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2 reboot)

*Valery Michailov (Goncharov - 1973)

*Vector the Crocodile (Sonic the Hedgehog)

*Vito Corleone (The Godfather)

*Wesley Hailoh (Rhyme and Reason)

*William Murdoch (Murdoch Mysteries)

*Zakuro Fujiwara (Tokyo Mew Mew)

[slippinmickeys]

A storm is raging outside the Unremarkable House. What’s going on inside?

It only took five minutes before the power failed. One minute it was sunny, and the next the sky darkened and a thick gray cloud rolled in, tucked up tightly into the one in front of it, neat as hospital corners. Two bright flashes, one roll of thunder, and that was it: it all went dark.

Mulder had talked about having a generator installed, but they hadn’t gotten around to it and they found themselves in the dull dim, forks poised halfway to their mouths, the old oven clicking as it cooled, vegetarian lasagne congealing quietly on the table in front of them.

Mulder banged around in the kitchen, looking for lighters, for candles, while Scully calmly glugged a little more Syrah into her wine glass, tranquil in spite of the tempest outside the unremarkable house.

A harsh low swear word, and she leaned forward, elbows on the table, a crumb biting into her skin.

“Leave it Mulder,” she said serenely, "it doesn't matter. There’s still enough light to see by. Sunset’s not for another three hours.” The wine had made her loose limbed and sedate, all airy and warm bones, her body slow to react to the thunder shaking the house.

Mulder slowly erected himself to standing where he was hunched over the kitchen junk drawer, giving her a frank assessing look. “You’re drunk,” he said, not quite accusing, not at all upset.

She shrugged and took another sip of wine, letting the liquid roll over the back of her tongue, the dry tang of leather and tobacco, currant and jam filling her senses and warming her belly.

“I’m just saying, let your rods and cones adjust. You’ll be able to see enough to eat.”

He crossed his arms, leaned against the countertop behind him. Despite the dim, she could make out the delineation of muscle in his forearms, the dark spray of hair over the skin. She may or may not have touched the skin below her throat.

“What about the leftovers?” he asked. “I can’t see enough to clean up. Power might not be back up until tomorrow. Should we get this in the fridge?”

She pinned him with her stare. “You open that refrigerator door and I’ll take you out at the knees.”

He didn’t seem to be entirely intimidated by her threat, instead looking intrigued, and played a little with the neck of his shirt.

“There may not be enough leftovers to save, fine, but what about all the veggies?” He’d put together a small serving of greens, and the sideboard was still piled with lettuce, cucumbers, tomatoes. “I’d hate to see it all go bad.”

Something about the way he was fingering his collar made her a little warm under her own. She set down the wine glass, leaned forward.

“You don’t win friends with salad,” she said, and despite the shadows that enveloped the room, she saw something sharpen behind his eyes.

“Oh?” he said, shoving off the countertop and approaching her slowly. “How do you win friends?”

“I actually read a book about this,” she said, as if he weren’t intimately familiar with every book on their shelf.

“And what did it say?” he asked, and he was looming over her by the time she started ticking off things on her fingers, wind buffeting off of the shutters, rain tinking into the glass.

“Don’t criticize,” she said, touching a finger. “Give honest and sincere appreciation,” she continued, touching another. Mulder licked his lips and his eyes seemed to flit over her face. “Arouse in the other person an eager want,” she went on.

He leaned forward slowly, gripping the arms of her chair until they creaked under his hands.

“Arouse,” he repeated slowly, “an eager want.” A flash of lightning cut across the sky, illuminating, for less than a split second, the rough weft of his beard and the dark round void of his pupils.

“Mm-hmm,” she said, losing her train of thought.

A fresh wave of rain began to pound on the roof.

“I believe,” Mulder said, leaning down into her space, “that my rods and cones have adjusted.”

She leaned back. “And can you see enough to eat?” she asked primly.

He lowered himself slowly to his knees, joints popping as he settled himself in front of her. “I think you’re right,” he said, reaching for her fly, “I don’t think light is going to be a problem.”

Her blood fizzed and pooled low in her abdomen.

“You forming any criticisms?” he asked, lowering the zipper of her pants one rough tooth at a time.

She shook her head, reached out to fan her fingers through the dark pelt of his hair.

“Only honest and sincere appreciation,” she said, and the storm raged on.

[randomfoggytiger]

Hi! I’ve read many of your meta and analyses (and loved them all really) so I was curious to know what your thoughts are on Reyes as a character cause I remember reading some on Doggett but I’m not sure if you’ve ever talked about Reyes

TLDR; Monica Reyes is a sunny but FBI-tempered version of Melissa Scully (with just enough cynicism and drive to differentiate them.)

Monica Reyes doesn't really have a distinct character-- in Season 8, at least, where I park canon. Haven't seen Season 9, but from what I've read it's pretty similar.

Reyes was even more one-dimensional in the scripts-- shoutout to boggsfiles's website-- depicted as sunshiney and cheerful (so much so she endeared Mulder to her pushy ways) and less able to control her expressive feelings (displaying more obvious fear during Scully's labor and delivery.) Annabeth Gish gave her a little balance, I think: her sunshine is more stable, mature; and, though she's FBI-trained, investigator pushy, it's not to the same degree as Melissa-Scully-barreling-past-all-signals-known-to-man pushy. She slots very nicely into Scully's sister's niche... which reminds me.

I'm pretty sure CC meant her to be a Melissa 2.0.

In poking about canon with a fine-toothed comb, I found it was CC who refused to let Mulder and Melissa hit it off romantically (a wise choice), CC who chose to kill Melissa off, and CC who, apparently, brought her constantly back. For whatever reason, he really connected to her character or her connection to Scully's character. Which is great-- it gave us many moments that addressed, instead of ignored, the impact of her death on Scully. But back to Reyes.

Monica is directly compared to Melissa in Existence, is given her "powers" or "vibes" or whathaveyou, is able to stand up to and annoy Mulder in the same breath (and in the same way), and is "Melissa Scully right" about her intuitions. She is introduced to all as a friend, not a romantic option (which changes in S9, I guess.) However, she's also not an outright believer-- not quite buying Scully's alien abduction theory in This Is Not Happening, but not not buying it-- although that's likely because the FBI trained her to be wisely skeptical instead of breathlessly accepting. And she, unlike Melissa, likes poking around in the unresolved. Melissa prefers acceptance and closure, asking Scully to access her repressed memories not to get to "the truth", but in order to move past her experience. Monica, meanwhile, requires in-depth exploration, reopening Luke Doggett's case and investigating behind Doggett's back with Mulder to get to the heart of the matter-- more hard-wired to seek the truth with a capital T.

I need to dive deeper into This Is Not Happening because that's the episode where her character is depicted (if I recall correctly) with nuance... despite the large chunk of time on-screen during Empedocles and Existence (a problem S8 had with length of time vs. depth of writing.)

What I will say: she beats to her own drum, more so than Melissa, more so than Mulder. While Scully is interconnected for praise and strength, Mulder is interconnected for trust and support, Doggett is interconnected for companionship and loyalty, Skinner is interconnected for protection and duty, and Melissa is interconnected for love and caregiving, Monica is interconnected for alliance and forward progress.