#emily sim

[prentisswh0re]

the bob is genetic

[writerxwren]

I'm sorry I'm still stuck on the Emily arc because I am not coping at all, specifically regarding this 😭

You can see Mulder suddenly recognizing that this really is Scully's child. Same eyes, same smile, same mannerisms, same wariness giving way to a reluctant sense of trust. She truly is a mini Scully in every way and it almost immediately activates every paternal cell in his body like "omg she actually is a bite-sized Scully and according to the laws of our relationship I must now pledge my life to this baby because it's Scully's baby" and I hate everything about this arc now do not talk to me 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[jedi-nurse]

Get you a 'friend' who will fly to the other side of the country to help you figure out the mess when you find out you have a daughter that came from the ova stolen from you when you where abducted by aliens (the government???!!! still confused on that).

[louistonehill]

X Files but they got to keep the psychic children Emily and William

[aloysiavirgata]

A post episode ficlit of Mulder driving Scully (to wherever) after Emily’s funeral (morbid I know- but it’s winter and this season feels endless in NY). 🙏

She had driven to the church with her mother but it is Mulder who takes her home.

Well, away. Not home. Home is very far but away can be anywhere.

Away is where there isn’t little Matthew’s fat pink cheeks or Tara’s full breasts or the helpless gazes of her mother and brother. Away is where she can’t smell incense and baby’s breath and heaps of roses.

They’ve been driving in quiet, aimless loops for over an hour. Scully has her face pressed to the cool glass of the window. Mulder’s jacket is off and his sleeves are rolled up. His forearms are the color of graham crackers.

Mulder exits and re-enters the same highway again. His face is drawn.

Neither of them has consumed much of anything but coffee for days. She can’t let him keep going like this for her.

“Hey,” Scully says, sitting up.

“Hey.” He merges left. They pass the same massive parking garage for the umpteenth time.

“You ever had a fish taco? Kind of like a SoCal lobster roll.” Scully favors him with a smile that she knows to be, at best, watery.

He smiles back. “No, I haven’t.”

If he’s lying he’s good at it, Scully thinks. Scully is white and red and black in the golden SoCal light. Mulder, New England bred and born, is bronze and cinnamon and offshore kelp forest eyes.

She directs him towards a little place she recalls, tin-roofed and fragrant, crammed between the gun shop and the florist.

Mulder turns the car off. Stills. Waits.

She knows what he’s doing because it’s an old interrogation tool and they’re just two magicians doing card tricks for each other but still she gives in. Sometimes it feels so good to let someone else be the adult.

Scully reaches into her pocket, pulls the necklace out. She lets it puddle in her cupped palm.

“How can I believe in a god that would do this,” she asks, shivery and heartsick and afraid. Her own cancer is one thing but little Emily is another. Her cross is gold, like it means anything. 79 protons.

Next to her Mulder closes his eyes for a long breath. Mulder in a shirt crisp and stiff as beaten egg whites. Her shoes are appallingly expensive to her Catholic soul. Her suit is a good merino blend.

Mulder opens his eyes. “God gave us free will, Dana Katherine. He cannot intercede.”

“Mulder, don’t. Please, I -“

“Maybe this is how he saved her. You don’t believe death is the end. Do you?”

He squeezes her shoulder hard, a fraction of a second. She shudders, Dana Katherine. Good second daughter. Misses her father and her sister.

“No,” she whispers. “I don’t.” She stares at her necklace again.

Mulder takes it from her. He reaches around her shoulders, clasping the chain behind her collar. His breath is warm on her neck; he smells like cedar and bergamot.

“Let me curse god for a while,” he says, dropping a kiss on her temple.

Scully nods, not trusting herself to speak. She gets out of the car, follows Mulder into the sun.

[pookie-mulder]

The first Mother’s Day after Emily dies, Mulder gets Scully a card. Not even a Mother’s Day card, just a vague “I’m thinking of you” card that caught his eye at the grocery store.

He writes a short message on the inside, signs his name Love, M, and puts it on her desk the next day, too nervous to hand it to her directly.

She never mentions it, much to his relief. But she can tell he’s grieving, too, despite his attempts to hide it. So the following Father’s Day, she does the same for him.

Dear Mulder,

I know you weren’t her father, but I don’t doubt that with time, that’s who you would have become.

Love,

S

[seapotty]

Emily

[gothmikewheeler]

and your dearest fantasy/ is to grow a baby in me