I've recently started tuning into a new podcast by David Duchovny—not just because I've been obsessively rewatching The X-Files for the last 30 years—called "Fail Better." Think of it as therapy, but cheaper and with fewer aliens (just me?).
The show dives into how our failures shape us, and let me tell you, my big takeaway has been the shocking realization that not everything needs to be perfect on the first try. Who knew, right?
Apparently, our subconscious mind doesn’t register negatives. So, when we tell ourselves "don't panic," all it hears is "panic." Now I get why my heart rate jumps and my feet tingle before exams.
Listening to highly successful individuals (Bette Midler, Ben Stiller, and Brad Gilbert so far) discuss their epic fails has been eye-opening. I’ve come to realize that my anxiety stems from a fear of failure because I care. It's okay to care, and it's okay to fear failure. Failure isn’t inherently negative; it’s just a funny-shaped stepping stone on the path to greatness.
Striving for perfection without support from peers, mentors, or management often leads to paralysis by analysis. Trust me, I’ve been there, staring at my computer screen, contemplating my existence, and wondering if I can turn coloring in and listening to podcasts into a career.
When I perceive that I've failed, my mind spirals into catastrophic thinking about my career, home, and relationships. This podcast is teaching me to focus on the present and not let the fear of failure dictate my actions. Easier said than done, but hey, baby steps!
I enjoy listening to "Fail Better" on Amazon Music Prime Podcasts on Tuesday mornings with my coffee while planning my day. It's been a game-changer in helping me embrace imperfection and focus on continuous improvement. Plus, it’s always fun to hear someone more successful than you talk about their mess-ups—it’s like schadenfreude with a side of self-help.
Prompt: M&S get invited to a party by the Lone Gunmen. Scully surprises everyone by wearing a sexy outfit (leather skirt with high heeled boots maybe). They dance on 80s songs and drink and get veryyy horny
Interlude
Rated X / 1386 words / Posted on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic
She’s drunk. Drunk drunk—the giggling, wobbling, uncoordinated kind. She’s not sure if she’s holding Mulder up at this point or he’s holding her up, or perhaps they are both being held up by the sweaty mass of bodies packed shoulder-to-shoulder around them in the Gunmen’s living room, shuffling haphazardly to the too-loud music.
What you need is a big strong hand to lift you to a higher ground. Make you feel like a queen on a throne, make him love you ‘til you can’t come down.
She almost hadn’t come. Their entire relationship has been so far from what anyone would consider normal that attending a house party together seemed downright scandalous, but she could tell that Mulder really wanted her to go. She took the opportunity to wear a little black miniskirt that’s been collecting dust in her closet for years, and paired with her highest heels and a loose-fitting blouse, it struck just the right balance of sexy and polished that she was able to bring herself to leave the house in it. When she slid into the passenger seat of his car outside her apartment, he’d openly gawked at her for so long that she felt herself blushing, unaccustomed to his prolonged, undivided attention.
“Maybe we should stay in?” he’d suggested playfully, struggling to tear his eyes away from the exposed, pantyhose-free skin on her thighs.
It’s still new enough to be just a little bit awkward. Innuendo-laced jokes that have flown freely between them for years suddenly aren’t jokes anymore, and they haven’t yet established a new rhythm of being together that makes it clear when sex is or is not on the table. But three hours and twice that many drinks in, he’s slipping his hand up under her skirt in the middle of the dance floor, playing with the hem of her panties and shouting his intentions in her ear over the music.
She can feel people looking at them. Frohike for certain, though Byers and Langly are polite enough not to stare. Even the other partygoers, people she has never met and will likely never see again, give them long glances that tell her they are behaving inappropriately. Later, she will be horrified, but with bass thumping in her chest, vodka burning hot in her belly, and Mulder’s erection grinding against her hip, she can’t be bothered to care.
She loops her arms around his neck, towing herself up enough to press her mouth to the shell of his ear.
“I have to pee,” she slurs, her toes intermittently losing contact with the floor as he pulls her close with an arm around her waist.
He releases her, and when she turns away from him to head for the bathroom he delivers a firm slap to her ass, which makes her squeal with surprise. He stays hot on her heels all the way to the bathroom door, and when he follows her in she doesn’t feel inclined to object. With the door closed and the music muted, the degree of her inebriation becomes more apparent and she touches the backs of her fingers to her flaming cheeks.
“Don’t let me drink any more,” she mumbles, hiking her skirt up around her hips.
“Got it,” Mulder replies with a cheesy thumbs-up, leaning heavily against the bathroom counter.
She’s about to pull her panties down when she realizes she has an audience.
“Are you going to watch?” she asks, aiming for sarcasm.
“Can I?” he shoots back, and she rolls her eyes.
“Turn around,” she says, swirling her index finger in a circle.
He complies, and she watches the back of his head as she empties her bladder. When he hears the toilet flush he looks over his shoulder, his eyes wet and bleary, and watches her tug her skirt back down.
“You should wear that more often,” he says as he approaches her, taking her by the hips and pushing her up against the bathroom counter.
“Where would I possibly wear this?” she quips.
Mulder thrusts his hips gently against her, kissing the side of her neck.
“My apartment,” he says, his tongue thick.
They start to kiss, slow and sloppy, and she feels brazen enough to palm him over his jeans.
“Is that an offer?” he asks against her cheek, his fingernails digging into the back of her thighs.
“Maybe,” she answers noncommittally, though she’s already unbuttoning his fly.
He grabs both her hands and moves them away, and even through her drunken haze she feels embarrassed.
“Now I have to pee,” he says with a chagrined little smile. “Just give me one quick second.”
He takes one step to the left and proceeds to unzip his fly, and Scully watches as he pulls out his half-hard cock and aims it at the bowl. He looks over at her, swaying slightly, and smirks.
“I can’t pee when I’m hard, stop being sexy,” he says with an appreciative leer.
“My apologies,” she says as she moves to stand behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “This better?”
The only thing strange about it is how un-strange it is. Given, she’s bordering on sloppy drunk. After what feels like a very long time has passed, she runs her palms down the front of his body until her hands collide with his, and she feels that he is no longer erect.
“Is this a service you offer?” he asks, moving his hands so that they lay over the top of hers mid shaft as though showing her how to work the controls.
She hums, a non-answer, but she also doesn’t move away. She feels a rush beneath his skin under the tips of her fingers before she hears it hit the water in the toilet, and it should be strange but somehow it isn’t.
He doesn’t bother putting himself away when he’s done. She strokes him back to life, and he rucks up her skirt again before he bends her over the counter beside the sink. He doesn’t take her panties off or pull them down, he just tugs them to the side and forces himself into her in one swift thrust, watching her face in the mirror.
Someone pounds on the door, but it’s absorbed into the bass vibrating the walls and the staccato slap of his skin against her ass cheeks as he takes up a harried pace. Their eyes are both on the mirror, on each other, her hands laid flat on the counter top and his spreading her ass cheeks apart so he can steal intermittent looks at what he’s doing to her. She’s not sure she’s ever behaved so badly in her life, and it goes straight to her cunt.
“I’m gonna come,” she announces loudly, and his eyes roll back in his head.
He barely manages to stay upright as she explodes around him, leaning over her for balance as a stream of profanities hits her ear and his cum runs down the insides of her thighs.
There’s another knock, much more insistent, and they hear Frohike’s irritated voice warning them that he’s going to pop the lock in about ten seconds. Scully scrambles to pull her skirt back down while Mulder falls against the glass shower door behind him as he struggles to get his still-hard cock back into his jeans. The lock pops and the noise of the party bursts into the room, along with a very disgruntled Frohike, and Scully pushes past him before he has a chance to speak, disappearing back into the party.
Mulder finds her in a corner of the kitchen a few minutes later, guzzling a glass of water.
“Hey, partner,” he says with an accusatory smile. “Thanks for sticking with me back there.”
“Sorry,” she says, wincing.
“You wanna get out of here?” he asks, his eyes flashing down the length of her body.
“A cab from here to my place won’t be cheap on a Saturday night.”
Mulder shrugs.
“My place is closer. Plus, I think you promised me you’d wear that skirt to my apartment.”
“Did I?” she asks, smiling over the rim of her water glass. “I won’t have any clean clothes to change into, though,” she points out.
“Sounds perfect,” he says, then grabs her hand and makes for the front door.
I saw your reply of scullys prefered sex position on her side from behind, but pleaaaase write or draw about it ❤️🥹😊
He can hear her soft little vocalizations with every exhale, her sweet, breathless "oh....oh....oh"s in concert with the rhythm of their entwined bodies. She smells so good, his lips pressed to her scapula, his nose engulfed in the fragrance of her silky hair. He knows she loves it like this.
"Gently," he husks into the back of her neck, thrusting shallowly, "so gently, honey." She moans, clasping the wrist of the arm he has propped between her head and the pillow. He feels a flicker of pride that she's lost all physical coordination as he presses his hips into her smooth little behind.
He hears a murmur, a muted catch in her throat and he knows she's close. He deepens his strokes, moves his free hand to dip his middle finger down to the slick, fat bead of her clit just as she sucks in a shuddering gasp. He feels one, two, three...god, almost ten steady pulses as she disintegrates around him. At around the sixth clench he feels a hot, gentle flow around his fingers and down his thigh, accompanied by a whining hum that he's never heard her make before—an animalistic mewl of complete abandon. Her hand flings behind and grasps at his hip, her nails digging mercilessly into his tender flesh.
He's hopeless to hold back after that, groaning her name with his lips against that minuscule scar at the back of her neck.
Later, barely able to meet his eyes as he strips the bed, she'll apologize sheepishly for the state of his sheets. Incredulous, he'll stare at her, lamplit in her rumpled, happily fucked state with her flushed cheeks and pillow mussed hair...and wonder what on earth he did to deserve her.
He touches her in front of her full length mirror, the same one she uses when she's worried about the size of her thighs...even though she knows she's being silly about it.
"You smell good," he grumbles, his nose buried in the base of her skull where her bath-dampened hair has begun to curl. She's fully nude and he's fully clothed, having intercepted her halfway from the bathroom to her dresser on her way to fetch her pajamas.
He's rocking her slowly as his hands cup and squeeze and stroke gently, roughened fingertips drifting thoughtfully over steam-silken skin. His fingers brush absently over the angled vee of her pelvic bowl, the tuft of her pubic hair, before settling at her stomach. The side of his thumb softly skates back and forth over the knot of scar tissue that represents the fragile thread of her life nearly snapping almost a year ago.
"You're mine," he murmurs almost to himself as he kisses her shoulder, his eyes drifting back up to the mirror to gaze at her bare body. She swallows back a request for him to touch her, really touch her, but she's almost enjoying this exquisite torture just as much as he seems to enjoy inciting it.
"How does it feel, Scully?" He whispers against the heated skin of her carteroid tendon, punctuating his question with a tiny little kiss, "How does it feel, knowing you're mine? Knowing I could do whatever the hell I want to do to your body?"
She moans softly, deep in her throat; his question does not come from a place of control or possession. Heaven knows she's had enough experience of men trying that to know this is different. She knows Mulder, knows that this is worship, not control.
Wonderful, she breathes in response, she answers that it feels wonderful...because it does.
Here is a prompt you may like: Mulder kissing Scully's neck 🔥
Also: can't wait for your new fics!!
Mulder loves kissing Scully's neck.
He loves nuzzling the little soft spot beneath her earlobe, making her giggle and playfully swat him away.
He loves when she wears her hair up for an occasional fancy dinner date. He'll sidle up behind her, rest his hands on her slender hips, and press his lips against the bottom of her hairline. She'll lean back against him, closing her eyes and sighing.
He loves when she's reading on the couch beside him while he watches some inconsequential ball game. He'll keep glancing between her and the television screen, until he can't resist anymore and will wrap his arm around her shoulder. He'll pull her against him and brush the silk of her hair away, kissing the side of her soft, fragrant neck. She'll giggle, chiding him for making her lose her place, but she'll nestle her head into the crook of his shoulder.
He loves when she's still sound asleep in the early morning on her back, her head turned away from him, her hair mussed and curled on the pillow. He'll gently cup her breast and trace his mouth over the fine tendons on her exposed neck, feeling the warmth and softness of her skin. She'll inhale sharply, turn towards him sleepily, and smile with a slow, happy blink as her eyes flutter open.
He loves feeling the purring vibrations of her moan in her throat as he slowly, steadily thrusts inside her, his tongue dragging up the length of her larynx.
He loves her little scar, loves the way she looks at him so openly and gratefully when he presses a sober, thankful caress to the tiny mark that has saved her life. And by extension, his.
a prompt for when you’re feeling up to it - inspired by your recent post about completing a huge thing for work - a sweet msr fic about Scully finally getting through a big work/hospital thing, maybe post IWTB patient surgery…..thank you. I love seeing your posts on my dash
Post-IWTB, but also a little bit AU? This got away from me.
///
She knocks the snow from her boots onto the mat as quietly as she can, mindful of the late hour as she wrestles them off her feet. She had anticipated how long and exhausting today was going to be, but she hadn't accounted for the several inches of unexpected snow that had been dumping for the better part of her commute from the hospital. She mentally thanks the good Lord for getting her home safely AND for the fact that she's going to be able to sleep in tomorrow morning.
The little Farrs Corner house is filled with warmth and the glow of a handful of lamps. It's a welcome aura for her fatigued mind and bedraggled body. What's more she can smell...grilled chicken? Her stomach growls insistently at the promise of some much-needed protein.
In her thick socks she trudges into the kitchen, her jaw dropping when she comes upon Mulder standing by the stove, freshly-showered and in sweatpants, absently stirring a pot of something. When she enters he glances up, scruffy face breaking into a welcoming smile.
"Mulder, it's—" she begins and immediately lowers her voice to an adamant whisper when he wordlessly gestures to the couch where their small son is fast asleep in the living room, "Mulder, it's nine PM, what on earth are you doing up making dinner?"
"Don't worry, I fed him at the usual time," he soothes, though they both know that's not where her protest lies, "He insisted on waiting up for you. Come here, I missed you."
"I smell like bleach," she protests mildly, but still allows him to envelop her in a big, much-needed one-armed bear hug. She chuffs quietly when he takes a deep, dramatic smell of her neck, just within the curtain of her hair.
"Mm no, my wife is still down in there," he murmurs playfully, and she finds her eyes unexpectedly fill with warm tears. Today, while successful, has used up the very last vestiges of her energy for the week, and for some reason coming home to something as simple as a comfortingly hot meal fulfills an unspoken need.
Still stirring at what she now realizes is Mulder's homemade spaghetti sauce (one of her favorites), he tips her chin up so their lips meet in a soft, lingering kiss. And another. And then one more.
"How did the surgery go today?" he inquires in a volume that he usually reserves for asking her if something feels good.
"How...did you know about that?" She asks him, drawing back quizzically. She can't recall ever having mentioned the huge procedure to him before. He gestures with a small jerk of his chin towards their wall-mounted National Parks calendar. She hadn't noticed it before but there's a tiny "x" written in red ink on the current date.
"I heard you mention something about 'a big operation coming up' a couple weeks ago when you were on the phone with your mom. I may have done some sleuthing with her as the hapless victim."
"Mulder, I didn't want to worry you," she mumbles into the thick material of his Henley, "You've got that big publishing date coming up and I—"
"Scully," he interrupts, setting the spoon down and gently cupping her face with hands well-accustomed to working and loving and carrying, "I want to know these things, okay? I will always be an option for you to lean on. Always."
Not wanting to risk more tears by answering, she bites her lip and nods. Her attention is drawn again to William asleep on the couch and she leaves Mulder's side to kneel down and press a kiss to the sleeping little boy's head. He doesn't stir and she indulges in combing her fingers through the soft sandy hair which has lately been darkening into a dirty blond. She silently hopes he'll eventually have the rich henna brown of his father. Carefully so as not to wake him, she gathers him against her chest, propping his sleep-heavy body against her shoulder. She 'oof's quietly, having not carried him in some time.
"Gosh, he's getting big," she grunts on a chuckle, adjusting her hip to better support her sweet boy, "Must be taking after his old man in the height department."
Mulder makes a quip about "old man??", turning the sauce down to a simmer before they slowly make their way upstairs to Will's bedroom.
"Don't wait up for me," she insists as Mulder studiously tucks the covers around their son, "Go to bed. I'm going to eat and I still want to shower."
"There's no appeal in going to bed without you, Scully," his hand is light against her back as they step out of Will's room, carefully closing the door behind them, "I'll keep you company for dinner and then I'm drawing you a bath."
They hold hands like teenagers all the way down the stairs.
SFW MSR X-Files Fanart! Mulder and Scully are undercover and worried about making the next move.
I wanted to try my hand at a gif, it was fun to try though I'm not convinced how successful it is. Really love drawing them in this pop art style. Feels sexy.
I love Destination Fear and I'm working on an X Files AU where Mulder and The Gunmen basically run a YouTube channel in the style of DF.
I have no idea what to call the fic.
I have everything else laid out, an idea of what the chapters are going to contain.
Can I call the fic Destination Fear? Can I quote from the show?
The people in the show aren't in the fic, I've replaced them with X Files characters.
I'm not going to use real locations or real ghost stories...they will be inspired by and with my own twist.
Anyways I'm just rambling. If you've not watched Destination Fear and you like ghost hunting shows you should give this a go. It's good. It's on Discovery+
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 4/4
Fandom: The X-Files
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Characters: Margaret Scully, William “Bill” Scully Jr., Charlie Scully, Tara Scully, Matthew Scully, Walter Skinner, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s), Original Child Character(s), Monica Reyes, John Doggett
Additional Tags: Family, Family Fluff, Family Drama, Soft Dom Fox Mulder, Polyamorous Character, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, mild violence, Bill Jr is a Dick, hidden pregnancy, Child Neglect, poor parenting, Consensual Somnophilia, Talk of pregnancy loss, blink and you’ll miss it Breeding Kink
Summary:
Follow on to 4th of July.
Set nearly 2 years after 4th of July Fic.
The Scully family return to Maggie’s to celebrate her birthday.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 4/4
Fandom: The X-Files
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Characters: Margaret Scully, William "Bill" Scully Jr., Charlie Scully, Tara Scully, Matthew Scully, Walter Skinner, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s), Original Child Character(s), Monica Reyes, John Doggett
Additional Tags: Family, Family Fluff, Family Drama, Soft Dom Fox Mulder, Polyamorous Character, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, mild violence, Bill Jr is a Dick, hidden pregnancy, Child Neglect, poor parenting, Consensual Somnophilia, Talk of pregnancy loss, blink and you'll miss it Breeding Kink
Summary:
Follow on to 4th of July.
Set nearly 2 years after 4th of July Fic.
The Scully family return to Maggie's to celebrate her birthday.
I absolutely think you should put the plagiarist The_Truth_Is_In_Here on blast here on Tumblr. The fucking AUDACITY to blatantly rip you off and just say they were “inspired” is unreal. Their “work” is copy & pasting someone ELSE’S work and changing the words a little. I am IRATE on your and author’s behalves, and think they need to be called out on other fic platforms
My goal isn’t necessarily to put anyone on blast, though it would certainly be warranted. This author is choosing to stand firm that this wasn’t intentional, and that they did not realize it was plagiarizing when they posted it. I have a very hard time believing that, given the level of copy-catting. There are stories I have re-read dozens of times, and I could not reproduce them from memory with this much accuracy even if I wanted to, so it’s a stretch to claim that this author did so by accident.
So let this serve as a lesson to all writers and aspiring writers out there who may not have a good understanding of what plagiarism is. It doesn’t just mean copying word for word. Changing small details, rephrasing the entire thing “in your own words” is still plagiarism. Making her bathrobe black instead of white, making the character a deputy instead of the chief of police, having her facing away rather than face to face when things get spicy, are not significant changes that make your story now “original.” And to anyone knowingly plagiarizing: I hope you have the day you deserve.
If you can’t come up with this shit on your own, you are not built to be a creative writer. Your lack of imagination does not give you the right to steal the intellectual property of others.
If anyone would like to read my story, Katy, which was apparently good enough to steal, you can do so here. Below are comparisons of my story and The_Truth_Is_In_Here’s now deleted story that was a start to finish ripoff of Katy, scene for scene. This is what plagiarism looks like.
X-Files Obsessed @beedomexf - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
