gaycrouton

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and they were coworkers (oh my god they were coworkers)

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All Eyes Lead to the Truth | Small Potatoes (4x20)

“Well, what do you want to talk about?” she asked, swirling her wine around in her glass.

Usually, when he did this, Eddie had to tread delicately on a path someone else had already laid before him. Sometimes it was a Herculean task to get to learn little details about the women he was pursuing because it would be stuff their husbands would never ask. 

But this was different. 

It didn’t take him long to realize he’d initially misread the situation when he saw them at the clinic. Based on the look Dana Scully shot him when he tried to hold her hand at the airport, he knew he was navigating territory Fox Mulder had yet to conquer.

It didn’t make any sense to him. Such a good-looking guy, an agent of the Federal Beurow of Investigation, couldn’t get with his hot, nerdy partner? When he was watching them earlier, they seemed so into each other, like they were two people living in their own little world. It was something he usually only saw with couples in love.

“Earlier, you uh- you said you’d be Eleanor Roosevelt if you could be someone else for a day. Why her?” 

“I thought you said it couldn’t be a dead person,” she teased, giving him a pointed look.

He shot her a soft smile. “I want to hear why you chose her though.”

That wasn’t even a lie, he really did. Eddie saw through the window the way Mulder’s face contorted into something akin to revulsion when she answered, presumably in response to the First Lady’s appearance. It was the same expression Amanda had when she talked about him. Yet Dana didn't seem to judge a book by its cover.

“Well,” she started, taking a deep breath. “I think she’s an admirable woman. She has a lot of beautiful qualities that I would love to embody.”

“She continued her husband’s work after he fell ill right? Motivated him to keep going when no one else would, even going so far as to take on some of the load herself despite the criticism she received?” For the first time, he was grateful one of the women from the clinic loved watching the History Channel.

She nodded, seemingly pleased. “They were a great team.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you already embody a lot of the First Lady’s admirable qualities.”

She looked caught off guard by the compliment, but recovered quickly, a dusting of color on her cheeks the only giveaway that his assessment had an effect on her.

“You never answered your own question,” she stated into the hollow round of her wine glass.

“Hmm?”

“Who would you be?”

A small exhale of laughter escaped through his nose before he could catch himself and it didn’t go unnoticed. “What?” she pried.

Eddie raised the glass to his lips and pretended to take a sip to buy time. Who wouldn’t he rather be? He wanted to be someone who was funny, someone smart, someone who was loved — but at the end of the day, he truly did want to be Eddie Van Blundht. He just wished other people would want that too.

Sure, he wasn’t attractive in the conventional sense and maybe he didn’t have a fancy job working at the Federal Beureaw of Investigation, but he wasn’t all bad.

Setting the glass back down, he remembered something he’d seen in Mulder’s apartment and it seemed as good of an answer as any. 

“Elvis,” he answered.

“Elvis?” she deadpanned, her amusement showing itself in a slight grin.

“Have you heard the voice on that man? And his moves?”

“I would just like to state for the record that you also chose a dead person,” she remarked.

He shrugged in mock surrender. “My love for the King goes beyond the grave. But what about you? What type of music are you into?”

“Oh, um,” she paused, contemplating her answer. “I’ve always been a fan of R&B. Dennis Edwards, Stevie Wonder, Al Wilson–”

“What about Al Green?”

“Of course,” she replied with an earnest grin. “I have all his albums.”

“You should put them on!” he encouraged.

“Now?”

“Why not?” he countered, pleased when she nodded her head in acquiescence and got up.

His eyes trailed over her form as she walked across the room and he felt the familiar coil of arousal twist in his gut. This was probably the most beautiful woman he’d spoken to in a long time, and he wanted this to go well.

While she was preoccupied, Eddie took the opportunity and leaned over to top up her wine, pretending to do the same to his untouched glass. It’s not that he wanted the women to be drunk by the time he made a move, he just found that it helped blur the lines between how they expected their husbands to be and what he would do for them. They were less likely to question why their husband's kiss felt different or why he was trying something new. It was just better this way.

He grimaced as droplets of wine fell onto the papers scattering the coffee table, and he looked back to make sure she was still preoccupied before snagging a couple of tissues and blotting the liquid. 

His attention was drawn to a legal pad sitting amongst the papers. In delicate, feminine scrawl, he made out the words “Doctor Appointment - Thursday at 8:30.” His confusion only deepened when he leaned over to throw the tissues in the waste bin and saw a few others stained a different shade of red. She didn’t look sick, but then again he knew better than anyone looks could be deceiving.

He quickly moved back into place when Al Green’s voice filled the room. “I haven’t played music like this in so long,” she admitted, walking back to him with a shy expression.

Suddenly he realized this might be easier than he thought. Maybe she needed this as much as he did.

Read the rest of All Eyes Lead to the Truth on Archive of Our Own!

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All Eyes Lead to the Truth (4x14) | Memento Mori

They are referred to as alien-human hybrids. While scientifically correct, they don’t consider the title to be phenomenologically accurate. They are bound in this corporeal form, but possess no superhuman capabilities or powers to signify alien origin. 

Down to the most minute cell, they are Kurt Crawford. They are the little boy who held his mother’s hand as they were taken from the El Rico Air Force Base in 1973. They are the innovation of men who weren’t satisfied with God’s plan and decided to make their own.

His existence is similar to  a violinist who can play the second movement of Tchaichovsky’s Violin Concerto without missing a note, but who failed to imbue emotion into the song — the audience can recognize the tune, hum along to the melody, but they know deep down that there’s something not quite right.

Perhaps it’s because they were not of woman borne. There was never a mother to nurture them, only the replicas of other missing people. They never experienced what it was like to grow up or figure out their place in the world — they knew their mission the moment electricity lit up their synapses. 

At least Dr. Frankenstein could see his creation was a crime against nature; even Mary Shelley couldn’t conjure the horror of a monster masquerading as a man. Perhaps the fact that the alien-human hybrids looked like the Syndicate’s loved ones is their punishment for defying the laws of science.

Regardless, the Crawfords’ pragmatism began to fade alongside the health of all the women who suffered just so they could exist. He knew some of the other series didn’t feel the same. The others thought this intervention in evolution was the key to a better world without considering who they would be making it better for.

Why bother with the betterment of humanity if there were no humans left?

John Locke always said that humans enter the world with a tabula rasa, that a person’s environment nurtures who they are to become. Jean-Jacques Rousseau contended that humans enter the world with a predestined morality, that people are innately good without interference.

But what about them? What is destined for a creature borne of fluid and test tubes, guided by the hands of cruel men?

But then again, it would be an insult to claim innocence in the grand scheme. The Gregor Series may have been evil when they cloned the DNA of defenseless children, but the Crawford Series was still using the genetic material harvested from the same project they sought to destroy. The ova from the MUFON women were an integral part in piecing together the genetic puzzle of who they were, but it didn’t make it any easier whenever they saw the women begin to deteriorate.

The list was getting longer by the day;  Edna Cooper, Lottie Holloway, Betsy Hagopian, Penny Northern, soon to be —

“Scully.”

Kurt bowed his head and tried to pretend that their voices didn’t echo around the tiny apartment. For all the bravado Agent Scully was feigning, Agent Mulder matched her with unconcealed fear. This was one of the facets of humanity that made him feel alien. She was dying, and they were fighting. Earlier she had even said she was “fine” while blood poured out of her nose.

He saw death every day. Maybe not first hand, but every file referenced, every lead followed, and every medical chart the Crawfords looked at was laden with it. It seemed to him that wherever death tread, grief and despair were close behind. The losses of the MUFON group didn’t merely extend to the women who died, but the families left behind. 

All of the Kurt Crawfords believed that was uniquely human: the desire to live one’s life in the company of others, to bond with others and care for each other. They wanted to believe their desires to protect the MUFON women was evidence that their existence meant something more. They wanted to exist outside the confines of what the Syndicate had planned for them.

But the Agents standing in front of him whispering with trembling breaths went against all he’d learned about human relationships. There were no hugs of reassurance or words of comfort, yet their gazes held an intimate yearning for each other that reached a depth Kurt couldn’t fathom.

Even as the woman rushed out of the apartment, sparing a sideways glance in the hallway mirror to check for dried blood, Agent Mulder’s eyes never left her. The moment the door shut, the man’s entire body seemed to deflate, his head bowing down as his shoulders curved inward. Agent Mulder raised his hand to his mouth and rubbed the short hairs growing across his skin.

Agent Mulder looked like he might vomit or start crying at a moment's notice, and it struck Kurt that maybe what he was witnessing was one of the most important elements of being human he hadn’t experienced yet. 

Love.

Kurt couldn’t help but think it looked painful, but maybe that was the laws of equivalent exchange at work. He supposed someone could only feel such intense despair and profound loss because they’d known joy and contentment.

“How soon-“ Agent Mulder started, pausing to take a measured breath. “Do you know how long ago Penny found out about her cancer?”

“Within the past year,” Kurt replied, hoping the Agent would accept this answer so that he wouldn’t have to admit it had only been a couple of months.

The answer was grim nonetheless and they both knew it. Kurt could see Mulder tying to could every grain in the proverbial hourglass Scully had left, and he knew it would be a matter of time before he was crushed under the weight of the spent sand.

“Did Betsy have any files on Scully at her place?”

Kurt knew she didn’t, not really, but he could tell Mulder needed to feel like there was something he could do to help her. So Kurt did the most human thing of all.

“I think she did.”

Read the rest of All Eyes Lead to the Truth on Archive of Our Own!

@gaycrouton

#msr thru the eyes of a clone 💜

[gaycrouton]

All Eyes Lead to the Truth | El Mundo Gira (4x11)

The flame from the lantern danced around the wooden ceiling of the shack while the neighbors gathered around to hear the story of his encounter with El Chupacabra. 

The children eagerly whispered amongst each other as they sat cross-legged on the ground, anticipation momentarily distracting them from their empty stomachs. It seemed that their parents were doing too good of a job assuaging the children’s fears, for if they turned around and looked at the worried faces of the adults lining the perimeter of the room, they might realize the danger lurking outside.

Juan would have to take care of that himself. With a resigned sigh, he stood up on a small apple crate they were using as a makeshift podium, and the room fell silent as all eyes looked towards him.

“God said the Devil would come to man under the guise of a cloven-footed beast. There have been tales of goats standing on hind legs so they could look man in the eye.” Juan took a shaky breath before asking, “But what was it we found in the field lying dead next to Maria?”

“A goat,” someone whispered.

He nodded severely, repeating, “A goat.”

His voice felt loud in the confined space, and he felt perspiration at his brow from the heat of all the bodies warming the room. He wasn’t used to having this much attention on him. In fact, this might have been the first time someone cared what he had to say in years. It felt good to have his community hanging off of his every word, so he pushed down his discomfort and continued his story. “Those who have claimed God was speaking of a goat were fools lucky enough to have never known true evil. They are just servants, there to do Evil’s bidding.”

“The only reason Maria was on the hilltop was because she was following a goat,” his elderly neighbor added, supported by several hushed affirmations.

“Exactly, because that’s what El Chupacabra wanted, and then he killed them both,” he responded.

At the simple mention of El Chupacabra, the shack erupted in a cacophony of worry, as if merely saying the name might summon the beast. 

“He’s going to kill us too.”

“What if he comes back?”

It was easy to get lost in the sea of panic, and Juan knew he had to get their attention again before he was drowned out. More forcefully than before, he shouted, “That’s why we screamed and prayed when la migra brought him to us.”

His plan worked, and the crowd settled down, shushing each other. “We could hear him talking to la policía from our cells. Eladio spoke with man’s tongue to spread the lies of the Devil, but we weren’t fooled, we could hear the truth beneath his deceit.”

“What did he say?” 

“He said he stood atop that hill waiting for Maria. That he lured that poor girl so he could devour her soul,” he exaggerated. His chest felt heavy when Maria’s cousin wailed, but his skin was thrumming like an electrical current under the rapt attention of his audience and he couldn’t stop. “Maria kissed the Devil’s friend and he ripped her lips off her very mouth.”

“Why didn’t la policiá put a stop to this madness?” Flakita cried.

“They tried, but Eladio outsmarted them,” he sighed, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. “When we were being transported, they tried to put him on the bus with us, but we cried out! No, la migra! El Chupacabara!  He will kill us! Please, won’t you spare us?”

He paused interruptions and took the time to come up with what to say next. “Looking at Eladio was like looking at a wolf wearing sheep’s clothing that didn’t quite fit right. He was hunched over as if he was in pain. His skin was pale and sweaty like the exertion of pretending to be human was too much for his body to maintain anymore.”

“How did he get off the bus?” a young boy asked. A vein in Juan’s temple pulsed in frustration as the kid rushed his story. 

“After we begged and pleaded for la migra to keep him away from us, they let him sit in the passenger seat. We all were afraid to breathe, we didn’t want to do anything that might draw Eladio’s attention to us. All we could do was sit there and listen to Eladio whimpering and begging to go to the hospital.”

“Why the hospital?” a voice called out.

“Probably because it would be filled with weak prey for him to feast on,” another replied.

Ignoring them, Juan continued, “Eventually the driver couldn’t take it anymore, and he turned on the radio. That’s when things went bad.”

He rubbed the back of his head and stared at the floor, letting the tension build as he formulated the climax of his story. Truth be told, it smelled like someone farted, then the driver started coughing and crashed the car. There wasn’t much room to see into the bed of the truck, so he was really going to have to fill in some blanks.

“It’s okay, Juan.”

“Take your time, buddy.”

“Remember how much Maria loved Selena?” he asked softly. The whole room nodded. “As soon as la migra turned on the radio, Bidi Bidi Bom Bom started playing and Eladio lost it. A foul odor seeped through the truck and the driver started choking and gasping for air while Eladio screamed.”

He took a shaky breath and covered his face with his hands for dramatic effect while anxious whispers filled the room. “The next thing we knew, the truck stopped and the driver was dead. We knew the federales were following behind us, and we only had a few moments to escape. We were able to break free from the truck and we ran without looking back!”

“Did El Chupacabra follow you?”

“No,” Juan shook his head, “But heed my warning. He is out there, and he isn’t done yet.”

Read the rest of All Eyes Lead to the Truth on Archive of Our Own!

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#I got my birthday episode lol

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Found!

Sometimes I wonder if Mulder has ever lost sight of Scully in the crowd because of her height

TXF Fanart ☆ MSR Fanart ☆ Tall and smol post

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fall walk

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Love their dynamic

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My favorite part of the x files was when mulder and scully said, “It’s filing time!!!” and then Xed all over the place

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Dana and her wife pookie Mulder

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this is all i could think about during that ice episode

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happy women's day!! Haven't been able to draw much this year(☹️), nevertheless here's a woman in stem for you :)

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The backstory of the snoball 🥳 happy birthday Scully!

All Eyes Lead to the Truth | Tempus Fugit (4x17)

The Headless Woman’s Pub was crowded wall-to-wall with red-faced employees of the Federal Government who had traveled the measly few blocks after work— despite the fact that it was a Sunday. As far as Val could tell, these people never took a day off.

Before getting this gig, he always imagined the feds drank like they were in one of those film noirs, pulling a handle of whiskey out of their desk and mulling over it after a hard case. He thought being an FBI Agent must’ve been so cool and mysterious.

“Oh shit!” a voice slurred from the other side of the room.

Val glanced over and saw that kid from the Violent Crimes Unit wiping spilled beer off of his date’s lap.

After getting this gig, he realized everything he used to think about the feds was bullshit. 

These were some of the most depressed fuckers he’d ever met. The ones that got the job for the glory would inevitably crash and burn, and the good ones would be haunted by the evils they saw. He couldn’t blame any of them for needing to indulge at the end of the day, but, Christ— J. Edgar himself would blush at the things these people said when they were drunk. He was starting to wonder if there was a single desk in that building that hadn’t been defiled. Though that was nothing compared to the guy who drank himself under the table because the ‘alien-guy’ stole his job. Val still didn’t know what the hell that meant, but he could still hear the way that guy kept muttering “fucking grey.”

“Excuse me.”

Glancing up, he saw a tall guy easing himself in between two people sitting at the bar. “Do you have a tab started?” Val asked.

“No, uh, I actually had a favor to ask,” the man clarified while his hands fidgeted against the bar’s wooden ledge.

Glancing around and seeing everyone’s drinks were full, Val stopped what he was doing and replied, “Shoot.”

Lanky started fumbling around with the pocket of his suit coat, and he began to worry the guy was gonna pull out his badge. They were too damn short-staffed to spare anyone for a twenty-minute interrogation about some drunk guy making a fool of himself after having one too many.

But agitation quickly made way for confusion when he was presented with one of those pink Hostess monstrosities. Ho Ho? Zapper? Chocodile Kazbars? Whatever the hell it was called, it should be illegal to put coconut in anything that was supposed to be called a dessert.

“I’m on a diet,” he deadpanned.

Ignoring his comment, the man tried to fluff the pink ball back into shape after presumably squashing in his pocket. “The woman I came in with— it’s her birthday, and she loves these things. I was wondering if there was any way you could ask someone in the back to put it on a plate and bring it out to her?”

Now that was a new one, especially for a shithole like this place. “Ya mean like Chili’s?”

“Well, hey, I certainly won’t say no if you have any sombreros hidden away in the kitchen,” he chuckled, looking over his shoulder as if to make sure his date wasn’t getting suspicious. Then, as if nervous Val would say no, he added, “They don’t have to sing Happy Birthday or anything. I know you guys are busy and—”

Interrupting the man’s rambling, he grabbed the pink cream ball. “What’s her name?”

“Scully.”

Val’s eyebrows rose at that. “She related to Vin? I was more of a Jerry Doggett fan myself.”

The guy exhaled a laugh, but then he shook his head. “No, and sorry, actually.” He spared another glance over his shoulder, and this time Val looked with him. It must’ve been the redhead who was glancing around, presumably searching for her boyfriend. He watched the shy smile that spread across her lips as her eyes met the man’s, and damn if she wasn’t one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. Her man must’ve known that too based on the nervous smirk that was on his face when he turned back around. “Dana. Her name is Dana,” he clarified, straightening out his tie.

It was common for Val to see men bring women from the office out for a drink in the hopes they’d get some. This might’ve been the first time he’d seen a fella do something thoughtful for his lady. Even if it was a 99¢ piece of garbage. “I’ll pass this to your waiter. I’m sure he can fix it up for Dana.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate it,” Dana’s boyfriend replied. Val watched as he slid a five into the tip jar and started to make his way back to the table.

“Hey buddy,” Val called out, causing the man to turn around. “Ya told her you were going to come up and get drinks, didn’t ya?”

“Oh!” he exclaimed with an embarrassed wince, rushing back to the bar. Across the room, behind the man’s back, the woman’s brows furrowed and her lips quirked into an amused smirk as she watched him fumble to retrieve his wallet. “Thanks. Uh, one water and one vodka tonic, please. It’ll go under the name Mulder.”

After he sent Mulder on his way, he watched him take long strides back to the woman who was digging into their shared appetizer. He must’ve said something funny because the redhead started laughing and shaking her head. Val was impressed with how suave the guy was being after how nervous he had just been.

“D-did that man say his name was Mulder?”

Val turned and saw a meek, blonde woman sitting at the bar, not far from where the man in question had just been.

Val shrugged while trying to flag down a waiter, “Yeah. Know him?”

She glanced at the couple over her shoulder before turning back to face him, nervously playing with the cuff of her sleeve. “He’s a friend of the family.”

Read the rest of All Eyes Lead to the Truth on Archive of Our Own!

@gaycrouton

Happy Birthday Dana Scully!

[gaycrouton]

“If The X-Files was a 90s anime.”

credit: MabooCraboo on imgur

#x files #msr #scully #mulder #fanart #anime #dana scully #fox mulder #gillian anderson #mulder and scully #david duchovny #the x-files

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the year is 2024. I am watching The X Files 1x08 with my blissfully offline boyfriend. We reach the scene where, in confinement, Mulder and Scully examine each other's backs for alien marks. My boyfriend, who has never seen the show before, makes an amused noise and utters a strong contender for understatement of the year:

"I'm guessing there's fanfiction about these two"

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#not mine! author’s watermark on image

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I can’t believe this is a real ad I got

#x files #okobogee #Okoboji