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Hate is always foolish and love is always wise

@baronessblixen

she/her. reader, writer and TV show enthusiast. 

My Master Post

Here’s a list of all the fics I’ve written. As of right now, they’re categorized into Fictober, general prompt answers, based on episodes and various prompt challenges like Christmas. 

I will try to update this list and add older stories as well. It’s not a complete list and may never be. 

Enjoy!

FICTOBER

Drugged Up Scully lets her feelings slip to Mulder, and he later uses the info to woo her

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(I don't know enough about the history of medicine to know whether lasik was available in the late 90s. Bear with me lol. Also idk what this is but I did my best)

"Okay, okay, forward a little, now let me just unlock the door. Where are your keys?"

"Hm?"

"Where are your keys?"

"Hmmm."

"Very helpful. Thank you, Scully."

Mulder reaches around Scully's body awkwardly, shifting her in his position of propping her up, to search her coat pocket for her apartment key.

He finally locates the keys and jams one into the lock. When the door opens, he steers Scully toward the couch. She reaches out in front of herself flimsily, as if navigating the room in the dark. Effectively, she is.

"How do you feel?" Mulder asks, sitting down next to her and examining her face. He's not sure what he's looking for, and it's not clear what he would see if he did. The plastic polygons shielding Scully's eyes are covered in a thick layer of tape that makes it difficult to make anything out besides the peachy tone of her skin.

febuwhump day 1: touchstarved

pre-revival | no warnings apply | general audiences

He misses her.

He misses her and he knows he shouldn't, which only makes him miss her more, because she's the one who would normally be telling him that missing people doesn't solve anything. He doesn't think she'll ever tell him that again.

He's only missed her like this once before, when she was gone for that awful month back in '94, and he'd vowed once she returned to never feel that way again, to always keep her by his side. Yeah, good job, Spooky.

Last time had been worse, in so many ways - back then, he used to wake from dreams of her lying lifeless at the summit of Skyland Mountain, or trapped in a bright, white place with no way of moving. He'd had no way of knowing if she was alive or dead, nothing of her to hold onto except a tiny golden cross that he'd always known, no matter how she returned, was only with him for a short while, for safekeeping.

It should be better now. He knows she's alive, the evidence being the texts that ping his phone every morning, asking how he is. He doesn't dream anymore - the medication takes care of that.

But this time, he knows what it feels like to touch her. Back then, he only knew what it felt like to brush his hand against the small of her back, what her hand felt like resting on his. He'd rationed her touch the way a starving man rationed food, never letting her see how much he needed more. Over the last ten years, though, he's let himself get greedy. He knows everything, now. The way her cold fingers thaw between his on winter walks, the curve of her jaw against his lips, the feeling of her body pressed against his as they lie in bed, bare to the world. Everywhere he looks, he feels her touch: the couch where she'd rest her feet in his lap after a long shift at the hospital, the porch where she once spent an afternoon cutting his hair, the stairs, the kitchen, his office, their bed.

Their home.

His phone buzzes. You okay, Mulder?

I miss you, he's typed before.

He's never pressed send. It never feels like enough.

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ð?™µð?šŽð?š‹ð?š›ð?šžð?šŠð?š›ð?š¢ ð?Ÿ·, ð?Ÿ·ð?Ÿ¿ð?Ÿ¸ð?Ÿ¸ ð?šƒð?š‘ð?šŽ ð?™³ð?š’ð?šŠð?š›ð?š’ð?šŽð?šœ ð?™¾ð?š? ð?™µð?š›ð?šŠð?š—ð?š£ ð?™ºð?šŠð?š?ð?š”ð?šŠ, ð?Ÿ·ð?Ÿ¿ð?Ÿ·ð?Ÿº-ð?Ÿ·ð?Ÿ¿ð?Ÿ¸ð?Ÿ¹

[ID: February 1. Nothing, merely tired. END ID]

Source: shi-saa

01.02

Febuwhump Day 1: "I need you." Post Sein und Zeit. Hurt/Comfort Prompts. AO3. @today-in-fic

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Her fingers at the base of your neck keep up their soothing rhythm, brushing through your hair every so often as they move in a circular motion. You close your eyes but fight the pull of sleep, you are hesitant to let go of this almost peaceful and bliss feeling. Exhausted, tears all spent, you’re scared you’ll wake up later on and be greeted by the full onslaught of emotions, reality slapping you in the face once more.

Here is nice. Barely existing, just floating. Scully’s scent beneath your nose, hands against your skin. You snuggle in closer despite the impossibility- you’re already as close as you can get after all.

“I need you.�

You let her bear the weight of your emotions for a while, just a little bit, until you’re stable again, until you have the courage to exist fully once more.