#perfect! #😂
$LAYYYTER
Cosimo Galluzzi

Janaina Medeiros
occasionally subtle

@theartofmadeline
NASA

#extradirty

shark vs the universe

pixel skylines

oozey mess
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Xuebing Du
Sweet Seals For You, Always

⁂
Mike Driver
One Nice Bug Per Day
DEAR READER
Claire Keane
RMH
will byers stan first human second
seen from United States

seen from Malaysia

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@thatdamnbee
#perfect! #😂
“I want to Believe” Was SO good you guys. There was a Chili’s reference! and I was the only one in the room who cackled and clapped loudly. My friends who are fans but not fanfic FANS had no idea why I was freaking out.
I’m reblogging in the morning in case anyone on here knows the woman who created this gem of a show. We had such a good time!
“I want to Believe” Was SO good you guys. There was a Chili’s reference! and I was the only one in the room who cackled and clapped loudly. My friends who are fans but not fanfic FANS had no idea why I was freaking out.
“I want to Believe” Was SO good you guys. There was a Chili’s reference! and I was the only one in the room who cackled and clapped loudly. My friends who are fans but not fanfic FANS had no idea why I was freaking out.
“I want to Believe” Was SO good you guys. There was a Chili’s reference! and I was the only one in the room who cackled and clapped loudly. My friends who are fans but not fanfic FANS had no idea why I was freaking out.
I’m at “I want to Believe” XF parody musical and they are playing Cher Walking in Memphis before the show so I already love this.
Top 20 Gillovny Images
20. A light in the dark times.
19. The “don’t forget about the cameras” photo.
18 . Let me smell your hair
17. If only we could see the future now…
16. “The way I look at you will make you young again.”
15. This is a couple, okay?
14. This is no Mulder and Scully pose.
13. The “I can’t even look at this photo without feeling the longing” photo.
12. We’re not trolling, but let’s pretend we’re trolling so we can share a romantic moment in public.
11. Rob and Laura Petrie 15 years later. We’re not the only ones who recognized they look married.
10. Whatever this is.
9. The result of awkward + alcohol + unrequited love.
8. Intertwine your fingers in mine. That’s not costar style.
7. I live to see him smile.
6. I live to see her smile.
5. We forgot we were on National Television. It happens.
4. Probably the closest thing we’ll ever get to Gillovny porn.
3. The “my naked breasts against his chest..it was nice” photo.
2. I would eat you right here if there wasn’t a camera.
1. The “Hi hubby, we do this everyday” kiss hello.
Stay
author: storybycorey
rating: NC-17
summary:
There are one hundred eighty heaving pounds atop her and tears in her eyes. Spent breaths at her temple, fingertips pressed to her scalp. There’s hard turning soft, and there’s slippery, there’s sticky, there’s slick, coating the insides of her thighs.
There’s Mulder. My God, after seven years, there’s Mulder.
Keep reading
Just sitting waiting for the doctor re-reading this wonderful fic. Storybycorey I can’t believe you thought we may not like it! ;) Don’t know if most guys know how much we like the “180 heaving pounds atop” us. Have had many a conversation about that with friends. Man I miss that.
A continuation of my post-Amor Fati scene:
(I feel like Scully would not cope entirely well with the idea that Mulder heard her thoughts.)
Read Part 1 here.
She does not change his bandage before she leaves. She changes his bandage and promptly resumes her spot on the couch. She’s acting like she doesn’t want to go home, he thinks, and then he realizes: Scully doesn’t want to go home.
And he really, really doesn’t want her to. He had been in the hospital for a week, in and out of CT scans and fMRIs and other various and more complicated attempts at neuroimaging that Scully had illuminated for him with gentle bedside pedagogy. There had only been fleeting opportunities for this sort of nuzzling they’re doing. And before that, she’d been on the Ivory Coast. No nuzzling for miles.
He doesn’t even want to think about where he’s been. It does not, could not, compare to his sofa, right now, as Scully dozes next to him.
She’s worn out. Scully carries her fears alone, and they are weighty. This afternoon, partial relief had made her guilty. She had cried for him after Diana’s death, and he had felt the ferocity of her love for him burgeoning under her practices of platonic care, as strongly as he had heard it in her head after their encounter with the artifact.
He has to tell her.
“Scully,” he whispers. He touches her shoulder.
She turns her head and opens one eye. “You ‘kay?”
Jesus Christ, she loves me. He can’t shake it. “I… I’m good,” he says. Then he gets nervous. “I’m sorry to wake you. Go back to sleep.”
“No, I’m up, I’m up. Whaddizzit?” she asks, rubbing her eyes. She turns toward him and leans her cheek on the back of the couch. Then she yawns, too comfortable to cover her mouth, and he grins.
She blinks at him. Her regard is still and strong and quieting.
He has to tell her.
“Do you believe that I could… hear… thoughts, when I… after the rubbing came into our possession?”
She sits up. “Mulder…”
“I need to know, Scully.”
“Do you believe that you could hear thoughts, Mulder? That the artifact truly caused your injury? You—you were taken, operated on, and the damage to your brain is almost surely—”
“Scully,” he says. He realizes he is breathing hard. But he doesn’t explain further. He only says her name.
“What, Mulder?” He cannot read her mind. But he can feel her trepidation. He knows that she sees him, seeing her, and he knows that she is afraid.
Scully is reluctant to give her truths away, and easily dissuaded.
“I know you were in the hospital, Scully. That you came to see me and that they wouldn’t let you, because I was a danger to myself and others, and that you wanted to see me even after—”
“Mulder, I don’t know what Diana told you. I don’t know what Skinner told you. But you were not dangerous. You were in pain.”
“No one told me anything. I knew you were there the moment you walked in the door. I felt you, Scully,” he breathes, and her chin wrinkles, and she takes on that look she gets when compelled to cry.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she tells him. But she does not sound sure.
“I heard you in the elevator,” he says.
“No, Mulder. You didn’t hear me. You—your eyes glazed over, you were experiencing symptoms of seizure!”
He leans closer. Puts his hand on her thigh, and looks at her fiercely. “I don’t mean that I heard what you said, Scully. I heard you. I know I did. I know it was you. It had to have been you, Scully, I—I’ve never felt that—”
“Mulder,” she says, voice tight, like she needs him to stop. He grabs her shoulders and rubs her biceps with his thumbs. He leans his forehead close to hers. “I know it was you,” he whispers.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she protests, and when she blinks, tears come down her cheeks.
“I know you,” he tells her, vehemently, and he feels like a bully.
She shakes her head futilely. “You were with Diana.”
He takes her chin and makes her look him in the eyes. “I know you. I screamed for you. And I heard you screaming out for me.”
She is so tense.
“You’re the only one who feels like that,” he says. “For me.”
She sniffs.
“The only one who protects me.” He tries to swallow around the lump in his throat. “I know that, now.”
He leans to kiss her, just to the right of her nose, and he feels her flinch. “Scully,” he whispers, heart breaking. He pulls her to him, pressing her head to his shoulder, and she cries harder, in earnest. His strong girl. Fighting it to the death. “I’m not gonna make you say it,” he soothes. He pets her hair.
She does not deny there is something, indeed, to say.
He presses his lips to her ear and whispers. “Look at me.”
She does.
“I need you,” he tells her. He kisses her forehead, once.
“I thank you.” Twice.
“I love you. Just…” He clears his throat. “Just tell me when, okay?”
She nods, wipes her eyes. “Okay,” she says, quiet. Still disrupted, but less. “Okay. Yes.”
I've moved on with my life but today out of nowhere I thought to myself "Good lord The X-Files ended terribly."
I try so very hard to move on but this morning I’m flipping channels and caught the very very end of IWTB and my god he wasted the talents of GA and DD.
I don’t know why but my first thought when I saw this was...I bet he smells good.
“Quagmire” | The X-Files
See. This was my favorite part of COTR because this felt like actual friends giving each other shit. I love these guys.
A Few Thousand Plus One
by: mldrgrl Rating: PG Summary: Written for the fic is medicine @xfficchallenges prompt 3 - Mulder tries to convince Scully to go on a date with him.
Even if they sat down and really thought about it, it would probably be impossible to count just how many diners they’d been to in how many different towns across America. State to state, not much changes, from the greasy food to the haggard servers to the decadent chocolate milkshakes that Mulder pretends to order for himself, but passes them off to Scully after taking a skim off the top.
They were somewhere outside Norfolk, on their way home, when they stopped for dinner at a promising-looking diner off the road. It looked like it ticked Scully’s main boxes at least: clean and clean.
It was a Saturday night, so seating was limited, but they were able to snag a booth next to the front windows after a short wait. Mulder grinned happily at the the straw dispenser at their table as he slid into the red vinyl seating. It never failed to amuse him the way the straws would fan out for selection and then collapse when he lifted the lid up and down. Kitschy vintage appliances were amongst some of his favorite toys.
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Post The Rain King. After they leave the reunion, Scully tries to get Mulder to tell her what he said to Holman. He is not so forthcoming with his answer, and instead invites her on a faux date to show her how charming “date Mulder” can be.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Cute! I have a long day sorry I can’t give a better review than CUTE! Read it.
Prompt: Mulder and Scully have their first full blown make out session at her mom's while washing her car. I am begging you please.. if you want.. I adore you and your writing. I hope today is excellent for you.
Another Beautiful Saturday
2.4k wds | PG-13 | MSR, kinda plotless fluff, post-“The Unnatural”
A/N: Anon, thank you for this lovely prompt, and I hope this is kind of what you meant? I’ve been really sick over the last few days, and I was having trouble concentrating on my dissertation, but I was able to channel some energy into fic-writing. I make no promises to its quality (see: me being ill). I realize there are about a million good fics circulating right now because of the Easter challenge, so I’m sorry for the bad timing… but here is something from my brains to yours.
—
Of course there had been the baseball. That might have counted. There’d been a purposiveness in the placement of his hands, a deliberate excess in the duration of his touch, fingers flattened to the inside curve of her hip and then brushing against her own around the bat’s solid wood. His cheek, lips, voice, against her hair.
When the boy had gone home, he’d leaned his weight atop the down-turned bat like a restless teenager, its wider end pressed into home plate, and looked at her like they’d just won some victory: all stars in his eyes and that innocent quirk of his mouth.
“You’re pretty good at baseball, Scully.”
Sly, she had worried her lip and studied the dust atop her too-formal shoes, arms crossed. “Well,” she’d said. “I’ve maybe played before.” She raised her eyes and saw that he already knew, and then they were both grinning like fools.
“I’ll walk you to your car.” He’d put his arm around her shoulders as they trekked around the dugout. Evening and mild sweat and the sweet combination of his soaps was how he’d smelled, and she’d wanted to stop them right there, to turn into the circle his arms would make, and press her whole body to his, nose to his chest. There was love of the game, yes, but there was also just love.
When they reached the car, he let her go.
Keys clutched in her fingers, she eyed him again. “Thank you,” she’d said, and her voice was lower than she’d expected, rough from laughing maybe—an unfamiliar sound in her throat these days. “I liked my present.”
He’d smiled. There had been a brief hesitation, a small internal war, before he shook his head, as if to knock loose the courage. He leaned down and snagged her lips with his. She startled, and it made her open her mouth, and suddenly she could taste him: a full sweet flavor that ignited a small fire under her ribs. Before she could parse the taste, analyze its effects on her skin and her heart and her future, he’d pulled away. One more nervous smile, and he scratched the back of his head. “G’night, Scully,” he’d said, and then he turned and he was gone.
Keep reading
This was an absolutely lovely thing to wake up to on a Monday morning. Thank you!
But you saved me. As difficult and as frustrating as it’s been sometimes, your goddamned strict rationalism and science have saved me a thousand times over. You kept me honest. You made me a whole person. I owe you everything. Scully, and you owe me nothing.