Some authors write so beautifully, that we would happily and eagerly read their novel length description of paint drying. Some authors are just that talented, that poetic, and we are lucky to have so many in our fandom. We had heard whispers of Revely’s writing here and there over the last few months, but hadn’t really listened. Our fic queue’s were overloaded with fic to read, fic we were in the process of reading, and fic that we’d already rec’d and forgotten to close out of. Revely has the ability to make even the most mundane daily task seem artistically brilliant, written to utter perfection. We finally took the leap, putting every other story we were reading on hold, and dove head first into today’s AU recommendation. We were smitten with this writer’s changes to the end of the series, the emotional journey the reader takes with Mulder and Scully. It’s a beautiful ride, philes, one we know you’ll enjoy.
Title: The Unfinished Universe
Author: Revely
Rating: PG-13
Length: 100K / word count: 51,000+
Synopsis: A beautiful, literary story of Mulder’s return from abduction, to be reacquainted with Scully and William in a two-week journey from Oregon back to Virginia. Mulder adjusts to fatherhood & his changed relationship with Scully, while Scully muses about her prayers and personal anxieties. Together, they seek emotional and spiritual renewal.
if you have brazilian friends please check in on them this friday and remind them to drink some water. if bolsonaro is condemned they're going to be out drinking all night
I'm trying to be a little less precious with fic and throw some stuff out there that i'm not 100% about. might edit/delete/turn this into something else entirely at some point. but for now, it is what it is.
Somewhere along the way, they've lost the plot. He isn't looking for his sister anymore. They aren't hunting down a cryptid or trying to solve a murder case. They drive with no map because there is no destination.
They ditched the SUV Skinner procured for them somewhere in northern New Mexico. It was too identifiable, too flashy. They're in an old sedan that fits them better now. Something late 90s. Something that could be from a field office motor pool in any city across the country. It's got New Mexico plates, dust around the rims, and 75,034 miles and counting. And counting. And counting.
They cross state lines, weave between highways and side roads with no rhyme or reason. If anything, their erratic, meandering path should make them stick out more, but after several days they wonder if anyone is even still looking for them. He starts to grow out a beard and wears an old baseball cap he found abandoned in a gas station bathroom. It bears the logo of a local hunting store. Local to where, they don't know.
"Your hair," he says, one night in a motel room bed, running his fingers between her auburn strands.
"I know," she says.
The next day she buys a set of scissors and a box of blue-black dye at a Walmart. She does it in the bathroom of the next motel room. Even with shaky hands, she chops a straight line parallel to her jaw. She combs the front section in front of her face and cuts blunt, too-short bangs. Once there's less hair to deal with, she opens the boxed dye. Two rinses later, and she doesn't recognize herself. She squirts some on her eyebrows, too, even though the instructions warn against it, because her natural ones look too ridiculous with her new dark hair. Who cares if she goes blind?
"I like it," he says, when she finally emerges. There are inky black dye stains on the motel towel she has wrapped under her arms. She doubts it's the worst thing housekeeping here has had to deal with.
"I hate it," she says, glancing down to avoid eye contact with him.
"It's just temporary."
"The box says semi-permanent."
He smiles at her sadly and pats the bed next to him. She sheds the towel and lays down on top of it.
He rolls onto his side to face her and runs a hand down her chest, her flat abdomen, her mons.
"The carpet no longer matches the drapes," he says flatly.
She smiles but can't muster up the energy to laugh. She misses her son. Their son. She knows Mulder misses him, too, but they don't talk about it. Talking about it would make it real—it would mean their son exists somewhere out there without them. It would mean she really did give him up. So instead they focus on details. Driving. Hiding. What they'll do when they run out of cash. They act like there isn't a boy with half of each their DNA somewhere in this vast country who's about to celebrate his first birthday.
Mulder missed the first ten months of their son's life. They'll both miss the rest of it.
"I'm sorry," she says, quietly, looking up at the pockmarked ceiling and not at him. She isn't talking about the hair dye.
He doesn't tell her it's alright. That he would have done the same thing. Because none of that is true.
Instead, he kisses a trail up her torso. She thinks he'll kiss her lips next, so she tilts her chin to face him but he skips her face entirely and pulls her body up so her back is against the wall and her ass is resting on top of the headboard.
He kneels in front of her and forces himself inside her. She gasps as he stretches her. She isn't ready for this but she wants it just the same. He doesn't hesitate before withdrawing his ramrod-straight cock entirely and then slamming back inside her. She wants it to hurt. She feels herself tearing and she knows she's going to bleed. None of this feels good. It's exactly what she needs. She pulls on the taut muscles of his lower back, pulling him in again even harder. He doesn't face her—she knows he can't—just buries his head in the side of her neck and bites down hard on her skin. She's going to bleed. She's going to bruise. It's what she deserves.
Her med school instructors instilled in her the importance of never separating the soul from the body. She was taught that however quantifiable the human form became through scans or lab reports, it was still part of a person with wants, desires, and fears. The best doctors, she was taught, treat the person, not the body.
Now, she just wants to be a body. A soulless rag doll who doesn’t deserve the dignity she once gave to corpses.
She squeezes her eyes shut and lets him slam her body against the wall. They're both quiet, but the sound of the headboard slapping the thin motel room wall will certainly be noticed. Who cares, she thinks. With a grunt, he comes inside her. Buried deep within her, she thinks she hears a sob, but before he has time to say anything, he pushes off her and lurches to the bathroom. She hears the shower turn on.
Sliding down the headboard, his cum leaks out of her onto the off-white motel room pillowcase. It's tinged milky pink with blood from where her thin inner flesh tore. She did want it to hurt.
How are they any different from any other couple? They are not. How are they special? I don’t see it. Why do you all hold them up as some high status couple when they simply are not and could easily be replaced with other people.
you can think what you want but you're wrong (:
there's not an answer to this that will satisfy you, dearest troll.
once again saying i love every phase of their relationship as it is in the show. partners, best friends, romantic, broken up, family. so like. basically, that's why.
germansingergirl
romaincrisis
titsay
prguitarman
